‘How so?’ he said.
‘He feels there might be a normal explanation for the affair,’ disclosed Flood.
‘Can’t there be?’
‘Not for anyone of average intelligence,’ said Flood.
Sir James disguised the frown by returning to the window. The Attorney-General appeared very convinced of his case, he thought. He wondered if Flood had evidence of which he was unaware. London would expect him to do all he could to uncover a crime if one had been perpetrated; particularly murder.
Baumgartner appeared at the door, reminding them of the time. Sir James nodded, following the man from the room, with the Attorney-General behind him. In the corridor outside the enquiry chamber, Sir James paused to allow Flood to overtake and precede him, so that court protocol could be observed.
Everyone gazed at Flood as he bustled into the room. He hurried expressionlessly to his place, turning to nod at the counsel representing the claimant captain and crew and the Mary Celeste owner only after he had shuffled through some papers, as if expecting some vital document to be missing.
Flood, who was fond of amateur dramatics, often thought of court and enquiry rooms as being very similar to the theatre, places where people staged performances. He gazed around the room, about which there was already an atmosphere of staleness because the windows were closed against the rain and cold, wondering at the portrayals they would witness before this hearing was concluded. He had no doubt that, whatever was attempted, he would be able to strip away the pretence.
From pre-hearing interviews and meetings, Flood was able to recognise everybody who would be testifying.
Captain James Winchester, the principal owner, who had travelled from New York to enter claim for possession of the vessel, sat immediately behind the counsels’ table, a neat, precise man whose deeply tanned face indicated the mariner’s life he had led before going ashore to become a businessman-sailor. It appeared to have been a successful transition. Winchester sat with a pince-nez upon his nose, pens regimented in his waistcoat pocket and an initialled briefcase by his side.
Respectfully in the row behind him and then assembled in order of priority were the crew of the Dei Gratia, shifting and moving in their uncertainty in such official surroundings, too ready to smile at whispered asides.
Nearest the aisle, as his seniority befitted, was Captain David Reed Morehouse, master of the Dei Gratia. He sat stiffly in his creased unaccustomed going-ashore suit, head positioned high by the starched collar, gazing straight ahead and refusing any involvement in the hushed conversation alongside. He was a formidable, almost wild-looking man, his beard grown freely over his chest and then parted, so that two bushy tails appeared to be growing from his chin.
Next to him sat Oliver Deveau, the first mate, who had transferred to the Mary Celeste and captained her to Gibraltar. He was a dark-haired, sallow-faced man in a thick serge suit. Like his commanding officer, he had a full, chest-length beard, but better combed than Morehouse’s. The first mate’s hair was greased tightly to his head and he kept darting looks at the captain, trying to emulate the man’s demeanour.
Next to him was second mate John Wright and then seaman John Johnson, whom the Attorney-General knew to be the men who had crossed from the Dei Gratia in the ship’s dory and had been the first to board the abandoned vessel. Then came seamen Charles Lund and Augustus Anderson, who, with Deveau, had formed the salvage crew. They wore reefer jackets and coarse work trousers. They sat rigidly, almost to attention, nervously alert for any summons they might receive.
The sort of people to be led into an incautious admission, decided Flood. They wouldn’t expect him to have isolated a motive for the crime, any more than those who had led them into it.
The Attorney-General had already learned that the Mary Celeste was insured by the Atlantic Mutual Insurance Company of New York for $14,000, with her cargo covered through Lloyd’s of London for?6,522. Not a fortune, Flood had to admit. But sufficient for desperate men to engage in some desperate activity. Upon established precedents, the Dei Gratia crew could anticipate an award of anything up to 40 per cent of that value if their claim were judged to be valid. For such men, it would be a lot of money.
In an aisle seat opposite the seamen was surveyor John Austin, who had carried out a comprehensive examination of the Mary Celeste, and further to the left, in his official place, was Thomas Vecchio, marshal of the court, who had impounded the vessel upon its arrival and accompanied Flood upon several personal visits.
To Flood’s right sat Horatio Sprague. The American Consul smiled up at Flood’s sudden attention. Sprague was a sparse, stooping man who was usually the listener in any conversation. He had a curiously attentive way of holding his head and he smiled a lot, an expression Flood frequently suspected to be one of mockery.
‘All set, Frederick?’
Flood frowned at both the vernacular and the familiarity, particularly in surroundings where his title should have been most respected. Damned man had done it purposely, he thought. Flood knew the American Consul had been a personal friend of the Mary Celeste captain and had even proposed him for the masonic lodge in Gibraltar. If anyone should have been seeking the real cause of the mystery, it was Sprague. Instead of which he kept attempting to curry favour with the Americans who had come to the colony for the enquiry. He was a disgrace to the office he was supposed to be holding, judged the Attorney-General.
‘Of course I’m prepared,’ he said.
‘Gather there have been a lot of visits to the ship.’
‘That’s where the evidence is.’
‘You’ve found some, then?’
Flood ignored the question, moving to the counsels’ table. The Attorney-General was familiar with all the lawyers. Henry Pisani was representing Captain Morehouse and the crew in their claim for salvage and George Cornwell was entering Captain Winchester’s formal claim for return of the vessel. Martin Stokes was appearing for the owners of the cargo. Flood thought them all to be dour, unimaginative men. If any inconsistency suddenly appeared in the evidence, he doubted whether any of these men would recognise it as such.
‘Court will rise,’ announced Baumgartner.
Flood was first on his feet as Sir James Cochrane entered and proceeded slowly to his place upon the raised dais. He nodded to the Attorney-General, the advocates and the American Consul before seating himself, immediately opening his file and a large, hard-bound note pad.
Everyone except Baumgartner resumed their seats. Taking up the official document lying ready before him, Baumgartner announced:
‘This court, under the jurisdiction of Her Highness, Queen Victoria, is assembled to consider the demand for salvage entered by the master and crew of the British brigantine Dei Gratia against the owners and insurers of the Mary Celeste, the said vessel claimed to have been discovered derelict and abandoned on December 5,1872, at latitude 38.20 N. by longitude 17.15 W., from which it was brought to this port.’
He sat down, half turning to the judge. Sir James cleared his throat, staring down into the well of the court.
‘There has arisen over this matter much speculation and conjecture,’ he said, choosing the advocates’ bench as the object for his attention. ‘It is therefore my intention to allow this enquiry to range as widely as I consider necessary to enable that speculation and conjecture to be resolved…’
He paused at the obvious indication from the lawyer Cornwell that the man wished to speak.
‘You have an observation?’
Cornwell rose, smiling gratefully:
‘It is, of course, vital that everything considered necessary by this court is done to bring this investigation to a satisfactory conclusion. But I would respectfully remind the court that lying in the holds of the Mary Celeste is an extremely valuable cargo which the owners are still under contract to deliver to Genoa…’
‘What is your point, Mr Cornwell?’
‘That the vessel should be released from Admiralty seizure and restored to Captain Winchester as soon as possible to enable that contract to be fulfilled,’ said Cornwell.
Cochrane lowered his head over his papers and Flood recognised the indication of annoyance. It was several moments before Cochrane looked up.
‘I am aware of the contractual obligations binding Captain Winchester and his associates,’ he said evenly. ‘I am even more aware of the obligations under which this court has been brought into session and which I, as a judge appointed by Her Majesty, the Queen of England, am required to fulfil. This enquiry will continue as long as I
