‘The vessel was sound and not shipping water to any appreciable extent?’
‘Absolutely sound.’
‘You had a diver, Mr Ricardo Portunato, conduct an external examination of the hull?’
‘I did.’
‘What were his findings?’
‘The hull was intact, in excellent condition and with no visible signs of damage other than the two cut marks about which I have already spoken.’
‘What conclusions do you, an expert, draw from all this, Mr Austin?’
‘From my examination of the Mary Celeste, I did not discover any evidence indicating weather conditions or any other logical explanation for the disappearance of the crew.’
‘Continuing that assessment to its logical end, can there only be a sinister conclusion as to the fate of Captain Briggs, his wife, their child, and perhaps some of the crew?’
‘I fear so,’ said Austin.
The Attorney-General sat down, flushed with contentment. Returning to his reflections at the beginning of the day, he decided that had he been performing in the bullring and not in a court, he would surely have been awarded not just the ears, but the tail as well.
He relaxed in his seat, watching first Pisani and then Cornwell attempt to obtain from the surveyor some qualification of the dogmatic evidence he had given. Austin remained absolutely unshakeable, repeating again and again that there had been no evidence aboard the ship to support the theory that the vessel had been beset by gales.
For a lawyer who could no longer have any belief in his brief, Pisani was questioning with remarkable tenacity. Flood regarded the man admiringly. Pisani did have integrity. But it was proving to little avail. The more Pisani tried, the worse he made it sound for the crew of the Dei Gratia.
The Attorney-General decided he would invoke the request with which he had ended each day’s examination and have Oliver Deveau recalled. John Austin’s evidence would make a damaging contrast to that of the first mate, and Flood judged Deveau more likely to collapse under positive challenge than either Morehouse or Winchester. The Attorney-General felt he could afford to wait, savouring their eventual capitulation to truth at some later time.
He looked casually around, unable to locate Deveau. Obviously the man had absented himself for a few moments; Flood had been passingly aware of how accustomed these men had become to court proceedings, leaving and entering during the course of the hearing, no longer sniggering like nervous schoolboys, as they had that first day. It was true, of course, that even the most obtuse must recognise which way the hearing was going and realise that there was little cause for laughter any more.
It was a further hour before Pisani conceded defeat, sitting down and leaving the surveyor with every statement absolutely intact.
Flood was on his feet as soon as the surveyor had been released.
‘I seek the recall of Oliver Deveau,’ he announced.
The response came not from the court registrar, as he had anticipated, but from Pisani.
‘I regret that will not be possible,’ said the crew lawyer, standing.
Cochrane looked up enquiringly.
‘Why not?’ he demanded
‘You will recall, sir, that I made application to you last night in chambers for the formal release from custody of the Dei Gratia ’ reminded the lawyer.
‘Yes,’ agreed Cochrane doubtfully.
Bird-like, Flood sat with his head to one side, the attitude of a sparrow which has had the worm snatched from it by a crow. Outrage engulfed him, fleeting anger at his misconception of the purpose of Pisani’s private interview and then at the judge’s stupidity in releasing the salvage vessel. With difficulty, he controlled any outward sign of emotion, remembering from Cochrane’s clashes with the other lawyers how quick the man was to respond to criticism.
‘It was thought best that Captain Morehouse, as the senior officer, should remain here to give continuing assistance to the court, and that Deveau should take the Dei Gratia on to Genoa to unload,’ said Pisani, uncomfortably aware of the judge’s impending reaction.
‘What!’ demanded Cochrane. ‘Thought better by whom?’
‘Myself, Captain Morehouse… and we sought the advice of Captain Winchester,’ stumbled the lawyer.
‘Did I not make it clear that the release was subject to its creating no inconvenience whatsoever to this enquiry?’
‘Yes, My Lord, you did,’ conceded Pisani.
What a cabal, thought Flood. They had reached the same conclusion as he, that Deveau might be the first to collapse. And tried to shift him away to where he could cause least harm.
‘But Captain Morehouse never boarded the Mary Celeste,’ protested the judge, his indignation matching that which Flood had felt minutes before. ‘What possible purpose could there be in his staying in preference to a witness as vital as the man who commanded the vessel throughout its days of salvage?’
Cochrane was stressing his annoyance, anxious to recover from what he must now recognise to be a mistake, decided the Attorney-General. First the analyst. Now the judge. Thank God he was sending his reports to London where they could be assessed without interference from fools.
‘It would seem that a miscalculation has been made,’ admitted Pisani.
‘Indeed there has, sir,’ said Cochrane. ‘I am adjourning this hearing today, to enable you and Captain Morehouse to communicate with the ship-owners and with the consul in Genoa, ordering Deveau back to the precincts and jurisdiction of this court by the fastest means at his disposal. And let me make it quite clear to you and everyone else in this chamber, Mr Pisani: I will not have the authority of this court impugned or endangered again, sir! Is that understood?’
‘It was never the intention of anyone to impugn your authority,’ attempted Pisani humbly.
‘Of that, sir, I remain to be convinced,’ said Cochrane, jerking to his feet to end the confrontation.
This time the request to visit the chambers came almost as soon as the Attorney-General had disrobed. There was no invitation to sherry as Flood settled himself.
Closer than he had been to the man in court, Flood saw that Cochrane was flushed with anger, a nerve in his eyelid tugging in annoyance and creating the ludicrous impression that the man was winking conspiratorially.
‘What do you make of it?’ demanded Cochrane immediately. He put his hand up, to cover his flickering eye.
‘There can be only one conclusion,’ said the Attorney-General. He would be failing in his duty as Admiralty Proctor if he did not include in that night’s report to London an account of the mistake that Sir James had made.
‘Do you think he’ll return?’ said the judge.
‘It’s impossible to say,’ suggested Flood. ‘You could always pass on the request through London for the British Consul in Genoa to urge some action from the American representatives there.’
Cochrane frowned, aware that the request would confirm his error to the Admiralty.
‘I’ve the assurance from Pisani that everything will be done,’ he said awkwardly.
He paused, as if debating whether to continue. Then he said, ‘I have decided to call in the police authorities and make available to them a transcript of everything that has been said at this enquiry.’
‘I had hoped you would,’ said Flood honestly.
‘I’m not hopeful, though.’
‘Hopeful?’
‘Unless there’s an admission of conspiracy from someone… of any criminality, in fact, then I don’t think there’s sufficient evidence for a criminal arrest.’
Winchester’s anger was greater because of his realisation that he had made an error and that it would add to the suspicion already created.
‘I didn’t think of bail-bond money,’ he protested.
‘Unless a surety is lodged with the court against any subsequent claim, you’ll not get the return of the Mary Celeste,’ predicted Cornwell.