‘You mean you’re not sure about what you just told me—about the cargo?’
He didn’t say anything for a moment, but just sat there, hunched over his drink, smoking. You could feel his nerves in the stillness of the cabin. ‘I want you to take me out there,’ he said finally. ‘You and Duncan.’ He turned, leaning towards us. ‘You’ve been in marine insurance, haven’t you, Sands? You know how to fix up a salvage contract. Now listen. When will your boat be ready?’
‘Not till the end of the month,’ Mike said, and the way he said it was a warning to me that he didn’t want to have anything to do with it.
‘All right. The end of the month. I’ll come back then. Have you got an underwater camera?’ And when I nodded he leaned forward earnestly. ‘You could take a picture then of the damage to the for’ard holds. The insurance people would give you a lot of money for that—and for pictures of the cargo.’ And then he added, ‘And if I’m wrong, then there’s quarter of a million pounds worth of aero engines—enough salvage to set you up in a big way. Well?’ His eyes moved quickly, nervously, from one to the other of us.
‘You know very well I can’t agree to a proposition like that,’ I said. And Mike added, ‘I think you should put the whole matter in the hands of the authorities.’
‘No. No, I can’t do that.’
‘Why not?’ I asked.
‘Because I can’t.’ The tension was building up in him again. ‘Because I’m up against a company. I’ve a record behind me and they’ll twist things . . . I’ve been through all this before.’ Sweat was shining in beads on his forehead. ‘And there’s Higgins and the crew. Everything is against me.’
‘But if the Receiver of Wreck made an examination—’
‘I tell you, No. I’m not having the Receiver of Wreck out there—or anybody.’ He was staring at me wildly. ‘Can’t you understand—I’ve got to go back there myself.’
‘No, I can’t,’ I said. ‘If you refused Dellimare’s offer, you’ve nothing to worry about. Why conceal the fact that you beached her on the Minkies?’ And when he didn’t answer, I said, ‘Why do you have to go back? What the devil is there on that ship that you’ve got to go back for?’
‘Nothing. Nothing.’ His voice quivered in tune with his nerves.
‘Yes there is,’ I said. ‘There’s something drawing you back to her as though—’
‘There’s nothing,’ he shouted at me.
‘Then why not tell the authorities where she is? What is it you’re afraid of?’
His fist crashed down on the table top. ‘Stop it! Questions . . . questions . . . nothing but questions. I’ve had enough of it, do you hear?’ He got abruptly to his feet and stood, staring down at us. He was trembling all over.
I think he was on the verge of telling us something. I think he wanted to tell us. But instead he seemed to get a grip of himself. ‘Then you won’t take me out there?’ There was a note of resignation in his voice.
‘No,’ I said.
He seemed to accept that and he stood there, his body slack, staring down at the table. I got him to sit down again and gave him another drink. He stayed on to supper. He was very quiet and he didn’t talk much. I didn’t get anything more out of him. He seemed shut away inside himself. When he left he gave me his address. He was in lodgings in London. He said he’d come down at the end of the month and see if we’d changed our minds. I saw him out across the darkened yard and then walked slowly back through the dark shapes of the slipped boats.
‘Poor devil!’ Mike said, as I went below again. ‘Do you think Dellimare really offered him five thousand to wreck the ship?’
‘God knows!’ I said. I didn’t know what to think. It seemed to me that perhaps Patch might be a psychological case—a man whose balance had been destroyed because of the ship he had lost before. ‘I know almost nothing about the man,’ I murmured. But that wasn’t true. You can’t live through what we’d lived through together without knowing a good deal about a man. He was tough. He had great reserves. And I admired him. I almost wished I’d agreed to take him out to the Minkies—just to discover the truth. I told Mike the whole story then, all the little details I’d left out when I rejoined Sea Witch in Peter Port. And after I had finished, he said, ‘It’s a hell of a situation for him if the cargo really has been switched.’
I knew what he meant. He was thinking of the insurance companies, and, having worked for seven years in the marine section of Lloyd’s, I knew very well that once they got their teeth into a claim, they’d never let go.
