Operation Piracy

by Paul Somers

  “What’s happened?” I asked.

  “It’s a bit complicated—I’ll tell you when I see you.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I’m at Manaccan. I’m on my way back—I’ll only be about half an hour.”

  “All right,” I said, “don’t break your neck. I’ll wait.”

  “Thanks a lot. ’Bye.” She hung up.

  I looked at my watch and saw that it was still only a few minutes to nine. She must have gone out extraordinarily early. I was consumed with curiosity about what she’d been up to. She’d sounded as though she might have a new line on something—though if she had, I found it hard to believe she’d want to tell me about it.

  I took the Record and the Courier into the lounge and settled down to wait. I’d just about finished them when she came hurrying in, her eyes bright with secret knowledge. She’d had no breakfast, so I ordered coffee and rolls for her and asked what all the excitement was about.

  She said, “I went back to the cove this morning.”

  “Which cove?” I asked.

  “The one where Curlew was anchored, of course.”

  “Really?—whatever for?”

  “Just curiosity. And guess what I found there.”

  I grinned. “A diamond necklace, washed up on the beach!”

  “Well, not exactly—but Curlew was back there, and those two men were diving again.”

  I said, “Oh!” non-committally.

  “I thought they might be,” she said, “so I went along early. It was a long shot, of course, but I just hadn’t been able to sleep for thinking about them and the odd way they’d swum up and down all that time and then put on their little hunting act when they saw us. The more I thought about it, the more I had the feeling that they’d been looking for something, and if had they didn’t seem to have found it, and I wondered if they’d go back again. And then I remembered that it been low tide when we’d seen them, which of course would be much better for diving because the water would be shallower, and I thought they might go back at low tide again. So I took a chance, and drove to the cove at crack of dawn, and I’d just arrived when Curlew showed up …” She broke off, slightly out of breath. “Don’t you think it’s all rather interesting?”

  “I don’t see that there’s anything very sinister about it, if that’s what you mean,” I said. “They probably like that cove, and yachtsmen usually reckon to start the day early, and this morning must have been just right for a bit of fishing. Were they using their harpoon guns?”

  “No, they weren’t.”

  “Well—did you still have the impression they were looking for something …? Where were they diving?”

  “It was mostly round the boat this time, as a matter of fact …”

  “There you are, then. I’d say they were just enjoying their swim.”

  “They might have hit on the right spot to-day, and found what they were looking for straight away.”

  “Were they anchored in a different place?”

  “I thought so. It’s hard to judge from the shore, but they seemed to me to be quite a bit farther out.”

  “M’m …! Still, if they’d been looking for something, and they’d found it, surely they’d have brought it up at once … Or did they know you were watching them?”

  “No, I don’t think so—I kept hidden.”

  “So they wouldn’t have had any reason not to …” I shook my head. “I bet they were just amusing themselves.”

  “If that’s all they were doing,” Mollie said, “there’d have been no special point in their going back at low tide, because they could easily have gone farther inshore and anchored in whatever depth of water they wanted for diving. But if they knew they had to search in a particular spot, the low tide aspect would have been quite important.”

  “It was probably pure chance that they came at low tide,” I said. “Anyway, Mollie, you can’t really believe that the jewels are in that cove—it’s fantastic. Why would they be?”

  “Because it’s a good hiding place, I should think. Look, if those two on Curlew were the raiders, they’d be bound to realise there’d be inquiries at the anchorage, and they certainly wouldn’t have wanted to take the jewel case back to their yacht after the raid. They wouldn’t have wanted to have it around at all, not till things had blown over a bit. And they wouldn’t have wanted to leave Falmouth with it, either, in case their sudden absence drew attention to themselves. So the obvious thing would have been to hide it—and what better place could there be than the seabed? As long as they weighted the case, they’d know it would be absolutely safe.”

  “Not if a rough sea got up,” I said. “Not unless it was made very secure.”

