Festival, page 19
*
Piet had missed the bowsprit itself, but just managed to grab the bobstay. Thus he was underneath the bowsprit, and invisible from the deck of the schooner, in fact nobody was looking out for him, for those on board had heard the splash as he jumped, and assumed that he was in the water. If anything were needed to confirm Piet’s suspicions of the schooner her crew’s callous readiness to leave somebody to drown was more than enough.
Drowning seemed quite likely to be his fate, for his situation was horribly precarious. He was clinging to the bobstay with both hands, but the schooner was under way; even in the inlet there was a vicious swell, and every time her bows rose she threatened to throw him off. The strain on his arms was appalling, and he knew that he could not hold on for many minutes. At one moment threatening to throw him off, in the next the schooner herself came to his rescue. As she neared the mouth of the cove she began to meet a heavy cross-sea, and heeled sharply. With the sudden change in angle Piet was able to swing his legs to get his ankles round the bobstay. This relieved the strain on his arms, and gave a purchase for his feet to haul himself up the bobstay until he could reach the bowsprit. Clinging to the comfortingly solid spar he was better off, but he was by no means safe – he had somehow to work his way along the bowsprit to reach the deck. And with no headsail set, there was no cover for him – if he got astride the bowsprit, which would be the best thing to do, he would be clearly visible in silhouette as the bows rose towards the sky.
There was one thing only to be done, and that was to hang with arms and legs underneath the bowsprit, and to try to work his way along towards the deck. He was helped by being able to grasp a jib-stay, which gave him a firm grip and a useful purchase for gaining a few feet. How he did it Piet afterwards could never exactly recall, but he did. And when he got to the deck-end of the bowsprit he was thankful to see that one of the jibs was not stowed, but left ready for hoisting. The bundle of sail gave him something to hide behind, and enfolded by the friendly canvas he lay gasping on the foredeck.
*
He had now to decide what to do. He did not know how many people were on board the schooner, but with Harriet and Stephen Partridge he thought there must be at least five, and presumably all were hostile. He had one advantage – surprise. And in the shoulder holster under his left arm nestled the automatic pistol that Sir John had given to him – he blessed the commissioner for having thought of it.
The first need was to reconnoitre. When he had recovered his breath he lifted a fold of the sail behind which he was hiding, and looked along the deck. As far as he could tell there was nobody on deck except Harriet at the wheel, but it was too dark to be sure. They were now clear of the inlet to Port Gaverne, and meeting a north-westerly wind that must have been near gale force, as well as a horrible sea. Morning Star rose to it gallantly, but she was beginning to take water over the bows, and a huge mass of spray hit him. He was shielded to some extent by the sail, but the spray left him thoroughly wet. He could not stay where he was much longer. The pistol, he hoped, had not suffered – it was fairly well protected under his arm.
As far as he could make out they were trying to hold a course more or less due west, which was not quite in the teeth of the gale, but not far off it. The diesel thumped sturdily and they were making a little headway, but with that wind against them it could not be much. Nor did he like to think how much leeway they were making, but Harriet had the reputation of being a competent sailor, and he supposed she knew what she was doing.
Another dollop of spray made him decide that he must get off the foredeck quickly. Morning Star was heeling to the wind, and he thought he’d be safest in the lee scuppers. Lying at full length he wormed his way into the scuppers, and, hanging on to the bulwark, began to crawl aft.
Morning Star was nearly flush-decked, with an after companion leading to the saloon below. She was not quite flush-decked, however, for although there was no deckhouse there was a skylight just aft of the mainmast to give light to the saloon. As long as he kept down he reckoned that he could leave the scuppers and wriggle aft between the masts, the raised sides of the skylight keeping him out of sight from Harriet at the wheel. Very cautiously he edged himself amidships, finding it hard going to climb the heeling deck by wriggling on his stomach. Between the masts, protected now by the mainmast itself as well as by the skylight, he lay and listened. The gale was making such a racket that there wasn’t much else to hear, but he thought that he would have heard a shout if Harriet had seen him. Also, if she had seen him, people would have come rushing on deck from below. Nothing happened, and after staying where he was for two or three minutes he felt safe enough to edge aft towards the skylight.
