Maddon's Rock

by Hammond Innes

  “Did Captain Halsey know they weren’t seaworthy?” I still had the whole weight of my body thrusting at his twisted arm.

  “Yes,” he screamed.

  “When did you find out?” I asked then. He struggled. I heard Bert’s fist hit him again. I felt sick. But we had to get the truth out of him. I clenched my teeth. “When did you find out?”

  “When I reported to the bridge,” he answered thickly.

  So—he knew the boats were unseaworthy. Halsey had told him. Twenty-three men had been murdered. And this stupid fool could have saved them. I saw red then. I wrenched his arm so that he was doubled up with his head to the floor. He began to scream with the terror of what he had told us. Bert silenced him with his foot. “What a beastly swine,” Bert muttered. He was beside himself with anger.

  I pulled Rankin back to the bunk. “Now you’ve told us so much,” I said, “you’d better tell us the rest. And make it quick. You’re as guilty of the murder of those men as if you’d slit their throats with your own hands. What did Halsey offer you to keep your rotten little mouth shut?”

  “All right, I’ll tell you,” Rankin breathed. “I’ll tell you everything.”

  “What did he offer you?” I repeated.

  “Money,” he replied. “A share of the silver.” And then in quick succession, “It wasn’t any of my business. He was the captain. It wasn’t my idea, I tell you. He’d have killed me along with the rest if I hadn’t done what he’d said. I couldn’t do anything to save them. I couldn’t help them. You must believe that. It was nothing to do with me. I——”

  “Shut up!” My voice was thick with anger and the horror of what he’d done and what he was. “You were a Warrant Officer in the Royal Navy. You could have stopped it if you’d any guts—and if you’d wanted to. You’re as guilty as Halsey.”

  He stared at me unbelievingly, his eyes wide with fear.

  “Now then,” I said. “When we’d abandoned ship—what happened then?”

  “We—we got into the Captain’s boat and drifted——” His voice trailed away as I caught hold of his collar. The way he spoke, the look in his eyes—I knew he wasn’t speaking the truth. Then before I had hit him, he cringed away and said, “All right. I’ll tell you. I knew it had to come. I’ve known that all along. I’ve been scared stiff ever since it happened.”

  “Well?” I asked.

  “We—we got the Trikkala’s engines going again. There was a device for sealing off the hole in the ship’s side. It was all planned.”

  “All planned?” I echoed. Then all the little inexplicable things on the Trikkala fell into place. “You mean it wasn’t a mine?” I asked.

  “No. Just cans packed with cordite.”

  “And then?”

  “We sailed.”

  “Where to?” I asked. I was excited now. Here at last was proof. The Trikkala afloat and hidden in some port under another name. “Where to?” I repeated.

  “I don’t know,” he began. Then, as he saw me leaning towards him, he hurried on, “No—I just meant I don’t know the position.” I had seized his arm again. “Let go,” he screamed in a panic. “Let go, for God’s sake.”

  “Where did you sail to?” I asked again.

  “Towards Spitzbergen,” he murmured. “An island called Maddon’s Rock—near Bear Island. We beached her there—through a gap in the reefs—on a little patch of beach to the east of the island.”

  “’E’s lyin’, Jim,” Bert whispered. “Beached ’er on an island—that’s a jolly likely tale, I don’t fink. I can see that brute, ’Alsey, leavin’ ’alf a million quid lyin’ rottin’ on an island for a year.”

  Rankin heard him. “It’s the truth,” he blubbered, half crying with fear. “I tell you it’s the truth.” And then as Bert leaned over him he added quickly, “We beached her on Maddon’s Rock. That’s the truth, I swear it. We beached her, silver and all.” He was almost whimpering with fear.

  I pulled Bert back. “He’d never make up a story as incredible as that,” I said. “Having told us enough to hang himself, he wouldn’t have lied about the rest.”

  Bert brow was furrowed. “It don’t seem ter make sense to me,” he muttered. His head jerked up. A door had banged. “Wot’s that?” he asked.

  I switched the radio down. Footsteps sounded in the passageway. They stopped outside the door of the cabin. I saw the handle turn. There was no time to do anything. We just stood there. The door opened, framing the figure of a man in the dark gap. Gilt buttons gleamed and a collar showed white. The rest merged into the background. Then he stepped forward into the cabin.