  “Then perhaps that’s what they were doing this morning—making it secure. They might even have been burying it in the sand! That would explain why they didn’t bring it up when they found it.”

  “But Mollie,” I said, “it just doesn’t square with the rest of the information we’ve got. How could Thornton and Blake possibly be the raiders, when we know that whoever did the job took Mary Ann off to sea afterwards? Those two were certainly back here early the following morning—even if they were away during the night.”

  “I know, I thought of that,” Mollie said, “but there could easily be some explanation. For instance, suppose there was a third man involved in the raid—someone who’d stayed in Mary Ann’s cabin all the time. He could have brought Thornton and Blake back in her, dumped the jewel case in the cove for safety, put them ashore, and then taken the boat away on his own.”

  “That would have given the R.A.F. planes hours longer to spot her,” I said. “It’s almost inconceivable that they wouldn’t have seen her.”

  “If they didn’t see her in four hours,” Mollie said, “I don’t see why they should have seen her in eight or twelve. All that part of the thing’s a mystery, anyway. If you ask me, I think the raiders must have thought up some way of camouflaging her.”

  “They couldn’t change her shape.”

  “They might have changed her colour, though. It wouldn’t have taken long for three or four men to slap on a coat of white paint above the waterline, would it?”

  I hadn’t thought of that—but somehow it didn’t sound very likely. In fact, Mollie’s theory didn’t sound very likely at all. I’d always supposed that Mary Ann had cleared off because the raiders had cleared off—and if they hadn’t I didn’t see any point in her flight. I recalled what little I knew about Thornton and Blake, and I couldn’t think of any suspicious thing about them. When I’d seen them, they’d always been behaving like genuine holidaymakers. At the same time, they had been anchored strategically close to Wanderer, and it suddenly occurred to me that David Scott must have passed very near to them on his way to post his letter, so that if he’d been in the conspiracy he could easily have called out the sailing information they needed as he went by.

  “Well,” I said, finally, “I suppose it’s just possible you may be on to something.”

  “I think it’s possible,” Mollie said, “because of the way those two behaved …” For a moment she regarded me thoughtfully. Then she said, “Look, Hugh, why don’t we try and check?”

  “You mean, see if we can get a line on how Thornton and Blake spent that night, and what time they got back—that sort of thing?”

  “No, I mean get hold of some masks and schnorkels and have a look at the bottom of the cove ourselves. That’s the quick way.”

  I stared at her. “You’re not serious?”

  “I’m perfectly serious.”

  “But … Well, for one thing, I’d be no use. I’ve never done any underwater diving.”

  “I don’t suppose there’d be any need to dive—with masks on, we’d probably be able to see the bottom from the surface. If not, I could do the diving till you’d got used to it. You’re a strong swimmer, it wouldn’t take you any time at all to learn—and I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”

  “I dare say!—but you seem to
forget I’ve been told to go back to town. If I ring up Hatcher to-night from here and tell him I’ve been spending the day schnorkelling he’ll probably have me schnorkelled off the paper!”

  “Not if you get a terrific story.”

  “If!”

  “You might.”

  I looked at her eager face. “You know,” I said, “there was a time when you’d have gone off and inspected the sea bed on your own. What’s happened to you?”

  “Well, it’s always better to have a companion when you’re diving.”

  “You’d better watch out, Mollie—I believe you’re beginning to rely on me. Soon you won’t be able to do without me at all. That’s the day I’m waiting for!”

  “Don’t be silly—it’s only that we did agree to share the scoop and the risks.”

  “That was when you still suspected Mellor—it was quite a different matter—and quite different risks! What about all those things that happen to divers—bends, nitrogen poisoning, bleeding from the ears …?”

  “They only happen if you go deep—they don’t concern skin divers with schnorkels. There’s practically no risk at all, actually. But of course, if you’re nervous …”

  “You’re damn’ right I’m nervous,” I said. “When you get this crazy sort of idea I’m always nervous—and on past form I’ve good reason to be! What’s more, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing in that cove to find—it’s a thousand to one that we’ll be wasting our time. And what’ll I tell the office?”

