When Eight Bells Toll Part 4

"Marine biology, eh? Hobby of mine, you might say. Layman, of course. Must have a talk sometime." He was speaking absent-mindedly, his thoughts elsewhere. "Could you describe the policeman, Mr. Petersen?"

I did and he nodded. "That's him all right. Odd, very odd. Must have a word with Archie about this."

"Archie?"

"Sergeant MacDonald. This is my fifth consecutive season's cruising based on Torbay. The South of France and the Egean can't hold a candle to these waters. Know quite a few of the locals pretty well by this time. He was alone?"

"No. A young constable. His son, he said. Melancholy son of lad."

"Peter MacDonald. He has reason for his melancholy, Mr. Petersen. His two young brothers, sixteen years old, twins, died a few months back. At an Inverness school, lost in a late snow-storm in the Cairngorms. The father is tougher, doesn't show it so much. A great tragedy. I knew them both. Fine boys."

I made some appropriate comment but he wasn't listening.

"I must be on my way, Mr. Petersen. Put this d.a.m.ned strange affair in MacDonald's hand. Don't see that he can do much. Then off for a short cruise."

I looked through the wheelhouse windows at the dark skies, the white-capped seas, the driving rain. "You picked a day for it."

"The rougher the better. No bravado. I like a mill-pond as well as any man. Just had new stabilisers fitted in the Clyde - we got back up here only two days ago - and it seems like a good day to try them out." He smiled suddenly and put out his hand. "Sorry to have barged in. Taken up far too much of your time. Seemed rude, I suppose. Some say I am. You and your colleague care to come aboard for a drink to-night? We eat early at sea. Eight o'clock, say? I'll send the tender." That meant we didn't rate an invitation to dinner, which would have made a change from Hunslett and his d.a.m.ned baked beans, but even an invitation like this would have given rise to envious tooth-gnas.h.i.+ng in some of the stateliest homes in the land: it was no secret that the bluest blood in England, from Royalty downwards, regarded a holiday invitation to the island Skouras owned off the Albanian coast as the conferment of the social cachet of the year or any year. Skouras didn't wait for an answer and didn't seem to expect one. I didn't blame him. It would have been many years since Skouras had discovered that it was an immutable law of human nature, human nature being what it is, that no one ever turned down one of his invitations.

"You'll be coming to tell me about your smashed transmitter and asking me what the devil I intend to do about it," Sergeant MacDonald said tiredly. "Well, Mr. Petersen, I know all about it already. Sir Anthony Skouras was here half an hour ago Sir Anthony had a lot to say. And Mr. Campbell, the owner of the Orion, Orion, has just left. He'd a lot to say, too." "Not me, Sergeant. I'm a man of few words." I gave him what I hoped looked like a self-deprecatory smile. "Except, of course, when the police and customs drag me out of bed in the middle of the night. I take it our friends have left?" has just left. He'd a lot to say, too." "Not me, Sergeant. I'm a man of few words." I gave him what I hoped looked like a self-deprecatory smile. "Except, of course, when the police and customs drag me out of bed in the middle of the night. I take it our friends have left?"

"Just as soon as they'd put us ash.o.r.e. Customs arc just a d.a.m.n' nuisance." Like myself, he looked as if he could do with some hours' sleep. "Frankly, Mr, Petersen, I don't know what to do about the broken radio-transmitters. Why on earth - who on earth would want to do a daft vicious thing like that?"

"That's what I came to ask you."

"I can go aboard your boat," MacDonald said slowly. "I can take out my note-book, look around and see if I can't find any clues. I wouldn't know what to look for. Maybe if I knew something about fingerprinting and a.n.a.lysis and microscopy I might just find out something. But I don't. I'm an island policeman, not a one-man Flying Squad. This is C.I.D. work and we'd have to call in Glasgow. I doubt if they'd send a couple of detectives to investigate a few smashed radio valves."

"Old man Skouras draws a lot of water."

"Sir?"

"He's powerful. He has influence. If Skouras wanted action I'm d.a.m.ned sure he could get it If the need arose and the mood struck him I'm sure he could be a very unpleasant character indeed."

