Wreckers Must Breathe (18 page)

At length the gallery flattened out and branched into three. Alf hesitated, and then took the right-hand branch. The sound of water became even louder. The gallery here was very well built. It was about seven feet wide and the same high, and in places it was cemented to keep out the water. Then suddenly we rounded a bend and came face to face with the most ghastly-looking fall. The whole of the roof had simply caved in and the gallery was blocked by great chunks of rock that looked as though they might have been part of Stonehenge. It suddenly made me realize that it is possible to get trapped in even the soundest-seeming galleries.

Alf played his torch over the debris and at length we turned back and retraced our steps to where the main gallery had branched. We took the next branch, and before we had gone more than forty feet we came up against another huge fall. I began to have a feeling that the whole place must be unsafe. All I wanted to do was to get out of it before it caved in on top of us.

Alf spent even longer examining this fall. But at length he led me back and down the next branch. It was the same thing. Thirty feet or so down the gallery we were stopped by a fall. I guessed then that there must be a serious fault in the whole rock formation at this point. I said as much to Alf, but he only grunted and continued to poke about amongst the debris. Then he began to examine the walls.

At last I could stand it no longer. ‘I'm getting out of this,' I said.

He nodded. ‘All right, miss,' he said. But he made no move. He simply stood there with his head on one side, listening. Involuntarily I began to listen too. I could hear the hum of the water somewhere beyond the falls and occasionally there was the creak of a pit prop.

I suddenly clutched his arm. ‘I can't stand this,' I said. ‘What are you listening for? What's the matter with the place?' He seemed a little put out by my questions. ‘You're uneasy, aren't you?' I went on. ‘I've felt it ever since we left the old workings. For God's sake tell me what it is. Have we lost our way, is somebody following us—what? I don't mind so long as you tell me what it is.'

Then he told me. ‘Somebody has been in this mine since it was closed down,' he said. He told me not to be alarmed. Then he said, ‘Remember that fall we had to scramble through in the old workings?' I nodded. ‘That was what first made me uneasy,' he went on. Then he explained that he thought the fall unnatural. ‘Do you suppose it would have been done to discourage people from entering the mine?' he asked. Then he pointed out that the watercourse had been diverted. Normally it would have run through these workings and out beyond into the cave. And what about these falls, he asked. He took my hand and showed me clean-cut flakes on the walls and marks as though the rock had been blackened. ‘These falls are not natural,' he said. He spoke fast and excited in his musical Welsh voice. ‘The rock has been blasted. Those marks are the marks of dynamite. Someone has blocked off the new workings.' He swung round on me. ‘Why is that?' he asked. ‘Indeed, and can you tell me why you wanted to come down this mine?'

I explained that I had reason to be suspicious of the last owner. He looked at me with his head on one side. ‘Mr Wilson was not a good man,' he said. ‘But I did not think him dishonest.'

He took my arm and led me back up the gallery. ‘Tomorrow we will come down with two friends of mine. I believe we may be able to find a way through this fall.'

And that is how things stand at the moment. We got out of the mine shortly after one. I felt pretty near exhausted and very dirty. Since then I have had a wash, a meal and a rest. I don't know what to think. I had a hunch that the mine would be worth looking at. Now I've been down it and am informed that someone has tampered with it since it was closed—in fact, that someone has deliberately produced four falls of rock. But we were able to get through the first fall—the one in the old workings. Was that design or inefficiency? Was I mistaken when I had that unpleasant feeling that we were being followed? And the three big falls—what was on the other side? What is that faint roar of water? Alf says it doesn't sound like water. Is somebody drilling? The whole thing is so fantastic. Do you remember Conan Doyle's
Tales of Horror and Mystery
? Well, I feel as though I'm writing the diary in one of his tales of horror that will be found after I am dead and from which others will draw the wildest conjectures. Suppose there is an underground race and they are coming to the surface to conquer us? Stupid! But when you are deep in the bowels of the earth anything seems possible. Quite frankly I'm not looking forward to tomorrow.

Your scared investigator,

M
AUREEN
.

