The inquiry into the steering failure began at 1745 behind closed doors in the wardroom with Shadde presiding.
For an hour and a half he examined and cross-examined. The coxswain testified that the steering gear had worked perfectly when tested at 1345, shortly before they slipped from the buoy. Symington, who had been on the bridge, confirmed this. Chief Engine Room Artificer Shepherd was called next, and he explained how the steering-gear and telemotor systems were maintained. The day before sailing he had carried out routine maintenance, assisted by two mechanics. On completion the system had worked perfectly.
Shepherd had been sent to investigate immediately after the collision: the tiller head had been jammed in the hard-aport position and the deck on the port side flooded with liquid from the hydraulic system. Later, the engineer officer had sent him back with a working party to find the trouble, but they had not been there long when they were told to leave the steering compartment and to lock it. "But," said Shepherd, "by then we knew what the trouble was, sir. The liquid had drained out through the plughole on the port ram cylinder."
"So the liquid drained out through the plughole." Shadde leaned over the table. "How was that possible?"
"The drain plug had come out, sir. We found it lying on the deck where it had dropped."
"Dropped," said Shadde with a trace of sarcasm. "What would make a drain plug drop?"
"That's got me beat, sir. Impossible for it to drop off."
"Ah!" said Shadde. "Now we're getting somewhere. Perhaps you'll tell us why it's impossible."
"Well, there's a locknut, sir. It's reverse threaded. So long as that's on, the drain plug can't come away."
"So that on this occasion the impossible happened?"
Shepherd's good-natured face was puzzled. "There's something funny about it, sir. You see, we couldn't find the locknut. I mean, when we went there to see why the steering had failed."
"Perhaps it was never on?" suggested Shadde.
"It was on yesterday, sir. When we did the maintenance routine. We had to remove the plug and drain the cylinders. I put that locknut back myself."
"Can you prove this?" Shadde gave Shepherd a searching look.
"Yes, sir. Engineering Mechanic Finney will bear me out. When I'd put the locknut on he brought it up tight."
Finney was called, and corroborated all that Shepherd had said. "I put me spanner on an' brought it up tight. Couldn't've moved after that, sir, 'cepting someone put a spanner on it again."
Shadde looked at his officers, "I told you so" written across his face. "One final question, Shepherd. Who were your working parties, yesterday and this afternoon?"
"Yesterday it was me and Finney and Kyle, and today it was me and Finney and Stokes, sir." He paused. "Would've been Kyle again today, sir, but he's adrift."
Shadde's eyes glinted. "Yes," he said, "I know."
Kyle, brought back aboard by the patrol officer, was taken to Lieutenant Allistair, the duty officer, who heard his story and put him in the captain's report. He then sent him to Surgeon Lieutenant O'Shea.
Half an hour later O'Shea answered a summons to the captain's cabin. "You sent for me, sir?"
"Ah, yes, O'Shea. I hear you've examined Kyle. What's his condition?"
"Bad bruise on the temple, and the skin's split. I've stitched it. Nothing to worry about."
Shadde's eyes narrowed. "Could the blow have been self-inflicted?"
The doctor shook his head. "Possible but most unlikely."
"How d'you know?"
"Because I've heard his story, sir. He got tight in a pub yesterday evening. Near midnight a pimp put a prostitute onto him, and she took Kyle to her room. Then the accomplice turned up and coshed Kyle on the head."
"Motive?" Shadde's voice was full of doubt.
"Robbery. They took his watch, and wallet with about ten pounds in it."
"Lot for Kyle to go ashore with."
"It was money he was saving to get his mother a present."
"Very touching," said Shadde. "What happened then?"
"When Kyle came to he was in a large shed. He had a lot of pain, and retched violently. Then he slept again. Sometime this afternoon he attracted attention by banging on the door and shouting. When he was let out he gave himself up to the police."
"Tell me, O'Shea, d'you believe that story?"
"Yes, sir, I do."
"Cavan tells me that Chief Shepherd regards him as a bad hat."
The doctor met Shadde's piercing glance steadily. "I wouldn't say that, sir."
Shadde looked at him quickly. "Why not, may I ask?"
"I got him talking. He comes from a poor home. Despises his father, who drinks and who occasionally assaults his mother. Kyle's devoted to her, but it's the father who's done the damage. You see, boys look to their fathers for an authority figure. If that breaks down they become confused, and their normal drives are inhibited and destroyed. Kyle suffers from a strong sense of personal inadequacy and tries to compensate by—"
"That'll do, thank you," snapped the captain. "I have my own theories about Kyle. They're at least more intelligible than yours."
With a shock O'Shea realized that he had upset the captain. He was apologetic. "You told me Shepherd said he's a bad hat, sir. I was only trying to say that he needs help, not punishment."
"Do you really think so?" Shadde's voice was withering. "I'm not the least bit interested in your psychiatric mumbo jumbo. It's a threat and an affront to naval discipline."
During the next two days, while Retaliate was still in dry dock, Shadde stayed in his cabin. On the morning of the second day the first lieutenant reminded him that Kyle was still in cells. Shadde said: "I'm well aware of that." But he didn't snap; he just sounded tired. Cavan was shocked by the red-rimmed eyes set in dark shadows, and the dull, listless stare.
"Will you be able to see Kyle before we get to sea, sir?"
"I don't know. I'll let you know." Shadde's voice was blank; his thoughts seemed elsewhere.
Dusty Miller, the captain's steward, fared no better. Every attempt he made to break through failed. No, he didn't want anything to eat. No, not even a cup of tea. But Miller saw that the level in the whisky bottle fell steadily. All this worried him because he'd been with Shadde a long time, and he was attached to the captain in a strange way which he could never explain.
Nor could he explain what had happened to the captain in recent months, but whatever it was he didn't like it.
In Portsmouth, the Flag Officer Submarines was not pleased. "Most peculiar," he said to his chief staff officer. "Of course, Shadde's had this sabotage bug for some time. And I don't suppose the collision's done him any good."
But FOS/M knew he'd have to send an investigator. It would be tempting fate not to. There was always the outside chance that Shadde's hunch might be right. Still, that signal struck him as queer. He would keep an open mind about the collision until the full report arrived, but it was worrying. FOS/M had plans for bringing Shadde ashore later in the year. He wondered if he should accelerate them.
Mr. Buddington joined just before they sailed from Stockholm, a strange bleak little man in a dark suit and a bowler hat. Mr. Buddington was expected. It was known on board that the captain had had a signal from FOS/M about an official from the Director of Naval Construction's office. He was said to be doing research on air-conditioning problems in the Missile-class boats.
In the privacy of his cabin, Shadde lost no time in telling the little man exactly why he suspected sabotage and why he thought Kyle was responsible. Mr. Buddington was the only other man in the submarine who knew about the gray silk and the brass locknut that Shadde had found in the steering compartment. Only to the first lieutenant and the engineer officer did Shadde reveal the real identity and purpose of Mr. Buddington.