Dimly Vivian saw Mason lope past, his face ashen, his mouth wet with saliva.
`What are we going to do?' he babbled. `It's all up now!'
`Shut up, you fool! We've got the plates and enough dope abroad to see us pretty for life. Are you going to chuck it all away now?' Lang seemed to fill the deck with his presence, his thick neck thrust out commandingly, as he stared fiercely at the whimpering man who faced him.
`I can't go through with it.' There were real tears in Mason's eyes and, as if in prayer, he twisted his hands together. `Please, Felix! Let's just get out, do anything, but please don't ask me to go through with it now!'
Through the roaring in his ears, Vivian heard the light step of the girl on the deck, and her exclamation of horror. Then he felt her unsteady hands trying to pull his shirt from around the wound. He saw her face very clearly against the clear, blue sky, her eyes filled with terror.
Over her shoulder, Lang's voice drawled calmly. `I suppose that goes for you too?'
She nodded dumbly, her face made old by fear. `Right!' Lang's voice sounded settled. `Get the plates up here on deck, and quick!'
`What are you doing?' Mason paused in the hatchway.
`I'm getting out,' answered Lang quietly, `and I'm taking the whole lot ashore with me.' He jerked his gun at Janice. `Get that dinghy in the water. I'll give you a hand.'
Vivian groaned softly, as the others moved out of his immediate vision. He tried to think clearly, but his strength seemed to be failing fast. He smiled to himself. Karen's safe. Whatever else happens, she's safe now. Nothing more to harm her.
The deck shook under his pain-racked body as Mason breathlessly dumped two large suitcases, and that familiar, waterproof bag, which he knew held the plates, down beside the break in the rails, where a line secured the yacht's dinghy alongside.
Lang appeared to be breathing heavily, with the suppressed excitement of one about to carry out a fantastic scheme. He controlled his voice with an effort, his words clipped and strained.
`This is good-bye, then?' He laughed shakily. `I'm going over to the Seafox, and I'll run her ashore somewhere. They won't catch me!' His eyes danced wildly. `Now get below, the pair of you!'
He stifled their protests with a wave of the gun, and Vivian heard the slam of a door below, as Lang locked them in a cabin.
A shadow fell across his body, and he raised his head with an effort, studying Lang's glistening face through heatwaves of pain.
`So long, old son! Pity it had to be like this!' Lang shook to a tremor of silent laughter.
He's mad, raving mad, thought Vivian dully. But it didn't seem to matter. He watched as Lang burst open the package, and thrust the gleaming plates into his jacket and trouser pockets. He was humming to himself, and entirely immersed in the job he was doing. He didn't seem to hear the shouts from below, the pounding fists on the locked door. He stood looking blankly at two small plates.
`Blast! Can't get 'em in! Still, they're only cheap ones!' And he placed them carefully on the deck.
Quickly he flung the suitcases down into the dinghy, and with a last glance round, he strode over to Vivian.
`Come on, old boy, better get you into the saloon.'
Vivian struggled feebly, biting back the scream of agony, as Lang dragged him down the companion-way, and pitched him on to the saloon deck.
As Lang slipped the key into the outside of the door, Vivian rolled over on to his side, the sweat breaking out on his face with the effort.
Lang's teeth gleamed white in his pink face. `Forgot to mention that I'd opened the sea-cocks!'
The door slammed, and seconds later footsteps thudded overhead, followed closely by the squeak of the dinghy's fend-offs. The yacht was suddenly quiet, even the others down aft seemed to be listening.
Already it felt heavier in the water, and as each swell lifted under the keel, she responded only sluggishly. She was going down fast.
He swore aloud in his agony. If once Lang could get to the Seafox, he might well get clear. The excitement of a sinking yacht would draw all eyes and hands from the shore.
Inch by inch, he pulled himself across the thick carpet, his left hand doing the work of two. He fell once on his side and something sharp jabbed into him. He gasped excitedly, clawing inside his shirt. The Very Pistol! There might be still time.
