In High Places

More briskly the captain said, 'Now, Mr Maitland, what can we do?'

'There are one or two more points I'd like to talk over,' Alan told him. 'But I wonder if my client could be present.'

'Certainly.' Captain Jaabeck crossed the cabin to a wall telephone, depressed a button, and spoke briskly. Returning, he said dryly, 'I am told that your client is helping to scour our bilges. But he will come.'

A few minutes later there was a hesitant knock and Henri Duval entered. He was in grease-stained coveralls and a strong odour of fuel oil clung to him. There were black grease marks on his face, extending into his hair which was matted and disordered. He stood diffidently, youthful, both hands clasped around a knitted woollen cap.

'Good day, Henri,' Alan said.

The young stowaway smiled uncertainly. He glanced self-consciously at his filthy clothing.

'Do not be nervous,' the captain instructed him, 'nor ashamed of the signs of honest work.' He added, for Alan's benefit, 'Sometimes, I fear, advantage is taken of Henri's good nature by giving him tasks which others do not choose. But he does them willingly and well.'

At the words, the subject of them grinned broadly. 'First I clean ship,' he announced. 'Then Henri Duval. Both most dirty.'

Alan laughed.

The captain smiled sombrely. 'What is said of my ship is,' alas, true. There is so little money spent, so small a crew. But as for our young friend, I would not wish his lifetime to be used in cleaning it. Perhaps you have some news, Mr Maitland.'

'Not news exactly,' Alan replied. 'Except that the Immigration Department has refused to grant an official hearing of Henri's case.'

'Ach!' Captain Jaabeck raised his hands impatiently. 'Then, once more, there is nothing can be done.' Henri Duval's eyes, which had brightened, dimmed.

'I wouldn't say that entirely,' Alan said. 'In fact there's one point I want to discuss with you. Captain, and it's why I wished my client to be present.'

'Yes?'

Alan was aware of the eyes of the other two intently upon him. He considered carefully the words he must use next. There was a question to be put and a specific answer he hoped to get. The right answer from Captain Jaabeck would open the way to what Tom Lewis had called Plan Two. But the words and response must be the captain's own.

'When I was here previously,' Alan said carefully, 'I asked if, as master of this ship, you would take Henri Duval to Immigration headquarters and demand a hearing into his application to land. Your answer at that time was no, and the reasons given' – Alan consulted a note he had made – 'were that you were too busy and you thought it would do no good.'

'It is true,' the captain said. 'I remember talking of that.'

As each spoke, Duval's eyes turned inquiringly from one to the other.

'I'm going to ask you again. Captain,' Alan said quietly, 'if you will take my client Henri Duval from this ship to the Immigration Department and there demand a formal hearing.'

Alan held his breath. What he wanted was the same answer once more. If the captain again said no, even casually and for whatever reason, then technically it would mean Duval was being kept a prisoner aboard ship… a ship in Canadian waters, subject to Canadian law. And just conceivably – based on Alan's own affidavit to that effect – a judge might grant a writ of habeas corpus… a direction to bring the prisoner to court. It was a hairsbreadth point of law… the long shot he and Tom had talked of. But its launching depended on obtaining the right answer now, so that the affidavit could be truly sworn.

The captain appeared puzzled. 'But surely you have just told me that Immigration has said no.'

Alan made no response. Instead he eyed the captain steadily. He was tempted to explain, to ask for the words he wanted. But to do so would be a breach of legal ethics. True, it was a fine distinction, but it was there and Alan was acutely aware of it. He could only hope that the others' astute mind…

'Well…' Captain Jaabeck hesitated. 'Perhaps you are right, and everything should be attempted once. Perhaps, after all, I must find time…'

It was going wrong. This was not what he wanted. The captain's reasonableness was effectively sealing off the only legal opening… a door, slightly ajar, was closing. Alan tightened his lips, revealing disappointment in his face.

'It is not what you wished? And yet you asked.' Again puzzlement in the captain's voice.

Alan faced him squarely. He said, with deliberate formality, 'Captain Jaabeck, my request remains. But I must advise you that if you disregard it I reserve the right, in my client's interest, to continue with whatever legal steps may be necessary.'

A slow smile spread over the captain's face. 'Yes,' he said. 'Now I understand. You must do things by certain means because that is the law's way.'

'And my request. Captain?'

Captain Jaabeck shook his head. He said solemnly, 'I regret I cannot comply. There is much business for the ship to be done in port, and I have no time to waste on worthless stowaways.'

Until now Henri Duval's brow had been furrowed in concentration, although obviously he had understood very little of what was being said. But with the captain's last remark his expression became suddenly surprised and hurt. It was almost, Alan thought, as if a child, abruptly and inexplicably, had been disowned by a parent. Once more he was tempted to explain but decided he had already gone far enough. Holding out his hand, he told Henri Duval, 'I'm doing everything I can. I'll come to see you again soon.'

'You may go.' The captain addressed the young stowaway sternly. 'Back in the bilges! – and do your work well.'

Unhappily, eyes downcast, Duval went out.

'You see,' Captain Jaabeck said quietly, 'I am a cruel man too.' He took out his pipe and began to fill it. 'I do not understand exactly what it is you require, Mr Maitland. But I trust there is nothing I have missed.'

'No, Captain.' Alan was smiling. 'To tell you the truth, I don't think there's much you miss at all.'

Chapter 6

Near the end of the dock a white MG convertible was parked, its top raised. As Alan Maitland approached from the Vastervik, his collar turned up against the cold damp wind coming off the water, Sharon Deveraux opened the driver's door.

'Hullo,' she said. 'I called at your office and Mr Lewis said to come here and wait.'

'Sometimes,' Alan responded cheerfully, 'old Tom shows real horse sense.'

Sharon smiled, the dimple appearing. She was hatless, with a pale beige coat and gloves to match. 'Get in,' she instructed, 'and I'll drive you wherever.'

He went around the other side and eased his length gingerly into the tiny two-seater. On the second attempt he made it. 'Not bad,' Sharon said approvingly. 'Granddaddy tried it once, but we never got his second leg in.'

'I,' Alan said, 'am not only younger, but also more flexible than Granddaddy.'

In three swift movements Sharon turned the car around and they moved off, jolting rapidly over the dockside road. The MG's interior was small and snug. Their shoulders touched and he was conscious of the same perfume he had noticed last time they met.

'About being flexible,' Sharon said, 'the other day I was beginning to wonder. Where to?'

'Back to the office, I guess. There's some swearing I have to do.'

'Why not here? I know most of the words.'

He grinned. 'Let's not go through the dumb-brunette routine. I know better.'

She turned her head. Her lips were red, full, and slightly parted in a humorous bow. He was conscious again of the petite elfin quality.

'All right, so it's some sort of legal thing.' She returned her eyes to the road. They took a corner sharply and he was jolted against her. The contact was pleasant.

'It's an affidavit,' he told her.

'If it doesn't offend your stuffy old rules to tell me,' Sharon said, 'how is it all going? The man on the ship, I mean.'