Night Of Error

by Desmond Bagley

  When I finished he said, 'You will write all this down and sign it, please. I am going to allow you to return to your ship, but you will see that you and all your crew are confined to quarters on board. There will be a police guard.'

  He was interrupted by the return of the officer he had sent out, who came straight to his side and whispered agitatedly to him. They both got up to look out of the window and went on speaking in urgent undertones, in French. And somehow I guessed what they were talking about.

  'It's Hadley, isn't it?'

  He turned to face me.

  'You've let him get away, haven't you? You've let that murderous thug walk out of here!'

  He nodded heavily. 'Yes, he has apparently left. You must understand that there was no reason to hold him, after he placed the information and made a deposition. We would not expect him to leave here – it is his home port.'

  Something about the way he spoke told me that he was deeply troubled, to the point of forgetting that he was speaking to a man under arrest. I could guess why. Hadley was surely known here as a tough and a trouble-maker. The police may well have had him under surveillance already, for his connections with Mark and Norgaard, and for all I knew for a score of other things. And in letting him get away M. Chamant had blotted his own copybook rather badly. I was furious and exultant at the same time.

  He got himself in hand and gave instructions to take me back to Esmerelda, and I was only too happy to go. House arrest seemed insignificant compared to being locked up in a cell. I went on board and was not particularly bothered by the sight of armed police dotted about, a couple on deck and more on the quayside, and a little knot of spectators shifting about as if waiting for a show to begin. In fact I managed a grin and a half-wave at them as I was ushered below, to their delight and the guard's disapproval.

  There was a babble of voices at my return and the same air of tense expectancy as on the dockside, only here it was tinged with anxiety and bafflement. They all crowded around me and started firing questions.

  'Wait up!' I held them off goodnaturedly. 'Plenty of time -too much, if anything. First, I want a wash-up and about a gallon of coffee and some food. Who's cook?'

  I headed determinedly for my cabin to get a change of clothes, leaving the others to see to my inner comforts – and was brought up by the sight of Geordie, still in his bunk in the cabin we'd been sharing all along.

  'Geordie! What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn't you be in the hospital?' I was already seething at this inhuman treatment, but he waved me down casually.

  'I'm fine, boy. It's good to see you. What happened to you?'

  'Geordie, I'll tell you together with the rest, once I've washed and had some coffee. Are you sure you're all right?'

  But in fact he looked a lot better, and I could see that his face had been professionally attended to, with neat stitches and tidier bandaging. As I stripped he said, They wanted to cart me off but I sat firm. There's nothing wrong with me that their pretty visiting nurse can't fix. I'd get her to take a look at you too.'

  He nodded at my hands, still partly covered with burnt skin, though they had started to heal pretty well on the short trip back. I completed a quick ablution and was finally seated in the saloon over breakfast and surrounded by the whole of the crew of the Esmerelda – bar one. It was an immense relief not to see Kane's face among the others.

  I told them as much as they needed to know, reserving a few more private comments for Geordie and Campbell later.

  'He's a worried man, that Chamant. Was even when he saw me, and he has to be even more so now that Hadley's skipped,' Campbell said.

  'He saw you?'

  'Oh yes, and the girls too, and Ian – wanted to speak to Geordie but he was unaccountably sicker just then.' Geordie, propped up on a saloon berth, winked at me, and I realized that my news had cheered everyone up amazingly. Although we, and our ship, were all technically still under arrest it was clear that we weren't in any real trouble, thanks to the various bits of evidence I had offered the police chief, and we lacked only physical freedom – not any of the oppression of spirit that imprisonment usually meant.

  Tell me about your interview,' I asked Campbell.

  It had apparently been somewhat hilarious. Instead of being chastened at being caught with a small armoury under his bunk Campbell was airy and unconcerned about it, claiming that the guns were properly licensed, that he was a well-known collector and wouldn't dream of travelling without something for target practice, and that in any case only one of his guns had been fired – and that by his daughter, gallantly defending herself from attack by a shipload of murderous pirates. He was scathing about Clare's poor shooting and seemed not at all troubled by her having winged a man, only irked by her not having killed him outright. It appeared that while in Papeete, Kane had had a small bullet taken from his shoulder, ironically by the same doctor who tended to Geordie. He was not, it seemed, badly hurt, which disappointed Campbell considerably.

