by Paul Somers
I glanced at my aqualung pressure gauge, and it showed seventy atmospheres. I still had a whole bottle of air, and Mollie presumably had the same. But there was nothing more to hang about for—obviously the thing now was to report to Anstey as soon as possible. I indicated to Mollie that we should start for the shore, and she nodded. We turned away from the boat and began to swim slowly along the sandy bottom towards the beach, judging our direction by the change in the depth meter We were making good progress in about twenty feet when, looking ahead, I suddenly saw a figure moving thtough the water. It was a man, aqualunged, and he was swimming straight towards us. Just behind him was another man. Thornton and Blake had come back!
And that wasn’t all. Both men were carrying loaded harpoon guns, and pointing them at us in a most business like way. With a shock of horror I realised that this wasn’t just a chance encounter—that they hadn’t dived to carry on with their work on the boat, and happened to meet us. They’d come to hunt us! They must have seen our bubbles, and guessed that we were snooping about round the boat, and dived to intercept us. With one murder on their hands already, they’d nothing to lose by two more—and now that we knew so much, they couldn’t afford to let us escape. They’d come—to kill us. This story, which had been all theory until our discovery of Mary Ann, which until a few moments ago I’d treated almost flippantly, had suddenly become an affair of life and death for us.
Mollie had stopped swimming and was staring at me. I gripped her arm and swung her round, and we swam away together, away from the guns, faster than we’d ever swum before under water. It was dangerous, I knew, but even shallow-water blackout would be no worse than a harpoon in the small of the back. After a few seconds I turned to see how we were doing. I thought we were all right. It was difficult to judge distance accurately under water, but the leading man was certainly fifteen feet away, and that was well out of effective range. The trouble was that by now we’d lost our sense of direction. I looked at the depth meter and it showed nearly thirty feet. Safety lay among the tangle of rocks near the shore, but we were swimming out to sea. I swung to the right, making sure that Mollie was keeping close to me, and looked back again. They were overhauling us! Thornton, brown-skinned and lean, was in the lead and coming up fast. They were probably much more expert at this underwater business than we were. They were going to catch us! Already my breathing was erratic, my heart was pounding—I couldn’t possibly keep up the pace. The distance now looked more like ten feet, and both men were holding their guns forward at the ready, their fingers on the triggers.
The under-water light was growing brighter—we were moving into the shallows. But not quickly enough. They were still closing in. Perhaps, I thought, I ought to turn and try to grapple with Thornton before he could shoot—anything was better than being spitted from behind. Or perhaps if we surfaced it would be more difficult for them to shoot? I didn’t know … Then, a few yards to the right, I saw under-water rocks and steered Mollie towards them with a touch on her arm. A tall slab of granite offered cover, and Mollie glided behind it and I followed her round, my spine tingling. Then we stopped. There was rock all round us, and no way out. We’d swum into some sort of underwater grotto.
I turned in despair, certain that this was the end. But it wasn’t. The gap on either side of the rock slab was so narrow, I now saw, that it would be impossible for our pursuers to shoot into the grotto. The angles were all wrong for their long guns. We were in a trap, but as long as we stayed there they couldn’t harpoon us. They must come in after us, or wait—and if they came in, we’d be on equal terms. Their diving equipment would be as vulnerable in an underwater tussle as ours. We disposed ourselves so that one of us was on guard on each side of the slab. Suddenly, a head appeared, only a few inches away from me. I thrust out a hand and tore at the face mask. My fingers clawed down the glass, but I couldn’t get a grip, and the head disappeared. I’d missed my chance. But I doubted if they’d try to come in again—and they didn’t. When, after a moment or two, nothing else happened, I peered out very cautiously myself and saw that they were resting motionless in the water a dozen feet away, like two watchful fish.
I took a quick look round our sanctuary. It was not so much a grotto, I saw, as a wedge-shaped cleft in the rocks, just wide enough to hold the two of us without jostling. Above our heads there was a gap in the roof, too narrow to squeeze through, but admitting a fair amount of light. The water above the gap must be very shallow, I thought—and the depth meter confirmed that. From the sandy floor on which we stood, it registered a mere eight feet. If we’d only had a few more seconds to spare, we’d have got safely ashore.
