The Mystery of Swordfish Reef Read online

  “I understand that Robert Garroway boarded with you. How did you get along with him?”

  “Very well. Robert was quiet and he was always polite to mother and me.”

  “He wasn’t in love with you?”

  For the first time the girl smiled. She shook her head.

  “Then he was backward for his age, Miss Spinks,” Bony told her, softly chuckling. “How did Robert Garroway accept the idea of your brother working Mr Ericson’s prospective launch, and you and your mother going to live in Mr Ericson’s new house? That would have meant that Garroway would have had to seek another job and another home, wouldn’t it?”

  “But that wouldn’t have happened, Mr Bonaparte. At least I don’t think so. Bill thought a lot of Robert Garroway. He was quick to do what he was told at the wheel, and he was always polite and obliging to anglers. It wasn’t settled, but Bill was going to ask Mr Ericson to let Robert be his mate on the new launch.”

  “Then you can think of no reason whatever for Robert Garroway to have shot Mr Ericson?”

  “Of course not.”

  Bony then conducted the conversation into generalities. He learned that the business was thriving; that Mr Blade continued to act as a business adviser; that Mrs Spinks suffered only two delusions, and that Marion “rather liked” Jack Wilton.

  Later that morning Bony interviewed the club secretary, and related to Blade the details of the conference at the police station the night before. He agreed to meet Bony on the Marlin at two o’clock that afternoon.

  At one o’clock Bony received a long telegraphic message from the Chief Commissioner at Sydney.

  At two o’clock he found Blade with Wilton in the cabin of the Marlin. He asked for a rough table to be erected. Wilton went one better by borrowing a collapsible one from the Vida.

  “I have brought my sketch maps, Mr Blade, and I want you to assist me in transporting all their details to one key plan showing the movement of all craft at sea the day the Do-me disappeared. We shall want your advice from time to time, Jack. By the way, did you have a picture taken of my swordfish hanging on the town triangle?”

  “It was taken this morning,” replied Blade.

  “Good! I shall want it to convince my wife and children that I caught that fish. Now to work. I have divided these maps into two classes. We will each reduce a set to one map, and finally we will reduce the two resultant maps to a grand final plan. Here are blank sketch maps showing only the coast for use in plotting details from all other maps.”

  For an hour they worked carefully plotting the course of every launch out from Bermagui that fatal day. Times and positions were marked relative to each other, the Orcades, the trawler working south of Bunga Head, the several launches out from Narooma. From this the final map was drawn giving all details except the actual courses. In silence the three men studied the key plan.

  Presently Bony murmured:

  “What can we learn from this? It might contain clues I cannot see but which can clearly be seen by such a man as you, Jack. Look at it carefully. Search for any absurdity, any abnormality. But wait a moment. It will help us if we sub-divide this plan into three areas.”

  With a coloured pencil he drew curved lines circumscribing his three areas. The one at the top, which included waters about Montague Island, he marked “North”. That one east of Bermagui he marked “Central”, and that one off Bunga Head south of Bermagui, and which included Wapengo Inlet, he marked “South”. The “South” area showed the position of the Gladious with that of the Orcades and the trawler, A.S.1. In the “Central” area were marked the position of the Gladious, Edith and Snowy with that of the Do-me from the time that craft left port until last sighted by the Gladious. In the “North” area the positions of Edith and Snowy with each other and the Orcades were given. After consideration Bony removed the launches from Narooma because, none having been off shore more than two miles, he felt sure they were unimportant.

  “Well, Mr Blade, what do you make of it?” he asked, when again they were silently studying the final drawing.

  “Not much as yet. The plan is most enlightening, for we get a kind of aerial view of all craft at sea.”

  “That is not quite correct, for we have yet to plot in the part-course of the Dolfin. The trawler saw her first at seven-fifteen in the morning making south-eastward across her bow. She lost sight of the Dolfin, still making to the south-east, at about eight o’clock. I will pencil in those details. You see, the Dolfin emerges from Wapengo Inlet and heads straight to the southeast until lost sight of by the captain of the trawler.

