Blueprint for Murder Page 21

  The launch had taken a wide sweep across the river, turned, and come up almost alongside. It was the river police all right – Geoffrey couldn’t see the flag but he recognized the low beamy lines. Cross stood in the doorway, strategically placed to shoot.

  The launch drew level. A searchlight swept Truant’s side and went out, leaving the night blacker than ever. A voice came from the cockpit of the launch, magnified by loudspeaker. “Ahoy, Truant! Everything all right?”

  “Yes, thank you,” shouted Geoffrey through his megaphone.

  “Where are you bound for?”

  “Holehaven.”

  “It’ll be blowing hard out there! Sooner you than me! Good night!”

  “Good night!” The launch turned away.

  “Nice work,” said Cross, relaxing. “Good chaps, those river police – never interfere with people on their lawful occasions.”

  “It seems,” said Geoffrey, “that the alarm has not been sounded yet.”

  “Not yet,” said Cross. “It’s a good job we got away early. Why did you say Holehaven?”

  “What did you want me to say – Holland? They’d have had a party aboard with strait jackets! Holehaven’s the farthest point that anyone but a complete lunatic would be bound for on a night like this. It gives good shelter from the north-east. We may have to run in there yet.”

  “Oh, no, we shan’t,” said Cross.

  “You’re an ignorant fool,” said Geoffrey. “You don’t know what’s ahead of you.”

  “I know what’s behind me.” Cross gazed out at a dark pile of buildings looming up on the right bank. “Is that Greenwich?”

  “Yes, that’s the naval college.”

  “You’ll have a good story to tell when you get back,” said Cross.

  “If I get back. Lord, this wind! I can hardly hear you. How’s Pamela?”

  “I think she’s dozing. That rough-house shook her up a bit, but it was her own fault.”

  “I say,” called Geoffrey, “what do you suppose you’re going to do when you get to Holland?”

  “That’s my worry.”

  “Not altogether. What’s the drill for getting you ashore?”

  “It depends where we hit the coast, and what it looks like. If it’s quiet, and the wind’s dropped, I’ll take the dinghy and row myself ashore. We’ll have to decide when we get there.”

  “Why make for Holland? It’s a hell of a long way. Why not France or Belgium? It would save us hours – we could keep inside the banks. It’s a slim chance, anyway, but we’d be much more likely to make Calais than the Scheldt.”

  “Nothing doing,” said Cross. “I want to get as far east as possible. I’ll cross into Germany – just one more displaced person. That reminds me, have you got any money?”

  “About five pounds.”

  “I’ll have it. Not that it’ll last long.”

  “You won’t last long either! You’ve had some luck, but it can’t hold. Anyway, we shall all be drowned by this time tomorrow. It’s difficult enough to hold the boat to her course even here.”

  “I don’t fancy drowning,” said Cross, “but I suspect it’s better than some deaths I know of. A bullet in the stomach, for instance. What time shall we reach the Estuary?”

  “Just before dawn, I should say. You’ll know all right when we get there. I hope you’re a lousy sailor.”

  “I’m a pretty good sailor,” said Cross. “I was always better than average in planes, anyway. So if you’re planning to knock me out while I’m vomiting over the side, you can think again.”

  “We’ll see,” said Geoffrey grimly.

  They had covered the long two miles of Woolwich Reach in good style, but as Truant turned north-east into Gallions Reach she took the full force of the wind head on. Geoffrey opened up both engines, for the gusts were hitting the hull with such violence that it was difficult to keep any way on the boat. They were still miles from the sea, but conditions were beginning to get unpleasant. The sky was completely overcast, and crystals of dry snow were settling in the corners of the windshield. As the wind met the ebb again Truant began to pitch and shake, her timbers groaning, her propellors racing. This was worse than the steady roll or the long pitch of the open sea; the troubled water was worrying at her, pushing her around. Geoffrey could hear something clattering about in the cabin, in spite of what he had said about stowing everything properly.

