The Wreck Of The Mary Deare

His eyes flickered and slid away from me. ‘How could I?’ he breathed. And then, as I started to tell him that the Court had a right to the truth, he said, ‘Leave it at that, can’t you? Just leave it at that.’ And he turned on his heel and walked quickly away towards the exit.

I went after him then. I couldn’t leave it like that. I had to give him the chance he’d asked for. I pushed through a little knot of the Mary Deare’s crew and caught him up in the corridor outside. ‘Listen,’ I said. ‘I’ll take you out there — as soon as the Enquiry is over.’

He shook his head, still walking towards the freedom of the main doors. ‘It’s too late now,’ he said.

His attitude exasperated me and I caught hold of his arm, checking him. ‘Don’t you understand? I’m offering you my boat,’ I said. ‘Sea Witch is lying in Lulworth Cove. We could be over there in twenty-four hours.’

He rounded on me then. ‘I tell you it’s too late.’ He almost snarled the words at me. And then his eyes slid past me, narrowing suddenly and blazing with anger. I felt his muscles tense, and then he had freed himself from me and was walking away. I turned to find Higgins standing there. He had Yules with him and they were both staring after Patch walking down the corridor, fascinated by the thought that he might be guilty of sending a lot of men to their death.

I turned to look for Hal, but Higgins caught hold of my arm, so that I was instantly conscious of the colossal brute strength of the man. ‘I ‘card wot you said just then.’ His throaty voice was full of the smell of stale beer as he thrust his head close to mine. ‘If you think you’re goin’ ter take ‘im a’t there …’ He checked himself quickly, his small, blood-veined eyes narrowed, and he let go of my arm. ‘Wot I mean is… well, you steer clear of ‘im,’ he rasped. ‘E’s a wrong ‘un — yer can take my word fer it. You’ll only get yerself inter trouble.’ And he turned quickly and went ploughing off down the corridor, little Yules hurrying after him.

A moment later Hal joined me. His face was serious. ‘I’ve been talking to Lionel Falcett,’ he said, as we moved off towards the entrance. ‘It’s as I thought. They think he’s hiding something.’

‘Who — Patch?’ I was still shaken by what Higgins had said, wondering if he’d guessed that I’d been referring to the Mary Deare.

‘Yes. It’s only an impression, mind you. Lionel didn’t say anything, but…’ He hesitated. ‘Do you know where Patch is staying?’ And when I nodded, he said, ‘Well, if you’re absolutely certain of the chap, I’d get hold of him and tell him what the form is. It’s the truth and the whole truth now, if he wants to keep clear of trouble. That’s my advice, anyway. Get hold of him tonight.’

We went into the pub across the road and had a drink. I phoned Patch from there. It was a lodging house down by the docks and the landlady told me that he’d come in, got his coat and gone out again. I phoned him later when we arrived at Bosham and once after dinner, but he still hadn’t returned. It worried me and, going to bed early, I found it difficult to sleep. Rain was lashing at the window and in the twilight of half-consciousness Patch and Higgins wandered through my mind. I pictured Patch walking the streets of Southampton, walking endlessly to a decision that would justify his cry that my offer was too late and leave him just something to be identified in a mortuary.

In the morning, of course, it all seemed different. The sun was shining and there was a blackbird singing, and as we drove into Southampton, the world was going about its prosaic, everyday life — delivery vans and postmen on bicycles and kids going to school. It was ten-fifteen when we reached the court. We had arrived early so that I could have a word with Patch before the Investigation was resumed. But he hadn’t arrived yet. Only a few of the witnesses were there, Higgins among them, his big body slewed round in his seat, watching the entrance.

Across the court several of the lawyers had come in and were standing together in a little knot, talking in low voices. The Press desk was filling up; the public gallery, too. Hal left me and went to his seat, and I moved out into the corridor and stood there, watching the people filing slowly in, searching for Patch amongst the faces that thronged the narrow passage-way.

‘Mr Sands.’ A hand touched my arm, and I turned to find Janet Taggart standing beside me, her eyes unnaturally large in the pallor of her face. ‘Where is he? I can’t find him.’

‘Who?’

‘Mr Patch. He’s not in the courtroom. Do you know where he is, please?’

‘No.’

She hesitated, unsure of herself. ‘I’m terribly worried,’ she murmured.