  He was soundly reproved for not having declared the guns on his arrival and was threatened with their confiscation, but IK he'd wangled his way out of that somehow; and had got away with their being sealed at the mouth for the duration of our stay.

  It turned out that the other gun that I had seen belonged to Nick Dugan, and he was similarly ticked off. According to Clare there had been at least two other small handguns in use during Esmerelda's fight with Pearl, but none of them surfaced during the search that was made, and I asked no questions. I also learned that Geordie had a shotgun on board which apart from being legally licenced, had even been declared by him to the Papeete customs – and was the only gun on board that had not seen some action.

  Campbell had blustered much as I had and had invoked all the powers he could think of to back his credentials, and apparently M. Chamant had done much what he had done with me – had let him speak at will, listened carefully, and had finally released him back to the ship with a fairly mild request that he write down an account of the affair. Everything pointed to our story being accepted, and indeed later that afternoon the guards began to let us all out on deck in twos and threes for some exercise, after they'd moved Esmerelda to a mooring buoy well away from the quayside. Things were looking up, and we all turned in that night a great deal happier than we'd been at the start of the day. * 5*

  A senior police official came on board next morning and took formal statements from everyone on board, which took a considerable time, though some of us had written them out in advance and needed only to sign them in the official presence. My camera was removed as well, and I prayed that my photography had been up to scratch. The doctor came to see Geordie again and Campbell cornered him and asked innumerable questions about the hospital on Tanakabu, and about the possibility of getting another doctor to go out there soon.

  We were all beginning to feel restless and uneasy. In spite of some relaxation, we were still confined to the ship and as they kept us battened down apart from whoever was being allowed on deck it was stifling and airless on board.

  Some time in the afternoon Geordie sent word that he'd like a word with me and so I went to his cabin. He was propped up in bed and surrounded by books. His face was still heavily bandaged but he was obviously much stronger and the effects of the concussion had long worn off.

  'Sit down, boy,' he said. 'I think I've found something.'

  To do with what?' I asked, though I could already guess. Several of the books were nautical and the Pilot was prominent among them. 'Has it got to do with those damned nodules?'

  'Yes, it has. Just listen awhile, will you?'

  I felt a small indefinite itch starting in the back of my skull. At the end of the terrible business on Tanakabu I had felt sickened of the whole search and had wanted nothing more to do with it. The nodules could lie on the seabed forever as far as I was concerned, and with the murder of Mark more or less exposed even the urge to lay that ghost had died away to a dull resignation. But now, deprived of ordinary activity, I c
ouldn't help feeling that it would be interesting to have the problem to chew on again, and my professional curiosity was rising to the surface once more. So I settled down to hear Geordie out without protest.

  'I was thinking of that lunatic Kane,' he said. 'He slipped up when he mentioned New Britain – the time he shouldn't have known about it. I got to thinking that maybe he'd slipped up again, so I started to think of all the things he ever said that I knew of, and I found this. It's very interesting light reading.'

  He handed me Volume Two of the Pacific Ocean Pilot opened at a particular page, and I began to read where he pointed. Before I had got to the bottom of the page my eyebrows had lifted in surprise. It was a lengthy passage and took some time to absorb, and when I had finished I said noncommittally, 'Very interesting, Geordie – but why?'

  He said carefully, 'I don't want to start any more hares-we blundered badly over Minerva – but I think that's the explanation of the other drawing in the diary. If it seems to fit in with your professional requirements, that is.'

  It did.

  'Let's get the boss in on this,' I said and he half-lifted himself from his bunk in delight. He'd played his fish and caught it.

  I got up and went to round up Campbell, Ian and Clare and brought them back to the cabin. 'Okay, Geordie. Begin at the beginning.' I could see that the others were as pleased as I had been to have something new to think about.