Here he had a bit of luck, for in the leading frame of the skylight there were two fair-sized portholes, and although, of course, shut, they were not curtained. Looking from the dark into the lighted saloon he could see through the glass of the porthole clearly. His field of vision was limited, but he could see one end of a table, at which Stephen Partridge, a man he did not recognise, and the girl called Sue who had been introduced to him as a publicity manager of the Space Orchids were seated. They did not look cheerful. As Piet watched he saw the girl retch into a plastic bowl, which was then snatched from her by Stephen Partridge to be seasick in his turn. The unknown man, who may have been on board the schooner as one of her crew, did not appear to be seasick. He was talking, but neither Stephen nor the girl took any notice.
Piet summed up his chances. Stephen Partridge and the girl were in no state to give much trouble, and in this wind and sea Harriet could scarcely leave the wheel. The other man looked fit, but if he could be taken by surprise Piet thought he could probably be handled. Who else was there on board? There was probably an engineer looking after the diesel, and unless someone had left the schooner at Port Gaverne, Piet thought that there must be a third hand as well: with one man at the engine, Piet doubted if the schooner could have been brought in as she was by a single-handed man at the wheel. Well, he couldn’t stay where he was. Piet was thinking all the time of the baby’s cry – he wanted the schooner and all on board her brought into some port where he could get hold of the police as soon as possible. He would have to see if he could rush the party in the saloon.
*
Sergeant Trevithick had taken in Piet’s hurried words as he ran past, but for a moment he was undecided what to do. His mind was made up for him by the man he had tripped up, who produced a pistol and sent a bullet within a couple of inches of the sergeant’s head. Maybe he aimed to frighten rather than to hit, but the sergeant had no time to think of such refinements. All he did think of was that normal police constables do not carry pistols, and, if they are issued with firearms for some particular job, they do not fire on sergeants of their own Force. Trevithick had no idea what the superintendent was up to, but the pistol shot decided him that he was up to no good, and that he himself would do his best to follow Piet’s instructions and ring the Yard.
That meant he had to get away. He had known the cliffs and the cliff roads from boyhood, and he had a particular advantage that he did not know he possessed – he knew where he and Piet had left their car, whereas the superintendent and his men had no idea. Dodging behind rocks the sergeant worked his way uphill towards the road, aiming to reach the road about a hundred yards farther on from the footpath that led down towards the headland. That would also bring him nearer to the car.
His pursuers lost him. The superintendent was busy on the quay, thinking that Piet was in the water, and sending a man to watch the beach in case Piet got ashore. By the time he got back to thinking of Sergeant Trevithick he assumed that the two men who had gone after him would have caught him. By the time the men came back to say that Sergeant Trevithick had disappeared on the cliffside, the sergeant was safely in the car. Piet’s forethought in leaving the key in the car paid unexpected dividends.
Sergeant Trevithick was a country policeman, with long experience of dealing with drunks, domestic quarrels, and road accidents, and no experience at all of complex criminal investigation. But his long experience of human nature had added an immense fund of common sense to his natural intelligence. The superintendent had recognised him, and would probably assume that he had gone home. And even if the superintendent did not carry the home addresses of police sergeants in his head, he could find out easily enough, and it seemed to Trevithick that the one place he would be wise to keep away from for the next few hours was his own home. The most obvious place to go was the police station at Camelford, but if the superintendent rang there with a complaint against him, all the explaining he could do would be unlikely to get him out of it. In time he might perhaps convince the inspector that someone ought to telephone Scotland Yard, but it would take a lot of time, and he might not win. As it was, he had his own freedom of action, and a car. He decided to make for the house of a friend with whom he went fishing and telephone from there. The friend lived six or seven miles out of Camelford, and no one was in the least likely to look for Sergeant Trevithick at his house.
