Night of Error

‘Not a thing,’ I said.

‘I don’t believe in coincidence. Not when it happens like this. What I do have to consider lies outside your domain, perhaps – the complications of international law regarding mining, especially offshore, undersea stuff. International relations – so I have to know more about the areas you want to research. Financing. Distribution. Markets.’

I was a little taken aback. Perhaps I was too much of the research scientist – the hard facts of commercial dealing had hardly occurred to me. But on reflection I could hear no note of doubt or dismay in Campbell’s voice, only the sound of a man mulling over the forthcoming ramifications of the deal he was being offered – and liking it. There was undoubtedly the faint note of challenge in his attitude, and this encouraged me. I guessed that he, like Geordie’s old pal Ian Lewis, may be finding life a little boring at present and was attracted by the novelty of my proposition.

He poked the nodule with his finger. ‘There are two things necessary for industrial civilization – cheap power and cheap steel. What’s the iron oxide content of this?’

‘Thirty-two per cent by weight.’

‘That does it. The cobalt will make it economically feasible and the result is a cheap high-grade iron ore, a hell of a lot of manganese, plus some copper, vanadium and anything else we can pick up. Cheap metals, billions of dollars’ worth and cheaper than anyone else can produce. It can be tied into one neat, strong package – but it needs careful handling. And above all it needs secrecy.’

‘I know. I’ve already been stalling off a police inspector who thinks there’s more to the burglary than meets the eye.’

Campbell appeared satisfied. ‘Good. You’ve got the point.’

‘Then you’re willing to finance an expedition?’ I asked. It was almost too easy, I thought, and I was right.

‘I don’t know yet. I want to make some investigations of my own, enquiries which I can make and you can’t. And maybe I can find Kane for you. Besides, you may not be in a position to undertake anything for some time – you killed a man, remember.’ His smile this time was more grim than charming. ‘Not that I blame you for it – I’ve killed men myself – but let’s wait for your inquest before deciding anything.’

IV

It was six days to the inquest, the longest six days I’ve spent in my life. To fill in the time I got down to writing the paper that I was supposed to turn out. It wasn’t a very good paper as it happened; I had too much else on my mind to concentrate really well.

By the end of the week Geordie still hadn’t found Kane, though he’d got a lot of other things moving. ‘It’s hopeless,’ he said to me. ‘A needle in a haystack would be easier – this is like trying to find one particular wisp of hay.’

‘He may not be in London at all.’

A truism which didn’t help. But on the morning of the inquest Kane was found – or rather, he found me.

He called at the flat just as I was leaving for the court – Geordie as usual was out ahead of me and would meet me there. Kane was looking a little the worse for wear with bloodshot eyes and a greying stubble on his cheeks. He coughed raspingly and said, ‘Sorry to trouble you, Mr Trevelyan, but you did say I was to keep in touch.’

I looked at him in astonishment and choked back the questions that were on the tip of my tongue. I invited him inside and did a bit of fast thinking as I poured him a cup of coffee. Geordie and Campbell had as much at stake in this as I had, and besides I wanted witnesses when I questioned Kane. I decided to play it softly, though I could hardly bear to speak to him without losing my control.

I made myself smile pleasantly at him. ’Had enough of England, Mr Kane?’

‘It ’ud be a nice country if it wasn’t for your bleeding weather. We could do with some of this rain back in Queensland, my word.’

‘But you’ve enjoyed your stay?’

‘I’ve had a bonzer time,’ he said. ‘But my stay’s over, Mr Trevelyan. I got to gambling again. I’ll never learn.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ I said.

He looked at me hopefully. ‘Mr Trevelyan, you said you might be able to arrange a passage for me. I wondered …’

‘Do you have to get back to the Pacific immediately?’

For some reason that didn’t please him. ‘Not specially, no. But I’ve got no boodle. If I had some cash or a job I’d like to stay around a bit. I thought maybe you could …’

I said, ‘I have a friend who has a yacht which he’s fitting out. He and I hope to get in some sailing together, and I think he needs crew. How would that suit you?’

