The Man from the Sea

by Michael Innes

  “What happens if we do?”

  “An emergency meeting of the Cabinet, I expect, and a decision whether to stop on the high seas a ship belonging to a friendly power… It’s a pity you dislike the Tower of London, George.”

  “The Tower?”

  He grinned at her. “It’s where you and I will be incarcerated before being shot.”

  “Oh, dear! And Lord Urquhart?”

  “He and Sandy Morrison will both be put in Constable Carfrae’s new lock-up. Fortunately they’ll get along together very well.”

  “We’d better not muck it, all the same. You really think our chances are good?”

  “They’re certainly not bad.”

  “And we’ll be first on the scene?”

  “We’re bound to be – unless they have some means of flying down too. And I doubt that. Their resources are probably not on the scale of our earlier enemy’s. They will just have some craft waiting off Porthkennack – probably a regular cargo vessel which has been instructed to take on the job. And they’re motoring Day down to it now.”

  George nodded. “Will the chief man – Sagasta – be with them?”

  “Not on your life. He’s back in his Legation or Embassy by this time, resolved to leave this sort of thing to underlings in future. He didn’t really have what it takes. And I don’t think his assistants will have it, either. They want Day, but it’s my guess that they’ll ditch him as soon as they’re thoroughly scared. And that’s what we’re out to have a shot at.”

  “Yes.” George was silent for a moment. “Are you sorry for him?”

  “For Day? I think I am. He seems to have guessed so damned badly.”

  “He began doing that a long time ago. Shall we ever understand him?”

  Cranston considered. “He’s not a venal man in the common sense. He hasn’t been after money or the other obvious bribes. But he’s no sort of political animal either, I’d say. Essentially, he’s a misfit – a pathological egoist and individualist caught up in an activity requiring vast co-operative effort. His idée fixe is to be all alone at the top. And if he made South America he might, I suppose, end his days as a little dictator in his own virgin field there.”

  “He’d be top of his form – but still no more than one of the back-room boys.”

  “Just that. With all his near-genius, he’s not exactly a far-sighted man.”

  20

  There was a small beach set in a deep rocky cove. The sea was empty, the night still, and the moon sinking towards the west. It was uncannily like – and unlike – the night before.

  The helicopter had taken off again. It was invisible but they could faintly hear its engine in the distance. After dropping them it had moved inland. If it could locate a likely car on the road to Porthkennack there would be an opportunity for a first stroke in the war of nerves.

  In the warm night they sat side by side with their backs against a rock. Sometimes they talked. But for the most part they were straining their ears, waiting to catch a first low throb from the sea. Cranston wished it was over. He didn’t think there was going to be any violence or danger this time. But perhaps he ought not to have let George come, all the same. Perhaps he ought to have insisted on her staying in the machine with Lord Urquhart and his nephew. But he didn’t at all know, for that matter, whether George would accept a word of command from him. And there was much more about her that he didn’t know… He realised that here was another reason why he was wishing it was over. It was all part of something that was dead to him. But there was a lot he wanted to ask George. And tell George. He turned to her now and was about to speak. But she had raised a hand. “Listen!” she said.

  There could be no doubt about it. For a moment it was no more than a tremor; then it was as if the sea had somewhere begun to throb to a deep slow pulse; then the sound became louder and more commonplace. “Something quite large,” Cranston said.

  The engines stopped as he spoke. They waited in a breathless silence, gazing out beyond the line of rock that formed the western arm of the cove. For a fraction of a second the dark rock appeared to change shape against the glimmer of the sea. Then they were seeing the bows of a steamer. It glided forward without a sound. Small waves began to break among the rocks, and the whole surface of the cove shimmered. The steamer was almost stationary. There was a splash and a brief rattle. George stood up. “Anchored,” she said. “We can’t – thank goodness – have made any mistake. But what about finding some cover?”

  He nodded, and scrambled to his feet. George in moonlight was like a statue cut in some dark golden stone. “The rocks,” he said. They moved into shelter. “I think I hear the helicopter – and something else as well.”

