Trustee From the Toolroom (30 page)

'A Congreve clock?' Captain Petersen was puzzled.

'It's a clock that keeps time by a steel ball running on a zig-zag track down an inclined plane,' Keith told him. 'Only it doesn't keep very good time. It takes thirty seconds for the ball to run down one way - then the plane tilts and it runs back again. It's quite fascinating to watch. Look - there's a picture of it, here. That's the one I made.'

Captain Petersen examined it with interest. 'You make these things, and then write about them, telling other people how to do it ?'

'That's right.'

The captain glanced at the date of the issue; it was only six weeks old. ' Does this come weekly ?' he asked.

Keith nodded.

' Does it circulate in the United States ?'

'I don't think you can buy it on the bookstalls,' Keith told him. 'A good many copies, thousands, I believe, go to the States by post to subscribers.'

The captain sat in thought. Two days before he had left home in Midlake to come upon this cruise. Yvonne had brought Pete Horner in to supper. Some time in the evening Pete had mentioned that Sol Hirzhorn had started to build some kind of a clock; there had been an order for planished brass sheet five thirty-secondths thick that he had had to chase all round Seattle for, and take out to Wauna.

He raised his head and looked at Keith. 'Say,' he remarked, ' would you by any chance know a man called Sol Hirzhorn ?'

In the hot cabin of the
Mary Belle,
with the strong scent of vanilla all around them and copra beetles everywhere, Keith's mind went back to Baling nearly io,ooo miles away, to the long hours spent after Katie had gone to bed, answering the correspondence in his 'dirty' workshop in the basement, with Janice sleeping in the room next door converted from a scullery. 'I've had some letters from a Solomon P. Hirzhorn,' he said thoughtfully. 'Lives somewhere in Washington. That's the capital, isn't it? Somewhere south of New York ?'

'That's Washington DC,' the captain told him. 'Sol Hirzhorn lives in the state of Washington, in the north-west. I live there myself. Do you know anything about Sol Hirzhorn?'

Keith smiled. ' He's got a secretary with an electric typewriter,' he said. 'I should imagine he dictates to her, from the length of his letters. He's building one of my Congreve clocks following the serial, and he's not very experienced, so he writes me a lot of letters, all of which need answering.'

'You answer them?' the captain asked.

' Oh yes. If people can't understand the serial and take the trouble to write to me about it, I always send them an answer.'

'You must have quite a correspondence,' said the captain.

' I have,' said Keith with feeling.

Captain Petersen sat in silence for a moment. ' I see I'll have to start and tell you things,' he said at last. 'The first is this. Sol Hirzhorn might be one of the wealthiest men in the United States. I wouldn't know about that. What I do know is that he's the biggest noise around our parts.'

Keith stared at him. 'What does he do?'

'Lumber,' said the captain. 'He's the biggest lumberman on the West Coast. He started off from scratch, working in the woods like any other guy. I'd say he's close on seventy years old now, and his sons have taken over the executive side of the business. It's a family concern. God knows how many mills they have, or how many forests they control. I'd simply be guessing if I tried to tell you how many hands they employ in Washington and Oregon, but it's an awful lot. They're quite a family.'

' The old man, Solomon P. Hirzhorn - he's the one that's making my clock ?'

'That's right. He thinks an awful lot of you, Mr Stewart. He got all het up about the risk that you were taking sailing from Honolulu to Tahiti in a fishing boat.'

Keith's jaw dropped. ' How on earth did he hear about me being here at all ?'

The captain smiled. 'I wouldn't know. He wants you to go visit with him for a day or so on your way back to England, 'n help him with his clock, I suppose. Anyway, he wants to meet you."

'I'd be very glad to meet him,' said the engineer. 'That clock's quite a tricky piece of work for somebody who's not very experienced. But how did he know I was here ?'

