‘I wonder. I’d love to have a little chat with him. Point is, Mr Patterson, I don’t think we’d get any useful information out of him. Men who hired him would be far too clever to tell a character like McCrimmon any more than he needed to know. They certainly wouldn’t tell him what their plans, their end was. It would be a case of “just do so and-so and here’s your cash”. Also, sir, if we leave him loose, we can watch every move he makes without his knowing that we are watching. It’s quite possible he has something more up his sleeve and if we can watch him in the act of what he’s doing it might give us some very valuable information indeed. What, I can’t imagine, but I have the feeling that we should give him that little more rope.’
‘I agree. If he’s bent on hanging himself, just that little more rope.”
Lieutenant Ulbricht had found them a star to steer themselves by. He was on the bridge with McKinnon as the San Andreas headed due west at full speed, Curran at the wheel. Cloud cover was patchy, the wind light and the sea relatively calm. Ulbricht had just caught a brief but sufficient glance of the Pole Star and had established that they were in almost exactly the same place as they had been at noon that morning. He had remained on the bridge where he seemed to prefer to spend his time except, the Bo’sun couldn’t help noticing, during those periods when Margaret Morrison was off duty.
‘Think we’ve shaken him now, Mr McKinnon? Three and a half hours, maybe four, since we may have shaken him.’
‘Nor hide nor hair of him and that’s a fact. But because we can’t see him, as I keep on saying, doesn’t mean that he’s not there. But, yes, I do have this odd feeling that we may have slipped him.’
‘I have a certain regard for your so-called odd feelings.’
‘I only said “may”. We won’t know for certain until the first Condor comes along with its flares.’
‘I wish you wouldn’t talk about such things. Anyway, it’s possible that we may have lost him and that the Focke-Wulf may fail to find us. How long do you intend to maintain this course?’
The longer the better, I should think, //they have lost us, then they’ll probably reason that we’re heading back on a course to Aberdeen – as far as we know, they have no reason to believe that we have reason to believe that they know we’re heading for Aberdeen and would therefore opt for some place else. So they may still think that we’re on a roughly south-south-west course instead of due west. I have heard it said, Lieutenant Ulbricht, I can’t remember who it was, that some Germans at some times have one-track minds.’
‘Nonsense. Look at our poets and playwrights, our composers and philosophers.’ Ulbricht was silent for some moments and McKinnon could imagine him smiling to himself in the darkness. ‘Well, yes, maybe now and again. I sincerely hope that this is one of those times. The longer they keep combing the area in the direction of Aberdeen and the longer we keep heading west the less chance they will have of locating us. So we keep this course for an hour or two more?’
‘Yes. Longer. I propose that we maintain this course throughout the night, then, shortly before dawn, lay off a course directly for Scapa Flow.’
‘Sounds fair enough to me. That’ll mean leaving the Shetlands on our port hand. May even have a glimpse of your islands. Pity you couldn’t drop in in passing.’
‘There’ll come a day. Dinner-time, Lieutenant.’
‘So soon? Mustn’t miss that. Coming?’
‘May as well. Curran, get on the phone and ask Ferguson to come up here. Tell him to keep a constant look-out on both wings. 360 degrees, you understand.’
‘I’ll do that. What’s he supposed to be looking out for, Bo’sun?’
‘Flares.’
McKinnon met Jamieson just after they’d entered the mess-deck and drew him to one side.
‘Our traitorous friend been up to anything he should not have been up to, sir?”
‘No. Guaranteed. Chief Patterson and I had a discussion and we decided to take all the engine-room staff into our confidence – well, all except one, Reilly, who seems to be the only person who talks to him. Reilly apart, McCrimmon would win any unpopularity contest without trying, he’s the most cordially detested person in the engine-room. So we spoke to each man individually, told them the score, and told them not to discuss the matter with any other member of the crew. So he’ll be Under constant supervision, both in the engine-room and in the mess-decks.’ He looked closely at McKinnon. ‘We thought it a good idea. You don’t seem quite sure?’