Several minutes passed. I half expected that one of the men would try to attack us from above, pushing his gun through the gap—but neither of them did. Either the existence of the gap hadn’t occurred to them, or they were content to wait. They could certainly afford to wait. They had started their dive long after we had—they would have air long after ours was exhausted. I glanced at my pressure gauge, and it showed only twenty-five atmospheres— enough for about a quarter of an hour. I looked at Mollie’s and hers showed nearly thirty. She’d probably taken the sudden crisis more coolly, and had therefore breathed less air. I wasn’t surprised.
I tried hard to think of something effective to do, but I couldn’t. Being under water, I found, didn’t make consecutive thought any easier. I longed to be able to discuss the situation with Mollie, but there wasn’t any means of communication. It was ghastly not being able to talk. With the masks virtually hiding all expression, there wasn’t even much comfort in proximity. Indeed, there was no comfort at all. The water had seemed warm enough when we’d first entered it, but we’d been immersed for over an hour and the effect was numbing. Not that that mattered much, when we’d only air left for a few minutes anyway.
I looked out again. The two men were still there in the same place, and their guns were still held at the ready. There didn’t seem to be much hope of a successful break-out. Yet if the choice was between slow, gasping suffocation and trying for a break, we’d obviously have to try. There was always the possibility that they might miss with the harpoons, or at least that we’d escape with minor wounds. Once in the open, we’d need only a few strokes to reach the shore, and if we weren’t too crippled we might still make it. I looked at my pressure gauge again. The needle was already well into the red sector, which meant I’d less than fifteen atmospheres left—and I remembered Fox had warned us that breathing would begin to grow difficult when there was still quite a bit of air in the bottles. A matter of minutes now!—and then any action would be too late. If we were going to try for a break, we must do it right away. I showed the gauge to Mollie and made urgent gestures, hoping she’d understand—pointing to the opening beside me, making swimming movements, pointing in the direction of the shore. She gave a slow nod. I took one of her hands in both of mine and held it for a moment—a wretchedly inadequate farewell. Then I moved to the opening.
I was just going to stick my head out when she clutched my shoulder and drew me back. She pointed to her depth meter, then to the gap in the rock over our heads, then to the schnorkel in her belt. I looked at my meter, and saw that the depth had dropped by a foot since we’d swum into the grotto. Water still covered the gap, but it was gently swirling water, with a littl foam in it. Not very far up, there was air. The question was, how far?
I hesitated, but only for a second. It was a gamble, with death as the almost certain penalty of failure—but it seemed to offer more hope than a break-out. I mentally rehearsed the transfer drill that Fox had taught us, and I found I remembered it quite clearly. I drew my schnorkel from my belt, took a full breath of air from the aqualung, and held it while I removed the mouth-piece. Then I thrust the schnorkel mouthpiece into my mouth instead. Water filled the schnorkel and ran into my mouth, but I kept it there harmlessly, still holding my breath. Then I got my face as near to the gap as I could and pushed the schnorkel up and blew the water out of my
mouth and out of the tube with a long, lung-emptying breath. Now!
I breathed in—and air came through the tube, not water. I was reprieved.
It was Mollie’s turn, now. I felt pretty bad as I watched her, though I felt sure she could do it. She’d managed it in the swimming bath without any trouble. The tricky moment was the moment of transfer—if she lost her air, then, she wouldn’t be able to blow out the tube. And there was nothing at all I could do to help her. But I needn’t have worried—she accomplished it perfectly. A second or two later-she was breathing steadily through her tube beside me.
For the moment we were safe, but I still couldn’t feel any real hope. We’d postponed the end, but that was about all. Thornton and Blake wouldn’t stay out there immobile for ever. Before long they’d decide that we must be dead, and they’d probably come in to make sure we were, and then we’d be entirely at their mercy. Or they might look around first, they might surface and catch sight of the protruding schnorkels and drag them from our mouths. It could happen any second—and it wasn’t a nice thought. The mere idea made breathing more difficult. Better not to think!
