Десмонд Бэгли - The Golden Keel

Coertze’s reaction was fast. He lunged for Walker — but missed. I shouted, ‘Safety line — pull him in.’

He brushed water out of his eyes and yelled, ‘Wasn’t wearing one.’

‘The damned fool,’ I thought. I think it was a thought — I might even have yelled it. Coertze gave a great shout and pointed aft and I turned and could see a dark shape rolling in the boiling waters astern and I saw white hands clutching the nylon rope. They say a drowning man will clutch at a straw — Walker was lucky — he had grabbed at something more substantial, one of the drag ropes.

Coertze was hauling the rope in fast. It couldn’t have been easy with the drag of Walker in the water pulling on his injured shoulder, but he was hauling just as fast as though the rope was free. He pulled Walker right under the stern and then belayed the rope.

He shouted to me, ‘I’m going over the counter — you’ll have to sit on my legs.’

I nodded and he started to crawl over the counter stern to where Walker was still tightly gripping the rope. He slithered aft and I got up from my seat and hoisted myself out of the cockpit until I could sit on his legs. In the violent motion of the storm it was only my weight that kept Coertze from being hurled bodily into the sea.

Coertze grasped the rope and heaved, his shoulders writhing with the effort. He was lifting the dead weight of Walker five feet — the distance from the taffrail to the surface of the water. I hoped to God that Walker could hold on. If he let go then, not only would he be lost himself but the sudden release of tension would throw Coertze off balance and he would not have a hope of saving himself.

Walker’s hands appeared above the taffrail and Coertze took a grip on the cuff of his coat. Then I looked aft and yelled, ‘Hang on, for God’s sake!’

One of those damnable freak seas was bearing on us, a terrifying monster coming up astern with the speed of an express train. Sanford ’s bows sank sickeningly and Coertze gave Walker another heave, and grasped him by the scruff of the neck, pulling him on to the counter.

Then the wave was upon us and away as fast as it had come. Walker tumbled into the bottom of the cockpit, unconscious or dead, I couldn’t tell which, and Coertze fell on top of him, his chest heaving with the strain of his exertions. He lay there for a few minutes, then bent down to loosen Walker’s iron grip on the rope.

As he prised the fingers away, I said, ‘Take him below — and you’d better stay there yourself for a while.’

A great light had just dawned on me but I had not time to think about it just then — I had to get that bight of rope back over the stern while still keeping a grasp of the tiller and watching the next sea coming up.

It was nearly an hour before Coertze came back — a lonely and frightening hour during which I was too busy to think coherently about what I had seen. The storm seemed to be building up even more strongly and I began to have second thoughts about what I had told Francesca about the seaworthiness of small boats.

When he climbed into the cockpit he took over Walker’s job of looking after the stern ropes, giving me a grin as he settled down. ‘Walker’s O.K.,’ he bawled. ‘Francesca’s looking after him. I pumped the water out of him — the bilges must be nearly full.’ He laughed and the volume of his great laughter seemed to overpower the noise of the gale.

I looked at him in wonder.

A Mediterranean gale can’t last; there is not the power of a huge ocean to draw upon and a great wind soon dies. At four the next morning the storm had abated enough for me to hand over the tiller to Coertze and go below. When I sat on the settee my hands were shaking with the sudden release of tension and I felt inexpressibly weary.

Francesca said, ‘You must be hungry; I’ll get you something to eat.’

I shook my head. ‘No, I’m too tired to eat — I’m going to sleep.’ She helped me take off my oilies, and I said, ‘How’s Walker?’

‘He’s all right; he’s asleep in the quarter berth.’

I nodded slowly — Coertze had put Walker into his own berth. That fitted in, too.

I said, ‘Wake me in two hours — don’t let me sleep any longer. I don’t want to leave Coertze alone too long,’ and I fell on to my berth and was instantly asleep. The last thing I remembered was a fleeting vision of Coertze hauling Walker over the stern by the scruff of the neck.

Francesca woke me at six-thirty with a cup of coffee which I drank gratefully. ‘Do you want something to eat?’ she asked.

I listened to the wind and analysed the motion of Sanford. ‘Make breakfast for all of us,’ I said. ‘We’ll heave to and have a rest for a bit. I think the time has come for a talk with Coertze, anyway.’

I went back into the cockpit and surveyed the situation. The wind was still strong but not nearly as strong as it had been, and Coertze had hauled in the two twenty-fathom ropes and had coiled them neatly. I said, ‘We’ll heave to now; it’s time you had some sleep.’

He nodded briefly and we began to haul in the bight of rope. Then we lashed the tiller and watched Sanford take position broadside on to the seas — it was safe now that the wind had dropped. When we went below Francesca was in the galley making breakfast. She had put a damp cloth on the cabin table to stop things sliding about and Coertze and I sat down.

He started to butter a piece of bread while I wondered how to go about what I was going to say. It was a difficult question I was going to broach and Kobus had such a thorny character that I didn’t know how he would take it. I said, ‘You know, I never really thanked you properly for pulling me out of the mine — you know, when the roof caved in.’

He munched on the bread and said, with his mouth full, ‘ Nee, man, it was my own fault, I told you that before. I should have shored the last bit properly.’

‘Walker owes you his thanks, too. You saved his life last night.’

He snorted. ‘Who cares what he thinks.’

I said carefully, getting ready to duck, ‘Why did you do it, anyway? It would have been worth at least a quarter of a million not to pull him out.’

Coertze stared at me, affronted. His face reddened with anger. ‘Man, do you think I’m a bloody murderer?’

I had thought so at one time but didn’t say so. ‘And you didn’t kill Parker or Alberto Corso or Donato Rinaldi?’

His face purpled. ‘Who said I did?’

I cocked my thumb at the quarter berth where Walker was still asleep. ‘He did.’

I thought he would burst. His jaws worked and he was literally speechless, unable to say a damn’ thing. I said, ‘According to friend Walker, you led Alberto into a trap on a cliff and then pushed him off; you beat in the head of Donato; you shot Parker in the back of the head when you were both in action against the Germans.’

‘The lying little bastard,’ ground out Coertze. He started to get up. ‘I’ll ram those lies down his bloody throat.’

I held up my hand. ‘Hold on — don’t go off half-cocked. Let’s sort it out first; I’d like to get your story of what happened at that time. You see, what happened last night has led me to reconsider a lot of things. I wondered why you should have saved Walker if you’re the man he says you are. I’d like to get at the truth for once.’

He sat down slowly and looked down at the table. At last he said, ‘Alberto’s death was an accident; I tried to save him, but I couldn’t.’

‘I believe you — after last night.’

‘Donato I know nothing about. I remember thinking that there was something queer about it, though. I mean, why should Donato go climbing for fun? He had enough of that the way the Count sent us all over the hills.’