It wasn’t until this point that it occurred to Jack and me to look towards the cabinet that had kept the sky-stone secure. The door to the cabinet was shut, but it must have been opened during the night. If you examined the dial, the lady’s finger would be indicating the number. Which number now — forty-one? But what did the figure on the dial matter? The cabinet must have been opened. The simplest evidence of that lay in my hand. Had the doctor unlocked it so as to take out and gloat over the stone which was promised to Maitre Renard of St-Malo? Or had someone else got hold of the key and unlocked the thing, intending to filch the stone?
‘We don’t have to raise the alarm,’ said Jack.
‘We could simply leave the ship,’ I said, the image of a slinking cat passing through my mind.
‘This is nothing to do with us.’
‘We know that, but others don’t. A man has been murdered, violently murdered. If we run away, we become fugitives.’
‘We’d probably get no further than Gravesend. A hue and cry would be raised.’
‘Yes.’
It was almost a relief when Captain Case and Henry Tallman entered the cabin. They took in the scene in an instant. So quickly, in fact — as I realized within another couple of instants — that there was no need to raise the alarm or even to say anything. They must have had some inkling of what they were going to find. Colin Case paced across to the inner cabin and opened the door. He grunted, gave a cursory glance at his brother’s body and reached out a hand to touch the swelling on the forehead. Meanwhile, Tallman remained by the bottom of the steps, keeping a wary eye on both of us. The captain rejoined Tallman. Both men looked at us. If Captain Case was distressed by the violent death of his brother Jonathan, he was doing a good job of hiding it.
‘A murder has been done,’ I said.
‘I am sorry for it,’ said Jack.
‘If that is so, Colin,’ said Tallman, ‘it looks as though you have found your murderer, or should I say murderers?’
‘Not so fast, Henry. Jonathan has been dead a little time. He is scarcely warm to the touch. If these two gentlemen had a hand in it, wouldn’t they have run away? Look elsewhere before suspecting them.’
My thoughts exactly. My respect for the captain went up a couple of notches.
‘You do not suspect me, I hope,’ said Tallman, raising his hands in a defensive gesture. I noticed that his right hand was wrapped around with a makeshift bandage, a handkerchief. ‘After all, I came to inform you of what had occurred.’
I gave a sigh of relief. This meant that Jack had not been the first to discover Dr Case’s body. Tallman must have also peered through the open door and gone off to rouse the captain. That is, if he was not the one responsible for the physician’s death. Whatever happened must have happened before Jack or I was awake.
Colin Case ignored Tallman’s remark and instead said, ‘Anyway, what reason would a pair of players have for… disposing of my brother?’
The good captain rose another notch or two in my estimation. He was doing an excellent job in our defence.
‘I rather think Mr Revill might be holding the reason in his hand,’ said Tallman.
I became aware that I had not relinquished the sky-stone. Rather than drop it as Jack had done, I handed it to Captain Case. I was reluctant to give it to Tallman. Case examined it, as did everyone who picked up the sky-stone. Instead of commenting on the markings, he said, ‘This might be blood. It is hard to see in here, though.’
‘Perhaps an outsider has done this deed,’ I said. ‘I have examined the casement window in the little cabin, and although I do not think anyone could have entered that way-’
‘You are right, Mr Revill. No one could possibly have entered through the window. No one but a child or a…’ said the shipmaster, his voice tailing away. There was an unreadable expression on his face. I might have believed he was toying with us, if I could have come up with any explanation why he should be doing so. Grasping at straws, I said, ‘Maybe a thief sneaked on to the boat in the night and was taken by surprise by your brother.’
‘There I think you are wrong,’ said Colin Case, pocketing the sky-stone, which might have been stained with his brother’s blood. ‘Come with me.’
We trooped on to the deck, the four of us. The sun had risen higher, and the red bands in the sky were thinning out. There were a few mariners about, including the bearded Bennett. Colin Case summoned his boatswain, had a conversation and gave some instructions. The only bit I heard concerned the departure of the Argo. We would not be sailing with the tide. He gave no reason for his order, which is the shipmaster’s privilege. Case returned to where we were standing and indicated a place in the bulwarks which was marked by ropes rather than wooden panels. This was the point where people and goods boarded the Argo. There was an equivalent gap on the other side of the boat. When we’d arrived at Gravesend, a couple of planks had been extended to connect us to the wharfside.
Case explained that a boat the size of the Argo could not moor right up against the ancient wharf because of the shallowness of the river at this point. The wharf had been constructed when boats were smaller. The planks that served as a makeshift bridge between ship and shore now lay stowed against the bulwark. The captain said that, on his orders, the planks were drawn inboard at night to prevent the very thievery or intrusion which I had mentioned. We could see that the boarding planks were tucked away on the ship. Therefore, no one had come aboard the Argo since the previous evening.
‘I have confirmed that with Bennett,’ added Case. ‘A few of the men went into Gravesend, but they were back well before midnight when the planks were drawn inboard.’
‘No one came on board after hours but a particular type of person might have left the ship,’ said Jack Wilson, leaning over the bulwark and estimating the gap that separated us from the muddy wharfside, which lay a couple of feet below the level of the deck and several yards away. The gap between was filled with the dark waters of the Thames, now scarcely stirring. ‘A reckless or desperate individual might leap this distance.’
‘Possibly,’ said Case. ‘But you are forgetting that the Argo has risen with the tide over the last couple of hours. If an outsider was making his escape in the middle of the night, not only would he have to contend with the darkness and a jump of twelve or more feet, but he would also be jumping upwards. The deck of the Argo would have been below the level of the wharf. Besides, there are few sailors who’d risk falling into water, even shallow water. Mostly they cannot swim, you see.’
‘Why’s that?’ said Jack.
‘It would show a lack of faith if they were able to swim.’
I wasn’t sure whether he meant a lack of faith in the ship or the shipmaster or even in God. More questions seemed beside the point.
‘Perhaps we must look beyond the merely mortal for this murder,’ said Tallman.
‘A spirit, you mean,’ said Case. ‘An imp or demon.’
‘Your words, Colin.’
‘More likely, isn’t it, Henry, that the action against my brother was undertaken by someone who is still on board the boat? Isn’t that what you’re all thinking?’
The logic of this seemed strong enough. The shipmaster had a word with another mariner, then the four of us went back to the great cabin. Colin Case suggested we sit at the table. He commanded rather than suggested. He had taken charge. Now that the physician was dead, he was the sole authority on the Argo. Case opened the door to the inner cabin, as if to ascertain that his brother’s body was still there. He spent some time inside, doing what I had done as far as I could see. Poking his head through the still-open casement window, examining the low ceiling.
After that the shipmaster locked the door, using a key from a ring containing several, and joined us at the table. Jack and I were sitting on a bench on one side, Tallman and Case on the other. The shipmaster looked thoughtful. He stroked his beard with one hand. The other held the knife that had been lying on the floor of the little cabin. He handed it to Tallman, handle first.