The mud-flats on either side of the anchorage were covered with marshy grass and, except for Hurst Fort, to the south-east, there was no eminence on the low-lying shores. They remained stationary long enough for Laura to row the dinghy to the steps near the inn, where she purchased a quart of beer and made inquiries about moorings.
By the time she got back to Canto Five it was becoming dark, so she suggested to Mrs Bradley that they might as well have a quick meal and then move off. They put on their lights and chugged steadily and slowly past a single line of moored craft until they gained the entrance and were off Old Pier but some distance from it. The High Light was already functioning, and they soon left it almost directly behind them as they crossed the narrowest part of the Solent and made for the shore of the Isle of Wight near Sconce Point. Here Laura steered north-east, and crawled round the coast to the little bay for which the dredger had made. It was still just sufficiently light for them to recognize her unmistakable silhouette with the erection to take the bucket-chain, and the buckets themselves slanting stiffly from amidships towards and under the crane in her bows. She was squat, utilitarian and ugly, almost a repulsive sight except for her funnel, which had the comical effect of having been borrowed from the Rocket and stuck on like a clown’s hat in a pantomime.
‘Something frightfully squamous about dredgers,’ muttered Laura. ‘Where do we go from here?’
‘Anchor at the farther end of the bay. Then we’ll row off in the dinghy, beach her, and stroll along the shore to see what can be seen. The moon is up, so the darker it gets now the better. We should be able to find some vantage-point from which we can observe without ourselves being noticed.’
This proved easy enough. The beach was sandy on an outgoing tide, and behind it rose cliffs which offered shadowed nooks in any one of which it was possible to hide. They strolled by the edge of the water for a time, and, as they approached the anchorage of the dredger, they altered course to gain the shadow of the cliffs. In the first alcove they tried, Laura almost fell over a courting couple, but except for these, and three girls who were taking a stroll by the edge of the water, there seemed to be nobody about. They found a suitable spot and sat down on the rubble which at some time had fallen from the cliff.
The dredger was correctly lighted, but not a sound came from her, although they sat there for over an hour.
‘I’m going to paddle the dinghy out to her and have a look-see,’ said Laura. ‘I don’t believe there’s anybody on board.’
‘Then I’m coming, too, dear child.’
They returned to the dinghy, now exposed by the moonlight, pushed off, and stepped aboard, wet, but (in Laura’s case), happy to be doing something active. It did not take long to reach the dredger, for the tide did most of the work. They reached her to find a rope-ladder trailing over the side.
They shipped their oars and Laura caught hold of the anchor-chain and pulled the dinghy close in to the side of the dredger. The manoeuvres, although they had been carried out with caution, had not been soundless, so, whilst the dinghy gently eased herself up and down, Laura and her employer listened intently. There was nothing to be heard, however, except the lazy slap of the outgoing tide against the shoreward side of the dredger, so, after a while, Laura muttered:
‘Unship your right-hand oar, and, when I say Now, pull us round a bit so that we’re stem-on to this anchor-chain. I’m going aboard.’
Mrs Bradley felt for the small revolver which she had carried all day in her skirt-pocket. She was almost certain that there was nobody on board, but she did not intend to take chances.
‘Right,’ she said. Laura shifted her grip on the anchor-chain.
‘Now!’ she said, and as the dinghy came round she stood up and made a cat-jump. The anchor-chain slackened suddenly, and Laura, afraid of smashing herself against the hull, let go and fell into the sea. She came up, spitting, and swam round to where they had seen the rope-ladder dangling over the side. Up this she went hand over hand, and climbed aboard. Mrs Bradley, who had heard the splash and guessed not only what had happened but what Laura would do, appeared on the seaward side of the dredger again and caught Laura’s softly-muttered ‘O.K. I’m aboard’.
It was soon certain that she was alone on the ship. She had never been on a dredger before and at any other time would have been interested in its machinery and gear; but, for one thing, below deck everything was dark, and, for another, there might be no time to lose. By the time she had groped her way down a slippery iron companion-ladder to the cabin she had made so much noise that she must, she thought, have awakened even the heaviest sleeper, if he were on board. She was about to feel her way on deck again… for it was uncomfortably eerie on the dredger… when she bit her tongue in nervous astonishment as a voice in the darkness said:
‘Polypodium Vulgare, dammit! Polypodium Vulgare, dammit! Polypodium Vulgare, curse your silly eyes!’
‘Good Lord!’ said Laura, recovering her nerve. ‘Captain Flint in person! All right, Polly! Pretty Polly, then!’
‘Lastrea Filix-Mas! Lastrea Filix-Mas! Filix-Mas! Filix-Mas! Filix-Mas!’ screamed the parrot. Laura wasted no more time on blandishments. She crawled up on deck and called over the side to the occupant of the dinghy:
‘Nobody here but a parrot saying… get it, quick, while I remember… Polypodium Vulgare, dammit and Lastrea Filix-Mas. Doesn’t mean a thing to me, unless it’s some more of those ferns. Shall I risk putting on a light in the cabin, do you think?’
‘No. Come half-way down the rope-ladder and I’ll give you my torch. Are your hands dry?’
‘Yes. I’ve rubbed them dry groping about up here. Wasn’t I an ass to fall in? I’m squelching water all over the place!’
The torch changed hands at the third attempt, and Laura, taking the ends of the large handkerchief (in which Mrs Bradley had cradled and tied the small torch) between her teeth, climbed aboard again.
With the torch to aid her, a search of the interior of the dredger was simple but unrewarding. The parrot had turned either sulky or sleepy, and did not utter again except to give an indignant squeal as the tiny beam of light invaded its cage. Except for an empty wine-bottle and the remains of a loaf of bread on a wooden platter with a knife beside it on the cabin table, there was no indication (but for the presence of the parrot) that any human being had set foot on board until Laura’s own arrival, and she was about to return to the deck and so to the dinghy when she said aloud:
‘Grass idiot! Think, woman, think!’
Having thus addressed herself, she put Mrs Bradley’s torch with some difficulty into the sopping-wet pocket of her slacks, picked up the knife by the tip of the blade and, folding the bottle-neck in Mrs Bradley’s handkerchief, she essayed the companion-way once more. Risking every moment being precipitated backwards by the motion of the anchored vessel, which, although not heavy, was more than a little noticeable to a person with both hands full, Laura managed to get up on deck.
‘I say!’ she called over the side. ‘I’ve impounded two fingerprinted objects. Do you suppose they’re any good?’
‘The police, no doubt, will think so, but if you bring them away with you the persons who have charge of this vessel will know that someone has been on board. I think we might risk that, though.’
‘They’d know, anyway. I’ve dripped everywhere. I’ve got a wine-bottle and a bread-knife. Only thing is, I don’t know how to get them down to the dinghy. If only it was an iron ladder instead of rope! How can we manage? I can bring the knife down between my teeth, I suppose, but I don’t know what to do about the bottle.’