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mooring. Thames by-laws were the province of the water authority, so
Harry Snowdon was content to let them continue.
A
few me tres from his large feet the disabled patrol boat rocked gently
against the slippery jetty. To his left a weeping willow lazily dipped
long tendrils into the water.
It was a perfect afternoon; too hot for messing about in boats.
A cruiser gracefully entered his view. Snowdon recognized it as the
Chris Craft owned by the American who lived on St Georges Hill. He
watched the boat enviously. In his twenty years with the river police
he had learned to judge countries by the luxury cruisers they built.
The Americans were high in his estimation, with the Dutch a close
second.
There was something familiar about the girl at the controls on the
flying bridge. Then he recognized her: General Pyne's daughter.
Alone.
Harry Snowdon climbed to his feet and ambled into the headquarters
building.
"General Pyne's daughter is out with that big American job from
Weybridge Marina," he announced.
"That's right," said the duty sergeant, not looking up from his
newspaper, "I saw it go off this morning."
"With the American?"
"Yes."
"Doesn't look like he's on board now."
The duty sergeant stood and looked out of the window over Harry
Snowdon's shoulder. Then his face went white.
"Christ!" he yelled, throwing the newspaper on the floor.
"Look!"
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Both men dashed out into the sun just as the Chris Craft grazed into
the side of the moored patrol boat.
"My boat," moaned Harry Snowdon.
Maggie cut both engines and leaned over the side of the flying bridge.
Harry Snowdon clambered into the patrol boat and fended the cruiser
away with a boat hook
"I'm sorry," said Maggie. "I'm not used to this boat."
Harry Snowdon mopped his brow in relief while the duty sergeant made
the cruiser secure.
"What can we do for you, miss?" asked Harry Snowdon, looking up at the
flying bridge and noticing the bruises on the girl's face.
"I want to report an assault," said Maggie quietly.
In Harry Snowdon's vocabulary, the journey in the Chris Craft to where
the girl said Corporal Garnet could be found was "hairy'.
The girl had said little during the first ten minutes, then she had
turned in her seat and said, "Would you like a drink?"
Harry Snowdon eyed the approaching bank, and wondered why river users
didn't have to take a test like road users.
"You'd better straighten up, miss," he said politely, noticing that the
girl's hand resting on the controls was trembling.
She was suffering from delayed shock. Now that Mitchell had gone, she
was unable to ward it off any longer. She didn't want the policeman
watching her.
"If you'd like a drink, you're welcome to go below and see what there
is," she told Harry Snowdon.
"I think I'd better stay up here, miss," said Harry Snowdon.
"There're several tins in the fridge," said Maggie, grasping the helm
tightly to stop the shaking. "I'd like one if you wouldn't mind,
please."
Harry Snowdon looked at her pale, drawn face. He moved to the
companionway.
"Thank you very much, miss.
The roof of the Freeman cabin cruiser came in sight a hundred me tres
away. Maggie suddenly wanted to be sick.
"Sergeant," she called out, "he's over on the left."
Harry Snowdon shut the refrigerator door. "All right, miss,"
he shouted up to the flying bridge. "You take her in alongside, and
I'll talk to him." He slid the wheelhouse door open and stood watching
the Freeman. He corrected the girl's approach slightly by touching the
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duplicate helm. The wheel suddenly jerked beneath his fingers and the
boat heeled. Harry Snowdon nearly lost his balance.
"Sorry," Maggie called down. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, miss," was the sorrowful reply.
From her position Maggie could see Garnet dozing in the cockpit. She
pressed the horn button. The twin-tone blast woke the corporal. He
stared up at the Chris Craft in fear.
"You stay just where you are until I come aboard,"
commanded Harry Snowdon across the narrowing strip of water between the
two boats.
Garnet's terrified eyes went to the uniformed police sergeant and back
to Maggie, who was throttling back.
She leaned back and tossed the stern line to Garnet. He was too
surprised to react- the rope fell into the water.
"Let me do it," offered Harry Snowdon, calling up the companionway.
"It's okay," said Maggie, coiling the line and tossing it again. The
rope fell short as the cruiser drifted. Garnet lunged at the flailing
end. His hands suddenly lashed out to grab at the coaming to regain
his balance, when his foot slipped on the edge of the Freeman's smooth
fibre glass transom. He let out a yell as he fell into the deep
water.
For the rest of her life, Maggie was to wonder what really happened
during the next few minutes.
"Pull her over!" yelled the sergeant's voice from below, as he dashed
along the side deck, looking for a line to throw to the man struggling
in the water.
Harry Snowdon suddenly remembered seeing the ropes coiled on the flying
bridge. As he shouted, the Chris Craft's hundred horsepower diesels
erupted with a roar of unleashed energy. He dived back into the
wheelhouse and saw from the positions of the two Morse levers that the
girl had thrown one engine into forward gear and the other one
astern.
The big cruiser's stern was swinging towards Garnet, who was screaming
that he couldn't swim.
"What shall I do?" Harry Snowdon heard the girl cry out.
He grabbed the two levers and tried to reverse their positions.
As the Chris Craft's stern swung towards him Garnet grasped the
mahogany rubbing strake protecting the hull where it joined the
transom, His feet encountered one of the under-hull brackets that
supported the balanced rudders. He braced his weight against it in
relief and stretched an arm out to the swimmers' boarding ladder
attached to the big cruiser's transom. The enraged water from the
madly spinning propellers boiled past his body, threatening to dislodge
him. He was only dimly aware of the girl screaming at the top of her
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voice.
"Let go of the controls!" shouted Harry Snowdon, but his voice was
drowned by the girl's hysterical sobbing as she wrestled with her pair
of Morse levers.
"There's something wrong with the controls!" he heard her yell.
For a wild moment Harry Snowdon was undecided whether to climb on to
the flying bridge and pull the girl away from the helm, or try to gain
control in the wheelhouse. He decided to stay in the wheelhouse- he
was stronger than the girl. He hauled with all his strength on the
port throttle lever and managed to drag it back to the neutral
position.
The roar of one diesel died away.
By now the Chris Craft had rammed its bows into the reeds and was
unable to move forward. Harry Snowdon released the lever.
It suddenly slammed to the full astern position. The Chris Craft
heeled violently as the engine twisted the hull savagely out of the
reeds.
The unexpected motion caused the policeman to lose his balance. He
reached out to grab at something, and snatched the starboard lever
back.
The Chris Craft seemed to leap astern out of the water.
Garnet nearly lost his grip on the boarding ladder. His feet slipped
off the rudder bracket, and the wash from the Chris Craft, surging hard
astern, swept his legs under the hull.
The bronze three-bladed port screw sliced into flesh, bone and marrow,
severing his right leg cleanly from his body just above the knee, and
flung the limb aside. His unbalanced body slipped sideways from the [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