"There's not a better man or a kinder man ever sailed into Torbay," MacDonald said warmly. That hard brown fact could conceal practically anything that MacDonald wanted it to conceal but this rime he was hiding nothing. "Maybe his ways aren't my ways. Maybe he's a hard, aye, a ruthless businessman. Maybe, as die papers hint, his private life wouldn't bear investigation. That's none of my business. But if you were to look for a man in Torbay to say a word against him, you'll nave a busy rime on your hands, Mr. Petersen."

"You've taken me up wrongly, Sergeant," I said mildly. "I don't even know the man."

"No. But we do. See that?" He pointed through the side window of the police station to a large Swedish-style timber building beyond the pier. "Our new village hall. Town hall, they call it. Sir Anthony gave us that. Those six wee chalets up the hill there? For old folks. Sir Anthony again - every penny from his own pocket. Who takes all the schoolchildren to the Oban Games - Sir Anthony on the Shangri-la, Shangri-la, Contributes to every charity going and now he has plans to build a boatyard to give employment to the young men of Torbay - there's not much else going since the fis.h.i.+ng-boats left." Contributes to every charity going and now he has plans to build a boatyard to give employment to the young men of Torbay - there's not much else going since the fis.h.i.+ng-boats left."

"Well, good for old Skouras," I said. "He seems to have adopted the place. Lucky Torbay. I wish he'd buy me a new radio-transmitter."

"I'll keep my eyes and ears open, Mr, Petersen. I can't do more. If anything turns up I'll let you know at once."

I told him thanks, and left. I hadn't particularly wanted to go there, but it would have looked d.a.m.ned odd if I hadn't turned up to add my pennyworth to the chorus of bitter complaint.

I was very glad that I had turned up.

The midday reception from London was poor. This was due less 10 the fact that reception is always better after dark than to the fact that I couldn't use our telescopic radio mast: but it was fair enough and Uncle's voice was brisk and businesslike and clear.

"Well, Caroline, we've found our missing friends," he said, "How many?" I asked cautiously, "Uncle Arthur's ambiguous references weren't always as clear as Uncle Arthur imagined them to be.

"All twenty-five." That made it the former crew of the Nantesville, Nantesville, "Two of them are pretty badly hurt but they'll be all right." That accounted for the blood I had found in the captain's and one of the engineers' cabins, "Two of them are pretty badly hurt but they'll be all right." That accounted for the blood I had found in the captain's and one of the engineers' cabins, "Where?" I asked.

He gave me a map reference. Just north of Wexford. The Nantesville Nantesville had sailed from Bristol, she couldn't have been more than a few hours on her way before she'd run into trouble. had sailed from Bristol, she couldn't have been more than a few hours on her way before she'd run into trouble.

"Exactly the same procedure as on the previous occasions," Uncle Arthur was saying. "Held in a lonely farmhouse for a a couple of nights. Plenty to eat and drink and blankets to keep the cold out. Then they woke up one morning and found their guards had gone." couple of nights. Plenty to eat and drink and blankets to keep the cold out. Then they woke up one morning and found their guards had gone."

"But a different procedure in stopping the - our our friend?" I'd almost said friend?" I'd almost said Nantesville Nantesville and Uncle Arthur wouldn't have liked that at all. and Uncle Arthur wouldn't have liked that at all.

"As always. We must concede them a certain ingenuity, Caroline. After having smuggled men aboard in port, then using the sinking fis.h.i.+ng-boat routine, the police launch routine and the yacht with the appendicitis case aboard, I thought they would be starting to repeat themselves. b.u.t.this time they came up with a new one - possibly because it's the first time they've hi-jacked a s.h.i.+p during the hours of darkness. Carley rafts, this time, with about ten survivors aboard, dead ahead of the vessel. Oil all over the sea. A weak distress flare that couldn't have been seen a mile away and probably was designed that way. You know the rest."

"Yes, Annabelle." I knew the rest. After that the routine was always the same. The rescued survivors, displaying a marked lack of grat.i.tude, would whip out pistols, round up the crew, tie black muslin bags over their heads so that they couldn't identify the vessel that would appear within the hour to take them off, march them on board the unknown vessel, land < p="">

"Betty and Dorothy," I said. "Were they still in safe concealment when the crew were taken off?"