The captain leaned forward. 'See here, Mr Stewart,' he said. ' Guys at the head of a big business with plenty of money and plenty of contacts all over the world, anything they want to get to know about they get to know. Now that's a fact. I don't know how Sol Hirzhorn got to know that you were here. But I do know this.' He paused. 'He's pretty well out of the business now. He only goes to the head office in Tacoma two or three times a week, they tell me. Other days he might fly out and visit one of the mills, or else fly in the helicopter to one of the clearings where they're cutting. He don't work much. Most of what work he does, he does at home. He's got his granddaughter working for him as a secretary, a girl called Julie Perlberg. But I tell you, Mr Stewart, there's not a cat kittens in the State of Washington but those two know about it.'

Keith said weakly, ' I never knew that he was anything like that. I thought he was the ordinary sort of man who makes models in the evenings - like a dentist or a bank manager.'

Captain Petersen nodded. 'I guess you did. You made yourself a good friend when you answered all his letters. He got real worried about you, coming down this way. Of course,' he remarked, 'he knows why you came. He knows all about your sister and the wreck of the
Shearwater.'

'For God's sake!' said Keith.

'There's one more thing I'll have to tell you,' said Captain Petersen evenly, 'and that's why I'm here. My boss is Chuck Ferris, of Ferris Hydraulics, Cincinnati. Mr Hirzhorn got so worried about you that he borrowed the
Flying Cloud
from Mr Ferris to put her at your disposal. My instructions on leaving Honolulu were to find you wherever you were and put the ship under your orders to take you to your sister's grave on Marokota Island, and anywhere else you want to go. After that, if you're going back to England, Mr Hirzhorn suggested I might take you to Seattle in the
Flying Cloud
in order that you might visit him for a day or two and help him with his clock.' He paused. 'I guess this is where I start to say "sir" when I speak to you, Mr Stewart.'

Keith stared at him, dazed. 'But that's fantastic!'

' It may seem so to you. It did to me, at first,' Captain Petersen admitted. 'But I'd say the way to look at it is this. You took a lot of trouble answering letters from a stranger, and maybe some of them were rather stupid questions. I wouldn't know. The fact is that you made a friend, and now this friend's going to a little bit of trouble to help you. That's fair enough. Look at it that way.'

Keith sat in silence for a minute. ' Could you take me to Marokota ?' he asked at last.

'Sure. Take us about four days to get there. Spend as long as you like.'

' Would I get a permit from the Governor to go to Marokota? I mean, after all this trouble?'

Captain Petersen said, ' Forget it. We took the Governor to Bora-Bora one time. I've been to the Tuamotus six or seven times with the
Flying Cloud.
Romantic coral islands — that's what a party always wants to see. Lousy, dangerous places - I wouldn't want any part of them. You'll see more grass skirts in Honolulu than ever you'll see in the Tuamotus. But sure - we can go there.'

' It wouldn't be any danger to the ship ?'

The captain shook his head. 'Not a bit. I'd take a pilot from here, somebody who knows the islands. There's no lagoon at Marokota that would take the
Flying Cloud.
We'd have to lie off under the lee, and send you in with the launch. But there's no difficulty about it.'

' Is it inhabited ?'

'Probably not. It's got a few palms on it - coconuts. I think they come over from Kautaiva in the copra season - gather the nuts. I don't think anybody lives there permanently.'

' Do you think I could get a headstone for the grave made here, and take it with us?'

'Why, yes. There's a Chinese stonemason in the town, does that kind of work.'

'Would that take long?'

'A day, maybe. Suppose we get on shore before so long, and give the order tonight, he'd have it finished by tomorrow night.'

'How much would that cost?'

' I wouldn't know. You'd have to argue that one out with Mr Ferris and Mr Hirzhorn.' He turned to Keith. 'See here, Mr Stewart, sir - I know the way you're fixed. Mr Hirzhorn knows that, too. I got a radio from Mr Ferns that all expenses, of whatever nature, go on the ship. I'll give you an account of what you might call personal expenses when you leave the ship, and you can settle it with them." He paused reflectively. ' You might have quite a job.'

They went up on deck and he hailed the launch. ' I got a cabin ready for-you, Mr Stewart,' he said. 'When will you be moving in?'