  “You could be ill.”

  “Oh, no! I was ill the last time you got me on one of these larks—they’ll never swallow that one again.”

  “Well, you can easily make out a case—afterwards! The important thing is that you’ll be showing initiative—and that’s a quality newspapers always like.”

  I wasn’t so sure. I sat silent for a while, looking out of the window, thinking about her theory. I probably could make out a case, of course. And it was certainly a lovely day!

  “Well, I admit I’m tempted,” I said at last. “As a matter of fact, there’s nothing I’d like better than to go swimming with you … Remember the last time?”

  “To-day,” she said firmly, “I shall be wearing a swimsuit.”

  “You look nice in a swimsuit too,” I said. I fought with my conscience for about thirty seconds, and lost easily. “All right—you’ve talked me into it.”

  She jumped to her to feet. “Then let’s go and see about equipment. There’s a sports shop in the square with some masks in the window.”

  I followed her out in a slight daze.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Man in the sports shop was knowledgeable and helpful. He had, he said, a good stock of supplies to meet the growing popularity of skin-diving in Cornwall, and he showed us his range. There was an astonishing variety of masks. Most of them were oval in shape, and all had unbreakable glass fronts, but some had bits shaped for the nose, some had lenses, and some had schnorkels already attached. In the end we chose the simplest kind, with the widest possible glass window to give good vision and soft rubber round the edge of the mask so that it didn’t cut the face. We had to test them in the old wartime way, by breathing in gently through the nose when they were in position and making sure that the rubber sides were sucked in against the face. After that, Mollie and the shopman had a rather technical discussion about schnorkels, and whether it was better to have the sort with a valve or not, and we finally settled for two neat little plastic jobs that had a wide U-bend to clear the face and were open at the top. Then the shopman produced several enormous pairs of fins for our feet and we sat down and tried them on as gravely as though we were in a shoe shop, though we must have looked pretty funny. The whole kit cost several pounds. It would make, I thought, an unusual item on my expenses sheet if I ever dared to include it!

  When we were fixed up, Mollie fetched a soft travelling bag from her car and we packed all the equipment away in it before we left the shop in order not to advertise what we were doing. Then we collected our swimming things, bought some food for a picnic lunch, and drove round the Helford river again in the Riley. I parked the car in the old spot beside the barley field and we set off along the top of the cliff with the gear still in the bag. At Mollie’s suggestion we gave Curlew Cove, as we now called it, a wide berth for the moment, and for my initial practice chose another, smaller one, farther on, with a good strip of sand and a conveniently shelving beach. The scramble down the cliff at that point was severe enough to deter most holidaymakers, so that we had the place to ourselves. The sun was deliciously warm, and the sea was like glass. We changed quickly among the rocks, and met at the water’s edge for my first lesson.

  To begin with, Mollie said, I must get used to the feel of the equipment. I put the face mask on, covering my eyes and nose, and took the soft flange of the schnorkel mouthpiece between my lips and gums, as Mollie directed, and gripped the two lugs with my teeth. Then I spent a minute or two practising breathing. It was easy enough on dry land, except that it took me a little time to get the knack of closing my glottis and breathing only through my mouth, and at first the glass plate tended to mist up inside. When I’d got over that difficulty, we cleaned the plates with seaweed, rinsed the equipment, made sure the masks were watertight, fitted the fins, and waded into the sea until we stood waist-deep. With the schnorkel securely fastened to my mask strap by a rubber band, and the flange in my mouth, I dipped my head under the surface for my first underwater breathing test. It wasn’t a very pleasant sensation to start with and I had to make a conscious effort to stay under, but as my breathing became more relaxed and regular the discomfort passed.

