The Wreck Of The Mary Deare

There were no further questions and Gundersen stood down. He was dressed now in a dark-grey double-breasted suit, obviously cut by a London tailor, and he looked a typical English business man — quiet, remote, competent.

More technical evidence followed, and then Bowen-Lodge adjourned the court. ‘Tomorrow at ten-thirty, gentlemen.’

As I followed Hal into the corridor, a hand plucked at my sleeve. ‘You’re Mr Sands, aren’t you?’ A little, grey-haired woman was smiling up at me a little uncertainly.

‘Yes,’ I said. There was something about her face that I seemed to recognise.

‘I thought you were, but I’m never quite certain about people — my eyes, you know. I just wanted to tell you how glad I am he has one good friend in all this terrible business. You were splendid, Mr Sands.’

I saw the likeness then. ‘You’re his mother, aren’t you?’ I was looking round for Patch, but she said, ‘Please. He doesn’t know I’m here. He’d be terribly angry. When he came down to see me at Bridgewater, he didn’t tell me anything about it. But I knew at once that he was in trouble.’ She gave a little sigh. ‘It was the first time I had seen him in seven years. That’s a long time, Mr Sands, for an old body like me. I only had the one, you see — just Gideon. And now that his father’s dead …’ She smiled and patted my arm. ‘But there, you don’t want to hear about my troubles. I just wanted you to know that I’m glad he’s got one good friend.’ She looked up at me. ‘It will be all right this time … you do think so, don’t you, Mr Sands?’

‘I’m sure it will,’ I murmured. ‘Sir Lionel Falcett is obviously concentrating on the cargo and the Company.’

‘Yes. Yes, that’s what I thought.’

I offered to see her to her hotel, but she wouldn’t hear of it and left me with a brave little smile, moving along with the crowd. Hal joined me then and we went out to his car. I caught a glimpse of her standing, waiting for a bus. She was off-guard then, and she looked lonely and a little frightened.

Hal offered to put me up for the night and we collected my suitcase from the station and drove down to his house at Bosham, a small, thatched place with a lawn running down to the water. I had bought an evening paper in Southampton; it was all over the front page and three columns of it inside — Captain’s Daughter Breaks Down at Enquiry; Strange Story of Loss of Mary Deare.

It wasn’t until after dinner that Hal began to ask me specific questions about Patch. At length he said, ‘That day you rejoined us at Peter Port — you didn’t say very much about him.’ He was standing by the window, looking out across the lawn to where the water was a milky blur in the dusk. There were a couple of yachts moored out there and their masts were bobbing to the lop and the wind gusts. He turned and looked at me. ‘You knew about the Belle Isle business then, didn’t you?’

I nodded, wondering what was coming. It was very cosy in that room with its lamps and its glimmer of Eastern brass and the big tiger skins on the floor, very remote from all that I had lived with during the past two months. Even the glass of port in my hand seemed part of the illusion of being in another world.

He came and sat down opposite me. ‘Look, old chap,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to pry into what, after all, is your concern. But just how sure are you about this fellow?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, you’ve got to be damn’ sure about a man … I mean … He hesitated, searching for the words he wanted. ‘Well, put it this way. If Patch wrecked that ship — deliberately wrecked her — then it was murder. They may only be able to pin a charge of manslaughter on him in law, but before God he’d be guilty of murder.’

‘He didn’t do it,’ I said.

‘You’re sure of that?’

‘Absolutely.’ And having said that, I sat back, wondering why I’d said it, why I was so certain.

‘I’m glad,’ Hal said. ‘Because, you know, all the time you were in the witness box, I was conscious that you were defending him. You were selecting your evidence, keeping things back, and at times you were a little scared. Oh, you needn’t worry. I don’t think anybody else noticed it. I noticed it because I know you and because at Peter Port, when you’d had less time to think it all out, you were so obviously covering up.’ He paused and sipped his port. ‘Go carefully, though,’ he added. ‘I know Lionel Falcett. Member of my club. Seen him in action, too. Don’t let him get his claws into you.’

CHAPTER THREE