The Mystery of Swordfish Reef. Arthur W. Upfield
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have been back some time this morning, making sure to give himself a good margin—if he had agreed with his angler to stay out fishing all night.”
“Have you been in touch with the other stations up and down the coast?” asked Blade.
“Yes. I’ve been in communication with all police stations within a hundred miles north and south of Bermagui. Not one can report anything concerning the Do-me.”
“I suppose you know that the Gladious and the Ivy were out at sea all last night, and the Edith part of the night, searching for the Do-me?”
“Of course,” replied Telfer.
“And you know that Wilton, on his Marlin, went out this morning to follow Swordfish Reef to the southward because yesterday’s current set to the south, and it is known that Spinks suggested to his angler trying for sharks over the reef?”
“Of course, I know it. Ain’t I a policeman? The Ivy has gone south today, hugging the coast, and the Dorothea has made out towards Montague Island. I’ve just come down from the headland. The wind is freshening from the east’ard. I saw the Gladious and the Edith both well out, heading for home. There’s no sail in sight to indicate the Do-me making to port with the wind.”
Constable Telfer produced his notebook.
“Mrs Spinks and the girl state that William Spinks took no extra clothes and no food other than what Mrs Spinks put into his lunch-basket,” he read in a monotone. “At seven-thirty yesterday morning the garage truck delivered six six-gallon drums of petrol to the Do-me, and the driver states that Spinks said he would then have a full load of fuel and wouldn’t require none for today’s fishing. At the hotel they state that Mr Ericson took only tucker and his thermos-flask for his lunch; and, further, that he left instructions that if Martin, the Cobargo solicitor, arrived at Bermagui before he got back he was to be entertained at his, Ericson’s, expense. It’s evident that Mr Ericson and his launchmen did not think they would not get back to port last evening. And they’re still not back, being twenty-two hours overdue.”
Blade offered a remark.
“That’s certainly not normal in the calm weather we’ve had.”
“No, it isn’t. If it had been blowing a nor’easter we could say that the Do-me was sheltering at Montague Island, with which there is only semaphore communication, and that possible only in clear weather. But, Blade, the sea has been calm, extra special calm.”
The club secretary found a packet of cigarettes in the table drawer and lit one. Then he rose to his feet and crossed to the barometer, which he gently tapped with a finger-nail. The pointer moved steadily to halt at the figures 29.95.
“Hum! Barometer beginning to fall. You say that the wind is from the east. The Do-me might well show up before night.”
“Hope your guess is correct,” Telfer said dryly.
“And,” went on Blade, “if she doesn’t, then one or more of the Eden launches may have word of her when they get in this evening. I’m not worrying a great deal as yet, because of my confidence in Bill Spinks. He knows as much about this coast, and the currents off it, as any man bar old Joe Peace.”
“I still don’t like this Do-me business,” persisted Constable Telfer. “Listen to me. Yesterday there were three launches out at sea with the Do-me. As you know, they were the Gladious, the Snowy and the Edith. The last of those three to sight the Do-me was the Gladious just after eleven o’clock. The Do-me was then still trolling to the east, towards Swordfish Reef.”
Blade regarded the policeman steadily.
“You have been busy today,” he said. “Go on.”
“An hour after he last saw the Do-me, Remmings on the Gladious was five miles farther south. There was a haze on the sea, reducing visibility to a few miles, and the current at the south end of Swordfish Reef was setting south. If the Do-me’s engine had broken down after Remmings lost sight of her, she’d drift southward fairly fast because there wasn’t no wind to fill her sail. In which case a trawler, working six or seven miles south of the Gladious, and as far off the land, might easily have seen the Do-me. Unlike the launches, that trawler would work all night in that same area. And last night, or rather early this morning, Remmings ran alongside the trawler and spoke with the captain. No one on the trawler had sighted the Do-me.
“This morning the trawler was working a little north of Eden and about eight miles off shore. The Eden police got a launch-man there to go out and speak her. He spoke her at a little after twelve o’clock, and she hadn’t sighted the Do-me up till then. The Eden launch then patrolled for an hour or two without result. She has just returned to port, and I have just had her report through the Eden station.”
After this long and detailed statement Constable Telfer stared at Blade with a positive satisfaction in his prominent eyes. Blade looked away and gazed thoughtfully at his typewriter. A period of seconds passed, when he said:
“That doesn’t sound so good.”
Telfer snorted and continued.
“Before I came here I walked down to the jetty and had a talk with Harry Low. The Lily G. Excel didn’t go out today. Low reckons it don’t sound any too good, either, because this morning the sea was flat and the visibility was extra good. The men on the bridge of the trawler would have been looking for the Do-me, and they could have seen her mast at eight miles, if not a mile or two more.”
The two men fell silent, Telfer vigorously drawing at his old pipe. Blade drumming the fingers of one hand on a paper lying on the table. In his mind the affair of the Do-me was now growing big with portent. After a while, Telfer asked:
“What could happen to a launch out on the ocean, alone, cut off from human sight and contact by a haze?”
“Happen! Oh! … She could catch fire. But if the Do-me had caught fire yesterday, the smoke would have been observed by Remmings, and perhaps, by the trawler. And then the Do-me carried a small boat, and those on her could very easily have rowed ashore.”
“Low says—” Telfer began. “Low one time was whaling down at Eden, and he says that a whale could come up to blow under a launch and capsize her without giving any warning to those on board.”
“I suppose that could be possible,” conceded Blade. “But it would be by no means probable. I have never heard of such a happening. It would be as unlikely as a launch being attacked by a sea-serpent or a gang of mermen.”
“Could the Do-me have capsized through any other cause, do you think?”
“Not through any cause due to the launch herself,” replied Blade. “It was a very calm day, remember. The Do-me is as seaworthy a craft as any at Bermagui.”
The policeman’s chair scraped noisily on the floor and he rose to his feet. With slow deliberation, he slid the notebook into a breast pocket whilst he looked down at the club secretary.
“We’ll know what happened to the Do-me some day—perhaps,” he said. “It’s rough on the Spinks women, this not knowing what has happened. They’re up on the headland now. They’ve been there since breakfast this morning, and they were up there before daybreak. See you later.”
After Telfer had gone Edward Blade thought to note the time. It was four minutes to five. The sunlight was slanting into his office through window and open door. He began to type a letter to a sports firm, gave it up and walked to the doorway, where he paused and searched the sky. It was streaked with faint gossamer ribbons. Re-entering the office he again tapped the barometer. The pointer indicated a drop to 29.5. Standing in the doorway once again he looked to the north past the township, over the inner bay and across the great bay to Dromedary Mountain, backing it. Thin clouds crowned its summit. Opposite the office, across the road and the