*
It was after eleven when the sergeant got to his friend’s house. He was afraid that the man – Ted Porter – and his wife might have gone to bed, but they had stayed up to watch a TV programme, which was just finishing. ‘Nice to see you, Ian, but what brings you here so late?’ said Ted Porter as he opened the door.
‘Trouble, Ted. I can’t explain, but I’ve got to ring up Scotland Yard, and I wondered if you’d let me use your phone?’
‘Of course. Come in, and Mary will make you a cup of tea – we’re just going to have one ourselves before turning in.’
Doubtless all policemen should know the telephone number of New Scotland Yard, but Sergeant Trevithick didn’t – he’d never before had any cause to use it. He didn’t waste time with ringing directory inquiries, but dialled 999. Here his wide local acquaintance helped, for he knew the night operator slightly, and his request to be put through to the Metropolitan Police was dealt with at once, without question. He got through, naturally, to the main switchboard, and he had no idea who to ask for. ‘I want to speak to someone who knows about a Chief Inspector Johnson who’s been making inquiries in Cornwall,’ he said. ‘I’m a police sergeant myself, and it’s really urgent.’
Here the forethought and staff work of Sir John Carfax paid dividends. He had left instructions for anyone telephoning about Chief Inspector Johnson to be put through directly to himself, so that Sergeant Trevithick found himself on the line to the Commissioner. ‘Sir John Carfax here,’ said the voice at the other end.
‘I’m afraid, sir, there’s been some mistake,’ the sergeant said. ‘I’m trying to speak to someone who knows about a Chief Inspector Johnson, and the call must have been put through to you in error. I’m very sorry to have disturbed you. Could I be put back to the switchboard?’
‘There’s no need to be sorry, and it’s quite right for the call to have come to me. Chief Inspector Johnson is a member of a small specialist team which reports directly to me. What has happened?’
‘Well, sir, I don’t rightly know. I’m just a country police sergeant and I was instructed to accompany the chief inspector this afternoon to the house of a woman he wished to interview. I did so, and later he asked if I would go with him tonight to a small village on the coast near here where he planned to try to meet a schooner that he thought would be coming in. I did so, and now the chief inspector’s disappeared, and somebody fired a shot at me. I thought I’d best ring the Yard as soon as I could, so I’m phoning from a friend’s house.’
‘Tell me just what happened.’
Sergeant Trevithick was used to giving evidence in the magistrate’s court, and in somewhat police-court phraseology he gave Sir John an account of the adventure at Port Gaverne, as nearly as he could piece together events.
‘And where is Chief Inspector Johnson now?’
‘That’s just it, I don’t know, sir. He passed me on the cliff as he was running back to the quay, where the schooner was preparing to leave. Whether he got on board or not, or whether he was collared, I can’t say.’
‘You’ve done very well indeed, Sergeant, to get away yourself, and to ring here. It’s most important, and I shall see that you are properly commended for what you’ve done. Are you going back to your own home now?’
‘I was wondering about that, sir. If anyone is really after me, though it seems hard to believe, they can find out soon enough where I live. That’s why I came here to do my telephoning.’
‘Very wise. I think you shouldn’t go back home yet. Do you have a wife at home?’
‘Yes, sir, and my daughter.’
‘It’s hard on them, but I’d rather you didn’t phone them – if they don’t know what’s happened, they can’t tell anybody, and I think it highly likely that they’ll have a caller during the night. I don’t think they’ll be in any danger for themselves, though naturally they’ll be worried about you.’
‘If you say so, sir, I can stay with my friends here. What do you want me to do when it’s time for me to go on duty in the morning?’
‘I’ll deal with that. How long will it take you to get to Plymouth, or Exeter?’
‘Do you mean now, sir?’
‘Yes, straightaway.’
‘Well, at this time of night I should be able to get to Plymouth in an hour and a half. Exeter a bit longer.’
‘Make it Plymouth, then. I’m sending down Chief Superintendent Hardy and a party of about six officers by air. They’ll leave in about half an hour, and should be at Plymouth airport by, say, 2 a.m. I want you to meet them there, and to act on the chief superintendent’s instructions. I’ll see that the airport authorities are expecting you. If the chief superintendent’s plane gets in before you arrive, he’ll be waiting for you. But I dare say you’ll get there first, and the airport people will show you where to wait for him.’