  Spray was coming aboard in great flurries and freezing on the glass. It was impossible to use the windshield any more. Even without it visibility was negligible. He could see nothing at all except the fixed shore lights on the north bank, and over on the starboard bow the flash of the white light on Tripcock Point. The wind now was almost continuous. It came whistling and screaming over the Essex flats, with nothing to bar its way, and it burst upon the ear like gunfire. You could hear the beginnings of it, far away, and follow the crescendo in all its gathering strength, and then wait for the explosion round your ears, the impact of the noise and fury. It was numbing, deafening, frightening. It bruised your senses. It wore down your resistance. When the lulls came they were a blessed relief, like the brief cessation of pain in an aching tooth.

  As Truant struggled on Geoffrey knew that they could not reach Holland – not till the storm abated. He would be utterly exhausted in such weather long before they sighted land. It was too much for the boat; too much for one man. Truant might survive in the Estuary, in the partial shelter of the mainland and the banks. It would be wicked enough even there. With visibility next to nothing, and a big sea running, it would be impossible to spot the buoys, to find the channels. As for the open sea, they wouldn’t stand an earthly. The best thing to do was to go out to the Nore, straight up the dredged channel, and see what it felt like. Even Arthur might agree that they should seek shelter and wait awhile, once he’d had a real buffeting. His morale wouldn’t be nearly so high in an hour or two.

  They were safely round Tripcock Point and into Barking Reach. Geoffrey’s thoughts went back to his early sailing days. Just here he had had his first adventure. He had been bringing a little two-tonner down the river – a pocket-sized cabin boat with a two-stroke engine – and as night fell they had tied up to a cluster of barges moored just off the point. And in the early hours one of the barges had started to swing round, closing in on the two-tonner, and Geoffrey had shinned up the coal-black side of a barge named Joe in his pyjamas and hauled his lovely little boat just in time from between the converging monsters.

  It had been fun – afterwards. Boats were always fun afterwards. He began to think of Pamela again, and of the plans he had had to sail her round the Estuary. The prospects didn’t look so good now.

  If only he could get the gun! He came back to that every time. If he’d been inside the cabin instead of outside when Pamela made her attempt they would have been homeward bound and safe by now.

  What was needed was a sudden shock – something that would throw Arthur off his balance and allow enough time for Geoffrey to get at him. Now if the boat were suddenly run aground ...

  It was the germ of a plan. Geoffrey knew all the immense risks – somehow he must guard against them. There would be no lack of dangerous shoals, but he would want one that was steep-to at the edge, so that he could set Truant at the bank like a horse to a gate. That would shake Arthur all right!

  It would have to be low water, of course – Truant didn’t draw enough to ground at any other time. Next low water out beyond the Nore was in three or four hours – they wouldn’t be there in time. It would have to happen twelve hours later, in the afternoon.

  It must be a falling tide, too. If Truant struck on a rising tide and were damaged – as she could hardly help being if she grounded suddenly and at speed – she might float off and sink. And that would be the end of them all.

  But if he could choose his time carefully, she might dry out on the bank and give them an hour or two’s respite. She would probably break up, though, when the tide rose again. What were the chances of
quick rescue? Perhaps he could attract attention first, without letting Arthur know, and run the ship aground afterwards. Could there be a rescue in such a sea? It would be incredibly hazardous.

  He looked at the glass. It had risen a tenth! Not much, but it seemed like a good omen. It was the right direction. Once the wind began to moderate the sea would soon lose the worst of its fury.

  He swung the boat into Half-way Reach, steering for a red light on Rainham Jetty, a mile and a half ahead. Once again he bent over the chart of the Estuary, trying to recall old familiar banks, digging down into the past for half-remembered features. Steadying himself against the wheel, he flicked over the tide-tables, noting times and places. If this wild plan of his was to succeed there must be no error in his calculations. He must choose his bank, he must choose his time, he must know just how much water there would be, and how long the bank would be dry.

  Even so, it was crazy – utterly crazy. What had happened to many good ships before would happen to Truant. She would break up.

  But they had gone aground accidentally. He was going to cast his ship away at the spot he chose. He looked at the chart again, and suddenly he had an inspiration.

  Confidence came surging back. For the first time since their journey started he had real hope. A few moments more, and his plan was finished. He would make for the Girdler Sand, ten miles out from the Essex and Kent coasts. He would try to get there at five o’clock that afternoon – sixteen hours ahead. There was more than enough time – he would have to stooge about a bit in the Estuary, and meanwhile perhaps the wind would drop. He would go in from the north, from the Alexandra Channel, with the wind behind him. And he would pray that help came quickly.