  'I was thinking about Kane,' Geordie said. 'I was going over in my mind everything he'd said. Then I remembered that when he'd seen Clare's drawings he'd called one of them a "scraggy falcon". We all saw it as an eagle, didn't we? So I checked on falcons in the Pilot and found there really is a Falcon Island. The local name is Fonua Fo'ou but it's sometimes called Falcon because it was discovered by HMS Falcon in 1865.'

  Clare said, 'But where's the "disappearing trick"?'

  'That's the joker,' I said. 'Falcon Island disappears.'

  'Now wait a minute,' said Campbell, a little alarmed. 'We've had enough of this nonsense with Minerva.'

  'It's not quite the same thing,' said Geordie. 'Recife de Minerve was a shoal – exact position unknown. Falcon, or Fonua Fo'ou, has had its position measured to a hair – but it isn't always there.'

  'What the hell do you mean by that?' Campbell exploded.

  Geordie grinned and said to me, 'You'd better tell them -you're the expert.'

  'Falcon Island is apparently the top of a submarine volcano of the cinder type,' I said soberly. 'Every so often it erupts and pumps out a few billion tons of ash and cinders, enough to form a sizeable island.' I referred to the Pilot. 'In 1889 it was over a mile square and about a hundred and fifty feet high; in April 1894 there wasn't anything except a shoal, but by December of the same year it was three miles long, one and a half miles wide, and fifty feet high.'

  I pointed to the pages. There's a long record of its coming and goings, but to bring it up to date- in 1930, Falcon was one and a quarter miles long and four hundred and seventy feet high. In 1949 it had vanished and there were nine fathoms of water in the same position.'

  I passed the book over to Campbell. 'What seems to happen is that the island gets washed away. The material coming out of the volcano would be pretty friable and a lot of it would be soluble in water.'

  He said, 'Does this tie in with your theory of nodule formation?'

  'It ties in perfectly. If these eruptions have been happening once every, say, twenty years, for the last hundred thousand years, that's a hell of a lot of material being pumped into the sea. The percentage of metals would be minute, but that doesn't matter. The process of nodule formation takes care of that – what metals there are would be scavenged and concentrated, ready to be picked up.'

  Campbell looked baffled. 'You come up with the damndest things,' he complained. 'First a reef that might or might not be there, and now a goddam disappearing island. What's the present state of this freak?'

  I looked at Geordie.

  'I don't know. I'll check up in the Pilot supplements – but they're often printed a little behind the times anyway. The locals may know.'

  'Where is Falcon or Fonua-whatsit – when it's available?'

  'In the Friendly Islands,' I said. Clare smiled at that. The Tongan group. It's about forty miles north of Tongatapu, the main island.'

  He frowned. 'That's a long way from Rabaul, and that's where the Suarez-Navarro crowd is. And it's a long way from here, where Mark was.'

  I said mildly, 'It's halfway between.'

  He nodded thoughtfully and we all chewed on it for a few minutes. After a while I spoke up. 'In the light of this information, I think it would be worth concentrating on Falcon – if you're carrying on, that is?' I looked enquiringly at Campbell.

  'Yes, of course I am,' he said energetically. His optimistic side was gaining steadily. 'You really think this will be worth trying?'

  Clare supported me. 'I was sure those drawings meant something.'

  'Minerva meant two months of wasted time,' Campbell said. 'What do you think, Geordie?'

  Geordie looked at me but with conviction. 'He's the expert.'

  Ian Lewis waited with courteous patience. He was prepared to go anywhere, and do anything that was wanted of him. In spite of the horror of Tanakabu he was having a wonderful time, away from the dullness of home life.

  The issue was settled for us while Campbell ruminated. A vagrant breeze from the open port flipped back a page or so of the Pilot and I happened to glance down. I looked at the page incredulously and began to laugh uncontrollably.

  Campbell said, 'For God's sake, what's so funny?'

