Complete Works of Nevil Shute

by Nevil Shute

  In the study, Commander Sutton said easily, “I think we’ve cleared up where the leakage came from, sir.” He smiled. “Miss Stevens is engaged to Flying Officer Chambers, the pilot who was responsible for sinking Caranx — or what we think was Caranx.”

  The Admiral stared at her, with creases round his eyes that indicated the possibility of a smile. “So that is where the leakage came from?”

  Mona was silent, confused. Commander Sutton said, “Yes, sir. Miss Stevens has assured me that she had no other source of information.”

  Rutherford said, “Well, that seems to clear up all the difficulties.”

  Captain Burnaby said nothing. One perfectly appalling difficulty was opening before him.

  The Commander-in-Chief said, “I agree with that. Now we can set to work and analyze the evidence.”

  He turned to Mona. “I’m going to ask you to wait a little longer,” he said. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

  She said shyly, “Yes, please.”

  “Come along with me.”

  He opened the door for her that led into the main hall of Admiralty House, white, and very high, and pillared. “I think they’re having tea in the drawing room,” he said easily. “My wife will want to meet you.”

  He opened the door. In the large, well-proportioned room a tea table was drawn up before the fire; a solid, comfortable tea served in the old aristocratic style. A middle-aged lady with grey hair brushed back from her forehead was sitting on a sofa in the act of pouring out; another, possibly a sister, sat opposite to her upon the far side of the fireplace. Two children, a boy and a girl of school age, were digging into the bread and jam.

  The grey-haired lady looked up as the Admiral came in. “Ring the bell for another cup, Jim dear,” she said. She saw Mona behind him. “Oh . . .”

  The Commander-in-Chief said, “I haven’t come to stay. I want you to meet Miss Stevens, Muriel, and give her a cup of tea. Miss Stevens has just been very useful to us, so be nice to her. I’m going back to my conference.”

  Lady Blackett smiled. “Do come and sit down,” she said to Mona. She made room beside her on the sofa. She had become accustomed to the unexpected in the way of visitors since she had become hostess at Admiralty House. She did not know in the very least who Mona was, but then she had not known a great deal about the young Siamese prince that she had had to entertain the day before, or the twenty-three American journalists the day before that.

  The Admiral said, “I don’t suppose we shall be very long,” and went back to his study.

  He noticed at once that Rutherford was missing. Burnaby said, “He’s telephoning from the next office, sir. He won’t be a minute.”

  In a few minutes Rutherford returned, a little red in the face. “I just had an idea. I should have thought of it before. One of the caps that was picked up when Caranx went down was an ordinary rating’s cap with the initials A.C.P. inside the band.”

  “Well?”

  “It just struck me to ring up Blockhouse and find out if there was a rating on Caranx with the initials A.C.P.”

  The Admiral nodded. “Was there?”

  “No, there wasn’t, sir. There was a man called Porter, an engine room artificer, but his names were Thomas Edward.”

  There was a short silence. Captain Burnaby said at last, “So apparently that cap did not belong to anybody on board Caranx.”

  Rutherford said, “Apparently not. It was careless of me not to have thought of this before.”

  Commander Sutton laughed. “Well, that’s another one.”

  The Commander-in-Chief moved over to the table; they grouped themselves around him. “It’s interesting, but it’s a minor point. The first thing that we must establish is the position where this other submarine was said to have been sunk.”

  They sat down at the table and went into conference.

  Half an hour later the Admiral rose from the table. “That’s all then.” He turned to Rutherford. “I shall leave this in your hands, Commander. Make your arrangements direct with Commander Hobson for the divers.” He turned to the secretary. “See that Hobson is informed.”

  The two commanders made as if to leave the room, but Captain Burnaby hesitated. “There’s just one more thing, sir,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  Captain Burnaby was not easily put out, but he had not felt himself in a position of such difficulty for many years. “It’s about the Air Force pilot who sunk Caranx, or what we thought to be Caranx,” he said.

