Jeffrey Archer - Only Time Will Tell

To my surprise, a few minutes later Tancock came running back out of the building, and I was even more surprised when Haskins and the managing director followed close behind. I couldn’t imagine what would have convinced Mr Hugo to leave his office after such a brief conversation with Stan Tancock.

I found out the reason soon enough, because the moment Mr Hugo arrived on the dock, he gave orders for the entire shift to lay down their tools, stop working and remain silent, as if it were Remembrance Sunday. And indeed, a minute later, Haskins ordered them all back to work.

That was when it first occurred to me that Arthur Clifton might still be inside the double bottom. But surely no man could be so callous as to walk away if he’d thought, even for a moment, that someone might be trapped alive in a steel grave of their own making.

When the welders went back to work, Mr Hugo spoke to Tancock again before Tancock trooped off through the dockyard gates and out of sight. I looked back to see if Haskins was pursuing him again, but he was clearly more interested in pushing his men to their limits to recover lost time, like a galley master driving his slaves. A moment later, Mr Hugo walked down the gangway, climbed back into his car and drove off to Barrington House.

The next time I looked out of my carriage window I saw Tancock running back through the gates and once again charging towards Barrington House. This time he didn’t reappear for at least half an hour, and when he did, he was no longer red-cheeked and pulsating with rage, but appeared far calmer. I decided he must have found Clifton and was simply letting Mr Hugo know.

I looked up at Mr Hugo’s office and saw him standing by the window watching Tancock as he left the yard. He didn’t move away from the window until he was out of sight. A few minutes later Mr Hugo came out of the building, walked across to his car and drove away.

I wouldn’t have given the matter another thought if Arthur Clifton had clocked in for the morning shift, but he didn’t, nor did he ever again.

The following morning, a Detective Inspector Blakemore paid me a visit in my carriage. You can often judge the character of a person by the way he treats his fellow men. Blakemore was one of those rare people who could see beyond his nose.

‘You say that you saw Stanley Tancock leaving Barrington House between seven and seven thirty yesterday evening?’

‘Yes, I did,’ I told him.

‘Did he appear to be in a hurry, or anxious, or attempting to slip away unnoticed?’

‘On the contrary,’ I said. ‘I remember thinking at the time he looked remarkably carefree given the circumstances.’

‘Given the circumstances?’ repeated Blakemore.

‘Only an hour or so earlier, he’d been protesting that his mate Arthur Clifton was trapped in the double bottom of the Maple Leaf , and they were doing nothing to help him.’

Blakemore wrote down my words in his notebook.

‘Do you have any idea where Tancock went after that?’

‘No,’ I replied. ‘When I last saw him he was walking out of the gates with an arm around one of his mates.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ said the detective inspector. ‘That’s been most helpful.’ It had been a long time since anyone had called me sir. ‘Would you be willing, at your own convenience, to come down to the station and make a written statement?’

‘I’d prefer not to, inspector,’ I told him, ‘for personal reasons. But I’d be quite happy to write out a statement that you could collect at any time that suits you.’

‘That’s good of you, sir.’

The detective inspector opened his briefcase, dug out a police statement sheet and handed it to me. He then raised his hat and said, ‘Thank you, sir, I’ll be in touch.’ But I never saw him again.

Six weeks later, Stan Tancock was sentenced to three years’ imprisonment for theft, with Mr Hugo acting as the prosecution’s principal witness. I attended every day of the trial, and there wasn’t any doubt in my mind which one of them was the guilty party.

‘TRY NOT TO FORGET that you saved my life.’

‘I’ve spent the last twenty-six years trying to forget,’ Old Jack reminded him.

‘But you were also responsible for saving the lives of twenty-four of your fellow West Countrymen. You remain a hero in this city and you seem to be totally unaware of the fact. So I’m bound to ask, Jack, how much longer you intend to go on torturing yourself?’

‘Until I can no longer see the eleven men I killed as clearly as I can see you now.’

‘But you were doing no more than your duty,’ protested Sir Walter.

‘That’s how I saw it at the time,’ admitted Jack.

‘So what changed?’

‘If I could answer that question,’ replied Jack, ‘we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

‘But you’re still capable of doing so much for your fellow men. Take that young friend of yours, for example. You tell me he keeps playing truant, but if he was to discover that you are Captain Jack Tarrant of the Royal Gloucestershire Regiment, winner of the Victoria Cross, don’t you think he might listen to you with even more respect?’

‘He might also run away again,’ replied Jack. ‘In any case, I have other plans for young Harry Clifton.’

‘Clifton, Clifton…’ said Sir Walter. ‘Why is that name familiar?’

‘Harry’s father was trapped in the double bottom of the Maple Leaf , and no one came to his-’

‘That’s not what I heard,’ said Sir Walter, his tone changing. ‘I was told that Clifton left his wife because she was, not to put too fine a point on it, a loose woman.’

‘Then you were misled,’ said Jack, ‘because I can tell you that Mrs Clifton is a delightful and intelligent woman, and any man who was lucky enough to be married to her would never want to leave her.’

Sir Walter looked genuinely shocked, and it was some time before he spoke again. ‘Surely you don’t believe that cock and bull story about Clifton being trapped in the double bottom?’ he asked quietly.

‘I’m afraid I do, Walter. You see, I witnessed the whole episode.’

‘Then why didn’t you say something about it at the time?’

‘I did. When I was interviewed by Detective Inspector Blakemore the following day, I told him everything I’d seen, and at his request I made a written statement.’

‘Then why wasn’t your statement produced in evidence at Tancock’s trial?’ asked Sir Walter.

‘Because I never saw Blakemore again. And when I turned up at the police station, I was told he was no longer in charge of the case and his replacement refused to see me.’

‘I had Blakemore taken off the case,’ said Sir Walter. ‘The damn man was as good as accusing Hugo of giving the money to Tancock, so there wouldn’t be an investigation into the Clifton affair.’ Old Jack remained silent. ‘Let’s not talk of this any more,’ said Sir Walter. ‘I know my son is far from perfect, but I refuse to believe-’

‘Or perhaps you don’t want to believe,’ said Old Jack.

‘Jack, whose side are you on?’

‘On the side of justice. As you used to be when we first met.’

‘And I still am,’ said Sir Walter. But he fell silent for some time before adding, ‘I want you to make me a promise, Jack. If you ever find out anything about Hugo that you believe would harm the family’s reputation, you won’t hesitate to tell me.’

‘You have my word on it.’

‘And you have my word, old friend, that I would not hesitate to hand Hugo over to the police if I thought for one moment that he had broken the law.’

‘Let’s hope nothing else arises that would make that necessary,’ said Old Jack.