“Here’s the trouble, sir,” Swanton said finally, and Neil looked at the bench before him upon which the navigator had laid the ‘insides’ of the compass. The main bearing had completely corroded — it was made of steel — and the sockets into which it was delicately fitted were covered with a fine reddish dust.
“The corrosion of this steel spindle is a real mystery,” Swanton commented. “This sort of steel has a guaranteed life of two-hundred-and-fifty years. The date stamp on this compass is one year ago when the switchboard was refitted. I fancy, sir, that Enzon and Balro are going to develop a lot of gray hairs over this!”
Neil mused for a moment as he looked out onto the heaving ocean.
“Come to think of it,” he said at length, “I’ve heard rumors whilst we were ashore concerning strange behavior by steel — but I never thought it would catch up on our compass like this!”
“Very extraordinary, sir,” the navigator agreed, and set the ruined compass on one side. “I hope our other one doesn’t go the same way!”
That seemed to end the subject, mainly because it was too bewildering a problem to pursue. Neil re-checked the course by the subsidiary compass, and then glanced at the chronometer.
“Take over, Mister Swanton,” he ordered. “My rest period is due.”
“Very good, sir.”
On his way from the bridge to his cabin, Neil paused for a moment by the steel door of the storage-hold and considered. He recalled the puzzling admonition he has received from the Export manager, respecting his cargo.
He half moved on and then hesitated. Might as well satisfy himself. So, using his memory for the combination lock he unfastened it and swung open the, storage-hold door. The hundred cases of electrical machinery and sixty of silkworms were still there. Those containing the machinery had small inspection holes in the sides — and those containing the silkworms had filters so they could breathe.
Neil glanced through the nearest inspection plate on the crates containing machinery. Then he looked again with more urgency. Startled, he peered inside the next crate, and then the next. Thoroughly alarmed he jumped across to where the crates of silkworms stood and the answer was even more startling. There was only one thing to do to satisfy himself, and he did it. He wrenched the lids from the nearest crates and then let them fall with a clatter, his senses completely stunned by the vision of a pile of completely broken and jumbled components smothered in rust in the machinery crates. As for the silkworms, these crates were completely empty. Not a vestige, not a trace!
Aware of the recent international tensions, his mind revolved round spies, saboteurs, even plain unvarnished magic; then commonsense stepped in and took charge. Returning to the bridge control-room he had the freighter stopped so that the engineers could leave their posts. Then, with the few others essential to the crew, he had them assemble in the bridge.
“I am not going to beat about the bush, men,” he said, coming straight to the point. “I am going to give the culprit amongst you the chance to confess and save a lot of trouble. To state the matter briefly, a consignment of machinery and silkworms, our cargo for Brazil, has been broken and corroded into useless junk in the case of the machinery, whilst the silkworms have vanished completely. The crates have apparently not been opened, but the contents have nevertheless been tampered with or removed completely. As far as I know I am the only person with the combination of the storage-room door, but obviously someone else has gained knowledge of that combination. Now, which of you is going to speak?”
Nobody did. They looked completely astonished. It was noteworthy that not a single man had an angry look. Commander Neil was too much respected for any member of his crew to show open resentment.
“If I might say something, sir?” asked Andrews, the first mate.
“Well?” Neil barked.
“What man would want silkworms, and what man could destroy machinery without being heard and apprehended? The very idea of it is absurd, sir — meaning no disrespect.”
“There are ways of doing so, Andrews, if the occasion warrants it,” Neil snapped.
“I don’t see how such a thing could happen, sir,” Swanton remarked. “Both consignments were safely in the vessel when we disembarked: you told me you’d checked on them. That could only mean the depredations and theft took place whilst we were in mid-ocean. And that is equally impossible. No vessel has been anywhere near us to take off stolen cargo, and for one of us to remove the silkworms from their crates and throw them overboard simply doesn’t make sense.”
“True,” Neil admitted, thinking, for fortunately he was not an obstinate man. He was always ready to listen to anything reasonable when a problem baffled him.
“Do I understand, sir, that the crates themselves have not been disturbed?” Swanton continued.
“Correct. From the look of them the crates themselves have not been disturbed. Theoretically, of course, it is possible to remove an object from inside another by fourth dimensional processes, and in this scientific era I am willing to believe that it could be done. An experienced spy might have knowledge enough to do it.”
“I don’t agree, sir,” Swanton said. “A spy would never trouble to be so complicated. If he knew the combination of the storage-hold door he would most certainly get rid of the cargo by dispatching it somewhere in the crates. You have entirely the wrong angle, or so I think.”
Neil frowned and moved to the starboard outlook, gazing out for a time over the rolling ocean. Finally he turned.
“Mister Swanton.…”
“Sir?”
“Take Mister Carlton with you and search the ship. The cargo may be concealed somewhere. The rest of you men stay here until the search is completed.”
The order was promptly obeyed, and for close on twenty minutes Swanton and Carlton, the chief engineer, were absent. When they came back they merely shrugged their shoulders.
“Not a trace, sir,” Swanton said. “And if I may say so the concealment of large amounts of live silkworms is hardly an easy task.”
“I’ll be made to look about the biggest fool in the service, when I radio my report back to my employers,” Neil declared bitterly. “To continue to Brazil now is useless since we haven’t a cargo to deliver! And what sort of a story am I to tell them back home? That the cargo was trashed or vanished from under my very nose without any explanation?”
“There must be an explanation,” Swanton muttered, his brows knitted.
“Then I’d be glad if you’d find it for I certainly can’t. All right, men, back to your posts. We’re returning to Bristol immediately, and I warn you there will be a most rigid enquiry. That consignment was of extreme value. Take over, Mister Swanton. I am still entitled to sleep even if the damned cargo does disappear!”
And, fuming with anger, Neil followed the baffled crew from the bridge. Before heading for his cabin he detoured to the radio room and made his report.
And, like all similar odd reports it was subsequently transmitted to the office of the Master, and became one more story in an accumulating pile of them that just cried out for a sensible answer.
The Master, in fact, sifted these stories and reports for the best part of the following morning. Amongst them was the report from Commander Neil explaining that his cargo of machinery had been destroyed, and that of silkworms had vanished without trace. He was willing to resign the service in disgrace because he just could not explain the mystery.