NEXT MORNING Halfhyde aboard the Tacoma was woken soon after the dawn had come up: a messenger sent down from the bridge was shaking him. The Officer of the Watch had sighted smoke on the horizon to the north-east. The smoke had grown slowly, and then the vessel herself had come partially into view and had been identified from her fighting tops as a warship.
Halfhyde tumbled out of bed and went fast to the bridge, where Captain Graves had also arrived. Graves said, “She could be German. A German cruiser—there’s a too familiar look, though not much is visible yet.”
“Not von Merkatz again!”
“It’s possible. You said he was persistent.”
“Then I was guilty of an understatement, sir. The man’s obsessed.”
Graves laughed. “You did him some further damage, don’t forget! No doubt that alone has redoubled his feelings of revenge.”
Halfhyde was looking through a telescope. “It’s him right enough,” he said after a while. “Presumably he’s felt able to leave his squadron to their own devices after all. The damage may not have been extensive.”
“And us?”
Halfhyde said, “As before, sir. All possible speed—and hope to cross into Australian territorial waters before von Merkatz reaches us!”
“Well,” Graves said, “let’s hope your White Ensign can still hold his guns off, for he’ll be within range in an hour or two’s time.”
Halfhyde snapped his telescope shut, broodingly. He paced the bridge, backwards and forwards, his long jaw thrust out at a pugnacious angle. Von Merkatz looked as though he had the bit between his teeth and would not be deflected. Capture loomed. And what about McRafferty? Angrily Halfhyde wondered why he had bothered: let McRafferty stew! It was his own fault, as Graves had said. Yet Halfhyde knew he was unable to stand aside; there was always the nag of loyalty, a loyalty that he had felt even for the outrageous Captain Watkiss, RN. Watkiss, to whom all persons had been fools and idiots but who was the biggest bouncing fool of them all with his bombastic approach, his hidebound view of foreigners, his monocle, his large stomach and his short legs that on foreign service had been customarily encased in the longest white shorts that Halfhyde had ever seen; Watkiss, whose only reading matter apart from the seniorities in the Navy List had been Burke’s Peerage and Landed Gentry—and woe betide an officer who was not included in one or other of them…if Halfhyde could be loyal to Captain Watkiss, then Captain McRafferty whose ship was his whole life had every possible claim.
Halfhyde remained on the bridge, handy in case anything should happen. After an hour’s steaming, von Merkatz had come no closer. It seemed he was simply shadowing. Halfhyde wondered what his purpose might be if that was the case. At the very least it seemed to indicate that von Merkatz was not going to be deterred by any consideration for the niceties of anyone’s territorial waters. And he was going to be an infernal nuisance to say the least if he was still there when the clash came with Bullock and Sergeant Cantlow.
There seemed little prospect of deflecting him now. Even if the weather closed in…if it did that, then von Merkatz would close in too.
Chapter 14
MCRAFFERTY WAS adamant that the passenger would be landed nowhere else but in Sydney.
“You’re already involved,” Bullock pointed out angrily. “It’s in your own interest, Captain, to avoid the law.”
McRafferty shrugged. “As to that, I must take what comes. I shall not become deeper involved, Mr Bullock, and Jesson must take it or leave it. If he cares to go overboard when we close the coast and take his chance against the sharks, then he’s welcome to do so and good riddance to him! I wouldn’t see him go, and I wouldn’t make any report to the authorities in Australia of my suspicions. But I would report that I had had a passenger who appeared to have fallen over the side. After that, they could make what they liked of it.”
Bullock looked shrewdly at McRafferty. “Jesson’s a rich man. He’d be prepared to increase the passage money.”
“From shady sources of income. Do you happen to know anything more precise about those sources, Mr Bullock?”
“I told you,” Bullock said truculently, “I don’t know any more than you do now.” The diamonds had not been mentioned to McRafferty; according to Bullock’s story Jesson had simply had some unknown contretemps with the law in a South American state and had needed an urgent passage out of Chile. Bullock had only been the go-between, and he hadn’t questioned Jesson too far: his money was good and it had been in cash. Bullock said, “Of course, he’s in your hands…I’ve no doubt I can put the squeeze on. After all, he’s there to be milked.”
McRafferty said, “I’ll not help any further, Mr Bullock, after what happened. The man’s nothing but a rogue and I’d be glad enough to see him behind bars.”
“But your involvement—”
“I have said my last word on the matter, Mr Bullock, and our course is for Sydney Heads. As to my involvement, I may decide to meet any difficulty by ensuring that the man’s handed over to the authorities.” McRafferty turned away; the conversation had been held at the fore rail of the poop, out of earshot of the helmsman. McRafferty went aft, hands behind his back and his face formidable. Bullock stared after him with a grim expression, then moved away for’ard and began shouting at the hands to ease his temper and his frustrations. Something would have to be done, but what? Maybe Jesson would have some ideas on the point.
VON MERKATZ remained at his chosen distance behind the Tacoma, not closing,
