The River of Diamonds

I saw the tears well into Mary's eyes at my brusqueness.

'What time?' he asked.

'Seven. It'll be dark then, and not too cold. Bring a nip of brandy — we may need it when we see what's inside the coffins.'

'Well, it won't be the first dead man I've seen.'

I fought for sleep, torn between the look on Mary's face and Shelborne's unknown menace. I jerked out of an uneasy rest and we met in Rhennin's cabin — black rubber diving suits, blackened faces, knives and pistols at our belts.

Mary said brokenly, 'Come back, both of you, won't you? Let me know — I'll be awake.'

Rhennin went over the side.

'Shove off,' I whispered, slipping the painter securing the dinghy. I felt Rhennin's strong paddle-thrust and for a moment the upperworks and gantry stood out against the freezing stars. We headed for Mercury. The Bells were silent. I set a rough course by the Southern Cross.

I lifted my paddle and tapped Rhennin's shoulder. 'Feel anything?'

'Slight surge,' he whispered back. 'Must be off the Glory Hole.'

I could not see the four grim muzzles. 'It doesn't feel very strong.'

'No. There's a little more sea though.'

'No Bells, thank God, all afternoon.'

'Johaar's recovering fast without them.'

'Give way!'

Our paddles dipped. The dinghy edged landwards. A strangled gargle broke the blackness. My reflexes beat my reason, and in a flash the heavy Colt was in my hand. The gargle ended in a plaintive chuffering.

'Easy!' whispered Rhennin. 'Seal-pup.'

Using cautious half-strokes, we stole in towards the ramp. The sea washed against rock.

'They'll lie just above the high-water mark,' I warned softly. 'Crawl for God's sake, or you'll rouse the island.'

I admired Rhennin's cool nerves. 'Here,' he said, 'tie this round your waist. We'll stay roped together. If the seals perform, two pulls on the rope means lie flat. Three — proceed, crawling. No talking.'

'Roger.'

His paddle clunked on rock. The dinghy rocked as he crept into the icy water. My rope tugged three times. I went over into a foot of water and the unforgettable stench of a seal nursery. I shouldered the rubber craft and followed the rope. A little above the water-level I came up to him. He guided my hand to a big rock to weigh down the dinghy. Then I edged into the lead, as we had arranged. My shoulder bumped a seal. He must have been a bachelor or a rogue bull to be on the fringe. I shouldered him out of the way like a Rugby forward; he grunted and went on snoring. I signalled and we moved onwards, seeking the defined gangways which always exist in seal colonies, where neutrality is respected. Inch by inch I manoeuvred forward with muted grunting on every side. A pup yelped softly in his sleep as my searching hand touched him. Half a dozen times I found our way blocked and half a dozen times, by the most painstaking search among the grunting bodies, I regained a neutral corridor.

Then ahead was a rock face. Seals were packed against it — a coveted residential area. Risking everything, I stood up to explore the face, which was about five feet high, with a deserted ledge above — the boundary of the colony! We eased ourselves silently above the sleeping herd. The wicked drop from graveyard to sea was our main obstacle now. I was glad I couldn't see, remembering the way it had looked from above. One slip would take us both to destruction.

Two hours later, exhausted, muscles kicking, hands as raw as jailhouse blues, faces cut, we hauled ourselves over the graveyard wall. I had led, seeking hand and footholds in the smooth rock by the intermittent light of display of sea phosphorescence. Rhennin, following, would feel his way by my heels — from one precarious fingernail-hold, from one toe-hold to the next — and so we made our way to the top. Three-quarters of the way up Rhennin gave a frantic jerk and slip; above our racing gasps for breath we had heard the jemmy ring on the rocks far below. We threw ourselves down against the inner wall.

It must have been ten minutes before Rhennin spoke. 'John, if the coffin lids are blown off in a storm like Shelborne says, they can't be screwed down.'

I hadn't thought of that. Metal screws wouldn't last in the corrosive sea fogs. 'Maybe there are wooden pegs, or dowels.'

'We can use our knives in that case. Where is it?'

'I found the Knight's Cross on the other side. There's a sort of stile.'

The ordered rows of coffins stood out hideously white under the rising moon.

'Anything to distinguish which one?'

'No. All guano-coated.'

His voice was steady. 'When we've got one open, I'll shine the torch below the level of the lid so that it won't show.'

'Felix…' I said, fumbling. I looked round the small enclosure. The climb had set back our schedule. 'What if…?'

'If I have to open every bloody one, I will — whatever sights we may see inside.'

We picked our Way through the nesting birds, who uttered little more than a few angry quacks. We selected a guano-coated oblong near where I had found the medal. We ran our knives along the overlap of the lid, scraping away a seal of stinking excrement. I took one side and Rhennin the other. I thrust in my knife. The wood was softer than I had anticipated. Rhennin's face was grim, withdrawn. He nodded and gave the thumbs-up sign. We threw our weight on our knives. It did not budge. Again we thrust our knives into the seams.

'My iron bar — that's what we need,' said Rhennin.

I ran my frozen fingers along the wood. Something protruded — not wood, but rope. It ran round the coffin, into the cement base. I showed Rhennin. Towards the feet we discovered another. The coffin had been wrapped around with two-inch manila, which had become iron-hard as the guano had permeated it.

Rhennin said, 'That's the sort of thing Shelborne would do if he wanted to hide the body. We need a couple of crow-bars.'

'Try cutting it.'

The heavy blade made almost no impression. He shook his head. 'Is there nothing we can use?'

We looked around. On the seaward side was the small building I had noticed with Shelborne. We picked our way to it through the birds.

'Might be a toolshed, or store of sorts.'

'A chapel, perhaps,' I suggested.

Rhennin laughed cynically. 'Not on your bloody life! Can you imagine Shelborne…'

'Yes, I can. He'd use the service for burial at sea. He'd do it superbly — prayer-book in hand, sonorous phrases, wind blowing, a group of cowed guano-workers…'

'Build-up of the image that terrifies Koeltas and Co.'

I parodied him, irreligiously, with the words I had heard used many times at sea: '"Such as sit in darkness, and in the shadow of death, being fast bound in misery and iron…"'

Rhennin raised a foot to kick open the rough door. I stood back, the Colt raised. He picked up my words: '"We therefore commit his body to the deep, to be turned into corruption, looking for the resurrection of the body when the sea shall give up her dead…"'

He kicked it open, hard.

Korvettenkapitan Rhennin sat at the head of the table. The other four U-boat captains were grouped around. Each man held a hand of cards; by him was a handful of uncut diamonds. In the middle was a kitty of diamonds which they had staked on the poker game. They all had red hair. -And they were all dead.

'Fauler Zauber,' said a voice.

I saw the glint of the blue-black muzzle of the Schmeisser machine-pistol almost before I made out the black sealskin figure.

'Fauler Zauber,' Shelborne repeated. 'A silly humbug, not so?'

13

The Five Red-headed Captains

'You! It was you who sent that message! Fauler Zauber! Headquarters thought…' Rhennin was as white as the coffins.