The Wreck Of The Mary Deare

‘All right. The end of the month. I’ll come back then. Have you got an underwater camera?’ And when I nodded he leaned forward earnestly. ‘You could take a picture then of the damage to the for’ard holds. The insurance people would give you a lot of money for that — and for pictures of the cargo.’ And then he added, ‘And if I’m wrong, then there’s quarter of a million pounds worth of aero engines — enough salvage to set you up in a big way. Well?’ His eyes moved quickly, nervously, from one to the other of us.

‘You know very well I can’t agree to a proposition like that,’ I said. And Mike added, ‘I think you should put the whole matter in the hands of the authorities.’

‘No. No, I can’t do that.’

‘Why not?’ I asked.

‘Because I can’t;’ The tension was building up in him again. ‘Because I’m up against a company. I’ve a record behind me and they’ll twist things… I’ve been through all this before.’ Sweat was shining in beads on his forehead. ‘And there’s Higgins and the crew. Everything is against me.’

‘But if the Receiver of Wreck made an examination-’

‘I tell you, No. I’m not having the Receiver of Wreck out there — or anybody.’ He was staring at me wildly. ‘Can’t you understand — I’ve got to go back there myself.’

‘No, I can’t,’ I said. ‘If you refused Dellimare’s offer, you’ve nothing to worry about. Why conceal the fact that you beached her on the Minkies?’ And when he didn’t answer, I said, ‘Why do you have to go back? What the devil is there on that ship that you’ve got to go back for?’

‘Nothing. Nothing.’ His voice quivered in tune with his nerves.

‘Yes there is,’ I said. ‘There’s something drawing you back to her as though-’

‘There’s nothing,’ he shouted at me.

‘Then why not tell the authorities where she is? What is it you’re afraid of?’

His fist crashed down on the table top. ‘Stop it! Questions … questions … nothing but questions. I’ve had enough of it, do you hear?’ He got abruptly to his feet and stood, staring down at us. He was trembling all over.

I think he was on the verge of telling us something. I think he wanted to tell us. But instead he seemed to get a grip of himself. ‘Then you won’t take me out there?’ There was a note of resignation in his voice.

‘No,’ I said.

He seemed to accept that and he stood there, his body slack, staring down at the table. I got him to sit down again and gave him another drink. He stayed on to supper. He was very quiet and he didn’t talk much. I didn’t get anything more out of him. He seemed shut away inside himself. When he left he gave me his address. He was in lodgings in London. He said he’d come down at the end of the month and see if we’d changed our minds. I saw him out across the darkened yard and then walked slowly back through the dark shapes of the slipped boats.

‘Poor devil!’ Mike said, as I went below again. ‘Do you think Dellimare really offered him five thousand to wreck the ship?’

‘God knows!’ I said. I didn’t know what to think. It seemed to me that perhaps Patch might be a psychological case — a man whose balance had been destroyed because of the ship he had lost before. ‘I know almost nothing about the man,’ I murmured. But that wasn’t true. You can’t live through what we’d lived through together without knowing a good deal about a man. He was tough. He had great reserves. And I admired him. I almost wished I’d agreed to take him out to the Minkies — just to discover the truth. I told Mike the whole story then, all the little details I’d left out when I rejoined Sea Witch in Peter Port. And after I had finished, he said, ‘It’s a hell of a situation for him if the cargo really has been switched.’

I knew what he meant. He was thinking of the insurance companies, and, having worked for seven years in the marine section of Lloyd’s, I knew very well that once they got their teeth into a claim, they’d never let go.

I worried a lot about this during the fitting out. But a few days after Patch had visited us, I received notification of the date of the Formal Investigation and I comforted myself with the thought that it would all be resolved then.

Sea Witch was ready sooner than we had dared to hope. We sailed on Tuesday, April 27, motoring down to the Solent and then heading westward under full canvas with a light northerly wind. I hadn’t seen Patch again, but I couldn’t help thinking that the wind was fair for the Channel Islands. Twenty-four hours’ sailing would have taken us to the Minkies, and the forecast couldn’t have been better — continental weather with a belt of high pressure over the Azores. We had Mike’s old diving friend, Ian Baird, with us again, and with three of us working we could have got into the Mary Deare’s holds and checked that cargo and still got back for the Investigation. And as Sea Witch leaned to the breeze, her new sails gleaming white in the sunlight, I felt none of the elation that I should have felt at the start of this venture that Mike and I had dreamed about for so long.