  “What about him? You mean, the one that is engaged to this girl here?”

  “Yes, sir. He happened to be the pilot who was doing the trials upon the R.Q. apparatus yesterday. You remember, there was an accident.”

  “That was the same pilot, was it?”

  “Yes sir.”

  To the two commanders, this was so much Greek; each guarded his own secrets and knew little of the secrets of the other departments.

  The Commander-in-Chief said, “He’s in Haslar, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, sir. He’s pretty bad.”

  “Dying?”

  “I wouldn’t like to say. He got through the night better than they thought he would.” The captain hesitated, and then he said. “He behaved very creditably. He insisted upon seeing Professor Legge in hospital last night, to tell him what happened.”

  The Admiral nodded. It was the sort of thing that one expected, but still good to see. “I don’t suppose that did him any good.”

  “No, sir. The hospital were very cross about it.”

  There was a short silence.

  Commander Sutton said, “I don’t think the girl knows anything about that, sir.”

  “No,” said the Admiral. “She’ll have to be told.”

  The same thought had been in all their minds. Each of them had shied away from it, a desperately unpleasant business that each hoped would fall to some one else.

  Burnaby said, “It isn’t really necessary to tell her now, sir. It will get through to her in due course in the usual way.”

  There was a little pause. Then the Commander-in-Chief said, “No. She’d better be told tonight. She’s deserved well of us, and so has the pilot.”

  He turned to them. “Leave that with me, gentlemen,” he said firmly. They recognized their dismissal, and left the study.

  Outside, the evening was closing in. A steward came in quietly and closed the shutters, and drew the heavy curtains across the windows. The Admiral turned to his desk and picked up the telephone. “Get me Surgeon Captain Dixon, in Haslar Hospital.”

  He looked up from the telephone, and said to the steward, “Ask her Ladyship if she would come and see me in here for a moment.”

  Lady Blackett came into the room as he was putting down the telephone. “Did you want me, Jim?”

  He got up to meet her. “I wanted a word with you alone. What’s that girl like, that I landed on you?”

  She opened her eyes a little. “She’s nice, Jim. Not quite from the top drawer, you know. But she’s got a very nice mind.”

  “Pretty, isn’t she?”

  “I think she’s very good looking. Who is she?”

  “She’s one of the barmaids at the Royal Clarence Hotel.”

  She nodded; she was not surprised. “I thought it was something like that. We had quite a heart-to-heart. She’s half engaged to somebody in the Air Force — an officer.” She smiled quietly. “She was working up to ask me if she ought to marry him, but she didn’t get as far as that.”

  He nodded. “Is she up to scratch?”

  “I think she is. I wouldn’t mind receiving her. Things aren’t like they used to be, when we were married.”

  He turned back to the fire. “There’s a bit of trouble about that Air Force officer of hers,” he said. “Flying Officer Chambers. He was on one of the experimental jobs that the people at Titchfield are doing for us. There was a crash yesterday, and he got very badly hurt.”

  She said quietly, “I’m very sorry.”


  “Yes. I’ve just been on to Haslar. He got through last night all right, but he’s still very ill. Multiple injuries, burns, and shock. I don’t quite know what to do about this girl.”

  “I’m sure she doesn’t know anything about this.”

  “No. Should we tell her, do you think? It’s not as if she was his wife.”

  She said, “I think we ought to tell her.”

  “That’s what I thought. Normally, I wouldn’t bother with it; I’d let her go away and find out in the usual course of things. But these two have deserved well of us, both of them.”

  “You’ll give her a pass to go and see him in Haslar?”

  “Of course.” There was a pause, and then he said, “Is she alone in the drawing room?”

  “Yes.”

  He moved towards the door, a great massive figure in naval uniform, with heavy rings of gold braid on his arms, with three rows of medal ribbons on his shoulder.

  She stopped him. “Let me do it, Jim,” she said. “I’ll bring her in to see you for a minute presently.” She smiled gently. “This is the sort of thing that I can do a great deal better than you.”