 

P.S. Since writing this I have heard rather a peculiar thing. I went down to the local as Alf's guest. They're a tough crowd at Pendeen, but very friendly. I met Alf's pals who are coming on tomorrow's expedition. One's tall and the other's short, and they both look very tough indeed. They're out of work, like Alf. Both worked in Wheal Garth under Maclean. What I wanted to tell you, however, is a curious little story that is drifting around. They are very superstitious in this neighbourhood and apparently there has been talk recently of the miners who were killed in that disaster lying uneasy. They say that the white skull of a dead miner can be seen on dark nights floating in the sea just off Wheal Garth right over the spot where they were trapped.

Now the talk was going on about this when an old boy in the corner of the pub gives tongue and says that his son that keeps a bar over to St Ives told him a fisherman coming back late the other night picked up a glass net float that was bobbing up and down in the water and shining like a little full moon. It was apparently covered with phos-phorous. ‘That's what you see,' the old man said. ‘That flawt were drifting and a phawsphorescent fish rubbed itself against it. The skull of a dead miner!' He laughed.

I thought about this as Alf and I were walking home. ‘What do you think?' I asked. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Miners are superstitious folk,' he said. It was a dark night. ‘I've got a pair of binoculars in the car,' I said. ‘Would you care to walk with me as far as the cliffs?' He agreed, so we fetched the glasses and walked over to the cliffs. Well, it was there all right. At first I could see absolutely nothing. It was so dark that, looking through the glasses, it was as though I had covered the lenses with my hands. And then suddenly I saw a faint little point of light bobbing about like a will-o'-the-wisp. Alf saw it too. It was so faint that is was barely visible. But it was there all right.

Now what do you make of that? I hear there's a boat to be hired at Cape Cornwall. Tomorrow night, if I get back from the mine in time, I'm going out to have a look at the skull of that miner if I can get someone to come with me. Alf was very silent as we walked back. I don't know whether he, too, is superstitious, or if he was just trying to reason things out. I must admit that I don't feel too happy myself. It's easy to be matter-of-fact in a newspaper office and pour verbal ridicule upon country superstitions. But down here there seems a bit more to it. After all, there are thirty-odd men lying dead under the bed of the sea there. I think I'm going to have nightmares tonight. Now I must go out and post this endless screed. I'll report developments tomorrow. I wonder how long it will take us to get through one of those falls?—M. W.

Wire from Charles Patterson of the Daily Recorder to Maureen Weston at Cap View, Pendeen, dispatched from Fleet Street at 3.25
p.m. on Friday, September 15
:

Jesse Maclean British now directing mining work of national importance for Supply Ministry stop No police record nothing against him—Patterson.

Wire from Charles Patterson of the Daily Recorder to Maureen Weston at Cap View, Pendeen, dispatched from Fleet Street at 6.10
p.m. on Friday, September 15
:

Letter received grand work stop Wire results days operations—Patterson.

Wire from Charles Patterson of the Daily Recorder to Maureen Weston at Cap View, Pendeen, dispatched from Fleet Street at 10.50
a.m. on Saturday, September 16
:

Report at once results yesterdays activities—Patterson.

Wire from Charles Patterson of the Daily Recorder to Davies at Cap View, Pendeen, dispatched from Fleet Street at 12.35
p.m. on Saturday, September 16
and carrying with it a reply-paid form
:

Please inform whereabouts of Maureen Weston residing with you—Patterson.

Pre-paid wire from Mrs Alf Davies to Charles Patterson of the Daily Recorder dispatched from Pendeen at 2.40
p.m. on Saturday, September 16
:

Miss Weston and my husband visited Wheal Garth mine yesterday and have not returned stop Search party organized—Davies.

Transcript of a code wire from Detective-inspector Fuller to Superintendent McGlade at Scotland Yard dispatched from Pendeen at 2.50
p.m. on Saturday, September 16
:

Maureen Weston and three local miners missing stop Went down Wheal Garth mine yesterday following visit previous day stop Am convinced she had discovered something stop Mine reportend to be unsafe stop Two falls heard late yesterday afternoon stop Locals fear they are trapped stop Rescue parties have opened up new shaft and are working desperately to clear falls stop Advise detention of Jesse Arthur Maclean late engineer to mine for questioning stop Description tall lean dark hair thinning glasses Scotch stop Also locate and detain Wilson—Fuller.