‘Whatever you and Mr Patterson decide is okay by me.’
‘Dammit.’ Jamieson spoke with some feeling. ‘I suggested to the Chief that we talk to you but he was sure you’d think it a good idea.’
‘I really don’t know, sir.’ McKinnon was doubtful. ‘It seems a good idea. But – well, McCrimmon may be a villain but he’s a clever villain. Don’t forget that he’s gone completely undetected and unsuspected so far and would have kept on that way but for a lucky accident. Being a crude, violent and detestable person with a penchant for crowbars doesn’t mean that he can’t be sensitive to atmosphere, to people being over-casual on the one hand and too furtively watchful on the other. Also, if Reilly is on speaking terms with him shouldn’t he be under observation too?’
‘It’s not all that bad, Bo’sun. Even if he does suspect he’s under observation, isn’t that a guarantee for his good behaviour?’
‘Either that or a guarantee that when – if – he does something he shouldn’t be doing he’s going to make damn sure that there’s no one around when he does it, which is the last thing we wanted. If he believed he was still in the clear he might have betrayed himself. Now he never will.’ McKinnon looked at their table. ‘Where’s Mr Patterson?’
Jamieson looked uncomfortable. ‘Keeping an eye on things.’
‘Keeping an eye on things? Keeping an eye on McCrimmon, you mean. Mr Patterson has never missed dinner since joining this ship. You know that, I know that – and you can be sure McCrimmon knows that. If he has the slightest suspicion that we have the slightest suspicion I can just hear those alarm bells clanging in his head.’
‘It is possible,’ Jamieson said slowly, ‘that it may not have been such a good idea after all.’
Patterson wasn’t the only absentee at the table that night. Janet Magnusson was on duty and both Sister Maria and Dr Sinclair were engaged in the ticklish and rather painful task of re-bandaging Captain Bowen’s head. Captain Bowen, it was reported, was making a considerable amount of noise.
Jamieson said: ‘Does Dr Sinclair think he’ll be able to see again?’ Jamieson, like the three others at the table, was nursing a glass of wine while waiting for the first course to be served.
‘He’s pretty sure,’ Margaret Morrison said. ‘So am I. Some days yet, though. The eyelids are badly blistered.’
‘And the rest of the ward sound asleep as usual?’ She winced and shook her head and Jamieson said hastily: ‘Sorry, that wasn’t a very tactful question, was it?’
She smiled. ‘It’s all right. It’s just that it’ll take me a day or two to get Simons and McCrimmon out of my head. As usual, only Mr Kennet is awake. Perhaps Oberleutnant Klaussen is too – it’s hard to say. Never still, keeps rambling ,on.’
‘And making as little sense as ever?’ McKinnon said.
‘None. All in German, of course, except for one word in English which he keeps repeating over and over again as if he was haunted by it. It’s odd, the theme of Scotland keeps cropping up all the time.’ She looked at Ulbricht. ‘You know Scotland well. We’re headed for Scotland. I’m half-Scots. Archie and Janet, although they claim to be Shetlanders, are really Scots.’
McKinnon said: ‘And don’t forget the lad with the chloroform pad.’
She grimaced. ‘I wish you hadn’t said that.’
‘Sorry. Stupid. And what’s the Scots connection with Klaussen?’
‘It’s the word he keeps repeating. Edinburgh.’ ‘Ah! Edinburgh. The Athens of the North!’ Ulbricht sounded very enthusiastic. ‘Know it well, very well. Better than most Scots, I dare say. Edinburgh Castle. Holyrood Palace. The shrine. The Gardens. Princes Street, the most beautiful of all – ‘ His voice trailed off, then he said in a sharp tone: ‘Mr McKinnon! What’s the matter?’
The other two looked at the Bo’sun. His eyes were those of a man who was seeing things at a great distance and the knuckles of the big hand around the glass were showing white. Suddenly the glass shattered and the red wine flowed over the table.