He indicated the letters on the side of the machine made indecipherable in the darkness. Perhaps the remark was made humorously but Adam Taylor had a pocket torch. He would follow the pilot’s advice.
He nodded towards Roscarrock’s cottage.
“Do you know what’s going on?” he pressed.
The pilot assumed a dramatic pose.
“Hush! The enemy may be listening.”
He glanced furtively about while his crew roared with laughter.
“Sorry, old chap,” the pilot added in a normal tone when the laughter had died down. “You know better than that. Operational crew can’t give information to the press.”
Taylor nodded and turned away. Watching the crew out of the corner of his eye he wandered round the helicopter. Out of sight of the crew he took out his pocket torch and quickly noted down the squadron identification marks and then rejoined Linda Truran. They walked slowly back to The Morvren Arms. Taylor went straight to the telephone and it was some time before he rejoined Linda in the bar. There was a smile of satisfaction on his face.
“What’s up?” asked Linda.
“I took that pilot’s advice. I’ve just asked a colleague to run down the squadron. They are based at Goonhilly Downs. So what is an RAF helicopter squadron based at a scientific research establishment doing ferrying policemen about late at night?”
“Should we press the police for a statement?”
Taylor smiled paternally.
“I doubt if the police will tell us the time of day. What is certain is that there is a good story here somewhere. We’re going to have to start digging to get to the bottom of it.”
Berlewen Polruan paused at the foot of the cliffs on the flat granite rocks which spread from their feet out into the blackness of the sea. She stood, feet balanced on the spray splattered rocks, listening.
“Kemereugh wyth y te an Morgow.” she whispered for the hundredth time, peering into the gloom, trying to identify the flitting shadows.
“It is here,” she smiled triumphantly. “It is here. I feel it.”
Abruptly she flung back her head and cried in stentorian tones:
“O great beast of the sea! O great Morgow! O ye whose coming was foretold by our ancestors long, long ago! Hear me! You have come to wreak vengeance on mankind for its transgression against Nature, for its misuse of the Life Force! I know your task. It was foretold in the ancient writings of our ancestors. Yet hear me!”
Her voice carried with the wind and was drowned before it travelled many yards.
Yet something moved in the gloom.
There was a sound; a sound Berlewen Polruan could not place. It was a squelching, sucking type of sound, like the noise made by a plumber’s plunger trying to unblock a pipe. Something was slithering over the rocks.
Berlewen Polruan turned with eager face.
“I knew it! I knew you would come. I knew that you would not foresake those that have kept faith with you. Hear me, your faithful servant. O great Morgow, keeper of the truths, hear…”
A shape towered in the blackness; towered high over the frail form of Berlewen Polruan.
The old woman’s sudden shriek of terror was lost in the blustering of the wind which whipped off the sea.
CHAPTER XV
Claire Penvose stared at the Goonhilly scientist in astonishment across the tiny office in Constable Roscarrock’s cottage.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
Dr Lambert cleared his throat loudly.
“It should be quite simple, Miss Penvose. The mine known as Wheal Tom should have been a prohibited area. It is government property.”
“But that’s not true. It belongs to my uncle, Henry Penvose. He bought it when he bought the estate at Tybronbucca.”
Lambert shrugged.
“There may have been some bureaucratic error somewhere but according to our records the mine was designated government property nearly thirty years ago.”
Neville glanced at Clair’s bewildered face.
“Do you know if your uncle had deeds to the mine, Claire?”
“I don’t know. He had a lot of official papers in his study. There’s been no question of his owning the mine before.”
“Well, I’m sorry, Miss Penvose. Our records say it is our property and a strictly prohibited zone.”
“Strictly prohibited?” Neville was frowning. “Why should the Government want an old Cornish mine? And why did you check us out for radiation contamination?” The scientist looked uncomfortable.
“Twenty-five years ago some scientific waste was dumped in the mine. Wheal Tom was considered eminently suitable for dumping purposes because its galleries ran out under the sea.”
