I made my excuses and left. On the deck I almost bumped into a
sandy-haired young seaman, whitehead, who usually shared my watches on
the bridge in his capacity as engine room telegraphist, lookout, bridge
messenger, and coffee maker.
“What are you doing here?” I asked sharply. With young dexter on
watch I wanted as many sharp eyes and quick minds as possible round him:
whitehead had both. “You know you’re not to leave the bridge in my
absence?”
“Sorry, sir. But ferguson sent me.” ferguson was the
quartermaster on the forenoon watch. “We’ve missed the last two course
alterations and he’s getting pretty worried about it.” we were bringing
round three degrees to the north every fifteen minutes to get on a north
by west course, but slowly, so as not to excite anyone.”
“Why come and bother me about it?” I said irritably. “Fourth
Officer dexter is perfectly capable of handling those matters.” he
wasn’t, but one of the drawbacks of being a fellow officer of dexter was
that you were forced to lie like fury to maintain an outward appearance
of solidarity.
“Yes, sir. But he’s not there, mr. carter. He left the bridge
about twenty minutes ago and he hasn’t come back yet.”
I pushed violently past whitehead, knocking him to one side, and
made for the bridge at a dead run, three steps at a time up the
companionways. Rounding one corner, I caught a glimpse of whitehead
staring up after me with a most peculiar expression on his face. He
probably thought I had gone mad.
chapter 5
[wednesday 8:45 a.m.-3:30 p.m.]
ferguson, a tall, swarthy, saturnine cockney with no hair left to
speak of, glanced round as I burst through the doorway from the
starboard wing of the bridge into the wheelhouse. His face showed his
relief.
“Strewth, am I glad to see “where’s the fourth mate?” I demanded.
“Search me, sir. Them course alterations “to hell with the course
alterations! where did be go?” ferguson blinked in surprise. He had
the same look on his face as whitehead had had a few seconds ago, the
wary bafflement of a man who sees another going off his rocker.
“I don’t know, sir. He didn’t say.”
I reached for the nearest phone, got through to the dining room,
asked for bullen. He came on and I said, “carter here, sir. Could you
come up to the bridge straightaway?”
there was a brief pause, then, “why?”
“Dexter’s missing, sir. He had the watch but he left the bridge
twenty minutes ago.”
“Left the bridge.” bullen’s voice held no inflection, but only
because he made it that way. Lord dexter’s son or not, young dexter was
finished on the campari unless he could explain this one away. “Looked
for him yet? he could be anywhere.”
“That’s what i’m afraid of, sir.”
the phone clicked and I hung up. Young whitehead, still looking
apprehensive, had just arrived in the cabin. I said, “you’ll find the
third mate in his cabin. My compliments to him, ask him if he’ll take
over the bridge for a few minutes. Ferguson?”
“Sir?” the voice was still wary. “Mr. dexter said nothing at all
when he left?”
“Yes, sir. I heard him say something like, ‘wait a minute, what
the hell’s going on here?’ or something like that, I can’t be sure.
Then he said, ‘keep her as she is. Back in a jiffy,’ and then he was
off.”
“That was all?”
“That was all, sir.”
“Where was he standing at the time?”
“On the starboard wing, sir. Just outside the door.”
“And he went down that side?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where was whitehead at the time?”
“Out on the port wing, sir.” ferguson’s expression and tone showed
beyond all doubt that he was with a loony, but he was playing it cool
all the same.
“Didn’t cross to see where mr. dexter had gone?”
“No, sir.” he hesitated. “Well, not right away. But I thought it
a bit funny so I asked him to have a look. He couldn’t see anything.”
“Damn! how long after mr. dexter left before he took this look?”
“A minute. Maybe closer on two. Couldn’t be sure, sir.”
“But whatever mr. dexter saw, it was aft?”
“Yes, sir.”
