Free Landfall by Nevil Shute Page B

aeroplanes to take it over, especially in time of war. Dickens sat quiet, watching the naval officers and their reactions, biding his time.
    They heard him to the end in silence; only from time to time the captain prompted him. He finished and sat staring round at them unhappily. “That’s all I can remember,” he said at last.
    Captain Burnaby said: “I take it, then, you never saw the letters on the conning-tower at all?”
    The pilot said: “No, sir—I didn’t. I never bothered about them once I saw that there was no identification marking on the hydrovanes.” He paused, and then said: “I did look for them once, but there was smoke all round the conning-tower.”
    The captain said: “Didn’t you think it worth while to make certain?”
    Chambers said: “I was certain, sir. It never entered my head that it could be a British submarine. We’re usually told when our own submarines are in the Channel.”
    Rutherford said kindly: “You get notices about our own submarines pretty frequently, do you?”
    The pilot turned to him. “Almost every other day. That’s why it never occurred to us that this had anything to do with our own submarines. It wasn’t in the usual form.” He paused, and then he said: “I’m quite sure this was a German. There was definitely nothing on the hydrovanes.”
    Lieutenant-Commander Dale said: “I wish I could be as sure as you are. You said that one of the hydrovanes washed clear as she was going down?”
    “Yes—it was free from foam.”
    “But it was clear—out of the water, I mean?”
    Chambers said: “It wasn’t dry, of course. There was water on it, but there were no bubbles—no white foam.”
    “How deep would you say the water was upon it? Five or six inches—or more?”
    The pilot strained his memory to recall the instant flash that he had seen in the last stages of his dive. “Not so deep as that. There might have been an inch of water on it.”
    “It was getting dark, though, wasn’t it?”
    “There was light enough to see the colour of the paint.”
    “Even under water, seen obliquely as you saw it?”
    The pilot hesitated. “What I saw was grey paint.”
    There was a short silence. Burnaby said: “Well, we shall have to leave that point.”
    Rutherford leaned forward. “May I ask him a few questions, sir?”
    The captain leaned back in his chair. “By all means.”
    The submarine officer turned to Chambers. “Did you notice how many jumping-wires she had?”
    “That’s the wire that runs from bow to stern over the conning-tower, isn’t it?”
    “That’s right. Did she have one or two?”
    The pilot stared at the ash-tray in concentration. Then he raised his head. “I can’t say, sir,” he said. “I didn’t notice.”
    The commander pushed a paper and a pencil over to him. “Draw us a picture, showing what she looked like, broadside on.”
    They leaned across the table and watched him intently as he drew. When it was finished, Rutherford pulled the sketch towards him and examined it critcally.
    “The one gun forward fits with
Caranx,”
he said pensively, “but so it does with most types. Are you surethis prolongation of the conning-tower towards the stern was there?”
    The pilot hesitated. “I think it was like that.”
    Captain Burnaby said: “Is that similar to
Caranx
, Rutherford?”
    The submarine officer shook his head.
“Caranx
goes like this.” He sketched a line upon the drawing; the modification was not very great. He turned to Burnaby. “Unless you know submarines, they all look much the same,” he said. “This doesn’t look like
Caranx
—but then, who can say?”
    Burnaby said: “I’m afraid we’re rather wasting our time, Commander. A sketch like this would only be of use if it showed something definite—two guns instead of one, or something like that. The rest of the evidence is overwhelming.”
    The man from Fort Blockhouse nodded slowly. “One more question, sir.” The captain inclined his head. “What