“But my uncle owned the mine,” insisted Claire. “He would have been informed.”
Lambert coughed dryly.
“This seems to be a matter of dispute, Miss Penvose.”
“Scientific waste?” Neville pressed. “What sort of scientific waste are we talking about?”
“I am not at liberty to say,” shrugged Lambert.
“Begging your pardon, sir,” interrupted Constable Roscarrock. “Begging your pardon but I don’t see any of this has any bearing on the situation. You know…the thing I saw, the thing that killed Pool.”
Chief Superintendent Crowley nodded.
“Quite right, constable. A man has been reported killed and another man is missing believed killed. You say that some strange creature is at liberty in the mine, yet what sort of creature we haven’t been able to ascertain from Roscarrock’s description.”
“It looked like a gigantic worm to me,” Roscarrock added. Lambert raised a sceptical eyebrow.
“It is a pity that Mr Neville or Miss Penvose did not see it also.”
Roscarrock flushed.
“I know what I saw.”
“Do you think this may be connected?” Neville interrupted. “The Scawens drowning, Jack Treneglos reporting a whirlpool out by Trevian Rocks, Johnny Treneglos claiming to see some sort of sea serpent?”
Chief Superintendent Crowley smiled indulgently. “Let’s not let this thing get out of hand, Mister Neville. I know you are a writer and perhaps too imaginative but the Scawens had an accident while fishing by the Trevian Rocks. We have already had a coastguard report on that matter.”
“What is to be done about the mine, then?” demanded Roscarrock.
“Providing Dr Lambert considers the radiation levels there are safe we will have to begin a search of the mine in order to recover the bodies of Pool and Penvose…if they are dead…and see what this creature of yours is.”
“I did see it,” insisted the constable sullenly.
“We must have some evidence, Roscarrock,” returned the police officer.
“You don’t mean to go down the mine, do you?” asked Claire with a shiver.
“We do take you seriously, Miss Penvose. I shall be getting on to the Officer Commanding at Goonhilly for a section of men — there is a company of the RAF Regiment stationed there — with adequate armaments to deal with the situation. We will start down at first light.”
He turned to Roscarrock.
“I shall need to requisition your offices here to make arrangements. Is there anywhere we can sleep tonight?”
“There’s the inn, sir, but there are some reporters there, I believe.”
“We’ll not trouble them if they don’t trouble us,” smiled Crowley. “I suggest you, Miss Penvose, and you, Mr Neville, go home and get some sleep. We will keep you informed of events.”
Bill Neville escorted Claire home while the RAF helicopter took off on its way back to Goonhilly and Crowley began to make a series of telephone calls.
They walked slowly up the dark lane to Tybronbucca.
“Bill, what do you think this creature was, the creature which terrified Roscarrock down in Wheal Tom?”
Neville shrugged.
“Some poor unfortunate beast which must have got trapped down the mine and has turned sava
ge, maybe become a carnivore.”
“I can’t understand that man Lambert saying that Uncle didn’t own the mine. Uncle Henry was always scrupulous about things like that. He would never say the mine was his when it wasn’t.”
“There are several things which puzzle me, Claire,” agreed Neville. “Why was Lambert so anxious when he arrived as to whether we were contaminated by radiation? He admitted some scientific waste had been dumped in the mine twenty-five years ago…there’s only one sort of waste which would increase radiation levels.”
“But does it have any bearing on this creature and the death of Pool and probable death of Uncle Henry?”
“Maybe not but…” he shrugged.
They had reached the front door of the house.
“Are you tired, Claire?” he suddenly asked.
She shook her head.
“There’s too many questions buzzing around in my brain for me to be tired,” she admitted.
“Do you know where your uncle kept his personal papers? Perhaps we could clear up the question of ownership?”
Claire nodded thoughtfully.
“I’ll make a pot of coffee and we can get to work in the study.”
