The Wreck Of The Mary Deare

I stared at her, wondering how it was she had come to share my own fears. ‘You should have thought of that before,’ I said brutally and watched the muscles of her face contract so that the features looked small and pinched. She was different now from the sunny-smiling kid of the photograph, and the light wasn’t shining on her hair any more. She looked grown up, a woman. ‘He’ll be here in a moment,’ I said more gently, trying to calm her fears, and my own.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, of course.’ She stood there, hesitating, her face taut. ‘I went to see him last night. I didn’t understand — not until I read the evidence of Higgins and the others.’ She stared at me, her eyes big and scared-looking. ‘He told me everything then. He was so-’ She stopped there with a little shrug, uncertain of herself and what she was saying. ‘You do think he’s all right, don’t you?’ And then, because I didn’t answer, she said, ‘Oh God! I could kill myself for the things I said.’ But she wasn’t speaking to me. She was speaking to herself.

I heard the court rise. The corridor was empty. There was still no sign of Patch. ‘We’d better go in,’ I said gently.

She nodded, not saying anything more, and we went into the courtroom together and took our seats. Holland was on his feet. He had a piece of paper in his hand and he turned to face Bowen-Lodge as silence descended on the room. ‘Mr Learned Chairman. I have just received information from the Receiver of Wreck to the effect that the Mary Deare is not sunk. The Harbour Master at St Helier, Jersey Island, has reported that the vessel lies stranded on the Plateau des Minquiers and that a French salvage company is endeavouring to refloat her.’

The gasp of surprise that greeted this news swept through the courtroom, gathering force as people gave voice to their astonishment. Men in the Press desk were on their feet. I caught sight of Higgins, sitting with a dazed look on his face. There was still no sign of Patch.

Bowen-Lodge leaned forward over his desk. ‘This alters the situation entirely, Mr Holland. I take it that it means that the Receiver of Wreck will be able to make a full examination of the wreck?’ And when Holland nodded, he added, ‘I presume you have discussed it with him. How long before he can report to the Court?’

‘He’s not sure about that,’ Holland answered. ‘He doesn’t yet know the exact position of the Mary Deare on the reefs nor has he any information as to the identity of the salvage company. He is making enquiries. But he informs me that the legal position may be complicated — the Minkies being part of the Channel Islands and the company concerned being French. It is a question of the Crown’s rights and the rights of the salvage company. He also stated that the tides in this area, which rise and fall by over thirty feet, made the reefs particularly dangerous and, as far as the cargo was concerned, any examination might have to wait on the successful refloating of the vessel.’

‘I see. Thank you, Mr Holland.’ Bowen-Lodge nodded and turned to his assessors. He conferred with them, heads close together, whilst the sound of people talking broke like a wave again over the court. The Press desk was empty now. ‘Well, that’s that,’ Hal whispered to me. ‘He’ll adjourn the Court now.’ And then he said, ‘Did you know she wasn’t sunk?’ And when I nodded, he said, ‘Good God man! You must be daft.’

Bowen-Lodge had separated from his assessors now and he tapped with his gavel to silence the court. ‘There are one or two questions, Mr Holland, arising out of the discovery that the ship is not sunk. Please recall your last witness.’

Holland nodded and called, ‘Gideon Patch.’

The court was still, nobody moved.

‘Gideon Patch!’ And when he still didn’t appear, Holland turned to the usher on the door and said, ‘Call Gideon Patch.’ The name was repeated, echoing in the emptiness of the corridors outside. But still nothing happened. Necks craned in the public gallery; the buzz of conversation rose again.

They waited several minutes for him, and the silence in the court was’ so absolute that you could almost hear the ticking of the clock. And then, after a brief discussion with the assessors, Bowen-Lodge adjourned the court for one hour. ‘At twelve o’clock please, gentlemen.’ The court stood and then everybody was talking at once, and down by the jury box Higgins, Yules and Burrows stood in a little bunch with their heads close together. And then Higgins broke away from them suddenly and came lumbering towards the door. His eyes met mine for a second, and they had the dead, flat look of a man who is scared.