  It was Halsey.

  He had taken in the scene at a glance. His eyes jerked to the handle of the door. And then back to Rankin. If there’d been a key in the lock he’d have slammed the door to and locked us in. But there wasn’t. He stood in the doorway and for a moment he was uncertain what to do. His eyes came to rest on me. And as I met his gaze I felt all the courage drain out of me. I was scared. A year in a place like Dartmoor makes you subservient to authority. And the power of authority was vested in this man. His personality dominated the cabin the moment he entered. His uncertainty was gone in a flash. His eyes were cold, authoritative as he said, “You fool, Vardy. You’ve escaped from prison. That’s nothing to do with me. But you come here and beat up one of my officers—that does concern me. You’re a convict and you come here and beat up the man who sent you down. A Court will give you a heavy sentence for an act of revenge that——”

  “I didn’t come here for revenge,” I interrupted him. My throat felt dry and my voice sounded unnatural.

  His eyes narrowed. “Then what did you come here for?” he asked.

  “I wanted the truth,” I replied.

  “The truth!” He looked at Rankin. “What have you been telling them?” His voice was cold and menacing.

  Rankin’s fat bulk seemed to wilt. “I didn’t tell them anything,” he whined. “I told them nothing, I tell you.” He was cringing against the cabin wall, his body tucked up on his bunk.

  “What did you tell them?” Halsey repeated.

  “Nothing. Lies. Anything that came into my head. They were breaking my arm. I said nothing. I——”

  Halsey cut him short with a gesture of disgust and turned to me. “What did he tell you?”

  I found myself looking into those black eyes, and I was suddenly no longer afraid. I was thinking of Sills and the cook, of all the men crowded into that boat. And this was the man who had sent them to their deaths.

  “What did he tell you?” His voice was less controlled now and in his eyes was the same expression that I had seen when Jennings had mentioned the Penang. And I suddenly knew that he was scared.

  “He told me how you murdered twenty-three men,” I said.

  I saw his hands clench as he took a grip of himself. He suddenly laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. It seemed to cling to the walls of the cabin. It was a wild, uncontrolled laugh. “Murder?”

  “Murder and piracy,” I said.

  “Try and prove it,” he snarled.

  “I will,” I answered him.

  “How?” His eyes were watching me like a cat.

  “I know where the Trikkala is,” I said. “A reconnaissance plane can be there——”

  But he wasn’t listening. He had swung round on Rankin. “You lying, drunken sot,” he said. “What did you tell them?”

  And Rankin, his body quivering with fear, seemed to brace himself with his hands clenched to the edge of the bunk and said, “I told them the truth.” Halsey stood watching him. Rankin’s sudden unexpected bravado collapsed. “I didn’t mean that. I don’t know what I’m saying. I told them a lot of lies.” He stretched a white hand out to the bottle of whisky and poured himself a drink. The neck of the bottle clattered against the rim of the glass.

  Halsey turned to me. “What is truth?” he asked, smiling in his beard. “A man says one thing one minute, another thing the next. Is that truth? You think I’m a
murderer and a pirate. Well, go and tell the police. Tell them what you like and see if they’ll believe you. See if they’ll believe the droolings of a drunk who’ll tell a different story to-morrow.” He laughed. “You beat Rankin up out of sheer spite. That’s what they’ll believe. If you go to the police, all they’ll do is to give you a longer stretch.”

  “They may not believe me at first,” I said. “But they will when they know that the Trikkala did not sink.”

  “For Gawd’s sake—let’s get a’t of ’ere.” Bert was plucking at my sleeve.

  But I shook him off. I was thinking of those men in the boats. And this cold-blooded devil stood there laughing in his beard. “You can’t get away with murder when the evidence of your guilt still exists. The Trikkala is my witness. You may get away with murder and piracy in the China Seas, but not in this country you won’t.”

  At the mention of the China Seas his eyes glittered wildly. His hands clenched. I suddenly realised that he was wrought up to a pitch of madness. One more thrust and his brain might topple into the past. “How many men did you cold-bloodedly send to their death when you were master of the Penang?” I asked him.