I moved out on the wing bridge and looked aft. There was no one to
be seen on any of the two decks below. The crew had long finished
washing down decks and the passengers were still at breakfast. Nobody
there. Nothing of any interest at all to be seen. Even the wireless
office was deserted, its door closed and locked. I could see the brass
padlock clearly, gleaming and glittering in the morning sun as the
campari pitched slowly, gently, through the ever lengthening swell.
the wireless office! I stood there perfectly rigid for all of
three seconds, a candidate, in ferguson’s eyes, for a strait jacket if
ever there had been one, then took off down the companionway the same
way as I had come up, three steps at a time. Only a smart piece of
braking on my part and a surprisingly nimble bit of dodging on the
captain’s prevented a head-on collision at the foot of the companionway.
Bullen put into words the thought that was obviously gaining currency
around the bridge.
“Have you gone off your bloody rocker, mister?”
“The wireless office, sir,” I said quickly. “Come on.” I was
there in a few seconds, bullen close behind. I tried the padlock, a
heavy-duty, double-action yale, but it was securely locked.
it was then that I noticed a key sticking out from the bottom of
the padlock. I twisted it, first one way, then the other, but it was
jammed fast. I tried to pull it out and had the same lack of success.
I became aware that bullen was breathing heavily over my shoulder.
“What the devil’s the matter, mister? what’s got into you all of a
sudden?”
“One moment, sir.” i’d caught sight of whitehead making his way up
to the bridge and beckoned him across. “Get the bo’sun. Tell him to
bring a pair of pliers.”
“Yes, sir, i’ll get the pliers”
“I said, ‘tell the bo’sun to bring them,'” I said savagely. “Then
ask mr. peters for the key to this door. Hurry!”
he hurried. You could see he was glad to escape. Bullen said,
“look here, mister
“Dexter left the bridge because he saw something funny going on.
So ferguson said. Where else but here, sir?”
“Why here? why not
“Look at that.” I took the padlock in my hand. “That bent key.
And everything that’s happened has happened because of here.”
“The window?”
“No good. I’ve looked.” I led him round the corner to the single
square of plate glass. “Night curtains are still drawn.”
“Couldn’t we smash the damned thing in?”
“What’s the point? it’s too late now.”
bullen looked at me queerly but said nothing. Half a minute passed
in silence. Bullen was getting more worried every second. I wasn’t. I
was as worried as could be already. Jamieson appeared, on his way to
the bridge, caught sight of us, made to come towards us, then carried on
as bullen waved him away. And then the bo’sun was there, carrying a
pair of heavy insulated pliers in his hand.
“Open this damned door,” bullen said curtly. Macdonald tried to
remove the key with his fingers, failed, and brought the pliers into
use. With the first tug of the pliers the key in the lock snapped
cleanly in half.
“Well,” bullen said heavily, “that helps.” macdonald looked at
him, at me, then back at the broken key still held in the jaws of the
pliers.
“I didn’t even twist it, sir,” he said quietly. “And if that’s a
yale key,” he added with an air of faint distaste, “then i’m an
englishman.” he handed over the key for inspection. The break showed
the grey, rough, porous composition of some base metal. “Homemade, and
not very well made at that, either.”
bullen pocketed the broken key. “Can you get the other bit out?”
“No, sir. Completely jammed.” he fished in his overalls, produced
a hacksaw. “Maybe this, sir?”
“Good man.”
it took macdonald three minutes hard work the hasp, unlike the
padlock, was made of tempered steel-and then the hacksaw was through.
He slid out the padlock, then glanced enquiringly at the captain.
“Come in with us,” bullen said. There was sweat on his brow. “See
that nobody comes near.” he pushed open the door and passed inside; I
was on his heels.
we’d found dexter all right, and we’d found him too late. He had
that old-bundle-of-clothes look, that completely relaxed huddled
shapelessness that only the dead can achieve; face down, outflung on the
corticene flooring, he hardly left standing room for bullen and myself.
“Shall I get the doctor, sir?” it was macdonald speaking: he was
standing astride the storm sill, and the knuckles of the hand holding