It was a warm afternoon in May when SS Funchal steamed up the Tagus. From the roof of the wheelhouse of the Hudson Queen I could see the ship dropping anchor in the sunshine just below the city. A ship’s boat was lowered and set its course for the shore.
I hurried to catch a tram to the Cais do Sodré and got there just in time to meet the Chief as he left the customs post with his kitbag on his shoulder and the stump of a smouldering cigar clenched in his teeth. He hadn’t changed and he hadn’t lost weight, which meant that the voyage on the Funchal must have been a good one.
The moment the Chief caught sight of me his face broke into a broad smile and he put his luggage down on the quay. We shook hands and patted each other on the back, and then I pointed towards the steep hills of Alfama. The Chief understood what I meant: Ana had invited us to come for dinner. 101
“In that case it’s just as well I managed to have a wash and change my shirt before coming ashore,” he said in a happy voice.
That evening was one of the most enjoyable evenings I’d had for a long time. You could see that my friends had been missing one another and I felt a warm glow in my heart. We ate white asparagus and fresh langoustines that Signor Fidardo had bought at the Mercado da Ribeira. When we’d finished eating, the Chief opened his kitbag and gave us all presents. He gave me a hand-forged marlin spike in a leather case and Ana and Signor Fidardo were each given a big, colourful hammock from Bahia. Nowhere weaves better and more beautiful jute hammocks than Bahia.
Right at the bottom of the Chief’s kitbag was the case containing his little red accordion. He took it out while Signor Fidardo tuned his guitar and I made myself comfortable on the sofa.
Then Ana began to sing and all the worries I had in the world were suddenly forgotten.
When I came up on deck the following morning, I found the Chief sitting in the lee of the deckhouse wearing just his vest and trousers. His cap was pushed to the back of his head and his face was turned to the rising sun. Our dented old coffee pot and two cups were beside him. 102
“Morning,” he said when he heard my footsteps. “Help yourself to a cup. It’s freshly made.”
I poured myself a cup and sat down beside him.
“I heard that that Harvey Jenkins fellow fixed up a job for you at his funfair,” the Chief said. “How did that go? Did you enjoy it?”
The previous night Signor Fidardo had told the Chief about my part in the evacuation of the sick passengers from the Campania. But little had been said about my work at the funfair.
I produced a couple of sheets of paper from the pocket of my overall and passed them to the Chief. The sheets were full of writing and the Chief looked at them in astonishment.
“What’s this?” he said. “Is this something you want me to read?”
I nodded. It was three weeks since the Brockdorff Funfair had left Lisbon and during that time I had done a great deal of thinking about Harvey Jenkins and what he’d been up to on the Hudson Queen. I’d typed out the most important points on my Underwood.
“All right then,” the Chief said. “As long as you don’t get impatient with me. You know I’m a slow reader.”
I went to make fresh coffee and at the same time took the opportunity to fetch my new marlin spike. Then we sat there in the morning sun and, while the Chief read, I made new eye splices on our old mooring ropes. 103
When the Chief had finished reading, he put down the papers and stared at me, his eyes wide with surprise. Then he gave a big smile and said, “You seem to end up getting involved in the strangest things, the moment I turn my back!”
I shrugged my shoulders. Perhaps there was some truth in what he said.
The Chief looked thoughtful.
“Do you really think that Jenkins got the Polish fellow to give up the job? So that you could get the job instead of him?”
I nodded. That was certainly what Margosha had told me.
“And Jenkins wanted to keep you busy with the merry-go-round so that he could spend the evenings snooping around the Hudson Queen undisturbed?” The Chief was thinking aloud. “It does seem crazy, doesn’t it? And he could get into the ship with a stolen key? Is that right?”
I nodded once again. Jenkins must have stolen the spare key to the galley that Sunday morning when he paid us an unexpected visit. And that gave him access to all the other keys as well, since the key cupboard is hanging in the galley.
The Chief rubbed his chin.
“But what on earth did he want on board?” he asked. “Has anything been stolen?”
I shook my head. Nothing was missing.
“But if he wasn’t coming aboard to steal things,” the Chief 104said, “what was he after? Could he have been searching for something?”
I gave an emphatic nod. That was exactly what I thought. I stood up and signed for the Chief to come with me.
It took me some considerable time to show him all the traces of Jenkins I had found. They were all over the ship, but they weren’t easy to locate. In the wheelhouse and the storeroom wall there were panels that had been removed and then fixed back. The caps on every single blanked-off pipe in the engine room had been unscrewed and then put back. There were scratch marks and scrapes that showed that Jenkins had even rooted around among the iron keelson plates.
The Chief’s brow furrowed.
“Do you think he found what he was looking for?”
I shook my head. I remembered how weary and disconsolate Jenkins had looked the last time I saw him.
The Chief stuck his cigar between his teeth.
“Well in that case it must still be on board… whatever it was he was looking for,” he said with a glint in his eye.
That thought had already occurred to me and I had actually spent several evenings creeping round the ship searching for hidden spaces and secret hiding places. Without finding anything at all, however. So I just shrugged my shoulders and put on a sceptical expression.