  “We appear to possess two premises from which to build two structures of theory,” he went on. “The first is that the owner of the Do-me, William Spinks, murdered his angler and his mate, or the mate murdered Spinks and the angler, and then steered the launch farther out to sea for the duration of that day, to return at night to the coast where he sank the Do-me in shallow water and reached land in the small boat. So far we need not trouble with motive, but we have to recognize the difficulty of disposing of the small boat. The second theory, which seems to contain probability, is that a craft unknown attacked those on the Do-me, murdered them all, and then sank the launch. Here again we are without a motive. But we will leave motives alone and concentrate on what could have happened to the Do-me.

  “If we adopt the first theory, then Spinks or his mate when taking the Do-me out to sea for the remainder of the day would have had to hide from the Orcades for at least an hour and a half whilst that ship was passing up the coast. If we assume the second theory to be more probable, then the craft that accounted for the Do-me had to escape the attention of those on the Orcades, the Gladious, and the trawler; and it would presume knowledge that Spinks and Ericson had decided to fish along Swordfish Reef. Well, then, what craft on our map, without being observed by the others, was able to dodge north or south and so come in from the east to Swordfish Reef and the Do-me?”

  After a period of further study, Wilton said:

  “The Gladious could have done that. Gladious could have seen A.S.1 in the distance; but it was hazy and being a small craft the trawler wouldn’t have seen her at half the distance.”

  “And up here in the north area the Edith could have come south after the Orcades had passed her at twelve-forty,” Blade contributed.

  “I think we can absolve the Edith,” decided Bony, “because Flandin on his Snowy checked the course of the Edith, after Burns checked his course with the Snowy and either one would have noted error in the other’s map-plotting. Which leaves us Gladious and Dolfin.”

  “Yes, both could have reached the Do-me without being seen by those on the trawler—and, too, without being seen by anyone on the Orcades after twelve-thirty PM.”

  “I agree with you, Jack,” Blade said, reluctantly. “Phew! For Remmings on his Gladious to have done that would mean that he had to make confederates of his mate and his two anglers who are professional men in Melbourne. As for Rockaway on his Dolfin, he would have had as confederates his crew of three men and his daughter if she went to sea that day. Hang it! Rockaway has been living at Wapengo Inlet for years, seven years. He built himself a fine house. He owns several cars and the Dolfin. He built a comfortable jetty to take the Dolfin. No, no, no! It couldn’t have been Gladious or Dolfin.”

  Once again silently they studied the plan. Now and then footsteps sounded on the decking of the jetty outside. Through the cabin entrance drifted the low murmur of human voices, the cry of sea birds, the eternal roar of surf. Then Bony said, softly, taking pleasures in throwing a bomb into the works of the plan:

  “Do either of you know a launch about forty feet in length, steam driven, with a black funnel and no mast, and painted warship grey?”

  Both his hearers stared at him, and then both answered in the negative. Bony smiled a little when he went on:

  “I received a message today conveying the information that the officer of the watch on the Orcades when she passed up this coast, as wel
l as the quartermaster at the wheel, remember seeing such a craft approximately due east of Bunga Head by fourteen miles. They remember seeing this craft because they passed it by only a couple of hundred yards. The two men on it waved to the passengers lining the ship’s rails. The time of passing this craft was about twenty minutes after twelve o’clock, and, you will see by our map, seventy-five minutes after Gladious last saw the Do-me still making to the east in the direction of that steam launch.”

  Wilton whistled. Blade offered no comment.

  “Never even heard of such a craft,” Wilton said. “Did the Orcades say which way she was making when they saw her?”

  “She was making to the south.”

  “She will have to be located,” Blade said.

  “The police of Australia are now searching for her,” Bony stated. “I think it is too late now to discover her, because she will have been disguised. However, by no means do I think our work on this key plan wasted. The next step is to write history from the day that Ericson arrived at Bermagui to the day after the Do-me disappeared. I have made a copy of the weather records, and from your books, Mr Blade, other items can likely enough be obtained to go into the making of the history.”