He pulled it out, and dragged himself snakewise over the settee berth under the square ports. He was sweating profusely now, and each small move was an agony of fire.
Blindly he lashed out at the thick glass, feeling the pieces shiver around him. Suddenly, the warm sunlight was on his upturned face, and the quiet water lapped only two feet below him. He thrust out his arm, regardless of the jagged teeth of glass gashing his skin, and only vaguely aware of Lang's expression of surprise and bewilderment, as he pulled on the dinghy paddies.
Gritting his teeth with determination, Vivian pointed the bell-mouthed gun straight up at the untroubled sky, and pulled the thick trigger. There was a loud click. Nothing more.
Lang rested on his oars, fumbling in his coat. The light caught the gleam of steel in his hand.
As if it weighed too much for his arm, Vivian lowered the useless weapon, its barrel swung down like a signal of defeat. It was curious how everything had turned against him. He had even been finally beaten by a damp flare. He felt like laughing crazily.
Lang swayed on his seat, as he levelled his pistol, his eyes narrowed to points of hard light.
At that moment, the gun in Vivian's hand came to life. There was a soft hiss, followed by a dull thud, and he felt the handle wrench itself from his grasp.
He squinted his eyes to shield them from the small island of fire which blossomed out of the middle of the placid water. It was bright enough to dull the sun's rays, and the heat scorched his cheek, as the faulty flare changed Lang's dinghy into a raging inferno. Dimly Vivian heard Lang's screams, and saw the -heavy shape, with tongues of flame licking from his legs, jump wildly into the water. The plump hands thrashed the water into a white froth, the upturned face was empurpled with fear, as the gaping mouth choked and gurgled at the sky.
Vivian watched Lang's crazed efforts in a sort of detached wonder, as with one last, piercing cry, the face sank below the water, the shape becoming an indistinct, pink blob, and finally disappearing completely.
Vivian knew the answer to many things; he knew, for instance, that Lang had died of greed. Dragged to the bottom by the plates he had cherished above all other loyalties, even love.
Vivian's arm slipped from the scuttle, and he fell headlong on to the settee.
He had won his battle. He didn't try to fight the tide of darkness which closed him in its cloak, nor did he hear the screech of metal, as the powerful launch ground alongside decanting its cargo of blue-uniformed figures on to the sinking yacht's deck.
Philip Vivian was at peace with his conscience.
EPILOGUE
ONLY a few people braved the cold, Atlantic wind which swirled the pieces of paper from the streets and sent the lonely seagulls squawking angrily from their perches. The windows of the hotels stared blankly at the tossing whitehorses across the bay, adding to their general air of emptiness and desolation.
The boats in Torquay harbour huddled together at their moorings, as if for comfort, while the uneasy stir of the waves made their masts spiral and bob in miserable harmony. Everywhere, the covers were on, the unnecessary gear stowed away, to await another season, which now seemed a long way away.
Only one boat in the harbour looked fresh, and completely at home in the grey surroundings. She lay alongside the lower jetty, rolling easily, contemptuous of the wind and the weather. Old Arthur Harrap took a last look round and nodded, apparently satisfied with his work, and thoughtfully shook the deck mop over the side. He smiled quietly, as a big black-and-white cat rubbed itself round his legs, purring noisily.
`Glad Wave yer'ome back, are yer?' he wheezed. `Won't be long now, I reckon.'
He squinte
d his watery eyes along the jetty, as a taxi pulled up with a jerk. He watched them narrowly, as they walked slowly down the stone steps.
He was looking paler, and carried his arm in a sling. And she, well, he shook his head in admiration. He gave the cat another pat, and slipped quietly over the rail of the yacht; hunching his shoulders to meet the wind.
As his steps rang out on the stonework, he was whistling softly. He'd go back later, when they'd settled down. After all, he reflected, they were in love.
End
High Water Page 23