The Wreck Of The Mary Deare

An hour later Gundersen arrived. The boy came down to say that he was waiting for me in the yard manager’s office. A big chauffeur-driven limousine stood outside and I went in to find Gundersen seated on the edge of the desk smoking a cigarette and the manager standing in front of him in uneasy silence. ‘You’re Mr Sands, are you?’ Gundersen asked. He didn’t offer me his hand or get up or make any move. The manager gave us the use of his office and slipped out. As soon as the door was shut Gundersen said, ‘You know why I’m here, I imagine?’ He waited until I had nodded and then said, ‘I saw Mr Patch yesterday. I understand you were with him during the last forty-eight hours on the Mary Deare. Naturally I wanted to hear your version of what happened on our ship.’ He asked me then to go through the whole sequence of events. ‘I want every detail, please, Mr Sands.’

I went through the whole story for him, leaving out only the details about Patch’s behaviour and what had happened at the end. He listened in complete silence, not interrupting once. His long, immobile face, tanned by the sun, showed no flicker of expression, and his eyes, behind their horn-rimmed glasses, watched me all the time I was talking.

Afterwards he asked me a series of questions — straightforward, practical questions concerning course and wind strength and the length of time we had run the engines. The ordeal we had gone through seemed to mean nothing to him and I got the impression of a cold personality.

Finally, he said, ‘I don’t think you have yet understood, Mr Sands, what it is I wish to know.’ His slight accent was more noticeable now. ‘I want to discover the exact position in which the ship went down.’

‘You don’t seem to realise the conditions prevailing at the time,’ I said. ‘All I can tell you is that she was close to the Roches Douvres at the time I boarded her.’

He got up then. He was very tall and he wore a light-coloured suit of smooth material draped in the American fashion. ‘You are not being very helpful, Mr Sands.’ A signet ring on his finger flashed in the pale April sunlight. ‘It seems odd that neither you nor Patch can say where the ship was at the time you abandoned her.’ He waited, and then he said, ‘I have also talked to Higgins. He may not have a Master’s Certificate, but he’s an experienced seaman. You may be interested to know that his calculations, based on wind strength, probable drift and tide, put the Mary Deare’s final position a good deal to the east of where you and Patch seem to think you were. Have you any comment to make?’ He stood facing me, his back to the window.

‘None,’ I said, nettled and a little angry at his manner. And then, because he was still staring at me, waiting, I said, ‘I’d remind you, Mr Gundersen, that I am not concerned in this. I was on board your ship by accident.’

He didn’t answer for a moment. Finally he said, ‘That remains, perhaps, to be seen.’ And he added, ‘Well, at least I have got something out of you. Now that we have some idea of the length of time the engines were running and the course steered whilst they were in use, it should be possible to arrive at an approximation of the position.’ He paused again. ‘Is there anything further you would care to add to what you have already told me, Mr Sands?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘Nothing.’

‘Very well.’ He picked up his hat. And then he paused. ‘The manager here tells me that you’re interested in salvage. You’ve formed a company — Sands, Duncan amp; Company, Ltd.’ He stared at me. ‘I think I should warn you that this man Patch has a bad record. Unfortunately our Mr Dellimare was inexperienced in matters connected with shipping. He employed this man when nobody else would, and the result has proved disastrous.’

‘He did his best to save the ship,’ I said angrily.

For the first time his face moved. An eyebrow lifted. ‘After he had caused the crew to panic and take to the boats. I have yet to discover his precise motives, but if you’re mixed up in this, Mr Sands …’ He put his hat on. ‘You can contact me at the Savoy Hotel if you should find you have some further information to give me.’ He went out of the office then and I watched him drive away with an uneasy feeling that I was getting myself dangerously involved.

This feeling persisted, and it came between me and my work so that I was not in a particularly sympathetic mood when Patch finally arrived. We were living on board Sea Witch by then, which was fortunate because he didn’t arrive until the evening. I had expected him to look rested, the lines in his face smoothed out. It came as a shock to me to find him looking just as haggard. We had only one light on board, an inspection lamp clamped to a half-erected bulkhead, and in its harsh glare he looked ghastly, his face quite white and a nervous tic at the corner of his mouth.