  The secretary’s grey eyes were shining when he said, eagerly:

  “My books would give a great deal of information, because they concern fishing and items that will recall incidents from which other items of information can be built up. We could, I think, make the history of those days fairly comprehensive.”

  “Good!” exclaimed the half-caste. “We’ll make it a personal history, as though it were a diary kept by the unfortunate Mr Ericson. From it might emerge a lead. I am beginning to feel that the motive behind the destruction of the Do-me was the killing of Ericson, and that the motive for the murder of Ericson might be discovered in those twenty-nine days.”

  Swiftly he gathered the plans together and placed them in the brief-case. It was five o’clock and the first of the launches was coming in over the bar.

  “I want to go fishing tomorrow, Mr Blade. Could we devote a couple of hours to the History of the Twenty-nine Days, say after nine o’clock tonight?”

  “Yes. Certainly.”

  “You’re a brick. I will be at your office at nine. Jack, tomorrow we sail for the open sea and the big fish.”

  Blade chuckled.

  “It’s a great sport, isn’t it?” he said.

  “Sport!” Bony echoed. “It’s a grand passion!”

  Chapter Ten

  Real Angling

  WHEN THE procession of launches left Bermagui the following morning, the Marlin was a unit of it and Bony was in her cockpit.

  “I ’ates these calm glassy days,” Joe informed him, dropping over the stern his feathered hook which had just been removed from the mouth of a two-pound bonito. “Gimme a good ripsnorter for swordfishing: a man’s got to keep his fingers out of ’is nose when a swordie takes a good holt on a bait-fish in a half gale.”

  They were crossing the mouth of the inner bay towards the tip of the outer headland, three launches ahead and two astern with another coming round the promontory. A heavy ground swell was running into the great bay, the low water mountains ridged by a short chop set going by the wind coming off the land. Against the green back of the protecting headland Bermagui township appeared as newly-washed clothes drying on a line.

  Outside the headland the swells sent back by the rock-armoured land created a chaos of water that took the launches high and dropped them low; but once away from this disturbance they rode easier. Some went towards Montague Island, others straight out towards Swordfish Reef, but the Marlin trolled southward, passed the Three Brothers rocks and towards Bunga Head.

  Overboard went the teasers to skip and dance on and under the surface of clear water. Overboard went the bait-fish to come skimming after the Marlin like a small speedboat. Each successive roller took the craft high, permitting Bony to view the coast less than a mile away, and then dropped her low, allowing the departing roller to hide the land for a little space. The methodical labour of the engine never varied, never faltered.

  “Funny kind of morning,” Wilton observed as he sat on the gunwale rolling a cigarette. “Glass as steady as a rock at twenty-nine point seven inches. Been like that all night. Must have been rough weather ’way out towards New Zealand for these rollers to be coming in. Have to keep an eye on the glass. It might mean an easterly and we don’t want to be too far off Bermee if she comes.”

  “What are the chances of getting a fish, do you think?” Bony asked.

  “Not bad. There’s more birds about today. See that gannet working inshore? The mutton birds are making south, too.”

  “Which means?”

  “That the small fish are on the surface, and that the shoal fish are coming north. The birds are going to meet ’em. That’s why Joe agreed easily to make down to Bunga. Those birds whisper yarns to him all right. Look at that gannet.”

  Bony saw the gannet, a large and graceful bird, circling above the sea only a hundred yards away. Then it quickly tilted forward and fell like a dart, its wings partly extended to maintain direction until the last fraction of a second before it plunged into the sea.

  “You’d think it would break its neck, wouldn’t you?” remarked Wilton. “I wonder at times how often they have to dive to get a meal. Not many. That fellow’s got his breakfast. He wastes no time in getting it down his gullet and being a-wing again.”

  From the gannet Bony’s interest was transferred to the launches, all now at varying distance from the Marlin. He was beginning to understand the language in which the Book of the Sea is written. But sea distances still baffled him: he asked how far away was the Dorothea.

  “About four miles,” answered Wilton.

