“Brisbane,” Halfhyde said reflectively. “It was founded as a penal settlement, wasn’t it?”
Graves chuckled. “Yes, back in ’25. The dust hasn’t really settled yet—the feel’s still there. It’s a living illustration of what I’ve been saying, Halfhyde. Not that I’d suggest Brisbane itself. It’s a very busy port, handling meat, hides, wool, tallow and country produce for export, cereals, soft goods and hardware for import. The mail boats run a monthly steamer service to Vancouver and Sydney, and the British India boats run an intermittent service to London, via the Torres Strait. No, I wouldn’t choose Brisbane.”
“Where, then?”
Graves put the tip of his pencil on the chart and said, “There, See? Walsh Island, in the lee of Cape Manifold. It’s scarcely an island at all—the water’s wadeable to the mainland. And it’s very remote, totally uninhabited, yet at the same time, your passenger wouldn’t have all that far to go to reach the railway at Rockhampton. There’s only one snag, one that shouldn’t deter a good seaman too much—when the price is right!”
Halfhyde lifted an enquiring eyebrow and Graves said, “The entry’s tricky. Dangerous, in fact—very. McRafferty would need to pass through the Barrier Reef—here, through the Gemini Channel. It’s not one of the recommended entries through the Reef, which is why I’d consider it suitable for a man who doesn’t want his arrival known.”
Halfhyde pursed his lips. “It makes sense, sir, but it’s a long shot.”
“Oh, certainly, I’d agree. Bullock and his friend may have totally different ideas. All I’ve tried to show you is what I would do. But I’d take any wager you like that the man will be put ashore well north of Sydney and the closer to the Barrier Reef the more likely.”
“A large enough area! A large enough choice as well, for those who don’t see with your own eyes, sir.”
Graves nodded. “Yes. That’s why I don’t go so far as to suggest lying off outside the Gemini Channel and waiting for the Aysgarth Falls to sail up to us. What I do suggest is this: we make all possible speed direct for the coast, and then, having overhauled McRafferty by a wide margin, we steam to and fro across the track he’ll most likely take for the whole area I’ve indicated. He’ll have to start along that track when he’s, let’s say, two hundred miles off the coast, and I fancy I can narrow him down to no more than ten to twelve miles either side of the line. Now, what do you say, Halfhyde? It’s a far better prospect—though I don’t deny the long chance—than trying to seek McRafferty out through eight thousand miles of the Pacific!”
IN THE dark confines of the sail locker at night, Float ruminated long and hard. He’d got away with it this far; he’d even got away with the murder of the steward. That had been neat; a quick upward thrust with the knife and Goss hadn’t had time to utter a word before he died. The disposal of the body—if there was no body, murder couldn’t be proved, and Goss could be considered to have fallen overboard, perhaps—had been easy enough. Goss was a small, skinny man; and McRafferty, on the poop, had stayed right aft throughout. The slight splash, no more than always resulted from the jettisoning of the ship’s waste, had been covered by the hiss of water along the side and the rattle of blocks and other deck gear. It hadn’t been the first time a dead man had gone unnoticed over the side of a ship at sea, after all…Float didn’t rate it as anything big. Now the future loomed, and the turning of his night’s exploit to the intended advantage to himself.
He had to find means of approaching the wealthy passenger: that was the next thing, the most important thing now. Float had no doubts in his mind that the passenger would prove amenable; he would have to be. Of course, there were dangers. Afterwards, Float would have a strong need to beat it fast. He didn’t want to die at anyone’s hands, the hangman’s or otherwise.
Meanwhile he bided his time. No pushing things too far now. There were many days ahead; let fate decide unless it looked like taking too long. In the event, it didn’t take too long. Two more nights, and then the Aysgarth Falls met winds of gale force and the watch below, which included Float, was called out a little before midnight. McRafferty was tacking, and the hands were required constantly to man the braces and haul the heavy yards round. When the force of the gale increased, the Captain decided to take the royals and topgallants off her and Float was one of those despatched aloft to the mizzen topgallant yard. Here he suffered a misfortune, as it seemed at the time: he missed the footrope and fell, screaming in terror. Grabbing wildly for a handhold on any rope that offered itself, he contacted one, slowed his fall but ripped the skin from his palm, and came down heavily, belly first, on the cro’jack yard just as the brace was hauled round. Float was dislodged, fell again, but managed to grab the shrouds on the starboard side just in time. He had fallen head first; his head took the bulwarks, but not too hard since his fall was to some extent broken by his grip on the shrouds, but enough to cause him to lose consciousness and drop, luckily inboard of the bulwarks, to the deck of the poop.
McRafferty dragged him to his feet. The head
