Trustee From the Toolroom (10 page)

Keith showed this letter to Katie one evening when the turmoil of the current party was over. She read it carefully, and then said, ' I should think the best thing would be to let him sell the engine for what he can get for it, and put the money towards the cost of the headstone for the grave. There's nothing much else that we can do.'

Keith said, 'There's no hurry. It all wants a bit of thinking about.' To his mind, it certainly did.

She said no more. To her the matter was perfectly clear and straightforward; put the money for the engine to the cost of the headstone and everything would be cleaned up, neat and tidy and done with. But Keith was handling all this with Mr Carpenter, and she knew her husband to be slow and vacillating in matters of business. Let the men settle it in their own way. It didn't matter.

On New Year's Eve, Keith went up to see Mr Carpenter. In the solicitor's office they went through the report together. Finally Mr Carpenter said, as Katie had, ' I think we should instruct the Governor to set the cost of the headstone against what he can get for the engine, and accept the balance either way. Would you like me to write to him in those terms ?'

Keith sat in silence. Finally he said, 'I think I'd rather kave it be, and think things over a bit longer.'

The solicitor glanced at him curiously. 'There is no immediate hurry, of course.'

The engineer looked up. 'That's right,' he said. 'John and Jo, they're buried and all decent, far as I can see. Suppose they had a headstone, well, there's no one there to read it.' He paused. 'I'm not against a headstone,' he said. 'Don't think that. But there's a lot of things in this that want some thinking over.'

The solicitor sat in silence. 'I'm here to help you, Mr Stewart/. he said at last. 'I know that you are keeping something from me, and you may have very good reasons for doing so. I'd just like you to remember that your brother-in-law was not only my client, but a friend. Just bear that in mind.'

Keith smiled, and said shrewdly, ' Unless it came to telling you I might be going to do something illegal.'

"There are degrees . . .' said Mr Carpenter. And then he smiled, and said, 'Are you trying to tell me that you see some chance of getting back those diamonds ?'

' I don't know where they are,' Keith said defensively. I don't know anything. I'd like to let the whole thing rest a while until I think it out, what's best to be done.' He got to his feet.

The solicitor rose with him. 'As you like. Just remember that I'm here to help.' He picked up the report from his desk. 'Would you care to take this with you?'

Keith took the report and thrust it deep into the pocket of his greasy raincoat. ' I don't want you to think I don't appreciate everything you've done, sir,' he said. 'But there's just one thing sticking out like a sore thumb, and that's that I'm the trustee. I don't want to do things in a hurry. Like selling anything."

He left the office and walked down to Holborn. He stood at the Kingsway corner waiting for his bus, and from habit he bought a copy of the
Evening Standard,
but he did not read it. He stood in a doorway in the milling crowd deep in thought, trying to resolve his problem. Twelve thousand miles away there was a coral reef in French territory, washed by the sea, not far from a coral island. Wedged upon that reef there was a three-ton lump of lead surmounted by another lump of concrete. Deep buried in the concrete probably would still be the copper box that he had brazed up for John Dermott. In the copper box was Jo's jewel case, red leather, and he was now certain in his mind that in her jewel case were £26,000 worth of diamonds that belonged to Janice, who had made a little basketwork nest at school to hold the coloured eggs for the plastic duck to sit on. And he was the trustee.

Peter James Sanderson was a navigator with the British Overseas Airways Corporation. He lived in South Baling, convenient to London Airport, and at that time he was working the London-Karachi sector of the Eastern route, flying in Britannias. This gave him about a fortnight of each month at home with his young wife and baby, and plenty of time for his hobby, which was model engineering. He was a devoted reader of the
Miniature Mechanic
every week. He had fitted up a workshop in a garden shed, and in it he had built a Stuart Turner steam engine and two of Keith Stewart's designs, the five cc Hornet single-cylinder compression ignition engine with its built-in reduction gear, and the more ambitious twenty cc Gannet four-cylinder horizontally opposed four-stroke engine. He had exhibited the latter at the annual exhibition of the Baling and District Model Engineering Society which had been judged by no less an authority than Keith Stewart, and he had received a bronze medal from the hands of the great man himself. He treasured this medal and valued it more highly than any of his professional certificates.