  So only four miles separated Marlin from Dorothea, and only now and then could Bony see Dorothea. That was when she rode the back of a roller when the Marlin was doing the same. Otherwise Bony could see only her bare mast. All the launches had masts and carried sails to be used in case of engine break-down; often it was the mast above the horizon which indicated the position of another launch.

  “Assuming, Jack, that you wanted to keep out of sight of another launch but wished to keep in touch with her, could you do it by taking down your mast?” he asked.

  “Too right! A launch with her mast down could fox another with her mast up, all day and never be sighted.”

  “It would be easier to do if there was a haze?”

  “Of course. Neither that black launch nor the Dolfin would be seen, if their skippers didn’t want ’em to be seen. The mystery launch had no mast standing, according to the Orcades and the mast on the Dolfin is hinged and can be hauled up or lowered to the deck in no time. In fact, Mr Rockaway had her mast fixed like that because he reckoned a mast spoilt her lines. He wouldn’t have a mast at all only he wants one to fly a capture flag as well as to hoist a sail on in case of engine trouble.”

  Bony pondered on this before asking:

  “This Wapengo Inlet—has it a bar?”

  “Yes. It’s as easy to navigate, though, as the Bermaguee bar. But the same easterly gales that close the Bermaguee River also close the Wapengo Inlet. They very seldom blow this time of year, but in winter they keep going for days and there’s no getting in or out.”

  “In those circumstances what would happen if a launch attempted crossing either bar?”

  “She’d be dumped on the bottom if she wasn’t rolled over. But we never take risks on that stunt. If we can’t get in—and I’ve been caught by an easterly more than once—it means punching away up to Montague Island and taking shelter in its lee until the gale blows out. We take good care not to run the risk of that when we’ve an angler aboard.

  “Me and Joe got caught once down off Tathra. It was our own fault in a way because we saw it coming. We just got over the bar at Wapengo Inlet in time. I was scared stiff, but Joe took her over without turning a hair. Inside, there’s enough shelter for a
dozen liners. It blew hard for a week, but, as there were millions of ducks about, we lived on ducks and nothing else. Afterwards I wouldn’t look at poultry for a year.”

  “Was that before Rockaway built his house there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why did he elect to live there, do you know?”

  “For the shooting as well as the fishing, I expect. It don’t seem to be any different living there than at Bermee when a feller can afford to run cars and a truck. What’s a few miles, anyway? Besides, he was able to buy up a lot of land that one day is going to be dear. Not a bad sort, Rockaway. Pretty generous. And keen in a business way. Well, I’d better go for’ard and take a look-see. Shoal fish coming up from the south all right by all these working mutton birds.”

  Slowly the morning passed, and they were just south of Bunga Head when Wilton came aft for the lunch baskets. Bony noticed Joe gazing earnestly to the east. He looked that way himself, but could see nothing of import or interest. Then Wilton emerged from the cabin and said to his partner:

  “The guts have fallen out of the barometer. Turn her round and make for home. The nearer port we are if heavy weather comes the better.”

  “I thought somethin’ was happening,” Joe rumbled, bringing the bow of the Marlin round to point northward. “These rollers are gettin’ bigger. Still, the sky’s clear enough. No sign of weather that I can see, unless, yes, there’s a bit of darkness low on the horizon to east’ard.”

  “Probably come up quick. Keep a look-out.”

  Wilton was seated in the starboard angler’s vacant chair eating his lunch in Bony’s company when Joe shouted:

  “Fish-oh!”

  They swung round to the quarter at which Joe was pointing, and Joe was shouting exultantly, ten times louder than he need have done.

  “Look at that fin! By heck, look at it!”

  The hair at the back of Bony’s head felt as though it stood outward stiffly, at its roots a sensation of prickling. He saw the fin at the instant Wilton shouted. The fin was passing the launch to come in round astern of it. Already it had begun the movement. But what a fin! It was standing out of the water as high again as that of his first fish, a thick-based, symmetrically-tapered grey slab of streamlined speed. There was no mistaking it for other than what it was, the fin of a big swordfish.