  “Yes – it’s a car. And travelling fast. Can a helicopter drop down to pass the time of day – or night – with a car going at seventy?”

  “I’m sure it can, with the redoubtable Porp in charge… And there he is.”

  The helicopter had appeared low on their right. Like a vast lazy insect it drifted across the face of the moon, and for a moment they could see the tail-rotor spinning. Then it moved out across the cove.

  “They’ve lowered a launch from the steamer.” George pointed. “And I can hear the car on the road down to the beach.”

  Cranston nodded. “It’s a well-synchronised rendezvous, isn’t it? But they’re just going to become aware of the unexpected factor.”

  The launch was in the water. They watched it begin to cut across the cove on a straight course for the beach. Suddenly it swerved and its engine faltered. “It’s happened.” George’s voice – and it was for the first time, Cranston reflected, in their acquaintance – trembled with excitement. “They’ve seen it. Porp’s dipping on them. It’s a nasty shock.”

  The launch recovered and drove for the beach. The helicopter continued across the cove. It was hovering, mast-high, above the steamer. The launch beached, and almost at the same moment the car appeared. It was a big saloon. It drove to the edge of the beach and stopped. A door was flung open and four men tumbled out. They could be seen at once looking up at the sky. There could be no doubt that they too had been made aware of the menacing presence moving in it. The open door was shut violently from within. The car backed, turned, and tore off through the night. The driver, at least, had had enough.

  The four men were running for the launch. Cranston could see that Day was in front. From the launch itself a couple of men had landed and were standing knee-deep in the sea, holding on to the gunwales. They could hear voices now – voluble Latin voices – raised in fierce dispute. One of the men from the launch was pointing back at the steamer. The helicopter had circled it and was now rising. And as it rose a light began to flash from it. It appeared to be sending a signal far out to sea.

  The voices at the edge of the cove rose higher. Anger and panic could be heard in them. And suddenly there was a shouted command, a scuffle, a cry of pain. The men clustered round the launch were clambering into it, and in a moment it was streaking back across the cove. But one figure remained – prone on the beach. It was all over. John Day had been betrayed.

  The launch disappeared within the shadow of the steamer. They could hear the engines starting and the anchor being raised. Within what seemed less than a minute the steamer was gliding from the cove, desperately seeking the immunity of the high seas. The helicopter accompanied it – grimly speeding the departing guest. The noises of both craft faded on the night. The ripples subsided. The cove and the spreading moonlit waters beyond it were void and still.

  Day had got on his feet. He was standing quite immobile with his back to them. He might have been a holidaymaker with a taste for nocturnal seascapes. He was still in Sir Alex Blair’s expensive clothes. “Wait,” Cranston said. He rose from the rocks and walked slowly across the beach.

  He was within arm’s length of Day before the man turned. Cranston looked at him. “It’s me,” he said. The words were as flat as he could make them. He didn’t want to import an ounce of
drama into this last scene.

  “It’s you.” Day eyed him wearily for a moment, and then turned and walked away. He was making for the nearest rocks. Cranston followed him. Day chose a flat ledge with apparent care and sat down. “Well?” he said.

  “The helicopter will land presently. We go back to London in that.” Cranston spoke quietly, finally. “Lord Urquhart has a friend who will see that the right things are done.”

  “The right things? But of course.” Day had his old ironical smile. “And I nearly brought it off.”

  “You nearly brought it off.” Handsomely, Cranston acknowledged it. Compunction faintly stirred in him. “I suppose it mayn’t be so bad. After all, you have…come back.”

  “So I have.” Day was amused. “By the way, one thing was true.”

  “That you haven’t long to live?” Cranston accepted it gravely. “I never doubted it. And I don’t doubt it now.” He hesitated. “I’d suppose there is more than one way that you might feel about it.”

  “So wise so young, they say…” Again Day smiled. “You remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “And our race?”

  “Yes.”

