Dark Side of the Street

approach.'

'I've just been having words with our friend below.'

'Get anything out of him?'

'Apparently the Baron comes in and out by helicopter.'

'Is he there now?'

'Says he doesn't know.'

Youngblood shook his head. 'I can't believe that. Maybe we'd better try a little persuasion.'

'You'd be wasting your time. I get a distinct impression that he's the type which doesn't crack easily and I think he was telling the truth. Most of the time there's just a caretaker in residence up at the house.'

'Then what do we do?' Youngblood said. 'I've had a good look at the chart and Bragg was right. The jetty is the only possible anchorage. If we go in there, we could run slap into trouble.'

'I've been thinking about that and I've had an idea of sorts. Let's have another look at the chart.'

Youngblood switched to automatic pilot and joined him. 'You're wasting your time if you're hoping to find somewhere else we can land. I've been over that chart a dozen times.'

Chavasse nodded. 'I had something different in mind. The house is in a hollow on the western slope. If we approached from the east where the highest cliffs are, we wouldn't be seen, especially in the fog.'

Youngblood shook his head. 'There isn't any possible anchorage on that side.'

'Maybe not, but it looks to me as if there are plenty of places where a small boat could land.'

Youngblood looked dubious. 'It sounds all right in theory, but I know these waters. It's more than probable that a small boat couldn't survive in the kind of surf you'll find at the bottom of those cliffs.'

'It could well be that we just don't have any choice.' Chavasse shrugged. 'We'll just have to wait and see.'

They crept in towards the island through a grey shroud that seemed to go on forever and somewhere the surf boomed angrily like distant thunder.

The Pride of Man was making no more than two or three knots, her engine muted and Youngblood stood at the wheel, straining anxiously into the fog, feeling for the cross currents that would tell him he was getting close.

Chavasse was in the prow and suddenly, he pointed dead ahead and called excitedly. In the same moment the wind which had been strengthening noticeably for at least half an hour, tore a great hole in the curtain, giving a breathtaking view of the cliffs dead ahead.

They were perhaps two hundred yards away, the tops completely shrouded in grey, thousands of sea birds nesting on their rocky ledges and beneath them, the surf pounded in across jagged rocks.

Chavasse moved back to the wheelhouse as they went closer. 'What do you think?'

Youngblood shook his head. 'It doesn't look too good to me.'

He approached to within fifty yards of the base of the cliffs and turned as the waves started to pull them in. Chavasse pointed to a horseshoe amongst the rocks and the strip of shingle beyond it.

'That looks something like.'

Youngblood shook his head. 'I still say the dinghy wouldn't last five minutes in that surf.'

'What if I wore the aqualung?'

Youngblood turned quickly. 'Now you're talking. I'd give you a better than even chance, always remembering that arm of yours.'

'Well, you can't go, that's obvious,' Chavasse said. 'It looks as if I'm elected.'

He went below, opened the locker in the saloon and took out the skin-diving equipment. Whatever else happened it was going to be cold out there-damned cold and he stripped quickly and pulled on the close fitting diving suit in black rubber. He slipped Pentecost's revolver into one of the pockets, zipped it up and went back on deck carrying the aqualung.

Youngblood stopped engines and joined him hurriedly. 'Let's make it quick. The current could have us on those rocks before you know it.'

'Give me an hour,' Chavasse said as they unshipped the dinghy from its davits. 'Then come back for a look. If I stay back on the shingle, that means I want you to sail round to the jetty. If I stand in the surf, then the whole think stinks. You'd better let me have your watch.'

Youngblood unstrapped it and handed it across. 'What will you do then?'

'I'll try to swim back to the boat.'

Youngblood laughed harshly. 'Rather you than me. Let's have her over then.'

The dinghy was constructed of fibreglass and was therefore extremely light. They put her over the stern between them and Youngblood held on to the line while Chavasse struggled into the straps of his aqualung. He pulled the visor down over his face, adjusted the air flow and went over the side. Youngblood waved, the line went slack and as he reached for the oars, the current jerked him away.

The wind was freshening, lifting the waves into whitecaps and as he reached for the oars, the dinghy heeled and water poured in over the gunn'l. He adjusted his weight and started to row.

The engines coughed into life and the Pride of Man started to move away, but he had no time to watch its progress. He glanced over his shoulder and through the curtain of spray, the cliffs loomed larger, the surf boiling in over ragged, dangerous looking rocks. There was a hollow drumming on the hull of the dinghy and it spun round several times, grazing a black razor edge that would undoubteldy have split it neatly in half.

It was no good-his left arm simply didn't have the strength to haul on that oar under such extreme conditions. He tried desperately to control the dinghy with just the right hand, but it was no good. The oar was snatched away by a sudden fierce eddy and he grasped the sides and waited.

The cliffs were very close now, the sea breaking over great ledges of rock in a dirty white foam and behind him, a great heaving swell rolled in, sweeping the dinghy before it.

He went over the stern, water closing over his head for only a moment or so. He surfaced in time to see the dinghy smashed down against the first line of rocks. Another wave lifted it high into the air, then it bounced across the reef twice and disintegrated.

There was a great smooth funnel in the rocks to the right and as another great swell lifted behind him, he dived and started to swim towards it, his webbed feet driving him through the water.

There was turbulence all around him, thousands of white bubbles and a great curtain of sand and grit and then he was lifted up as if by a giant hand. He surfaced, aware of the smooth black sides of the funnel on either side of him and suddenly found himself lying, arms outstretched, sprawled across a great moving bank of sand and shingle.

A giant hand seemed to be trying to pull him back and he crawled forward on hands and knees. Again the sea washed over him in a green curtain and as it receded, he staggered to his feet and stumbled forward. A moment later he was safe on the strip of beach at the foot of the cliffs.

The Pride of Man, on automatic pilot, cruised at a steady three knots, four hundred yards out from the cliffs and Youngblood stood at the rail watching Chavasse through a pair of binoculars he had found in the wheelhouse.

The tiny black figure on the beach waved once and then the curtain of mist dropped into place, hiding him from view.

Youngblood lowered the binoculars. 'So far, so good,' he said softly. 'And now we wait.'

He turned from the rail and went down the companionway to the saloon. There was no sign of Molly, but when he called her name, she answered from the galley and he found her at the stove making more coffee.

'I thought you were trying to get some sleep,' he said.

She shook her head. 'I just couldn't-I've got a splitting headache.'

'Paul's gone ashore to see how the land lies,' he told her. 'So we'll be just cruising around for the next hour till we hear from him. Bring me up some coffee when it's ready.'

He moved back along the passageway and paused as a thunderous kicking commenced on one of the cabin doors and Vaughan called to him.

'I say, old man, have you got a moment?'

Youngblood unlocked the door. 'What do you want?' he said ungraciously.

'Where's Drummond?'