When Halfhyde reached the saloon, with Bullock in front of him and Cantlow bringing up the rear, McRafferty was sitting on the settee under guard of Althwaite and another man. Cantlow sent these two packing and ordered Halfhyde to the settee, where he sat alongside McRafferty, who was slumped with his head almost between his knees; the Master’s face was grey and drawn. There was a lump on his head and blood smeared his face. Halfhyde crossed his legs and assumed a relaxed air, a smile playing about his lips. McRafferty lifted his head and said in a dull voice, “My ship. She’ll be standing into danger…with no one on the poop.”
Cantlow caught Bullock’s eye and nodded. He said, “I’ll be all right on my own, but listen out.” Bullock left the saloon and was heard clumping up the ladder to the poop. Cantlow addressed Halfhyde. “You knew where we were heading—that’s obvious. You knew just where to lie in wait for us, didn’t you?”
“Certainly.”
“How? How did you know? And how did you know who I was?”
Halfhyde shrugged. There was no need to mention Float, who was still aboard the Tacoma and might yet be useful if held in reserve. He gave Cantlow part of the answer. He said, “Sources in Chile.”
“What sources?”
Smiling still, Halfhyde said, “Persons whom you thought were friends. In Iquique.” He added, “It doesn’t matter telling you that now, since you’ll never be in a position to take your revenge. You’re going to swing, Cantlow.”
Cantlow gave a coarse laugh. “Doesn’t look much like it, does it, Lieutenant Halfhyde? It doesn’t look like it at all to my way of thinking.” He stood with his revolver pointed, his finger gently around the trigger, as the ship heeled to the wind and the sound of gear being worked came from the deck. “What makes you so bloody confident? I’d just like to know.”
“You will know soon,” Halfhyde answered coolly.
Cantlow seemed baffled, looking as though a worm of worry was beginning to niggle. Halfhyde kept his easy air. Alongside him, McRafferty’s limbs had a nasty shake. He was seeing his whole life in ruins. As for the time being a silence fell on the saloon, McRafferty muttered that his daughter was being held in her cabin.
Halfhyde said, “Not for much longer, Captain McRafferty.” McRafferty looked up. “How’s that?”
“Time will tell, sir, as it will tell Sergeant Cantlow.”
“Cantlow…” McRafferty, Halfhyde had noted, had looked genuinely surprised when the name Cantlow had been mentioned a few moments earlier; and Halfhyde was convinced that McRafferty had never been told the true facts about his passenger. Now McRafferty put his head in his hands, a beaten man. Cantlow began to ask questions again, more insistent questions as to Halfhyde’s sources of information, how he had managed to keep track of the Aysgarth Falls and how much was known in Chile and elsewhere as to himself. Halfhyde maintained his relaxed air, answering nothing except to say, repetitiously, that Cantlow would soon be finding out.
“You sound too damn confident,” Cantlow said furiously, coming closer with his revolver still pointed. “If you don’t want to get hurt, you’d better tell me what your confidence is based on, Lieutenant Halfhyde. All right?”
Halfhyde grinned into the lowering, hairy face. “All in good time,” he said. At that moment something seemed to happen on deck. There was a shout from Bullock, a shout of fear and anger, followed by a spate of orders. In the saloon, they heard the thump of blocks and the sound of running feet; and then Bullock was heard coming down the ladder.
The First Mate burst into the saloon, eyes wide. He said, “There’s a bloody warship lying off Breakup Island! A bloody mano’war, Cantlow!”
Cantlow’s eyes had narrowed to slits, and behind the beard the cheeks were suddenly pasty. He reached out and hauled Halfhyde to his feet. “Is this why? Is this why you’ve been so damn confident?”
“Of course,” Halfhyde said. “You’re sailing to certain arrest, Sergeant. If Bullock looks carefully, he’ll see the ensign of the German Empire…the ship is the first-class cruiser Mannheim, flagship of the German Special Service Squadron. Good friends…you’ll not be forgetful that the Kaiser is the grandson of Her Majesty, of course—”
“You—”
Halfhyde’s voice rose over the interruption. “The squadron is commanded by my friend Vice-Admiral Paulus von Merkatz, who has placed himself at the disposal of the British Admiralty and of myself in particular—in order to arrest you, Sergeant Cantlow. You are sailing into his hands, and it’s now too late.”
“It’s never too late—”
“Ah, but it is this time.” Halfhyde waved a hand towards the saloon ports. “Heavy guns, turreted guns—and upwards of five hundred naval officers and ratings. It will be an uphill task to take issue with them, Sergeant Cantlow. Frankly, I advise surrender.” He caught Bullock’s eye and grinned. “What do you say, Mr Bullock? Do you want to risk everything—or do you not?”
Bullock licked his lips, his eyes furtive now. He looked appealingly at Cantlow. Cantlow read the signs all too plainly: he was being walked out on. His face suffused and before Halfhyde could stop him he had fired. His aim was good. As Halfhyde took him hard with a blow behind the right ear, Bullock fell to the deck, streaming blood from his stomach.
HALFHYDE PACED the poop with McRafferty, who was all smiles now and feeling fit to resume the command of his ship. Cantlow was in irons below; Miss McRafferty stood at the starboard rail of the poop, letting the good, clean wind blow away the memories of the last few days. The Tacoma, after an exchange by megaphone with Halfhyde and McRafferty, had swung away on course for Sydney; and the Aysgarth Falls was now on a similar track, with Halfhyde promoted yet again, this time to First Mate.
“What about the diamonds, Mr Halfhyde?” McRafferty asked.
“I’ve examined the cases, sir, and they appear