  I dumped the book into Geordie's hands and he too began laughing. I said, 'It seems we looked at the wrong Minerva. Look – Minerva Reefs, two hundred and sixty miles southwest of Tongatapu – that puts them only about three hundred miles from Falcon Island.'

  'You mean there's another Minerva?'

  'That's exactly what I mean.'

  Geordie handed him the book. They're fully mapped. They're on a plateau twenty-eight miles long. It's hard ground – shell, coral and volcanic cinders, at a depth of eighteen hundred to thirty-six hundred feet.'

  'Just like Falcon Island but much, much older and well established,' I put in.

  'There's no mention of nodules,' Campbell said.

  These are naval records and the navy wouldn't dredge for them. They'd just take soundings using a waxed weight to sample the bottom material. A nodule – even a small one -would be too heavy to stick to the wax.'

  There was a rising air of jubilation in the small cabin.

  Campbell said, 'Well, that does it, I suppose. We go to Tonga.' He looked at us all fiercely. 'But this time there'd better be no mistakes.'

  So it was settled what we'd do after we left Papeete – if we left Papeete.* 6*

  It seemed a long time.

  Apparently a patrol boat had gone to Tanakabu and returned three days later, during which time things had got a little easier for us, but not much. All the crew members had been allowed to go ashore in batches, but Ian, the Campbells and I were still confined, as was Geordie for slightly different reasons. Paula managed to be allowed ashore mainly because she seemed to know everyone, including the policemen, but she only went under Jim or Taffy's escort and didn't stay ashore for long, having little faith in Hadley's having truly disappeared.

  On the fourth day we were taken ashore, Campbell and I, and driven to the police station where we were ushered into the same office as before. M. Chamant was awaiting us.

  He was quite pleasant. 'Our findings on Tanakabu are consistent with your statements. I note that M. Trevelyan called off the search as soon as he found that the man Kane was armed, which is a point in your favour. I also found that you saved many lives at the hospital, and it is known that you were all aboard your ship when the doctor was shot and the fires started. Also your photographs were helpful.'

  It was good news, and as near to an apology as we'd ever get.

  'When can we leav
e?' asked Campbell.

  Chamant shrugged. 'We cannot hold you. If we had Kane and Hadley here you would be expected to stay and give evidence at their hearing, but…'

  'But you haven't found them,' I said bitterly.

  'If they are in French Oceania we will find them. But the Pacific is large.'

  At least they seemed convinced of Hadley and Kane's guilt, which would have come out sooner or later anyway. Hadley had been seen ashore and recognized by several of the people on Tanakabu, and it made me wonder all the more why they had stopped in Papeete to put the police on a false trail, instead of picking up their heels. But I thought that perhaps Hadley, whose mental processes were not as evident as his brutality, really thought that we would be found guilty of his crime, and so out of his way forever. It was impossible to try and read his mind. Now, if they were being hunted by the law themselves they would have less time to go after us, and we had already agreed to act as if they didn't exist, otherwise we'd get nowhere.

  'You can go whenever you want, M. Campbell.'

  'We're going west as we originally said,' Campbell told him. 'We're heading towards Tonga. If we see them out there we'll let the authorities know.' We were being cooperative now, wanting no further opposition to our going about our own business.

  Chamant said, 'Very well, gentlemen. You may go. I will send instructions for the police guard to be withdrawn. But you will take care to be on your best behaviour for the remainder of your stay here, and I also strongly suggest that you leave these waters soon. Your family' He pointed to me. 'Your family seems to cause trouble here, whether or not you intend to. And we do not want trouble on our hands.'

  Campbell closed a hand firmly over my wrist. 'Thank you, M. Chamant. We appreciate all you have said. And now can you arrange transport back to our ship, please?'

  He was reluctant on general principles but finally we got a ride back to the docks and a short run out to Esmerelda, to carry back the welcome news of our release. Everyone de served a couple of days off, and neither Campbell nor I begrudged them the time. The radio had been repaired and we had a lot of planning to do before we could set sail for the Friendly Islands, one of which might be there, or might not.*