  Then came the next stage—floating with my head just submerged and the top of the schnorkel tube sticking up an inch or two out of the water. The sense of imminent asphyxia came back more strongly, but again it didn’t last. Most of it, I imagined, was just beginner’s nerves. What wasn’t nerves was when I went down a little farther than I meant to and a tiny wavelet lopped over the top of the schnorkel. In an instant I was spluttering and. gasping, with a flooded tube, a mouthful of water, and no breath. I emerged to find Mollie standing beside me with her mask pushed up over her swimming cap, shaking with laughter. When I’d stopped spluttering she assured me that everyone did the same thing to start with, and that I’d soon learn to blow the water out of the tube without choking. The important thing, she said, was to take everything quite camly. It was all very well for her, of course, but I had a strong feeling she was telescoping half a dozen lessons into one. However, it was all good fun.

  We swam about in the cove for quite a while, and my confidence in the schnorkel steadily increased. What was more, I began to understand the tremendous attraction of underwater swimming. When I looked down on the water from above there was refraction, distortion, almost opacity; everything below the surface was hidden. But once my head was underneath the mask gave a most exciting clarity of vision. According to Mollie the water wasn’t nearly as clear as it had been in the Mediterranean when she’d swum there, but I could make out perfectly the ribbed sand, perhaps fifteen feet below me, and the small, scattered boulders on the bottom, and the fronds of weed. I could even see fish—quite a lot of fish. They were small, and I had no idea what they were, but now that I shared their element with them I found them fascinating. They seemed so extraordinarily unconcerned as they passed in a shoal just below me.

  I could have schnorkelled on the surface indefinitely, but soon Mollie said it was time to try my hand at diving. She explained the procedure with great lucidity. I must take a good lungful of air, she said, and then hold my breath. To dive, I must double myself up, push my head down, and lift up my legs—just the same, in fact, as though I’d been diving without mask and schnorkel. Once under water I must propel myself with an easy, pedalling motion of the fins, keeping my arms close to my body and using my shoulders to change direction. Arching my back, she said, would direct me upwards. I must keep enough air in my lungs to s
urface and to blow the water out of the schnorkel when I had surfaced. It was, she said, quite simple! I watched her go through the motions several times, and it certainly couldn’t have looked easier. She dived and swam with effortless grace, and when she surfaced she squirted the water from her schnorkel in a most expert way.

  I said, “Well, good-bye!—it’s been nice knowing you,” and tried it myself. Actually, I’d always felt completely at home in the water, and I got on pretty well. At eight or ten feet there was a slight feeling of pressure on the eardrums and eyes, and the mask felt a bit tight, but there was no real unpleasantness. The diving and swimming presented no difficulties, and the fins were an immense help. At first I was rather too aware of the equipment, too conscious of the water in the schnorkel that I’d got to blow out before I could take a breath again, but confidence grew with each dive.

  We swam and dived for half an hour or more, by which time we were beginning to get a bit cold. Mollie decided we’d had enough for the moment and we went and lay in the sun for an hour. Then, when we were thoroughly warmed and rested, we packed up our clothes and equipment and made our way over the rocks to Curlew Cove.

  We approached it cautiously, scanning the beach and cliffs to make sure nobody was taking any interest in us. There were some people at the other end of the beach—a man and a woman, with a small boy beside them building a sand castle—but they were a long way off and absorbed in their own affairs. There were two walkers on the clifftop, but they didn’t linger. We let them pass, and then fitted on our masks and schnorkels again behind concealing rocks. Once we were out in the cove we’d probably be too far away for anyone ashore even to see we were schnorkelling.

  We chose our moment, and slipped quietly off a rock into deep water and swam out to where Mollie judged Curlew had been anchored that morning. She admitted she wasn’t very sure of the exact spot, which was hardly surprising. What we’d better do, she suggested, was start a little to seaward of where she thought the boat had been and work our way to and fro across the centre of the cove, gradually moving inwards. In that way, she said, we’d be pretty certain to pass over the anchorage, and by swimming just below the surface and looking down we ought to be able to see anything of interest on the bottom.