  Day stood up slowly. He seemed prepared for indefinite talk. “It wasn’t quite on fair terms, you know – last night. I’d just done that swim. I can do better now.”

  Even as he spoke, he flashed into motion. It was totally unexpected, and he was fifteen yards ahead before Cranston started. On the beach he gained another ten yards. He had certainly been a sprinter. He was in the water and swimming.

  “Day – come back!” Cranston paused for the one shout, and then flung himself into the sea. But Day was too far ahead. Cranston swam for a long time, but he glimpsed him only once. Or he thought he glimpsed him. But what he saw might have been only a clot of seaweed floating out with the tide.

  He was very tired when he reached shore – but at once he scaled the highest rock he could find. The surface of the cove, and of the sea beyond it, was a great still empty sheet under the moon. Even as he had come, the man from the sea had departed again. The waters from which he had risen had closed over his head for ever.

  “Richard!”

  It was George calling anxiously from the farther rocks. Cranston was very tired indeed. But he turned towards the voice and ran.

  Synopses of Michael Innes Titles

  Published by House of Stratus

  The Ampersand Papers

  While Appleby is strolling along a Cornish beach, he narrowly escapes being struck by a body falling down a cliff. The body is that of Dr Sutch, an archivist, and he has fallen from the North Tower of Treskinnick Castle, home of Lord Ampersand. Two possible motivations present themselves to Appleby – the Ampersand gold, treasure from an Armada galleon; and the Ampersand papers, valuable family documents that have associations with Wordsworth and Shelley.

  Appleby and Honeybath

  Every English mansion has a locked room, and Grinton Hall is no exception – the library has hidden doors and passages…and a corpse. But when the corpse goes missing, Sir John Appleby and Charles Honeybath have an even more perplexing case on their hands – just how did it disappear when the doors and windows were securely locked? A bevy of helpful houseguests offer endless assistance, but the two detectives suspect that they are concealing vital information. Could the treasures on the library shelves be so valuable that someone would murder for them?

  Appleby and the Ospreys

  Clusters, a great country house, is troubled by bats, as Lord and Lady Osprey complain to their guests, who include first rate detective, Sir John Appleby. In the matter of bats, Appleby is indifferent, but he is soon faced with a real challenge – the murder of Lord Osprey, stabbed with an ornate dagger in the library.

  Appleby at Allington

  Sir John Appleby dines one evening at Allington Park, the Georgian home of his acquaintance Owain Allington, who is new to the area. His curiosity is aroused when Allington mentions his nephew and heir to the estate, Martin Allington, whose name Appleby recognises. The evening comes to an end but just as Appleby is leaving, they find a dead man – electrocuted in the son et lumière box which had been installed in the grounds.

  The Appleby File

  There are fifteen stories in this compelling collection, including: Poltergeist – when Appleby’s wife tells him that her aunt is experiencing trouble with a Poltergeist, he is amused but dismissive, until he discovers that several priceless artefacts have been smashed as a result; A Question of Confidence – when Bobby Appleby’s friend, Brian Button, is caught up in a scandalous murder in Oxford, Bobby’s famous detective father is their first port of call; The Ascham – an abandoned car on a narrow lane intrigues Appleby and his wife, but even more intriguing is the medieval castle they stumble upon.

  Appleby on Ararat

  Inspector Appleby is stranded on a very strange island, with a rather odd bunch of people – too many men, too few women (and one of them too attractive) cause a deal of trouble. But that is nothing compared to later developments, including the body afloat in the water, and the attack by local inhabitants.

  Appleby Plays Chicken

  David was hiking across Dartmoor, pleased to have escaped the oppressively juvenile and sometimes perilous behaviour of his fellow undergraduates. As far as he could tell, he was the only human being for miles – but it turns out that he was the only living human being for miles. At least, that is what he presumed when he found a dead man on top of the tor.