Towards dawn a giant Seaking helicopter descended on Bosbradoe and settled on the green vacated the previous evening by the smaller RAF ‘copter. Almost before its wheels had touched the ground a squad of eight men in combat overalls and full battle equipment leapt out and formed up under the shouted instructions from a sergeant. Their uniforms bore the flashes of the RAF Regiment.
Crowley and Lambert, with the man Charlie trailing in their wake, sauntered down from Roscarrock’s cottage where they had been breakfasting. The sergeant stomped his feet as he came to attention and made a perfect military salute which a Guards’ officer would have been proud of.
“Sergeant Jones, sir! I’ve orders to place my section under the direction of Chief Superintendent Crowley.”
“I’m Crowley,” returned the police officer. “Morning,
sergeant. This is Dr Lambert. He is a scientist and basically he will be directing us when we search the mine.”
The expression in the sergeant’s eyes showed how he felt about “boffins” being in charge.
“Very well, sir,” he said politely.
“Are your men carrying radiation suits?” asked Lambert.
“We have two suits with us as per instructions, sir,” replied Sergeant Jones. “We also have two geiger-counters, side arms, seven Mi carbines and two gas grenades per man…CS variety, sir.”
Lambert nodded.
“Very well. Sounds alright with me.”
Crowley turned as Roscarrock came up.
“Ah, Roscarrock, you’ll have to take charge of my two constables and post them and yourself around the shaft of Wheal Tom. We don’t want any sightseers or press people, understand?”
Roscarrock inclined his head and motioned to the two other constables to fall in with him.
As the RAF Seaking took off, the section of men with their police escort and civilian advisors began to march in a body towards Wheal Tom.
Adam Taylor buttered some toast and glanced across the breakfast table towards Linda Truran.
“So who is this Andy Shaw you keep asking about?”
Linda stopped toying with her toast and frowned.
“He’s a colleague, a reporter from the Sunday Independent.”
Noall came up with his bacon and eggs.
“Should I mention Mr Shaw to the constable, miss?” he asked as he laid the plate in front of Taylor. “I saw them all going up towards Wheal Tom earlier.”
“Perhaps we’d better. You say his things are still in his room?”
“That’s right, miss. It’s strange, him going off like that and not coming back.”
Linda bit her lip.
“So many curious things are happening around here,” intervened Taylor.
“I’ll report his disappearance to the constable,” Noall said, leaving them.
“Did you hear the commotion this morning?” went on Taylor.
Linda Truran tried hard to concentrate on what he was saying.
“Commotion?”
“Yes. An RAF helicopter landed a half-dozen soldiers of sorts, fully equipped. I saw them from my window. Tried to find out what was going on but the local police fobbed me off. They set off towards the old mine.”
The sound of a car pulling up outside was followed a moment later by the door opening and a tall, tousle-haired, gangling man in a tweed coat entered. He was followed by a rather attractive red-haired girl. The man saw Taylor and smiled in recognition.
“Hello Taylor.”
“Hello, Fergus, you must have travelled pretty fast to get here at this time.”
“We drove all through the night. This is my assistant Sheila Fahy.”
Taylor smiled at the girl.
“And this is a colleague of mine, Linda Truran. Linda this is Tom Fergus of the Society for Stricter Environmental Control. He’s the chap I rang up last night.”
They exchanged greetings.
Fergus and his assistant sat down while Noall took their order for breakfast.
The tousle-haired man leant confidingly across the table to Taylor.
“You were right, Taylor, absolutely on the ball.”
Linda looked curiously at Taylor. He smiled.
“I became curious about this old mine Wheal Tom. I asked Fergus here to make some enquiries for me.”
“And they proved right,” repeated Fergus. “The mine had been deserted since the early 1940s. About thirty years ago the Government bought control of it and twenty-five years ago they started to use it as a dumping ground. Apparently the deserted galleries which ran out under the sea were ideally suited for what they had in mind. The Ministry of Defence had a special report drawn up on Wheal Tom…a document which managed to find its way into my possession.”