"I imagine so. I don't know. Details are still coming in and I understand the doctors won't let anyone see the captain yet." Only the captain had known of the presence aboard of Baker and Delmont. "Forty-one hours now, Caroline. What have you done?"

For a moment I wondered irritably what the devil he was talking about. Then I remembered. He'd given me forty-eight hours. Seven were gone.

"I've had three hours' sleep." He'd consider that an utter waste of time, his employees weren't considered to need sleep. "I've talked to the constabulary ash.o.r.e. And I've talked to a wealthy yachtsman, next boat to us here. We're paying him a social call to-night,"

There was a pause. "You're doing what what to-night, Caroline?" to-night, Caroline?"

"Visiting. We've been invited, Harriet and I. For drinks."

This time the pause was markedly longer. Then he said: "Yon have forty-one hours, Caroline."

"Yes, Annabelle."

"We a.s.sume you haven't taken leave of your senses."

"I don't know how unanimous informed opinion might be about that. I don't think I have."

"And you haven't given up? No, not that. You're too d.a.m.n1 stiff-necked and - and------" stiff-necked and - and------"

"Stupid?" '

"Who's the yachtsman?"

I told him. It took me some time, partly because I had to spell out names with the aid of his d.a.m.ned code-book, partly because I gave him a very full account of everything Skouras had said to me and everything Sergeant MacDonald had said about Skouras. When his voice came again it was cagey and wary. As Uncle Arthur couldn't see me I permitted myself a cynical grin. Even Cabinet Ministers found it difficult to make the grade as far as Skouras's dinner-table, but the Permanent Under-Secretaries, the men with whom the real power of government lies, practically had their own initialled napkin rings. Under-Secretaries were the bane of Uncle Arthur's life.

"You'll have to watch your step very carefully here, Caroline."

"Betty and Dorothy aren't coming home any more, Anna-belle. Someone has to pay. I want someone to pay. You want someone to pay. We all do."

"But it's inconceivable that a man in his position, a man of his wealth------"

"I'm sorry, Annabelle. I don't understand."

"A man like that. Dammit all, I know him well, Caroline. We dine together. First-name terms. Know his present wife even better. Ex-actress. A philanthropist like that. A man who's spent five consecutive seasons there. Would a man like that, a millionaire like that, spend all that time, all that money, just to build up a front------"

"Skouras?" I used the code name. Interrogatory, incredulous, as if it had just dawned upon me what Uncle Arthur was talking about. "I never said I suspected him, Annabelle. I have no reason to suspect him."

"Ah!" It's difficult to convey a sense of heartfelt gladness, profound satisfaction and brow-mopping relief in a single syllable, but Uncle Arthur managed it without any trouble. "Then why go?" A casual eavesdropper might have thought he detected a note of pained jealousy in Uncle Arthur's voice, and ,the casual eavesdropper would have been right. UncleArthur had only one weakness in his make-up - he was a social sn.o.b of monumental proportions, "I want aboard. I want to see this smashed transmitter of his."

"Why?"

"A hunch, let me call it, Annabelle. No more."

Uncle Arthur was going in for the long silences in a big way to-day. Then he said: "A hunch? A hunch? hunch? You told me this morning you were on to something," You told me this morning you were on to something,"

"There's something else. I want you to contact the Post Office Savings Bank, Head Office, in Scotland. After that, the Records files of some Scottish newspapers. I suggest The Glasgow Herald, The Glasgow Herald, the the Scottish Dotty Express Scottish Dotty Express and, most particularly, the West Highland weekly, the and, most particularly, the West Highland weekly, the Oban Times." Oban Times."

"Ah!" No relief this time, just satisfaction. "This is more like it, Caroline. What do you want and why?"

So I told him what I wanted and why, Jots more of the fancy code work, and when I'd finished he said; "I'll have my staff on to this straight away, I'll have all the information you want by midnight."

"Then I don't want it, Annabelle. Midnight's too late for me. Midnight's no use to me."

"Don't ask the impossible, Caroline." He muttered something to himself, something I couldn't catch, then: "I'll pull every strings Caroline. Nine o'clock."

"Four o'clock, Annabelle."