Record of a phone call put through by Superintendent McGlade of Scotland Yard to Chief-inspector Saviour of Durham at 3.45
p.m. on Saturday, September 16
:

I want you to detain Jesse Arthur Maclean, engineer in charge of the mining work at the munitions dump at Dutton. You can do it under the Emergency Powers (Defence) Act—I've nothing against him so far.

Note from Superintendent McGlade to Colonel Blank at M.I.5
and dispatched by a special messenger at 5.30
p.m. on Saturday, September 16
:

For your information I enclose copies of a number of letters and telegrams sent from a Miss Maureen Weston to Charles Patterson, news editor of the
Daily Recorder
. They may be of interest to you. You will remember she was investigating the disappearance of Walter Craig in the Cadgwith U-boat incident for her paper. I am detaining the man Maclean mentioned in her letters who is now working on a munitions dump and am endeavouring to discover the whereabouts of Tubby Wilson.

This file of communications received by Patterson from Miss Weston was handed to me this afternoon by Patterson himself after he had learned that the girl had not returned from an expedition into the Wheal Garth mine.

I should be glad to hear what you think of them.

Yours,

M
C
G
LADE
.

 

Memorandum from the Naval Intelligence Department of the Admiralty to Colonel Blank of M.I.5
dispatched by special messenger at 8.45
p.m. on Saturday, September 16
:

Here are details of reports of U-boats in the vicinity of the Cornish coast received since the outbreak of war from coastal patrols of the Navy and the Fleet Air Arm:

September 4, 51.12 north 51.48 west. September 6, 49.54 north 5.5 west. September 9, 49.51 north 3.36 west. September 10, 49.11 north 2.24 west. September 10, 51.8 north 5.21 west. September 13, 52.3 north 5.48 west. September 14, 50.17 north 5.54 west. September 15, 49.45 north 6.35 west. September 15, 50.25 north 5.31 west.

In most cases depth charges or bombs were released, but only in two cases has the destruction of the U-boat been definitely achieved. Hope this is what you wanted—F.E.

Communiques dispatched from the War Office and the Admiralty shortly after 9.30
p.m. on Saturday, September 16
,
as a result of phone calls from M.I.5
:

From the War Office to officer commanding H.M. Forces encamped at Trereen, Cornwall:

Dispatch immediately two companies of infantry to Pendeen. One company is to mount guard on all exits of the Wheal Garth mine. If one company proves insufficient further troops must be dispatched. The second company is to enter the mine. Contact Detective-inspector Fuller of Scotland Yard who will be awaiting your arrival at the inn. He will provide guides to the mine and will inform you of the position.

From the Admiralty to commanders of destroyers EH 4
and EH 5
stationed at Newlyn
:

Proceed immediately to 50 degrees 23 minutes north 5 degrees 43 minutes west and patrol West Cornish coast from Botallack Head to Pendeen Watch.

WITH A SUDDEN
thrill of excitement I realized what Logan was doing. He was carrying on a conversation in morse. But was it a conversation? Was he making it up? I looked at what I had written down. It read: ‘I came here with three miners. Progress into new workings blocked by falls. Had removed part of lightest fall and found way through when met by armed Germans. What is this place?'

I looked up at Logan. His face was intent on the movements of the spoon against the iron bars of the grille. Heavy tap, pause, four light taps, pause, tap tap, pause, tap tap tap, long pause, short short, pause, short short short, long pause, short short short, short short long—and so it went on. I did not understand morse, but I presumed he was replying to the question.

I looked down again at what I had written. It made sense. It suggested that this was part of a mine. That tied up with the idea of the base being either in Cornwall or in Spain. It certainly did not read like the imaginings of a man who was mentally sick. I got up and went over to the door. Logan had finished tapping. Faintly I heard a metallic click, then two more, louder and close together. Then short short short short, pause, dash dash dash. There was no doubt about it. Someone was morsing from the next cell. ‘Who is it?' I asked Logan.