It was therefore with surprise and pleasure that he received a telephone call from Keith Stewart asking if he could come round and have a word with him. ' Of course,' he said. 'Any time you like, Mr Stewart. Now? That's fine. As a matter of fact, I was just reading about your Congreve clock, but I'd rather talk to you yourself.'

He hung up and went to tell his wife of the honour that was to befall them, and she was duly impressed, and hurried to make some hot scones for tea.

Over the scones and tea Keith Stewart unburdened himself partially. 'I'm in a kind of an awkward position, and I don't know what to do for the best,' he said, and he proceeded to tell Mr and Mrs Sanderson about John and Jo and
Shearwater.
The navigator said softly, 'I remember reading about this ..."

' Marokota was the name of the island they got wrecked on,' Keith told him.' It's not marked on our atlas, but seems like it's somewhere near a place called Tahiti or Papeete or something. Sometimes they say one, and sometimes the" other,'

'Tahiti is an island,' said the navigator. 'Quite a big French island. In the Pacific. Papeete is the town on it. Wait a minute, I think I've got a chart here that would show it.'

Maps and charts were his speciality, the tools of his trade, and he had acquired a considerable private store. He pulled out a blue volume, the
Pacific Islands Pilot,
and consulted it. 'Nine nine two,' he said. 'I haven't got it. But seven eight three - I know I've got that somewhere.' He pulled out the bottom drawer of a long chest, rummaged, and pulled out a chart and laid it on the top of the chest. 'Well, there's Tahiti,' he said. 'Now, Marokota.' He turned again to the
Pilot
and extracted the latitude and longitude of the island. He laid these off upon the chart with pencil and parallel ruler, and marked the position with a little pencil cross. 'There's your Marokota,' he said. 'About 300 sea miles more or less due east of Tahiti.'

Keith Stewart studied the chart. He had never seen one before, but he had heard about them, and he was a technician. 'All these little bits of figures,' he said. 'They mean depths ?

'Depths in fathoms,' said Mr Sanderson. 'A fathom is six feet.'

Keith nodded, and stood looking at the chart. He pulled out a packet of Players and offered one to his host. 'How would a chap set about getting out there?' he asked. 'I mean, there's things to be done - the grave, and that. I don't kind of like to let all that go, if you understand me.

If it was just over the way, in France - well, of course, one would go there and see everything done right. What would it cost to get to a place like that?'

The navigator stood in thought. 'By air, tourist, it might cost about three hundred pounds. You might be able to do it for a little less by sea. Perhaps two hundred.'

'That's just for the one way?'

Mr Sanderson nodded. 'The return fare would be double.'

Keith Stewart said, Twas afraid that that might be the size of it. The
Miniature Mechanic
doesn't pay that sort of wage packet.'

'You feel it's very important that you should go there to tidy things up?'

The engineer nodded. 'Yes, I do. But there's things you just can't do, and that's all about it.'

They talked for a little while. Finally the navigator said, 'Take that chart, if it's any good to you. Let me have it back when you've done with it.'

Keith Stewart said goodbye and walked off down the street in the grey dusk, the chart under his arm. Mr Sanderson watched him go from the front door, and went back into his sitting room, where his wife was clearing away the tea. 'What did you think of him?' he asked her.

'I liked him,' she said. 'He's a very genuine little man."

'That's what I thought,' he replied.

'He didn't mind a bit telling you straight out that he hadn't got the money to go out to the Pacific.'

'I know,' he said. He leaned against the mantelpiece in thought. 'Of course,' he said, 'there
are
ways.'

'Ways to get to Tahiti without any money?'

'Of course there are,' he said smiling. 'People get all over the world without any money.'