  In the tall, spacious drawing room Mona sat alone before the fire. From three of the four walls long portraits of bygone admirals in uniform looked down at her, clothed in the fashions of an older day. Presently she got up and began looking round; over the mantelpiece she read the legend on a picture, Admiral Earl Howe. Each of the pictures had a title under it; some of them she could remember vaguely from her history book at school.

  Jerry, she knew, would get up to the top of his profession. A hundred years hence, Jerry’s portrait might be hanging on a similar wall in some far-distant, similar drawing room. She wondered what the wives of all these admirals had been. Had any of them been barmaids? If she married Jerry, would he ever have his picture on a wall like that?

  The door opened, and she turned to meet the wife of the Commander-in-Chief.

  Lady Blackett came forward to the fire. “Sit down, my dear,” she said a little nervously. They sat down together on the deep, brocaded sofa.

  “I’m afraid I’ve got bad news for you,” she said.

  10

  ALL MORNING THE Dutch ship plugged along up Channel, driven at twelve knots with a rumbling mutter from her Diesel engines. They had passed the Lizard in the night; at dawn they had been inspected by a low flying monoplane of the Coastal Command. The name HELOISE and the Dutch colours painted on her side had satisfied the aeroplane; the pilot had waved cheerfully at them, and had flown on his way.

  They passed the Start at ten o’clock and went on, keeping a sharp lookout for submarines. Once three destroyers passed to the south of them, steering west and going at a great speed.

  On the bridge Captain Jorgen stood scanning the waters. He had slept little during the night; it was unlikely that he would leave the bridge before his vessel docked at Rotterdam. He was nervous of submarines. Without respect for neutrality the Germans had been sinking Dutch ships at sight in recent weeks; a policy that was difficult to comprehend. In successive voyages since the war began the Heloise had brought from America a considerable quantity of goods that had been destined for Germany. Not all had passed the contraband control, but a good deal had slipped through.

  His first officer called his attention to a ship ahead of them as they drew near to Portland. He inspected it through glasses; it had the unmistakable outline of a destroyer. Moreover, it was steaming to meet him. He swore softly to himself. For the last two voyages he had had a navicert issued in New York, but that did not prevent the British from stopping his ship for further inspections.

  Presently the destroyer began signalling to him with a lamp. “What ship is that?” Viewing him from the bow, she could not see the letters painted on his side.

  He answered; there was nothing else to do. Back came the signal, “Request you proceed to Weymouth for examination.”

  Angrily he signalled back, “Have navicert therefore no examination necessary.”

  Curtly the answer came, “Proceed to Weymouth.” The destroyer took station on his quarter and accompanied him in. Her bow guns trained on him discouraged argument.

  At half-past two the anchor rattled down in Weymouth Bay; the throbbing of the Diesel engines died away to rest. The captain stood on the bridge, staring angrily at the motor tender coming towards them from the harbour mouth. He nursed a sense of grievance. His ship carried a cargo of general merchandise, most of which was quite genuinely destined for consumption in Holland.

  He gave an order, and a pilot’s ladder rolled down the vessel’s side. The tender drew alongside and made fast; he went down to the head of the ladder to meet the officers of the Control.

  The first to come over the side was a lieutenant commander in the R.N.V.R. whom he remembered from his previous examinations. “Well?” he said coldly. “What is it that you want?”

  The other said, “We shan’t keep you longer than an hour or two, Captain. May I see your papers?”

  Jorgen shrugged his shoulders. “It is no business for you,” he said. “Nothing whatsoever to do with you — you understand? Still, you are here, and I have nothing to conceal. You may see the papers — alle, alle, including the navicert which is supposed to make me free from these delays.”

  Another officer climbed over the bulwarks, wearing the brass hat of a commander in the Royal Navy. The first officer said, “Captain Jorgen — may I introduce you to Commander Rutherford.”

  “So.” The Dutchman bowed stiffly. “You are also of the Contraband Control?”

