Night Of Error

'Why didn't you take him to the doctor instead of bringing the doctor to him?' I asked.

'We didn't think he'd make it,' said Kane simply. 'A little ship like ours bounces about a lot, and he was pretty sick.'

'I see,' I said. He was painting a rough picture.

'I did what I could for him,' said Kane. There wasn't much I could do though, beyond cleaning him up. We talked a lot about this and that – that was when he asked me to tell his wife.'

'Surely he didn't expect you to make a special trip to England?' I demanded, thinking that even in death it sounded like Mark's touch.

'Oh, it was nothing like that,' said Kane. 'You see, I was coming to England anyway. I won a bit of money in a sweep and I always wanted to see the old country. Jim, my cobber, said he could carry on alone for a bit, and he dropped me at Panama. I bummed a job on a ship coming to England.'

He smiled ruefully. 'I won't be staying here as long as I thought – I dropped a packet in a poker game coming across. I'll stay until my cash runs out and then I'll go back to Jim and the schooner.'

I said, 'What happened when the doctor came?'

'Oh sure, you want to know about your brother; sorry if I got off track. Well, Jim brought this old no-good back and he operated. He said he had to, it was your brother's only chance. Pretty rough it was too; the doc's instruments weren't any too good. I helped him – Jim hadn't the stomach for it.' He fell silent, looking back into the past.

I ordered another couple of beers, but Kane said, 'I'd like something stronger, if you don't mind,' so I changed the order to whisky.

I thought of some drunken oaf of a doctor cutting my brother open with blunt knives on a benighted tropical island. It wasn't a pretty thought and I think Kane saw the horror of it too, the way he gulped his whisky. It was worse for him – he had been there.

'So he died,' I said.

'Not right away. He seemed okay after the operation, then he got worse. The doc said it was per… peri…'

'Peritonitis?'

That's it. I remember it sounded like peri-peri sauce – like having something hot in your guts. He got a fever and went delirious; then he went unconscious and died two days after the operation.'

He looked into his glass. 'We buried him at sea. It was stinking hot and we couldn't carry the body anywhere – we hadn't any ice. We sewed him up in canvas and put him over the side. The doctor said he'd see to all the details – I mean, it wasn't any use for Jim and me to go all the way to Papeete -the doc knew all we knew.'

'You told the doctor about Mark's wife – her address and so on?'

Kane nodded. 'Mrs Trevelyan said she'd only just heard about it – that's the Islands postal service for you. You know, he never gave us nothing for her, no personal stuff I mean. We wondered about that. But she said some gear of his is on the way – that right?'

'It might be that,' I said. There's something at Heathrow now. I'll probably pick it up tomorrow. When did Mark die, by the way?'

He reflected. 'Must have been about four months ago. You don't go much for dates and calendars when you're cruising the Islands, not unless you're navigating and looking up the almanack all the time, and Jim's the expert on that. I reckon it was about the beginning of May. Jim dropped me at Panama in July and I had to wait a bit to get a ship across here.'

'Do you remember the doctor's name? Or where he came from?'

Kane frowned. 'I know he was a Dutchman; his name was Scoot-something. As near as I can remember it might have been Scooter. He runs a hospital on one of the Islands – my word, I can't remember that either.'

'It's of no consequence; if it becomes important I can get it from the death certificate.' I finished my whisky. 'The last I heard of Mark he was working with a Swede called Norgaard. You didn't come across him?'

Kane shook his head. There was only your brother. We didn't stay around, you know. Not when old Scooter said he'd take care of everything. You think this Norgaard was supposed to pick your brother up when he'd finished his job?'

'Something like that,' I said. 'It's been very good of you to take the trouble to tell us about Mark's death.'

He waved my thanks aside. 'No trouble at all; anyone would have done the same. I didn't tell Mrs Trevelyan too much, you understand.'

'I'll edit it when I tell her,' I said. 'Anyway, thanks for looking after him. I wouldn't like to think he died alone.'

'Aw, look,' said Kane, embarrassed. 'We couldn't do anything else now, could we?'

I gave him my card. 'I'd like you to keep in touch,' I said. 'Perhaps when you're ready to go back I can help you with a passage. I have plenty of contacts with the shipping people.'

Too right,' he said. 'I'll keep in touch, Mr Trevelyan.'

I said goodbye and left the bar, ducking into the private bar in the same pub. I didn't think Kane would go in there and I wanted a few quiet thoughts over another drink.

I thought of Mark dying a rather gruesome death on that lonely Pacific atoll. God knows that Mark and I didn't see eye to eye but I wouldn't have wished that fate on my worst enemy. And yet there was something odd about the whole story; I wasn't surprised at him being in the Tuamotus – it was his job to go poking about odd corners of the seven seas as it was mine – but something struck a sour note.

For instance, what had happened to Norgaard? It certainly wasn't standard operating procedure for a man to be left entirely alone on a job. I wondered what Mark and Norgaard had been doing in the Tuamotus; they had published no papers so perhaps their investigation hadn't been completed. I made a mental note to ask old Jarvis about it; my boss kept his ear close to the grapevine and knew everything that went on in the profession.

But it wasn't that which worried me; it was something else, something niggling at the back of my mind that I couldn't resolve. I chased it around for a bit but nothing happened, so I finished my drink and went home to my flat for a late night session with some figures.* 2*

The next day I was at the office bright and early and managed to get my work finished just before lunch. I was attacking my neglected correspondence when one of the girls brought in a visitor, and a most welcome one. Geordie Wilkins had been my father's sergeant in the Commandos during the war and after my father had been killed he took an interest in the sons of the man he had so greatly respected. Mark, typically, had been a little contemptuous of him but I liked Geordie and we got on well together.

He had done well for himself after the war. He foresaw the yachting boom and bought himself a 25-ton cutter which he chartered and in which he gave sailing lessons. Later he gave up tuition and had worked up to a 200-ton brigantine which he chartered to rich Americans mostly, taking them anywhere they wanted to go at an exorbitant price. Whenever he put into England he looked me up, but it had been a while since last I'd seen him.

He came into the office bringing with him a breath of sea air. 'My God, Mike, but you're pallid,' he said. 'I'll have to take you back to sea.'

'Geordie! Where have you sprung from this time?'

The Caribbean,' he said. 'I brought the old girl over for a refit. I'm in between charters, thank God.'

'Where are you staying?'

'With you – if you'll have me. Esmerelda's here.'

'Don't be an idiot,' I said happily. 'You know you're welcome. We seem to have struck it lucky this time; I have to do a bit of writing which will take a week, and then I've got three weeks spare.'

He rubbed his chin. 'I'm tied up for a week too, but I'm free after that. We'll push off somewhere.'

That's a great idea,' I said. 'I've been dying to get away. Wait while I check this post, would you?'

The letter I had just opened was from Helen; it contained a brief letter and the advisory note from British Airways. There was something to be collected from Heathrow which had to clear customs. I looked up at Geordie. 'Did you know that Mark is dead?'