"Four o'clock this afternoon?" When it came to incredulity he had me whacked to the wide. "Four hours' time? You have have taken leave of your senses." taken leave of your senses."

"You can have ten men on it in ten minutes. Twenty in twenty minutes. Where's the door that isn't open to you? Especially the door of the a.s.sistant Commissioner. Professionals don't kill for the h.e.l.l of it. They kill because they must. They kill to gain time. Every additional hour is vital to them. And if it's vital to them, how much more so is it to us? Or do you think we're dealing with amateurs, Annabelle?"

"Call me at four," he said heavily. "I'll see what I have for you. What's your next move, Caroline?"

"Bed,' I said. "I'm going to get some sleep."

"Of course. Time, as you said, is of the essence. You mustn't waste it, must you, Caroline?" He signed off. He sounded bitter. No doubt he was bitter. But then, insomniaapart, Uncle Arthur could rely on a full quota of sleep during the coming night. Which was more than I could. No certain foreknowledge, no second sight, just a hunch, but not a small one, the kind of hunch you couldn't have hidden behind the Empire State Building. Just like the one I had about the Shangri-la. Shangri-la.

I only just managed to catch the last fading notes of the alarm as it went off at ten minutes to four. I felt worse than I had done when we'd lain down after a miserable lunch of corned beef and reconst.i.tuted powdered potatoes - if old Skouras bad had a spark of human decency, he'd have made that invitation for dinner. I wasn't only growing old, I felt old. I'd been working too long for Uncle Arthur. The pay was good but the hours and working conditions - I'd have wagered that Uncle Arthur hadn't even set eyes on a tin of corned beef since World War II - were shocking. And all this constant worrying, chiefly about life expectancy, helped wear a man down.

' Hunslett came out of his cabin as I came out of mine. He looked just as old as I did. If they had to rely on a couple of ageing crocks like us, I thought morosely, the rising generation must be a pretty sorry lot.

Pa.s.sing through the saloon, I wondered bitterly about the ident.i.ty of all those characters who wrote so glibly about the Western Isles in general and the Torbay area in particular as being a yachtsman's paradise without equal in Europe, Obviously, they'd never been there. Fleet Street was their home and home was a place they never left, not if they could help it. An ignorant bunch of travel and advertising copy writers who regarded King's Cross as the northern limits of civilisation. Well, maybe not all that ignorant, at least they were smart enough to stay south of King's Cross.

Four o'clock on an autumn afternoon, but already it was more night than day. The sun wasn't down yet, not by a very long way, but it might as well have been for all the chance it had of penetrating the rolling ma.s.ses of heavy dark cloud hurrying away to the eastwards to the inky blackness of the horizon beyond Torbay. The slanting sheeting rain that foamed whitely across the bay further reduced what little visibility there was to a limit of not more than four hundred yards. The village itself, half a mile distant and .nestling in the dark shadow of the steeply-rising pine-covered hills behind, might never have existed. Off to the north-west I could sec the navigation lights of a craft rounding the headland, Skouras returning from his stabiliser test run. Down in the Shangri-la's Shangri-la's gleaming galley a master chef would be preparing the sumptuous evening meal, the one to which we hadn't been invited. I tried to put the thought of that meal out of my mind, but I couldn't, so I just put it as far away as possible and followed Hunslett into the engine-room. gleaming galley a master chef would be preparing the sumptuous evening meal, the one to which we hadn't been invited. I tried to put the thought of that meal out of my mind, but I couldn't, so I just put it as far away as possible and followed Hunslett into the engine-room.

Hunslett took the spare earphones and squatted beside me on the deck, note-book on his knee. Hunslett was as competent in shorthand as he was in everything else. I hoped that Uncle Arthur would have something to tell us, that Hunslett's presence there would be necessary. It was.

"Congratulations, Caroline," Uncle Arthur said without preamble. "You really are on to something." As far as it is possible for a dead flat monotone voice to a.s.sume an overtone of warmth, then Uncle Arthur's did just that. He sounded positively friendly. More likely it was some freak of transmission or reception but at least he hadn't started off by bawling me out, "We've traced those Post Office Savings books," he went on. He rattled off book numbers and details of times and amounts of deposits, things of no interest to me, then said: "Last deposits were on December 27th. Ten pounds in each case. Present balance is 78 143. 6d. Exactly the same in both. And those accounts have not been closed."

