Read Online The Wreck of the Mary Deare by Hammond Innes - Free Book Online

up.’ He stared down at the chart and books that lay on the floor beside the arm-chair. The chart was Number 2100, the large-scale chart of the Minkies. And then he was looking at me again and in an odd voice he said, ‘Who exactly are you?’ He was a little drunk.
    â€˜I told you that earlier,’ I replied. ‘My name is—’
    â€˜To hell with your name,’ he shouted impatiently. ‘What were you doing out there in that yacht? What made you board the ship?’ And then before I had time to say anything, he added, ‘Are you something to do with the Company?’
    â€˜What company?’
    â€˜The Dellimare Trading and Shipping Company—the people who own the Mary Deare.’ He hesitated. ‘Were you out there, waiting to see if—’ But then he shook his head. ‘No, it couldn’t have been that. We weren’t steaming to schedule.’
    â€˜I’d never heard of the Mary Deare until last night,’ I told him. And I explained how we’d almost been run down. ‘What happened?’ I asked him. ‘How was it that the crew abandoned her with the engines still running and you on board? Was it the fire?’
    He stared at me, swaying a little on his feet. And then he said, ‘She was never meant to make the Channel.’ He said it with a sort of smile, and when I asked him what he meant, he shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the porthole, staring out at the sea. ‘I thought we were in the clear when I’d got her round Ushant,’ he murmured. ‘God damn it! I thought I’d taken all the knocks a man could in the course of a single voyage. And then that fire.’ He turned and faced me again then. He seemed suddenly to want to talk. ‘It was the fire that beat me. It happened about nine-thirty last night. Rice rushed in here to say that Number Three hold was ablaze and the crew were panicking. I got the hoses run out and part of Number Four hatch cleared so that we could play water on the bulkhead. And then I went down the inspection ladder into Number Four to check. That’s how they got me.’ He pointed to the bloodied gash on his jaw.
    â€˜You mean somebody hit you—one of the crew?’ I asked in astonishment.
    He nodded, smiling. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. ‘They battened the inspection hatch down on top of me when I was unconscious and then they drove the crew in panic to the boats.’
    â€˜And left you there?’
    â€˜Yes. The only thing that saved me was that they forgot we’d cleared part of the hatch cover. By piling bales of cotton up—’
    â€˜But that’s mutiny—murder. Are you suggesting Higgins . . .’
    He lurched towards me then, sudden violence in his face. ‘Higgins! How did you know it was Higgins?’
    I started to explain about the letter Rice had written, but he interrupted me. ‘What else did he say?’ he demanded. ‘Anything about Dellimare?’
    â€˜The owner? No. Only that he’d been lost overboard.’ And I added, ‘The captain died, too, I gather.’
    â€˜Yes, damn his eyes!’ He turned away from me and his foot struck the overturned glass. He picked it up and poured himself a drink, his hands shaking slightly. ‘You having one?’ He didn’t wait for me to reply, but pulled open a drawer of the desk and produced a glass, filling it almost to the brim. ‘I buried him at sea on the first Tuesday in March,’ he said, handing the drink to me. ‘And glad I was to see the last of him.’ He shook his head slowly. ‘I was glad at the time, anyway.’
    â€˜What did he die of?’ I asked.
    â€˜Die of?’ He looked up at me quickly from under his dark brows, suddenly suspicious again. ‘Who the hell cares what he died of?’ he said with sudden truculence. ‘He died and left me to face the whole . . .’ He made a vague gesture with the