debris hissed into the water near them like shot.
‘Look — just look over there!’
Gently dragged himself up to the coaming. Off their port bow the sea was alight, a spreading lake of orange flame. Somehow it was beating the racing seas — had the explosion chopped them flat? — it had made a calm for its writhing tongues, a forcible truce in the turmoil of waters.
‘I saw him unscrew the cap!’
They were lurching towards that forest of flame.
‘He shoved in the muzzle and pulled the trigger. He still had his other hand fast on the tiller.’
And he was gone, like the wind itself; gone, like a myth of the sea. Nobody was ever to put Esau behind bars: when the shadow reached out, he slipped his moorings and kept going.
‘I’ll turn in the oil here… there’s nothing we can do.’
Grim faced, the cox’n steered into the burning petrol. The object which struck the fairing tumbled off into the cockpit — it was the Sea-King’s shattered name board, still attached to a fragment of transom.
Gently stooped to pick it up. And the splinters pierced his finger.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The Tempest passed away with all the eclat that marked its arrival, and at sunset there were twenty minutes exceeding everything that went before. The whole of the sea and the sky were involved in the exhibition. It was as though the spirit of Ruebens had broken loose with an Olympian palette.
The storm bank had retreated northwards and lay now edged with angry crimson. Beneath it stretched a band of neutral colour, raked end to end by soundless lightning. Overhead hung a bulbous formation of cloud. It was flooded with an aerial, golden yellow. To the south rose great banks of purest turquoise, one of them streaked and tongued with scarlet. A panel of clear pea green held the foreground, descending, pink bordered, into cinnamon and umber. Above this the clouds parted on a royal blue sky, its expanse etched over with sheer white fire.
And the sea — how could one believe in that sea? It was divided between a golden lemon and turquoise. The blue that glowed there mocked any description: it was bluer than all the lakes of Italy.
For twenty minutes one could only gaze foolishly, apparently standing at the threshold of heaven. Then it faded almost instantly, as though the artist had done with it: the whole burning fabric turned to the colour of lead.
This ultimate flourish haunted Gently all night. It seemed an acknowledgement and a comment on the tragedy that preceded it. In his fretting mind Esau appeared as supernatural, as a demi-god briefly enlarged from some Valhalla. This had been more than man! He’d had the stamp of a divinity. He hadn’t died his death as much as received a translation. Impatient of his hunters he had cast his mortality aside, and the heavens themselves had borne witness to his return.
Over a morning cup of tea the vision lost some of its glamour. There were aspects of the Sea-King which were all too pitifully human. He had been weak with all his virtues, fallible in the midst of strength. He had fallen to a lesser man and carried misfortune into tragedy.
‘Hawks — he’s the mystery man of the piece.’
It was thus that Gently had prefaced his remarks to the Wendham super. Stock had arrived soon after breakfast, intent on hearing the minuter details. Dyson’s account on the previous evening had succeeded only in whetting his appetite.
‘You think he knew that Dawes had done it?’
‘No. I’m fairly certain he didn’t.’
‘Or that he’d done for his wife?’
‘He may have guessed it, but there again…’
They were sitting on the terrace at Gently’s favourite spot beneath the oak trees. After the storm the sunlight was brilliant and the air had a liquid sweetness. About them the life of the Bel-Air proceeded — tennis, basking, the strains of a record. The Midlands couple had gone down to the beach and Colonel Morris was now due to appear.
Everything changed but remained the same! Or was it, perhaps, the other way about?
‘I’m beginning to get the idea a little clearer. At the same time, judging from what Dyson could tell me…’
‘A great deal of it will have to be guesswork.’
‘I appreciate that, but I dare say you’ll realize…’
‘It’ll tie-up neatly on the available evidence.’
Gently was wanting to think rather than to talk about the case. It was just the minuter details that no longer interested him. Behind them lay a broader concept, dimly shaping in his brain; it had begun to press upon him as he lay, half-dead, in the lifeboat.
‘Hawks was certainly Rachel’s father, though we shan’t be able to prove it. But there was only one reason why he should want to check the register. He had begun to suspect about Rachel and the register gave proof of identity. Until the episode at the church, I imagine he was still blaming Simmonds for her death.’
‘I’d like to get back to Mrs Dawes for a moment.’
‘The report on the dentures has settled that one.’
‘The identity, yes. But I’d like a little more.’
‘As I said, a lot of it will have to be guesswork.’
Yet it was guesswork which lacked every element of doubt: Esau had opened the whole matter to him on those scarifying marrams. He had taken Gently to the grave and had made sure that he grasped its import. In his own inarticulate way he had confessed to the murder of his wife.
‘He chucked her out because of Hawks — again, there won’t be any proof. At the time he may not even have known that Hawks was the man in question. They were always having rows, I’m told… no doubt she threw it up at him. It’d be when she came back that he caught her with Hawks, and that, I believe, was what finally did her business.’
‘Why do you suppose she came back?’
‘Only Hawks can tell you that. To tell him about his child, perhaps, and to fix up something with him.’
‘And Hawks knew what Esau did?’
Gently shrugged. ‘Not in my opinion. But he knew that Esau had found out about him and he may have tumbled to the rest. And so it went on, for thirty-odd years.’
For three hundred and ninety fisherman’s moons. The boats had gone out and the boats had come home, the skeps had been filled, the nets hung to dry. And on it had festered, that unhealing wound, in the ugly village, by the beautiful shore.
‘Campion came here quite by accident?’
‘Of that one can be positive. Her grandmother would have told her nothing about Hiverton. The match was disapproved and Mrs Dawes disowned — Rachel took the family name. I expect a suitable tale was told her.’
‘Why did Dawes do her in, would you say?’
‘Because she was too much like her mother! He recognized her directly, almost as soon as he set eyes on her. He part told and part showed me that he’d been spying on her movements.’
‘Revenge, too, on Hawks?’
Gently shook his head deliberately. ‘If it had been the other way
… but there wasn’t any revenge in Esau. No, he was executing the law, the law according to Esau Dawes. Rachel came of a tainted stock, and having sinned, she had to go. Once she’d gone into the tent with Simmonds it was only a matter of time.’
‘And then he tried to throw it on Simmonds?’
‘I’m not entirely convinced of that. He may have wanted to punish Simmonds — it was Hawks and Mrs Dawes over again.’
Who could tell what had been going on in the inaccessible mind of the Sea-King? At what point had the deed’s consequences come starkly and squarely home to him? Was it when he accosted Gently with the account of