‘Very good, sir. And you’ll let my own station at Camelford know that I’m working on your instructions? I’ve not been late on duty yet, sir, and they’ll be wondering what’s happened to me.’
‘I’ll see that your fine record is maintained, Sergeant. Now you get off to Plymouth, and leave me to get on with things here.’
Half an hour after he had despatched Chief Superintendent Hardy and his officers to Plymouth, Sir John Carfax had another telephone call. This time it was Superintendent Evans, from Wadebridge, who reported that Chief Inspector Johnson was missing, believed drowned. ‘As you may recall requesting, Sir John, I did everything I could to help him, and I regret deeply that things turned out as they did. It was a brave, but if I may say so, sir, somewhat foolhardy act for Chief Inspector Johnson to try to jump on board the schooner. By that time it was too late for us to do anything to stop her.’
‘I’m sure you did your best, Superintendent. What are the chances of recovering the body?’
‘Not too good, sir. The tide would have been on the turn soon afterwards, and there are a lot of tricky currents round those rocks. Of course I’ll have men out at first light to do what we can, but I shouldn’t be surprised if he’s been carried right out to sea by now.’
‘Well, we must just hope. It will be sad news for his wife, but I’ll deal with that. I think I won’t break it to her until the morning – I suppose there is just a chance that he may come ashore safely somewhere.’
‘There’s a chance, sir, but I’m afraid not much.’
‘Thank you for letting me know so quickly. I’ll be sending another officer down to you in the morning, but we’ll ring you about that later, so that you know who’s coming, and when he’ll reach you.’
When the superintendent had rung off, Sir John did some telephoning of his own. He did not cancel any of his earlier instructions to Chief Superintendent Hardy. He did ask the appropriate department at the Yard to signal all coastguard stations to keep a watch for the schooner Morning Star. Maybe Superintendent Evans had already done this, but he had omitted to say so.
XI
Storm
PIET WAITED FOR the schooner to pick herself up after being knocked down by a particularly heavy sea, and then he walked upright round the mast and the saloon skylight to the companionway. Harriet was wrestling with the wheel, and either did not notice him, or took him for one of the other people on board. The door at the foot of the companionway was shut, but it opened easily, and he walked straight in. As he did so a man appeared from a narrow passage leaving the saloon to port, and apparently leading round the companionway. ‘We’re damned near out of fuel. Did those bastards simply leave the jerricans on deck? I want a volunteer to bring them down.’ Then, noticing Piet, he said, ‘Who the hell are you?’
Piet drew his pistol. ‘I am a police officer and you are all under arrest. Please sit at the table, with your hands in front of you.’
The three at the table did not move. The engineer who had come in from the diesel room aft sprang at Piet, who shot him in the leg. After the shot the engineer collapsed. To the three at the table, Piet said, ‘You, Stephen Partridge, and you other man whose name I don’t know, pick him up and put him on the settee. He probably isn’t badly hurt, but there may be quite a lot of blood.’ To Sue Carson he said, ‘You can stop being seasick and feeling sorry for yourself. Get something to bandage him with.’
Piet had discarded his plain-glass spectacles. Looking up, the girl Sue said, ‘Why, it’s the chief pig from Earl’s Down!’
Piet made no comment. The men at the table showed signs of hesitating to do what he’d told them. The wounded man was rolled across the saloon, crying out with pain. ‘Get a move on,’ Piet said. ‘If I have to use this pistol again, I shall shoot to kill.’ The two men, lurching as the schooner rolled, lifted the injured man and laid him on the settee. They were not skilful at moving him, and hurt him in the process. Blood was already staining his trouser-leg, and seeping through onto the settee. The girl at the table still did not move. Piet slapped her face. ‘Get a sheet, or dishcloth, or anything to use for a bandage,’ he said. ‘And get it quickly.’