He paused for a moment to let me congratulate him, which I did, then continued.

"That's nothing, Caroline. Listen. Your queries about any mysterious accidents, deaths, disappearances off the west coasts of Inverness-s.h.i.+re or Argyll, or anything happening to people from that area. We've struck oil, Caroline, we've really struck oil. My G.o.d, why did we never think of this before. Have your pencil handy?" "Harriet has."

"Here we go. This seems to have been the most disastrous sailing season for years in the west of Scotland. But first, one from last year. The Pinto, Pinto, a well-found sea-worthy forty-five foot motor cruiser left Kyle of Lochalsh for Oban at eight ajn. September 4th. She should have arrived that afternoon. She never did. No trace of her has ever been found." a well-found sea-worthy forty-five foot motor cruiser left Kyle of Lochalsh for Oban at eight ajn. September 4th. She should have arrived that afternoon. She never did. No trace of her has ever been found."

"What was the weather at the time, Annabelle?"

"I thought you'd ask me that, Caroline." Uncle Arthur's combination of modesty and quiet satisfaction could be very trying at times. "I checked with the Met. office. Force one, variable. Flat calm, cloudless sky. Then we come to this year. April 6th and April 26th. The Evening Star and the Jeannie Rose. Jeannie Rose. Two East Coast fis.h.i.+ng boats - one from Buckie, the other from Fraserburgh," Two East Coast fis.h.i.+ng boats - one from Buckie, the other from Fraserburgh,"

"But both based on the west coast?"

"I wish you wouldn't try to steal my thunder," Uncle Arthur complained. "Both were based on Oban. Both were lobster boats. The Evening Star, Evening Star, the first one to go, was found stranded on the rocks off Islay. The the first one to go, was found stranded on the rocks off Islay. The Jeannie Rose Jeannie Rose vanished without trace. No member of either crew was ever found. Then again on the 17th of vanished without trace. No member of either crew was ever found. Then again on the 17th of May. This time a well-known racing yacht, the May. This time a well-known racing yacht, the Cap Gris Nez, Cap Gris Nez, an English built and owned craft, despite her name, highly experienced skipper, navigator and crew, all of them long-time and often successful compet.i.tors in R.O.R.C. races. That cla.s.s. Left Londonderry for the north of Scotland in fine weather. Disappeared. She was found almost a month later - or what was left of her - washed up on the Isle of Skye." an English built and owned craft, despite her name, highly experienced skipper, navigator and crew, all of them long-time and often successful compet.i.tors in R.O.R.C. races. That cla.s.s. Left Londonderry for the north of Scotland in fine weather. Disappeared. She was found almost a month later - or what was left of her - washed up on the Isle of Skye."

"And the crew?"

"Need you ask? Never found. Then the last case, a few weeks ago - August 8th. Husband, wife, two teenage children, son and daughter. Converted lifeboat, the Kingfisher. Kingfisher. By all accounts a pretty competent sailor, been at it for years. But he'd never done any night navigation, so he set out one calm evening to do a night cruise. Vanished. Boat and crew." By all accounts a pretty competent sailor, been at it for years. But he'd never done any night navigation, so he set out one calm evening to do a night cruise. Vanished. Boat and crew."

"Where did he set out from?"

"Torbay."

That one word made his afternoon. It made mine, too. I said: "And do you still think the Nantesville Nantesville is h.e.l.l and gone to Iceland or some remote fjord in northern Norway?" is h.e.l.l and gone to Iceland or some remote fjord in northern Norway?"

"I never thought anything of the kind." Uncle's human relations.h.i.+p barometer had suddenly swung back from friendly to normal, normal lying somewhere between cool and glacial. "The significance of the dates will not have escaped you?"