' I'll stay here tonight,' said Keith. ' I've got a lot of things to fix up with Jack. Would it be all right if I come on board tomorrow ?'

'Sure,' said the captain. Til be moving in to the quay tomorrow; we'll need water, and top up with diesel fuel. Come aboard any time you say.'

The launch came alongside. He turned to Jack Donelly. ' How would it be if we give you a pluck in to the quay right now, Captain?'

'Suits me,' said Jack. 'Say, would there be any place where I could get a sack of cornmeal here ? We've run out.'

Captain Petersen thought for a minute. 'Lim Hung Foo,' he said. ' He's your best chance. He's a marine store, nearly opposite your berth, but he sells everything. I think he might have it.'

Half an hour later the
Mary Belle
was berthed again stern-on to the quay with the Chef du Port smiling all over his face, and Keith was walking up with Captain Petersen to see the Chinese stonemason. He printed the simple inscription on the back of an envelope; the old stonemason took it and read it carefully, letter by letter. 'Understand,' he said '
parfaitement. Demain, le soir.
Will be finished.'

They walked back to the quay, and met Jack Donelly on the way to his ship carrying an enormous sack of cornmeal on his back as though it had been a feather. 'Bit coarser 'n the last sack,' he said. ' I like it that way. And not a maggot in it!'

'That'll be a change,' said Keith.

'Good thing we saved some maggots from the last sack,' Jack said practically. 'Else we wouldn't have no bait. A bit of fish goes good with cornmeal fritters.'

Keith arranged with Captain Petersen that he would move into the
Flying Cloud
when she berthed in the morning; the captain got into his launch and went off to the schooner, and Keith went on board the
Mary Belle
with Jack. After depositing the sack of cornmeal in the forecastle, Jack came and stood in the hatch looking at the big yacht at the mooring buoy.' Captain Petersen, he didn't say nothing about that red-head coming ashore tonight, did he ?'

Keith laughed. 'No, he didn't. I don't even know if she's on board. She probably stayed in Honolulu.'

'She's on board,' said his captain positively. 'I seen her.'

Keith had expected him to have bought a bottle of whisky with the sack of cornmeal but he did not seem to have done so; alcohol was not his major weakness. To take his mind off other matters Keith went below and started up the little generator set, and with the noise of the engine Jack joined him at once, and sat looking at it entranced. ' Smallest in the world,' he breathed. ' Captain Petersen, he liked it fine. But then, he's a seaman. He handled that schooner beautiful coming up to the buoy - just beautiful. I never seen it done better. Stands to reason that he knows a thing or two. He knows when something's worth looking at. Smallest in the world!'

Presently Keith said, Til be leaving you tomorrow, Jack. You heard what he said? I'll be moving into the
Flying Cloud in
the morning.'

'Fine ship,' said Jack. 'You make him learn you how to sail her, like I learned you how to sail the
Maty Belle.'

Til be sorry to leave you,' Keith said. 'Where will you go now ?'

'I guess I'll head for Huahine. Over to the west, ain't it ? Shows on them charts of yours ?'

'That's right. It's only about a hundred miles away, a little bit west of north-west on the compass.' He paused. Til leave you the charts. They might come in handy.'

'Say, thanks.' The captain took them gingerly. 'These things take a bit of understanding,' he remarked. 'Just show me where it says Huahine.'

'There.'

'Oh, I see.' He pointed to the compass rose upon the chart. 'Is that what tells you which way to go?'

'That's right. See, a little bit west of north-west.' He traced the course with his finger.

'They don't put that on the atlas,' Jack observed. 'Wonderful the way they think of things, ain't it? Something new each year."

He rolled up the charts presently and put them away. 'There's one more thing,' said Keith. 'I'll be moving out tomorrow. We'd better do some settling up.'

'What's that?' asked Jack.

'You remember I was going to pay you a hundred dollars for the passage, when we talked about it in Honolulu? Well, then there was the cost of the food.'