He took the bait eagerly. ‘That ’ud be just fine, Mr Trevelyan!’

I put an opened writing pad in front of him, trying to hold back my own eagerness. ‘Write down the name of wherever you’re staying so that I can get the owner to contact you,’ I said. ‘He’ll want to interview you but I’ll make it all right with him. And I’ll let you have something ahead of your pay, to cover your rooming costs. How’s that?’

He wrote an address down. ‘I’ll do that. Thanks a whole lot, Mr Trevelyan.’

‘That’s all right,’ I said generously. ‘You’ve earned it.’

I gave him a head start and then left for the court hearing. The encounter had been good for me, giving me something else to think about and making a vital connection in my story for Campbell. I had no time to tell Geordie about it, however, but savoured telling him afterwards.

The inquest was simple and straightforward. A doctor gave evidence of death, then I went on the stand, followed immediately by Geordie. We stuck to straight facts and didn’t elaborate but I noticed that Geordie kept his bandaged finger prominently in view of the coroner. My neighbour spoke and then the police had their turn.

As Geordie was giving evidence I glanced round the courtroom and saw Campbell sitting at the back. He nodded to me, then turned his attention to the proceedings.

The Inspector made an appearance and confirmed that he had found a gun, a Beretta automatic pistol, hanging from the right-hand coat pocket of the deceased. The foresight was caught in the torn lining. I felt a lot better after this because it had been one of the points I had made myself. I looked the coroner straight in the eye and he didn’t avoid my glance – a good sign. The lack of identity of the dead man was briefly discussed.

There was a surprise witness, at least to me – old Jarvis appeared to give expert testimony. He told the coroner what manganese nodules were and even produced one to show what the things looked like. The coroner prodded him a bit about their value and Jarvis responded in his downright, damn-your-eyes way. But that was just for the record.

Then suddenly it was over. The coroner took little time to decide that death was due to justifiable manslaughter. He wound everything up with a pontifical speech to the effect that while an Englishman’s home may be his castle, no man had the right to take the law into his own hands and that if a little more care had been taken, in his opinion, a death could have been averted. However what was done was done, and Mr Michael Trevelyan was free to leave the court without a stain on his character.

We all stood up when he swept out and there was a general drift to the doors. An official elbowed his way up to me and gave me a note. It was brief and to the point. ‘See you at the Dorchester. Campbell.’

I passed it to Geordie as he reached me to slap me heavily on the back. ‘I hope this means what I think it means,’ I said. ‘I’ve got a lot to tell you.’

We drifted out with the crowd and were eventually deposited on the pavement. A lot of people I didn’t know congratulated me on killing a man and getting away with it, some reporters had a lot of questions to ask, and at last I caught sight of the man I was looking for. I ran to catch up with him, Geordie behind me. It was Professor Jarvis.

He saw me coming, waved his stick and waited for me to join him.

‘Well, that went off all right, my boy,’ he said.

‘You did your bit – thank you.’

‘Damned fools,’ he grumbled. ‘Everyone knows that those nodules are basically worthless – not an economic proposition at all.’

‘I wondered if you had a moment to talk to me – here, rather than at the Institute,’ I asked him. There seemed to be no difficulty and we sat down on the low stone wall outside the courthouse, enjoying the thin watery sunshine.

‘I have nothing to tell you, young man,’ the Professor said. ‘I made a few enquiries about that chap, Norgaard, but there’s nothing doing. The feller seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth.’

‘When was the last you heard of him?’

‘About six, seven months ago – when he was with your brother. They were fossicking about in the islands round Tahiti.’

‘When did Norgaard start working with Mark?’ I asked.

‘Now let me see. It must have been nearly two years ago, after Mark left that Canadian firm he was working for. Yes, that was it – after he had to leave the IGY project he went to Canada and was with that chap Campbell for over two years, then he left to join up with Norgaard. What they were doing I don’t know; they didn’t publish anything.’

His grasp of events was remarkable, I thought, and then seized on something he had said. ‘What do you mean – had to leave the IGY?’