  I thought he would rush at me. If he’d had a gun in his hand he’d have shot me then. A cold madness glazed his eyes. “What do you know of that?” he asked. And then with sudden lucidity: “You know nothing. You tried to bring it up at the trial. But you knew nothing.”

  “I knew nothing—then,” I said.

  His eyes glittered. “God?” he cried, with an extravagant, theatrical gesture. “Does death not stop their mouths, but they must come to me in the guise of convicts? Is nothing secret? Can they rise up through fathoms of salt water to accuse me of what was their inevitable and pre-destined end?” I do not know whether he was quoting from some old play or whether he had made up those words. But the next passage I recognised—Macbeth in the great banquet hall of Duncan’s palace. “The times have been” he cried, “that, when the brains were out, the man would die, and there an end; but now they rise again, with twenty mortal murders on their crowns.” He stopped then, panting. I realised suddenly that reality had no substance for him. He transmitted life into words and so felt neither pity, sorrow, nor affection.

  “For God’s sake stop your play-acting,” I said. “Does murder mean no more to you than an opportunity to rant Shakespeare?”

  “Play-acting?” he snarled. His eyes had widened and his breathing seemed to have stopped.

  I remembered then what the Trikkala’s cook had said. “Why do you hide yourself behind a beard?” I cried. “Are you an actor that’s afraid to show his face to the world?”

  I thought he was coming at me with his bare hands. Each individual hair of his wiry beard seemed to stand out against the sudden pallor of his skin.

  “For Gawd’s sake,” Bert whispered impatiently. “’E gives me the creeps. Let’s get cracking.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  Halsey didn’t try to stop us. He seemed dazed. I don’t believe he saw us go. His eyes were dull as though they saw things beyond the tiny cabin.

  The cold night air was like a breath of sanity. We crossed the gang-plank and hurried along the wharf.

  “That bird oughter be in a loony-bin,” Bert muttered as we threaded through dark alleyways towards the lights of Newcastle. “Wot’s the next move, guvner? Reckon the police would swallow a tale like that? I s’ppose Rankin was tellin’ the truth?”

  “Yes,” I said. “He’d never have made up a story like that. But Halsey’s sane enough in his reasoning. The police won’t believe a word of it. And Rankin would deny the whole story. We’ve got to get proof,” I added.

  “Proof!” Bert laughed derisively. “The only proof we got is beached on a rock near Spitzbergen.”

  “If only Halsey hadn’t turned up when he did,” I said. “I was planning to get a written confession out of Rankin. As it is, he’d say we’d beaten him up for revenge. We’d be in a hell of a spot.”

  “They might send a plane to investigate, like you said,” Bert suggested hopefully.

  “What, with Halsey making an open bid to salvage the bullion,” I said. “They’d laugh at us. That’s what’s so devilishly clever about the whole thing. This isn’t a hole-in-the-corner business. Halsey has organised it in a blaze of publicity. Even if we’d got a signed statement out of Rankin, I doubt whether the police would have paid much attention to it. Rankin would say we’d forced him to write the nonsense in order to try and clear ourselves. No, the only way we’ll be able to convince the authorities is by going out to Maddon’s Rock and bringing back a bar or two of the bullion.”

  “An’ ’ow the ’ell d’yer fink we’re going ter do that, chum? Spitzbergen, ’e said. An’ even I know where that is—way up in the ruddy Harctic, that’s where. We’d ’ave ter ’ave a boat.” He suddenly seized my arm. “A boat! Blimey—I wonder if Miss Jennifer——”

  “Just what I was wondering, Bert,” I said. It was just a chance. A 25-ton ketch with an auxiliary engine—it might make it. “We’ll go to Oban,” I said.

  “’Ere, ’old on a minute, guvner,” Bert said. “Yer just kiddin’ yerself, that’s all. We’d never make it. I ain’t a sailor. We’d need two more for crew. And—well, I reck’n we’d be a lot safer in Dartmoor.”

  “Safer,” I agreed. “But not so happy. There’s just a chance we might make it. And it’s the only chance that I can see. Let’s go up, anyway. I’d like to see Jenny again.”

  “Okay,” he said gloomily. “The ruddy Harctic, it is. But don’t say I didn’t warn yer. Gawd! Why wasn’t I in a reservated occipation?”