'How, Peter?'

'In aircraft, when the load factor's a bit down,' he said. ' It's just a question of working the right racket.'

Two nights later he rang up Keith Stewart. 'I don't know if this is any good to you,' he said. 'Do you remember a chap called Oliver Thorn, who had a model of the Petrolea locomotive in the Baling and District exhibition ?'

'I remember him,' said Keith. 'Fair-haired chap, shortish, with glasses. Works at Blackbushe airport or somewhere.'

'That's the chap,' said Mr Sanderson. 'He's chief storekeeper to Albatross Airways. I used to work for Albatross before I got into the Corporation. He thinks a lot of you.'

' Nice of you to say that,' muttered Keith.

'Well,' said the navigator, 'the point is this. Albatross have a job coming up to fly a generator rotor to a ship that's stuck at Honolulu, the
Cathay Princess,
15,000 tons. She's a tanker, I believe. She can't move till she gets this rotor, and she's costing the owners God knows how much a day. They've got to make a new one up in Lancashire, and Albatross are flying it to Honolulu one day next week. They're sending it in one of their DC6b freighters, but it won't be a full load. It struck me that it might be possible to wangle you a ride.'

Keith was startled. 'To Honolulu?'

'Yes.' Distances meant nothing to the navigator; one day he would be in Singapore and the next in Sydney. The world to him was a succession of indifferent hotels united by long, dreary stretches of cloud.

'How far would that be from Tahiti?'

'About 2,500 sea miles. It's not very close, but it's a good deal closer than you are now.'

'Can one get from Honolulu to Tahiti?'

'Ah, now,' said the navigator, 'that may be the snag. I can tell you this much — there's no airline. You'd think there must be some sort of shipping line, but, honestly, I just don't know. It could be that you'd have to find out that in Honolulu. Mr Thorn told me that the aircraft would go straight through by way of Frobisher and Vancouver, and that it would load the generator rotor at Speke. Well, Speke to Honolulu must be close on thirty hours, so the crew would want at least forty-eight hours rest before starting home. There should be plenty of time in Honolulu for you to find out about sea passages to Tahiti. If there Aren't any, then you could tome home again with Albatross. The machine's got to come back empty, as I understand it.'

'You don't think they'd want any money?' asked Keith, still a little dazed.

'You'd have to talk to Oliver Thorn,' said Mr Sanderson. 'There may be some accountant in Albatross who'd cut up rough, but I don't see why there should be. After all, if a journalist wanted to go and write up the trip and Albatross Airways, they'd take him fast enough. You're a journalist, aren't you?'

' I suppose so,' said Keith uncertainly.

'Well, there you are!' They talked a little more, and Mr Sanderson gave Keith the address and telephone number of Mr Thorn, and rang off.

Keith Stewart hung up, and went down to his workshop to sit down at his desk. He had Janice's school atlas there, and he traced the route as far as he was able. Speke -he did not know where that was, nor had he heard of it before; it would be somewhere in the North because the generator rotor was being made in Lancashire. Somewhat to his surprise he found Frobisher Bay without difficulty, but it was in Baffin Land, up farther north than Hudson Bay. Then to Vancouver; he knew where that was. And then to Honolulu, girls in grass skirts and not much else. He knew about Great Circle courses, and though he had not got a globe he could visualize this as the shortest route. Besides, when Jo had been speaking to Katie about Janice's journey, she had mentioned that the aeroplane went near to the North Pole.

He had never been out of England. It was incredible that he should even be contemplating such a journey, with all its expense, all its uncertainties. He would have to have a passport, and he had no notion how to set about getting such a thing. Still, he knew that the bank manager would tell him. He would have to have money, quite a lot of money, for if he succeeded in getting to
Tahiti from Sthat would cost a lot. Then he would have to .fere back to England. That might perhaps be possible if he were to find the diamonds. But if he didn't, then he would be stranded out there, in this outlandish place, Papeete.