I worried a lot about this during the fitting out. But a few days after Patch had visited us, I received notification of the date of the Formal Investigation and I comforted myself with the thought that it would all be resolved then.
Sea Witch was ready sooner than we had dared to hope. We sailed on Tuesday, April 27, motoring down to the Solent and then heading westward under full canvas with a light northerly wind. I hadn’t seen Patch again, but I couldn’t help thinking that the wind was fair for the Channel Islands. Twenty-four hours’ sailing would have taken us to the Minkies, and the forecast couldn’t have been better—continental weather with a belt of high pressure over the Azores. We had Mike’s old diving friend, Ian Baird, with us again, and with three of us working we could have got into the Mary Deare’s holds and checked that cargo and still got back for the Investigation. And as Sea Witch leaned to the breeze, her new sails gleaming white in the sunlight, I felt none of the elation that I should have felt at the start of this venture that Mike and I had dreamed about for so long.
The devil of it was that, now I was at sea, I remembered things I had forgotten in the bustle of fitting out. Patch had saved my life and, though he hadn’t referred to it that night he had come to see us at Lymington, I could remember the desperation that had prompted him to remind me of it in Paimpol. I had the sense of a debt owed, but not paid.
It wasn’t only that I felt I had failed in an obligation. Sitting there, with my hands on the wheel, feeling the ship lift to the swell and hearing the water creaming past, I wondered whether it wasn’t fear that was directing my course west towards Worbarrow Bay, instead of south to the Minkies. I had seen the Plateau des Minquiers in bad conditions, and deep down in my heart I knew I was scared of the place.
And the irony of it was that for four days we dived in Worbarrow Bay in conditions that were as perfect as I have ever seen them in the Channel—clear blue skies and a calm sea ruffled by only the slightest of breezes. The only limiting factor was the coldness of the water which affected us after a time, even though we were using our heaviest foam rubber suits. In those four days we located and buoyed the wreck of the L.C.T., cut through into the engine-room and cleared the way for lifting out the main engines, work that we had feared might take anything up to a month.
In the same time, if I had had the nerve to take the gamble, we could have cut our way into each of the Mary Deare’s holds. I thought about it sometimes as I worked down in the green depths with Sea Witch’s hull a dark shape in the translucent sea above me, and at night the tally of the day’s work seemed a reproach and I turned into my bunk in a mood of depression.
It was almost with relief that I woke on the Sunday to a grey dawn misted with rain and a forecast that announced a deep depression over the Atlantic moving eastward. By midday the seas were beginning to break; we got the anchors up and plugged it on the engine against a strong westerly wind for the shelter of Lulworth Cove.
I left early next morning for Southampton. It was stormy, and the downland hills, that crooked chalk fingers round the natural lagoon of the cove, were a gloomy green, shrouded in curtains of driving rain. Big seas piled up in the narrow entrance, filling the cove with an ugly swell, which broke in a roar on the shingle beach. Gusts of wind funnelled into the cove from the tops of the downs, flattening the water in sudden, violent swirls. Nobody was about. The whole chalk basin—so regular in its circle that it might have been the flooded crater of an extinct volcano—
was deserted. There was only Sea Witch, rolling heavily, and the gulls, like scraps of paper, whirled about by the wind.
‘Better set an anchor watch if it gets any worse,’ I told Mike as he rowed me ashore. ‘It’s not very good holding ground here.’
He nodded, his face unnaturally solemn under his sou’wester. ‘What are you going to do if things go against him at this Enquiry?’ he asked.
‘Nothing,’ I replied and my voice sounded peevish against the blatter of the wind. I was tired. I think we were both pretty tired. We had been diving hard for four days. ‘If I’d been going to do anything,’ I added, ‘the time to do it was last week, when we sailed from Lymington. The worst that can happen to him is that they’ll cancel his Master’s Certificate again.’ Mike didn’t say anything. His yellow oilskins gleamed with water in the grey light as he moved rhythmically back and forth to the swing of the oars, and over his shoulders the houses of Lulworth stood silent, with a grey, shut look, on the flank of the hill.