  CHAPTER XVI

  All through the night Truant chugged down the river on the ebb tide. Pamela, having used up her reserves of energy in one heroic fling, had fallen into uneasy sleep. Cross, the gun resting lightly on his knee, sat opposite her with an almost blank mind. He was too tired to think; he dared not go to sleep. He had kept the cabin door locked since two in the morning, and given Pamela a little more freedom when she wanted it, but he knew the lock was only a slight defence and he could not relax.

  Geoffrey was looking forward to daylight. Dawn might not bring any improvement in the weather, but at least it would lessen the strain at the wheel. Now that the tide was low it was more important than ever to keep well away from the banks, where great strips of putty-coloured mud were ready to grip and hold any boat that came too near. Once Geoffrey felt Truant’s keel touch, but the drag was only momentary and he soon swung the ship back into deep water. There was nothing to compensate for the ceaseless effort and the acute discomfort. There was still nothing at all to be seen except a few shore lights, an odd riding-light or two, and occasionally the outline of a ship against a wharf or the tall mast of a dried-out sailing-barge. There was almost nothing moving. There were some liners with steam up at Tilbury, looking as though they might be away on the next ebb. Now and again a solitary tug slipped by, and from far down the Estuary an occasional siren told of heavier traffic at sea. But that was all. It was a lonely vigil, with nothing but the nerve-racking wind for company.

  Lighted buoys made it easier to keep to the channel once the boat was in the lower reaches, but there was less and less shelter from shore buildings. Broad marshes stretched away for miles on either hand. Geoffrey rounded Lower Hope Point close to the flashing red buoy, picked up the West Blyth, and turned into Sea Reach. Steering was straightforward enough now, apart from the physical effort of holding her against the wind, for the Chapman Light was winking brightly four miles ahead. There was already a faint glow in the sky beyond. Very soon Truant had Holehaven on her port bow. In an hour or two, thought Geoffrey, there would be hot breakfasts at the old Lobster Smack Inn. Now if he and Pamela had been alone they would have turned here and anchored off the jetty in sheltered water, and rowed over to the pub and joined the breakfast party. Life that morning could have been a pure delight.

  What was the good of wishing? It wouldn’t be long now before they were at sea. Truant was beginning to pitch violently in the steep waves, and repeatedly Geoffrey had to brace himself against the sudden motion. He would be black and blue by the time this trip ended. The whole boat was enveloped in salt spray and his oilskins were dripping. Every now and again, as Truant burrowed, the crest of a wave broke over the cabin top and icy water shot into the wheelhouse through the open windshield. Geoffrey’s feet felt like blocks of stone and his hands were numb.

  The boat pirouetted past the East Blyth, and Geoffrey strained to catch a glimpse of the next buoy. A big wave lifted Truant’s bows, and as she fell into the trough the next one hit her with an impact that shook the ship. It was difficult to keep her head-to-sea, with the darkness hiding the waves and the wind all the time trying to swing her broadside on. But there was no immediate danger – the engines were pulsing strongly and there was plenty of power in reserve. It was the sort of struggle that, in other circumstances, Geoffrey would have loved. Merely to be out here, in so small a boat and in such weather, could be counted an achievement. As long as she didn’t start taking the seas green, she should be all right. He started the engine bilge pump, hoping to keep her dry below.

  As dawn turned to daylight, familiar landmarks came one after another into view. Back there on the port quarter was Canvey Point, where he had once spent three glorious days among the saltings, the shingle and the green crabs, fitting out a sailing-boat. Farther to the right he could just make out the row of neat villas on the front at Westcliff, and faintly on the port bow the long thin streak of Southend Pier. There was a sliver of pale blue sky in the east, wide enough to let through the first yellow rays of the sun. The barometer was still rising, very slowly. It looked as though they were going to have a fine day after all, with a moderating wind. At the rate the clouds were moving they would soon blow away. Visibility would improve – that would be a mercy. As Geoffrey gazed around he suddenly felt immensely exhilarated. He forgot Arthur with his gun and his mean looks. The sea was incredibly beautiful – a wildly tossing waste of pale green water with white horses cresting every wave and the young sun turning the spray into clusters of diamonds. It was a splendid world and Geoffrey had it all to himself. Far out towards the Nore there was a wisp of dark smoke on the horizon, but no ship was in sight.

