The Wreck Of The Mary Deare

And indeed, the incidents he has related to the Court, in the absence of any natural explanation, would appear to support this conclusion. I would, however, point out to the Court, that the value of the ship herself was not such as to justify so elaborate a plot and that we must, therefore, presume that, if such a plot existed, it was directed towards fraudulently obtaining the insurance value of the cargo. I would respectfully point out to you, Mr Learned Chairman, that there would only be financial gain in such a dastardly and murderous endeavour if, in fact, the cargo had been removed prior to the loss of the ship.’

Bowen-Lodge nodded. ‘I quite understand your argument, Sir Lionel.’ He glanced at the clock at the far end of the court, above the public gallery. ‘What is your question?’

‘It concerns the time the ship was moored alongside the Torre Annunziata in the Rangoon River,’ Sir Lionel said. ‘My information is that the Mary Deare’s crew were given shore leave, and that during that period the Torre Annunziata was a blaze of lights with all her winches in operation.’ He looked across at Holland. ‘I understand that a deposition to this effect will be introduced later and that it states that the official concerned was informed by the Master of the Torre Annunziata that he had been shifting cargo to make room for some steel tubing he was due to load.’ He turned back to face Bowen-Lodge. ‘I should like to know, Mr Learned Chairman, whether the witness heard any of his officers speak of this after he had joined the ship — whether, in fact, it had been the subject of some comment?’

The question was put and Patch answered that he had heard of it from Rice. He hadn’t at the time attached any significance to it.

‘But you do now?’ Sir Lionel suggested.

Patch nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Just one more question, Mr Learned Chairman. Can the witness tell us whether Mr Dellimare at any time made any reference to the cargo?’

The question was put and, when Patch answered, no, Sir Lionel said, ‘You had no indication from anyone that the cargo might be other than that stated on the manifest?’

‘No.’

‘I will put it to you another way — a ship is a very tight little company of men, and in any enclosed community like that a thing popularly known as the grapevine operates. Did you hear any rumours about the cargo after you joined the ship?’

‘Some men seemed to think that we had a cargo of explosives on board,’ Patch answered. ‘It was a rumour that persisted despite the fact that I posted a copy of the manifest on the crew’s notice board.’

‘You thought it dangerous that they should think they were sitting on top of a lot of explosives?’

‘I did.’

‘Having regard to the sort of crew you had?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you say that this rumour would be sufficient in itself to cause panic amongst the crew as soon as they knew a fire had broken out?’

‘Probably.’

‘In point of fact Rice reported that they were panicking.’ Sir Lionel leaned forward, staring at Patch. ‘How did this extraordinary rumour get around the ship?’

Patch glanced involuntarily towards the waiting witnesses. ‘I don’t think Mr Higgins was ever convinced that we were carrying the cargo declared on the manifest.’

‘He thought it was a cargo of explosives, eh? What gave him that idea?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Did you ask him?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘When?’

‘Just after we rounded Ushant.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He refused to answer.’

‘What were his exact words when you put the question to him?’

‘His exact words?’

‘Yes.’

‘He said I could bloody well try and get the answer out of Taggart or Dellimare and stop bothering him. They were both dead, of course.’

‘Thank you.’ Sir Lionel folded himself delicately into his seat. Bowen-Lodge looked at the clock again and adjourned the court. ‘Two o’clock please, gentlemen.’ He rose and the court rose with him, standing whilst he left by the door at the rear of the judge’s chair, followed by his three assessors.

When I turned to leave I found that Mrs Petrie had been sitting right behind me. She gave me a little brief smile of recognition. Her face was puffy and pallid under her make-up and her eyes were red. Gundersen was there, too. He had been sitting beside her, but now he had moved along the row and was talking to Higgins. She went out on her own. ‘Who’s that woman?’ Hal asked me.

‘One of the Dellimare directors,’ I replied, and I told him about my visit to the company’s offices. ‘I rather think she may have been living with Dellimare,’ I told him.

Outside, the sun shone on rain-wet pavements, and it came as something of a shock to discover that there were people — ordinary people who knew nothing of the Mary Deare — hurrying about their everyday affairs. Patch was standing alone on the pavement’s edge. He had been waiting for me and he came straight across. ‘I’d like a word with you, Sands.’ His voice was hoarse with talking and his face looked drained.