  Appleby Talking

  Arbuthnot is paying for a rash decision – he recently married a beautiful but slightly amoral girl whose crazy antics caught his rather cynical professional interest. His wife has taken a lover, Rupert Slade, and Arbuthnot wants nothing more than to see him dead – but the last thing he expected was that he’d walk into his living room and find just that!

  Inspector Appleby shares the details of this and many other fascinating crimes in this un-missable collection.

  Appleby Talks Again

  Ralph Dangerfield, an Edwardian playwright who belonged to the smartest young set of his day, kept a scandalous diary recording the intimate details of his own life and those of his friends. After his death, it was believed that his mother had burnt the incriminating evidence, but fifty years later, a famous collector of literary curiosities claims to have the diary in his possession and threatens to blackmail fashionable London with belated secrets about people now in respectable old age. Sir John Appleby reveals how he uncovered this unscrupulous crime and talks about his key role in seventeen more intriguing cases.

  Appleby’s Answer

  Author of detective novels, Priscilla Pringle, is pleased to find that she is sharing a railway compartment with a gentleman who happens to be reading one of her books – Murder in the Cathedral. He is military officer, Captain Bulkington, who recognises Miss Pringle and offers her £500 to collaborate on a detective novel. To everyone’s surprise, Miss Pringle is rather taken with Captain Bulkington – is she out of her depth?

  Appleby’s End

  Appleby’s End was the name of the station where Detective Inspector John Appleby got off the train from Scotland Yard. But that was not the only coincidence. Everything that happened from then on related back to stories by Ranulph Raven, Victorian novelist – animals were replaced by marble effigies, someone received a tombstone telling him when he would die, and a servant was found buried up to his neck in snow, dead. Why did Ranulph Raven’s mysterious descendants make such a point of inviting Appleby to spend the night at their house?

  Appleby’s Other Story

  During a walk to Elvedon House, palatial home of the Tythertons, Sir John Appleby and Chief Constable Colonel Pride are stunned to find a police van and two cars parked outside. Wealthy Maurice Tytherton has been found shot dead, and Appleby is faced with a number of suspects – Alice Tytherton, flirtatious, younger wife of the deceased; Egon Raffaello, disreputable art dealer; and the prodigal son, Mark Tytherton, who h
as just returned from Argentina. Could the death be linked to the robbery of some paintings several years ago?

  An Awkward Lie

  Sir John Appleby’s son, Bobby, assumes his father’s detective role in this baffling crime. When Bobby finds a dead man, in a bunker on a golf course, he notices something rather strange – the first finger of the man’s right hand is missing. A young girl approaches the scene and offers to watch the body while Bobby goes for help, but when he returns with the police in tow, the body and the girl are missing.

  The Bloody Wood

  An assorted party of guests have gathered at Charne, home of Charles Martineau and his ailing wife, Grace, including Sir John Appleby and his wife, Judith. Appleby’s suspicions are soon aroused with the odd behaviour of Charles, and the curious last request of Grace – who desires that upon her death, Charles marries her favourite niece, Martine. When Charles and Grace die on the same day, foul play is suspected.

  Carson’s Conspiracy

  Businessman Carl Carson decides to make a dash for South America to escape the economic slump, leaving his home and his barmy wife. But he has a problem – if his company were seen to be drawing in its horns, it wouldn’t last a week. His solution is his wife’s favourite delusion – an imaginary son, named Robin. Carson plans to stage a fictitious kidnapping – after all, what could be more natural than a father liquidating his assets to pay the ransom demand? Unfortunately, Carson has a rather astute neighbour – Sir John Appleby, ex-Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police.

  A Change of Heir

  George Gadberry, ‘resting actor’, packs his bags and heads for obscurity when the Tax Inspector beckons. Then he receives a mysterious invitation and a proposition that could lead to enormous riches. Wealthy imbiber, Nicholas Comberford, wants George to impersonate him in order to secure a place in the will of fabulously affluent Great-Aunt Prudence, who lives in a Cistercian monastery and won’t allow a single drop of liquor in the place. Gadberry’s luck seems to have changed – but at what cost?