The dinghy grounded with a sudden jar and Mike jumped out into the backwash of a wave and hauled it up so that I could step out dry-footed in my shore-going clothes. We stood there in the rain for a moment, talking about ordinary, mundane things, things that had to be done around the boat. And then, as I turned to climb the beach, he checked me. ‘I just want you to know, John . . .’ He hesitated, and then said, ‘As far as I’m concerned you’re free to make any decision you like—whatever the risk.’
‘It’s very decent of you, Mike,’ I said. ‘But I don’t think—’
‘It’s not a question of being decent.’ He was grinning. ‘I just don’t like working with a man who’s got something on his mind.’ He left me then and pushed out in the dinghy, and I climbed the steep slope of the beach to the road where the bus was waiting for me.
2
IT WAS ALMOST eleven when I reached the court. I was late and the corridor leading to the courtroom was almost empty. The letter requesting my attendance gave me the guidance of one of the officials and as we reached a small door leading into the court, it opened and Snetterton came out. ‘Ah, Mr Sands.’ He blinked at me. ‘Come to see the fun, eh?’
‘I’m here as a witness,’ I said.
‘Yes, yes, of course. Pity to drag you away from your diving. Heard you had started work on that wreck in Worbarrow Bay.’ He hesitated and then said, ‘You know, we seriously considered approaching you over the question of the Mary Deare. We were going to try an asdic search. But then some new information came up and it became unnecessary.’
‘What new information?’ I was wondering whether the Mary Deare had been found. The weather had been bad during most of April, but there was always the chance . . .
‘You’ll see, Mr Sands. Interesting case, most interesting . . .’ And he hurried off down the corridor.
The official opened the door for me then and I went into the court. ‘The seats for witnesses are on the right, sir,’ he whispered. There was no need for him to have whispered. The room was full of the murmur of voices. I stood there in the doorway, a little dazed. There were many more people than I had expected. The whole court seemed crammed to overflowing; only in the public gallery was there any vacant space. The witnesses were crowded into the seats usually occupied by jurymen called but not serving and some of them had spilled over into the jury box itself. Patch I saw at once, sitting well down towards the front, his face pale and taut, but harder now, like a man who knows what is coming and has nerved himself to meet it. Behind him, and to the right, the crew were clustered in a little hard knot round Higgins’s solid bulk. They looked awkward and ill-at-ease, a little exotic in their new shore-going clothes. Fraser, the captain of the Channel packet that had picked us up, was there, too, and, sitting beside him, was Janet Taggart. She gave me a quick smile, tight-lipped and a little wan, and I wondered why the devil they needed to drag her in as a witness.
And then somebody was signalling me from just behind her and, as he craned his neck up, I saw it was Hal. I pushed my way down the row and squeezed in beside him. ‘I didn’t expect to find you here,’ I whispered.
‘Very important witness,’ he said. ‘Don’t forget that it was I who first reported the ship as a derelict hulk containing the person of my erstwhile and somewhat foolhardy skipper.’ He smiled at me out of the corners of his eyes. ‘Anyway, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Going to be a damned interesting case if you ask me.’
At the time I had entered, men in various parts of the court, but chiefly on the side across from me, were standing up to give their names and state their business and who they represented. There were a surprising number of them, for, besides the insurance companies and the owners, the builders of the Mary Deare were represented, the Marine Officers’ Association, the Radio Operators’ Association, the various unions; there was even a solicitor appearing for the relatives of Captain Taggart, deceased.
The atmosphere was very informal by comparison with a court of law—no wigs, no gowns, no police, no jury. Even the judge and his three assessors wore lounge suits. Across the court from where I sat the desks were occupied by the various counsel appearing for interested parties. They were very crowded. The witness box nearby stood empty and beyond was the Press desk with two reporters at it. On our side of the court the desks were occupied by the Treasury counsel and his junior and the Treasury solicitors and assistants.
Hal leaned towards me. ‘Do you know who’s representing the insurance people?’ he whispered.