"No, Annabelle, the significance has not escaped me." The Buckie fis.h.i.+ng-boat, the Evening Star, Evening Star, had been found washed up on Islay three days after the S.S. had been found washed up on Islay three days after the S.S. Holmivood Holmivood had vanished off the south coast of Ireland. The had vanished off the south coast of Ireland. The Jeanme Rose Jeanme Rose had vanished exactly three days after the M.V. had vanished exactly three days after the M.V. Antara Antara had as mysteriously disappeared in the St. George's Channel. The had as mysteriously disappeared in the St. George's Channel. The Cap Gris Nez, Cap Gris Nez, the R.O.R.C. racer that had finally landed up on the rocksof the island of Skye had vanished the same day as the M.V. the R.O.R.C. racer that had finally landed up on the rocksof the island of Skye had vanished the same day as the M.V. Headley Pioneer Headley Pioneer had disappeared somewhere, it was thought, off Northern Ireland. And the converted lifeboat, had disappeared somewhere, it was thought, off Northern Ireland. And the converted lifeboat, Kingfisher, Kingfisher, had disappeared, never to be seen again, just two days after the S.S. had disappeared, never to be seen again, just two days after the S.S. Hurricane Spray Hurricane Spray had left the Clyde, also never to be seen again. Coincidence was coincidence and I cla.s.sed those who denied its existence with intellectual giants like the twentieth-century South African president who stoutly maintained that the world was flat and that an incautious step would take you over the edge with results as permanent as they would be disastrous: but this was plain ridiculous. The odds against such a perfect matching of dates could be calculated only in astronomical terms: while the complete disappearance of the crews of four small boats that had come to grief in so very limited an area was the final nail in the coffin of coincidence. I said as much to Uncle. had left the Clyde, also never to be seen again. Coincidence was coincidence and I cla.s.sed those who denied its existence with intellectual giants like the twentieth-century South African president who stoutly maintained that the world was flat and that an incautious step would take you over the edge with results as permanent as they would be disastrous: but this was plain ridiculous. The odds against such a perfect matching of dates could be calculated only in astronomical terms: while the complete disappearance of the crews of four small boats that had come to grief in so very limited an area was the final nail in the coffin of coincidence. I said as much to Uncle.

"Let us not waste time by dwelling upon the obvious, Caroline," Uncle said coldly, which was pretty ungracious of him as the idea had never even entered his head until I had put it there four hours previously. "The point is - what is to be done? Islay to Skye is a pretty big area. Where does this get us?"

"How much weight can you bring to bear to secure the cooperation"of the television and radio networks?"

There was a pause, then: "What do you have in mind, Caroline?" Uncle at his most forbidding.

"An insertion of an item in their news bulletins."

"Well." An even longer pause. "It was done daily during the war, of course. I believe it's been done once or twice since. Can't compel them, of course - they're a stuffy lot, both the B.B.C. and the I.T.A." His tone left little doubt as to his opinion of those diehard reactionaries who brooked no interference, an odd reaction from one who was himself a past-master of brookmans.h.i.+p of this nature. "If they can be persuaded that it's completely apolitical and in the national interest there's a chance. What do you want?"

"An item that a distress signal has been received from a sinking yacht somewhere south of Skye, Exact position unknown. Signals ceased, the worst feared, an air-sea search to be mounted at first light to-morrow. That's all,"

"I may manage it. Your reason, Caroline?"

"I want to look around. I want an excuse to move around without raising eyebrows."

"You're going to volunteer the Firecrest Firecrest for this search and then poke around where you shouldn't?" for this search and then poke around where you shouldn't?"

"We have our faults, Annabelle, Harriet and I, but we're not crazy. I wouldn't take this tub across the Serpentine without a favourable weather forecast. It's blowing a Force 7 outside. And a boat search would take a lifetime too long in those parts. What I had in mind was this. At the very eastern rip of Torbay Island, about five miles from the villages there's a small deserted sandy cove, semicircular and well protected by steep bluffs and pine trees. Will you please arrange to have a long-range helicopter there exactly at dawn."

"And now it's your turn to think I am crazy," Uncle Arthur said coldly. That remark about the sea-keeping qualities of big own brain-child, the Firecrest, Firecrest, would have rankled badly. "I'm supposed to snap my fingers and hey presto I a helicopter will be there at dawn." would have rankled badly. "I'm supposed to snap my fingers and hey presto I a helicopter will be there at dawn."