I was about to ask her some leading questions when Dr. Hargreaves came up to me. The others trailed behind him. They were now all dressed in their day clothes. They were worried stiff, all of them, and they looked it.
"We've been talking, and we've no doubt left in our minds that our wives are captive and in great danger," Hargreaves began without preamble. "Our-our wives are our sole concern at this moment. What do you suggest we do?" He was holding himself well in check, but the tight mouth, the straining tendons of his clasped hands gave him away.
"Damn it all, man!" The elderly butcher had the choler back in his face again. "We rescue them, that's what we do."
"Sure," I agreed. "We rescue them. How?"
"Well-"
"Look, friend, you don't begin to know the score. Let me explain. There are three things we can do. We can let the Chinese break through the tunnel into the open, then a few of us nip smartly in there, go through to the other end, release your wives and then what? Hewell's killers would be loose among the sailors here, and with all due respect to the Navy, it would be wolves among chickens. And after they'd gobbled up the chickens they'd find we were missing and come back to finish us off-and your wives as welclass="underline" and they might take some time finishing off your wives. Or we can blockade the tunnel exit and prevent them from coming out. We can prevent them for about an hour which is all the time it will take for them to go back and collect your wives and by either using them as shields or putting a gun to their heads force us to lay down our arms."
I paused a moment to let this sink in, but one glance round the tense still faces let me see that it had already sunk. They were looking at me as if they didn't like me very much, but I suppose that it was what I was saying that they really didn't like.
"You said there was a third alternative," Hargreaves pressed me.
"Yes." I rose stiffly to my feet, glanced at Anderson. "Sorry, Lieutenant, can't wait any longer for your M.O. Time enough wasted. There is a third alternative, gentlemen. The only practicable one. As soon as they break through the mountain-side-or as soon as we hear them trying to break through-a party of us, three or four, with sledges and crowbars to force locks and armed in case guards have been left behind to look after your wives, will go round the south of the island by boat, land and hope to get your wives clear before Witherspoon and Hewell get the idea of sending back for your wives to use as hostages. In this day and age I assume the Navy no longer depends on oars and sails. A fast power boat should get us there in fifteen minutes."
"I've no doubt it would," Anderson said unhappily. There was an embarrassed silence, then he went on reluctantly: "The fact is, Mr. Bentall, we haven't got any boats."
"Say that again?"
"No boats. Not even a rowing boat. I'm sorry."
"Look," I said heavily. "I know there have been some pretty drastic cut-backs in naval estimates, but if you'll tell me how a Navy can function without-"
"We did have boats," Anderson interrupted. "Four of them, attached to the light cruiser Neckar which has been anchored in the lagoon off and on for the past three months. The Neckar left two days ago with Rear-Admiral Harrison, who is in overall charge, and Dr. Davies, who has been in charge of the development of the Black Shrike throughout. The work on it-"
"The Black Shrike?"
"The name of the rocket. Not quite in firing readiness yet, but we had an urgent cable from London forty-eight hours ago saying it was essential to complete the work at once and ordering the Neckar to the firing range immediately-about 1,000 miles south-west of here. That's why this particular island was chosen-all open water to the south-east if anything goes wrong with the rocket."
"Well, well," I said heavily. "What a lovely coincidence. A cable all the way from London. All the correct codes, hidden identification figures and telegraphic addresses, I'll bet. It wasn't the fault of your communication and coding boys that they fell for it."
"I'm afraid I don't understand-"
"And why should the Neckar leave if the rocket wasn't in complete readiness?" I interrupted.
"It wasn't much," Hargreaves put in. "Dr. Fairfield had all his part of the job finished before he-ah-disappeared, all that was required was that someone with a knowledge of solid fuels-I admit there aren't many-should complete the wiring up and fusing of the firing circuitry. The cable giving the sailing orders said that a solid fuel expert would arrive on the island today."
I refrained from introducing myself. That cable must have been sent off within hours of Witherspoon's being told that Bentall was spending a wet and uncomfortable night on a reef out in the lagoon. There was no question but that the man was a criminaclass="underline" but there was equally no question but that he was a criminal genius. I was no criminal, but I was no genius either. We belonged in different leagues-the top and the bottom. I felt the way David would have felt if he had happened across Goliath and discovered that he had left his sling at home. I became vaguely aware that Anderson and the red-faced man, whom he addressed as Farley, were talking together, and then the vagueness vanished, I heard a couple of words that caught and transfixed my attention the way a tarantula in my soup would have done.
"Did I hear someone mention 'Captain Fleck'?" I asked carefully.
"Yes," Anderson nodded. "Fleck. Chap who runs a schooner and transfers all our stores and mail from Kandavu to here. But he's not due again until this afternoon."
It was as well that I had risen to my feet, had I still been sitting in my chair I would probably have fallen out of it. I said stupidly: "Transfers your stores and mail, eh?"
"That's right." It was Farley speaking, his voice impatient. "Australian. Trader, mainly in Government surplus, but he's also on charter to us. Rigorously investigated, security clearance, of course."
"Of course, of course." My mind was occupied with visions of Heck busily transferring mail from one end of the island to the other and then back again. "Does he know what's going on here?"
"Of course not," Anderson said. "All work on the rockets- there are two of them-are carried on under cover. Anyway, does it matter, Mr. Bentall?"
"It doesn't matter." Not any more, it didn't. "I think, Anderson, that we'd better go and consult with your Captain Griffiths. We have little time left. I'm afraid we may have no time left."
I turned to the door and halted as knuckles rapped on the outside of it. Anderson said "Come in" and the door opened. Leading Seaman Allison stood there, blinking in the sudden glare of light."
"The Surgeon-Lieutenant is here, sir."
"Ah, good, good! Come in, Brookman, we-" He broke off and said sharply: "Where's your gun, Allison?"
Allison grunted in agony as something struck him from behind with tremendous force and sent him staggering into the room to crash heavily into Farley. Both men were still reeling, falling together against one of the cubicle walls, when the massive form of Hewell appeared in the doorway. He loomed tall as Everest, the gaunt granitic face empty of all life, the black eyes far back and hidden under the tufted brows-he must have forced Allison to go first to give his own eyes time to become accustomed to the light-and in his huge fist was a gun, a gun fitted with a black cylindrical object screwed on to the barrel. A silencer.