I shook my head. I had no information about the legal representatives. All I knew was that a Mr Bowen-Lodge Q.C. was chairman of the Enquiry.
‘Sir Lionel Falcett. About the most expensive man they could have got.’ His blue eyes darted me a quick glance. ‘Significant, eh?’
I glanced down at Patch. And then I was remembering that I, too, might have to go into the witness box, and all the counsel had the right to cross-examine.
A hush slowly spread through the room. The Chairman, who had been engaged in earnest discussion with his assessors, had turned and faced the court. As soon as there was complete silence he began his opening address. ‘Gentlemen. This Court meets here today, as you are well aware, to investigate the loss of the steamship Mary Deare. It will be the duty of the Court to examine, not only the circumstances of the loss itself, but all the relevant factors that may possibly have contributed to that loss. The scope of this investigation, therefore, covers the state of the ship at the time she started on her ill-fated voyage from Yokohama, her sea-worthiness, the condition of her machinery, the nature of her cargo and the manner of its stowage, and, in particular, the state of her fire-fighting equipment. It covers also the behaviour and conduct of all those concerned in the running of the vessel to the extent that they may or may not have contributed to the disaster.
‘For disaster it was, gentlemen. Out of a total crew of thirty-two, no less than twelve men—over a third of the ship’s complement—lost their lives. Moreover, the captain died during the voyage and a director of the company owning the vessel is reported missing. It is a sad business that we are investigating and it is possible that relatives of men who lost their lives may be present in this courtroom today. I, therefore, consider it my duty to remind you that this is a Formal Enquiry to determine the cause of this disaster and, whilst I am anxious that proper respect should be paid to the dead and that no advantage should be taken of men who, through death, are unable to testify, I would impress upon you that we are here to investigate this whole terrible business thoroughly and impartially.’ Bowen-Lodge leaned a little forward. ‘I will now call on Mr Holland to open proceedings on behalf of the Ministry of Transport.’
Holland might have been a banker or perhaps a stockbroker. Whereas the judge, despite his sour, dyspeptic-looking features, had comprehended the tragedy that lay behind the Enquiry and had filled the court with the drama of it, this tall, smooth-faced barrister with the sleek head of black hair had a cold-blooded urbanity of manner that suggest
ed an interest in figures rather than the frailties of human behaviour.
‘Mr Learned Chairman.’ He had risen and was facing the judge and the three assessors, his hands thrust into the pockets of his jacket. ‘I think I should bring to your notice at the outset that the Receiver of Wreck, in his report to the Minister, stressed that in several particulars the evidence of the survivors was conflicting. As you know, in cases of this nature, the Receiver of Wreck prepares his report on the basis of depositions in writing. These depositions are made under oath. I do not propose, therefore, to outline in detail the events leading up to the disaster or the disaster itself. I will confine myself to a brief statement of the established facts concerning the voyage and leave the details—the story as it were—to emerge from the evidence of the various witnesses.’
He paused and glanced down at his notes. Then he faced the courtroom itself and in a smooth, rather bored voice summarised the events of the voyage.
The Mary Deare had been purchased by the Dellimare Trading and Shipping Company in June of the previous year. She had belonged to a Burmese company and for two years had been laid-up in a creek near Yokohama. On completion of the purchase she had been towed into Yokohama for a complete overhaul. On November 18 she had been granted a seaworthy certificate to cover a single voyage to Antwerp and thence to England where she was to be broken up. On December 2 she completed coaling. On December 4 she began loading her cargo. This consisted of 148 war surplus aircraft engines of American manufacture, including 56 jet engines for a particular fighter in use with N.A.T.O. forces. In addition to this cargo, which was destined for Antwerp and was distributed fairly equally over the four holds, a large quantity of Japanese cotton and rayon goods were loaded. This part of the cargo was destined for Rangoon and was, therefore, loaded on top of the aircraft engines. The whole of the cargo, including the engines was the property of the Hsu Trading Corporation, a very large and influential Chinese merchanting organisation in Singapore.
The Wreck of the Mary Deare Page 12