I had almost no notion now of the passing of time. Earlier the aqualung pressure gauge had given us a rough indication, but now there was nothing. I knew that dusk couldn’t be far away, for the light that came through to the grotto was growing dim. I felt terribly cold. We were clinging to life with our teeth, literally, but we wouldn’t be able to cling much longer. The cold would get us. It seemed extraordinary that Thornton and Blake hadn’t come in yet. Their own air supply must be nearing its end by now, even supposing their bottles had been quite full to start with. I couldn’t understand what they were up to at all. They must know that our bottles would be exhausted by this time.
Suddenly I drew water in through my schnorkel as a wavelet washed over the top of it. I managed to blow it out, but a moment later the same thing happened again. The tide had obviously turned and was rising once more. Mollie was having trouble too.
Now we’d have to run the gaunlet of the harpoons—and one single lungful of air! I touched Mollie’s arm, and pointed to the entrance. She understood, and nodded. There was no time to lose. I indicated that I’d go first. I filled my lungs through the sehnorkel, and held my breath, and moved to the opening of the grotto. I peered out cautiously. I couldn’t see anyone. The two men were no longer where they had been. I swam out and looked around. There was no one about at all. With bursting lungs I surfaced, and pushed up my face mask and took a deep gulp of air. It felt wonderful to be able to breathe freely again. I slipped off the aqualung and held it, buoying myself up with it. There still wasn’t anyone around. A moment later, Mollie shot up beside me.
We’d made it!
Together we swam to the shore and clambered out on to a rock. Neither of us had much to say—we were too exhausted, too cold, too unutterably relieved to talk. Mollie pulled off her swimming cap and stretched out flat, with a long, shuddering sigh. “God, that was awful!” she murmured. Her face was drawn with fatigue; her fingers and toes were white and bloodless. I was in scarcely better shape myself. But the air felt almost tropically warm after the water, and we soon began to revive. Presently I sat up and began to chafe Mollie’s hands and feet, and that warmed me, too. After I’d rubbed and slapped for several minutes I said, “I think we ought to dress now,” and she nodded.
I was just going to get to my feet when, from somewhere very close by, a voice said sharply, “Don’t move!” and a man appeared from behind a rock with a gun in his hand.
It was Guy Mellor!
Chapter Seventeen
There was a short, tense silence. Then Mollie said, “So you are in it!”
“Oh, yes, I’m in it,” Mellor said. “You had the right idea in the first place, but you gave up too soon.” He took a step towards us and sat down on a rock just out of reach. His pose was so nonchalant, his attitude so unaggressive, that no one looking at us would have supposed for a moment that anything was wrong. But he kept the gun pointing at us, and his eyes were watchful.
“In case you’re thinking of starting a rough house,” he said to me, “don’t! This thing would go off at once.”
I didn’t doubt it. If he’d conspired with the others, and murder had resulted, he hadn’t much to lose, either. In any case, I’d never felt less like tackling a man with a gun than I did at that moment.
I said, “Do you mind if we get our clothes—they’re not far away.”
He hesitated. “Better wait a bit.”
“We’ll probably get pneumonia,” Mollie said.
“That’s the least thing you’ye got to worry about!”
I said, “What are we waiting for, anyway?”
“I’m waiting for reinforcements. You’re waiting because I’m waiting.”
I glanced around the cove. Dusk was falling quickly, now. The beach was deserted, and as far as I could make out, so was the clifftop. I looked across at Curlew, anchored out in the cove. There didn’t seem to be anyone aboard her. A moment later, though, her dinghy nosed out from behind her bows, with Thornton and Blake in it. They were fully dressed now, even to yachting caps. Blake was rowing. They came slowly in towards the beach.
I said, “What baffles me is why your murdering friends didn’t stay underwater long enough to make sure they’d finished the job.”
