Read Online To Risks Unknown by Douglas Reeman - Free Book Online Page A

our people will want any leave
here
, Number One. The place looks a bit the worse for wear.’
    Wemyss grinned. ‘There’s always somewhere left where you can find a bit of pleasure, sir.’
    Crespin wondered what Wemyss considered as pleasure. It was hard to picture him doing anything else but his job.
    Leading Signalman Griffin interrupted his thoughts. ‘Beg pardon, sir, but there’s a motor boat heading this way.’
    Crespin nodded. ‘Very good. Man the side, Number One. This must be Commander Scarlett.’
    He climbed stiffly down to the main deck feeling the sun beating across his neck. God, this Scarlett did not waste any time. He must have been sitting in the ruins with his glass trained on the harbour entrance.
    He paused and glanced swiftly around him. The seamen working on the upper deck were stripped to their shorts, and some were already looking sunburned, while others displayed a goodly selection of tattoos. The ship was cluttered with mooring wires and clothing hung up to dry. And the new paint could not hide her old scars and dents. But for all that she looked tough and competent, and he felt vaguely satisfied. Yet when he had learned of his appointment his spirits had dropped so low that he could never imagine himself feeling anything but resentment. But the
Thistle
had a character all of her own. It was useless to compare her with a thirty-knot M.T.B. or a graceful destroyer. Like her design her personality was uncompromising. She seemed to say, Well, here I am. Take it or leave it.
    Crespin turned as Wemyss said quietly, ‘There are three passengers in the boat, sir. Two of them seem to be soldiers.’
    Crespin was already looking at the tall figure standing very straight-backed beside the boat’s coxswain. He was dressed in khaki shirt and slacks, and as far as Crespin could see wore no badges of rank at all. But on his head, tilted at a somewhat rakish angle, was a brightly oak-leaved cap. So he was obviously Scarlett.
    The boat sighed to a halt alongside, and almost before the bowman had hooked on the commander heaved himself aboard, returning the salutes from the side party and gripping Crespin’s hand in a firm clasp in what appeared to be one movement.
    He was over six feet tall, lean and very tanned. From beneath the peak of his gleaming cap, his eyes were blue and restless, so that as he spoke they were moving around the upper deck, missing nothing, as if working independently for their owner.
    â€˜Crespin? I’m Peter Scarlett. Damn glad you made it on time.’ He had a more resonant voice than Crespin had expected, and when he smiled he seemed very conscious of it, and Crespin suspected that nothing this man did was ever to no set purpose.
    Scarlett gestured to the two soldiers. ‘Major Barnaby and Lieutenant Muir. They’ve come along to look over the ship.’ He did not explain what he meant but hurried on, ‘Where can we talk?’
    Crespin led the way down to his cabin, and was glad to see that Wemyss had had the presence of mind to prepare it at such short notice. The scuttle was open, and someone had tidied up the littered desk and had placed some clean glasses on a tray and a jug of tepid-looking water.
    Scarlett laid his cap carefully on the bunk and glanced around the small cabin. Without the cap he looked older, and Crespin put his age at about forty. He had thick wavy hair touched with grey, and this, added to his strange uniform and the pistol-holder on one hip, gave an unreal, even theatrical impression which, Crespin guessed, was no accident.
    â€˜I expect Gleeson filled in some of the details when you paused at Gib, eh?’ Scarlett’s eyes fell on the glasses. ‘Scotch for me, if you have it.’ He waited until Crespin had found a bottle and added briskly, ‘I heard about your trip from the U.K., the missing Jerry and so forth. You mustn’t blame yourself, you know. These things can’t be