  He watched the gulls being blown about the sky like sheets of paper. He watched the water creaming away from Truant’s bow in a lovely curve. He watched the green and white wake. The ship was riding well. There was motion, of course, motion in all directions, rising and falling, diving and twisting, lurching and recovering. But the ship was buoyant and rose to the water magnificently. It would be different once they left the shelter of the land.

  Soon after daylight, as a gust was beginning to gather itself for the next onslaught, Geoffrey heard a key scraping in the lock of the cabin door and Cross emerged. He looked far from happy; his wispy hair was matted, his face was sickly. There were dark circles round his eyes. He looked as though he could have been flicked overboard with a finger’s end. But he still had the gun. As he stepped out, sniffing the wind, Truant buried her nose and took some green water over her foredeck. It swirled over the cabin top and fell foaming into the cockpit.

  Cross, suddenly soaked through, clung to the cabin door with one hand, swaying. “Where are we?” he asked. “How are we doing?”

  “Fine,” said Geoffrey. “Bracing, isn’t it? This is only the beginning, of course. Is breakfast ready?”

  “It’s too rough to get the stove going. I’ll sling out some more spam – if you want it.”

  “Of course I want it. Do you think I run on air? I’m starving. How’s Pamela?”

  “She’s all right so far.” Cross gazed round at the tossing sea. “Do you really think it’s going to get worse?”

  “Much worse,” said Geoffrey cheerfully. “Any moment now we shall hit the open sea. We’re sheltered here by the Maplins. Out there yo
u’ll be able to feel solid water breaking over the ship. Feel like turning back?”

  “No,” said Cross.

  “Then hurry up with the breakfast. Why man, you’re not even a good steward! We could have had hot tea if you’d tumbled out a bit earlier.”

  “You don’t imagine I’ve been sleeping?” said Cross. He went below, leaving the door open.

  Geoffrey glanced at his watch and slowed the engines. He had to keep plenty of way on the boat to breast the seas and prevent her broaching to, but he didn’t want to get too far too quickly. They had hours to waste. He was steering by compass for the Red Sand Tower, seven or eight miles ahead. He would see the Nore later on, of course, but he found it impossible to pick up the ordinary buoys any more. They were hidden in the plunging seas. If his allowance for wind and tide was anything like correct he could do without the buoys.

  The seas were getting steeper every moment. Why the hell didn’t Arthur come out with that food while they could still stand on their feet? If Arthur passed out, of course, their troubles would be over; but he couldn’t leave the wheel to see how Arthur was doing. The danger from Arthur seemed to be fading as the danger from the sea increased. Geoffrey knew how quickly disaster could come – how a single breaking sea could overwhelm a small boat, stop its engines, leave it a waterlogged hulk to settle and sink. He was watching every wave.

  The morning was as bright as its promise, but the sunshine was deceptive. The wind was still blowing out of the north-east, dry and cold, with unabated violence. At one moment a big sea and a heavy gust hit Truant’s port bow together, and she heeled until the lee coamings were awash. But she recovered. Geoffrey gave silent thanks for the big lead keel and the load of ballast laid amidships as he throttled up and brought her head round again.

  Suddenly he had a pang of doubt. There was a wall of green water ahead – a mountain bearing down on them. Its crest was curling. He turned the boat into it, wrestling with the wheel, muscles taut for the shock. Anything might happen now! Truant lifted bravely – it was like going up in an elevator – but not quickly enough. The ship staggered – the top of the wave broke shatteringly over the cabin. Geoffrey held on to the wheel – there was nothing he could do now. He was going down and under – he was conscious of immense pressure, of water everywhere. It seemed that the ship was being smashed to pieces. His arms were almost wrenched from his body. He was gasping and choking. Then he was out again in the sunlight. The cockpit was a swirling mass of foam. The whole of the wheelhouse had gone – wood and glass and metal. A piece of glass had ripped his cheek and blood dripped on to his oilskins. But Truant was still afloat, and miraculously the engines were still running.