“Well, I can answer that for you,” Mellor said easily. “They had to conserve their air—they’ve a bit more work to do on the boat. So they left me to take charge of you.”
“How did they know we were down there—was it the bubbles?”
“As a matter of fact, it was me—I was around when they came in, and I gave them a situation report.”
“I suppose you’ve been watching us all the time?”
“Naturally—you, and the cove. You did rather give yourselves away, didn’t you? Particularly Miss Bourne.” He gave Mollie a faint grin. Even with the gun in his lap, he still managed to look debonair. “Your attention was very flattering—too flattering!”
I said, “So you just sat here and waited until we came up.”
“That’s about it. Though frankly, I didn’t think you would come up. I thought you’d had it.”
“That didn’t mean a thing to you of course.”
He shrugged. “It’s not that we bear you any malice, old chap, don’t think that, but you did not us in a bit of a bit of a spot, didn’t you? Once you’d found the boat, what could we do?”
I said, “Who shot the holes in her—Scott?”
“Who else?”
“And who killed Scott?”
“You know,” he said, “I’d have thought you’d have learned the dangers of curiosity by now.”
“You don’t imagine you’ll get away with this, do you?”
“Why not?—we practically have.”
Mollie said, “That’s what you think.”
By now, Thornton and Blake had beached their dinghy and were strolling slowly along the sand towards us. The calm, leisurely way in which everyone was behaving was enough to send a chill down the spine. They seemed so sure of themselves. Thornton even stopped once to gaze down into a pool as he picked his way over a pile of rocks. They might have been any couple of yachtsmen taking a pleasant constitutional ashore before supper. That, no doubt, was the idea.
When they reached us, they also sat down. Thornton had a gun, too. I’d never really studied him before, but now I did, and I didn’t at all like what I saw. His affability at our first meeting had been the thinnest of veneers. He had very cold, light blue eyes, and a tight, ugly mouth that turned down at the corners. It was a tough face, empty of pity. He gave us barely a glance.
Mellor said, “Well, here they are—they walked straight into my arms. What are we going to do with them?”
“We’ll take them along to the boat,” Thornton said. His tone was authoritative—there was no doubt that he was the boss. Blake, by comparison, seemed a nonentity. Unlike Mellor and Thornton, Blake was lo
oking, I thought, a bit unhappy about things.
Mollie said, “We’ll need our clothes.”
Thornton gazed along the beach, as though considering whether it was dark enough to start moving. Then he got to his feet. “All right, we’ll pick them up on the way. Tony, you bring the gear.”
Blake hoisted our two aqualungs on to his shoulders. Mellor said, “Okay, Curtis, get cracking—I’m right behind you.”
I set off towards the rocks where we’d left our things. Mollie walked beside me. We had a bit of a job finding the clothes in the failing light, but a gleam of white brought us to them in the end. Thornton took charge of Mollie. He stood watching her from the top of a rock while she dressed, but I doubted if he had a thought in his mind but jewels. I gave myself a vigorous towelling and got gratefully into my clothes. I left my swimming shorts lying in the sand, in the desperate hope that someone would find them and do something about it, but Mellor noticed them and made me pick them up. “It’s no good, old chap,” he said, “we don’t miss a trick.”
In a few moments, Mollie returned with Thornton and we all moved down to the dinghy. At the water’s edge, Thornton said, “You do understand, don’t you, that if there’s any nonsense you’ll both be shot out of hand!” He watched while Mellor pushed the dinghy out. Then he told me to get in and take the oars. Mollie was placed in the bows. Mellor and Thornton sat facing us on the stern seat, their guns ready. Blake pushed us off, and I began to row. It seemed hopeless to try anything. The dinghy was a beamy boat and I didn’t think it would upset easily. In any case, we’d probably be dead before we reached the water. I kept rowing, and in a few moments we were alongside Curlew. Thornton ordered me up the short ladder and followed me into the cockpit. Mellor came aboard behind Mollie. Mellor stayed with us while Thornton took the dinghy back for Blake and the gear. They were an efficient team.