  Rutherford said, “No — I belong to another branch of the Service.” He looked around. “Could we go into your cabin, Captain? I shan’t keep you long.”

  “As you like.” He turned, and led the way to the deckhouse.

  The commander laid his hat and muffler on the table. He took out his wallet, and extracted a small piece of newspaper. “Would you take a look at that, Captain, and tell me if you’ve ever seen it before?”

  The Dutchman opened his eyes a little wider, “Ja,” he said. “I have this in my book, also. My book of cuttings, you understand. So, exactly the same. It comes from the Star, at Norfolk, in America.”

  “That’s it,” said Rutherford. “Tell me, is this account of the submarine correct, Captain? Did you really see a submarine destroyed like this?”

  “Truly. I have written it in the log.”

  The commander said, “My business is with submarines, Captain. May I see that entry in your log? We are anxious to find out everything we can about that sinking.”

  Jorgen reached down a volume from the shelf above his head, and opened it upon the table. He turned the pages rapidly to December 3. “You are able to read Dutch?”

  “No — I’m afraid I can’t.”

  “So.” The captain laid his finger on the page. “There — the date. The time, 1415, two hours and one quarter after noon — you understand? I will translate. It says:

  “ ’Strong detonation distance two miles on starboard side with indication of wrecked submarine. Sea moderate. Departure Point bears north thirty-six degree west.’ ”

  Rutherford pulled an envelope from his pocket, and noted on the back of it the time of the explosion, and the bearing from Departure Point. “That is the bearing of the ship, I take it. Not the submarine?”

  “Ja. I will show upon the chart the position of the submarine, if you wish.”

  “We’ll have a look at that later. Tell me first, what do you mean by ‘indication of wrecked submarine’? Did you see the submarine before the explosion?”

  Jorgen shook his head. “It was sharp storm — what do you say? — a squall. With rain and a little wind. It may be that the submarine was up on the top of the sea, but we did not see, because of the rain — you understand?”

  The commander nodded. “Then passed the squall, all over. And at once, we hear the explosion, that rattles the whole ship, very strong. We look, and we see a very big tower of
water, and then we see the two ends of a submarine both at the same time above the water — like this.” He indicated with his fingers.

  Rutherford nodded slowly. “Did you see the ship that sunk her?”

  The captain said, “There was no ship at all. Not one in sight.”

  “What did you think made the explosion, then?”

  The Dutchman eyed him narrowly. “How should I tell you what made the explosion?” he said. “You know already everything about it.”

  The commander said, “If I knew everything about it I shouldn’t be here, Captain. Tell me, what did you make of it?”

  Jorgen shrugged his shoulders. “Some say one thing, some say another thing. For myself, I think first it is a mine, and then I think, another submarine has fired a torpedo. Others think an explosion from inside. But who can say?”

  “Did you see any sign of any other submarine?”

  The captain shook his head. “It was rough weather.”

  Rutherford got to his feet. “Have you got a chart, Captain? Could you show me the position of the submarine, as nearly as you can?”

  “Ja. That I will do now.”

  They went into the chart room, laid out the chart and drew rapidly upon it with ruler and pencil. “That is our course. There, the position of the ship. And there, the detonation.”

  The commander noted the position carefully upon his envelope, with the reasoning that led to it. It was several miles off shore, but it was on a shelf of the sea bottom. There were only fourteen fathoms of water marked upon the chart. They could get a diver down there almost any time if it was reasonably calm.

  He stayed for a quarter of an hour longer, poring over the chart, questioning the captain about the colour of the submarine, the general appearance, and the nature of the explosion. He got no more information than he had already gained. Once he said, “When the bow went up, you saw the bottom of the submarine, I suppose.”

  “Ja — at the forward end.”

  “What colour was it, captain? The underwater surface?”

  The other shrugged his shoulders. “The visibility was bad, you understand, and it was two miles away. The bottom was dark in colour. Black, perhaps.”