Linda was frowning.
“Dumping ground? Dumping ground for what?”
Fergus hesitated to make the effect more dramatic.
“Nuclear waste.”
“Hey!” cried the young police constable. “This is a prohibited area. No one’s allowed round here.”
Claire and Neville halted.
“This is Miss Penvose, constable,” said Neville. “She is the niece of the owner of this mine…”
“I don’t know about that, sir,” replied the policeman. “I have Orders not to allow anyone in this area.”
“What’s going on?”
Roscarrock’s burly form appeared from a corner of the deserted engine house. He halted and smiled as he recognised Claire and Neville.
“It’s alright, man, I’ll take over,” he said to the younger policeman.
“Hello, Miss Penvose — Mr Neville. Recovered from yesterday?”
Claire was still white faced and it was obvious that she had not slept well.
“What’s going on?” asked Neville with a nod towards the mine shaft.
“They’ve been down there near seven hours and we have been chasing away those reporters at The Morvren Arms. Apparently one of them has gone missing. I wonder if he wandered into the mine?”
“Another disappearance?” cried Claire.
“Something’s up and no mistake,” growled Roscarrock. “By the way, miss, did your uncle own Wheal Tom or not? That government man fair got me confused last night.”
“Mr Neville and I spent some hours going through my uncle’s papers last night. He did own Wheal Tom, we found the deeds. He bought it from the Government.”
Roscarrock gave a bitter chuckle.
“Government bureaucrats!” he sneered. “They don’t know their nether ends from their elbows!”
“I suppose the records weren’t updated. It appears Mr Penvose bought the property from the Ministry of Defence and Lambert’s sources weren’t informed.”
“Now that Lambert is a rum cuss,” reflected Roscarrock. “Can’t say I like his manners at all.”<
br />
“Me neither,” agreed Claire.
“I think it was wrong of Lambert not to come clean about the Government’s use for Wheal Tom,” added Neville. “Scientific waste, indeed!”
Roscarrock removed his helmet and scratched his head.
“What sort of waste would that be, Mr Neville?”
“I think it is obvious. What waste has a high radiation content? Nuclear waste, that’s what. I think there has been a foul-up somewhere. The mine was used for dumping nuclear waste by the Ministry of Defence and then by some bureaucratic error the mine was sold off to a private owner without that person being told. Since then it has been totally forgotten that there is any nuclear storage down there.”
Roscarrock whistled.
“That’s incredible, Mr Neville. That such a thing should happen here in Bosbradoe…! Why, I’ve lived here all my life and can’t recall any military goings on up at Wheal Tom.”
Neville shrugged.
“It was all probably top secret so that local people didn’t know what was happening.”
“Well I’ll…”
There was a movement at the shaft entrance. A group of men began to straggle out. Among them was Lambert, red in the face from exertion, and Chief Superintendent Crowley.
Lambert gave Claire and Neville a disapproving stare.
The Chief Superintendent was a little more friendly and, after giving instructions to Sergeant Jones to rest his men, he came forward and greeted them.
“We didn’t see a thing, I’m afraid,” he said in answer to the obvious question that was on their lips.
“You didn’t see any sign of Mr Pool’s body?” asked Roscarrock, amazed.
“Nothing,” returned his superior. “We are going to get billets for the men and rest them before making another attempt tomorrow. In the meantime this whole area will be placed out of bounds to everyone.”
Roscarrock nodded and glanced apologetically at Claire and Neville.
“The press have been up here a few times to find out what is going on, sir,” he ventured.
“Well, I’d better go down to The Morvren Arms and issue a statement to keep them happy,” returned the Chief Superintendent. “Will you come with me, Lambert?”
The sour-faced scientist shook his head.
“That’s entirely your department, old boy. But please do not bring in the Ministry of Defence or even suggest a connection with the mine.”
The Morgow Rises! Page 11