  At that moment we came out into a busy thoroughfare full of lights. We took a bus to the outskirts of the town and at a roadside café we found a lorry going north to Edinburgh.

  CHAPTER VII

  MADDON’S ROCK

  WE REACHED OBAN shortly after midday on Sunday, 17th March. The sun shone and the water between the town and the island of Kerrera looked almost blue. Beyond Kerrera, the mountains of Mull stood out clear and brown in the rain-washed atmosphere. We hitched a ride to Connel Ferry and there we were directed to the Sorrels’ house. It stood back from the road on a sloping hillside surrounded by pines. From the drive we could see past the iron girders of the railway bridge that spanned the narrow, racing waters of Loch Etive out to the Morvern hills. And eastward, through a gap in the first we got a glimpse of the lofty mass of Ben Cruachan. The tip of it gleamed white in the sunlight with the remains of the winter’s snow.

  An old woman opened the door to us. I told her my name and she disappeared. “Reck’n you oughter’ve telephoned,” Bert said. “S’ppose she don’t want ter see us. I mean it ain’t as if we was respec’able. Don’t ferget we’re a couple o’ escaped convic’s.”

  Until he spoke of it, I don’t think it had occurred to me that our presence might be an embarrassment. I had no claims on Jenny and yet I had turned to her naturally, taking it for granted that she would assist us as though she were my own kin. I had been so excited at the thought of seeing her again that I had not considered it from her point of view. But standing there on the doorstep of what was obviously a respectable Scottish home, I felt like a trespasser. For all I knew her father might be a local Justice of the Peace.

  The old woman returned and led us down a long carpeted passage. She opened a door and we found ourselves in a big book-lined study with french windows leading out on to lawns sloping away towards the loch. A fire blazed cheerfully in a big open hearth. It was Jenny’s father who came forward to meet us. “We have been expecting you,” he said, shaking me by the hand.

  “Expecting us?” I echoed in astonishment.

  “Yes,” he said, smiling and leading us to the fire. “You see I’ve little else to do these days but read the papers. As soon as I showed her the paragraph about your escape, she was sure that if you succeeded you’d come here. She’ll be sorry she’s not here to welcome you. She’s away to Mull about some fowl the
MacLeods have promised her.” And he went on talking quietly in his soft Highland voice until I felt as though I’d arrived home after a long journey.

  I don’t know what we said or how much we told him then. Looking back on it, all I can remember is that he gave us the nicest welcome any man could give to two tired wanderers. The warmth of his personality, like the warmth of the fire, gave us a delightful sense of ease and relaxation. Peace stole over my taut nerves and I became drowsy with the luxury of feeling that I was amongst friends, no longer on the run with every man’s hand turned against me.

  He gave us tea—a real Scots tea with all sorts of homemade scones and girdle cakes, home-made jam and farm butter. And when we had finished he said, “Jim, if you’re not feeling too weary and would care for a walk, you’d just about be in time to meet Jenny coming up from the village. She said she’d be back by four. Bert and I will have a wee chat whilst you’re gone.” And his blue eyes twinkled at me from beneath the shaggy white brows.

  He came with me to the door. “We anchor the Eilean Mor down under Dunstaffnage Castle,” he said. “You can’t miss it. Go through Connel and you’ll see it amongst some trees on a promontory across a little inlet of water. She’ll be coming ashore in the dinghy at Dunbeg.” He paused in the open doorway and put his hand on my shoulder. “She’ll be glad to know you’re safe,” he said. “And don’t be worryin’ yourself about staying here. We’ll be glad to have you. And you’ll be safe here. We’ll consider what’s be to done about you later.”

  I didn’t know what to say. I tried to thank him. But he pushed me gently out into the drive and closed the door.

  As I walked down to the cold waters of the loch I could not believe there was such a place as Dartmoor.

  I reached the road and followed it through Connel till I was clear of the houses and had a view across a little inlet of water. The wavelets sparkled in the westering sun. The pebble beach shone yellow. And there was Dunstaffnage Castle, its mellow stone merging into the trees that half hid it from view. And out beyond the tip of the little promontory a small ship stood in towards the shore under a press of white canvas, heeling gracefully to the wind that blew down the loch.