The Killer Mine

CHAPTER FIVE The Mermaid Gallery

When I woke it was light. I got out of bed and went over to the window. A grey mist was swirling up from the sea, blotting out everything but the tumbled ruin of the mine buildings that stood like wraiths amid the debris of the mine. It was on this scene of desolation that my mother had looked for a whole year. The bars and the mist — no wonder she had been driven to suicide. I shuddered and, turning to get my clothes, saw her letter crumpled among the blankets of the bed. I picked it up and hurried into my clothes. I wanted to get out of that room. I wanted to get away from Cripples' Ease. And yet there were so many questions to be answered. Why had she been shut away up here? They say I am not responsible for my actions now. Was she really mad? It was a horrible thought — as horrible as the girl's dread of saying anything. What was it that Friar had said? My mind shied from the thought of it and I went down the bare staircase into the silent house.

It was a quarter past eight by the grandfather clock in the hall. The girl was not in the kitchen. The old woman looked up at me curiously over a plate of porridge. I went through the scullery and the stables to the men's quarters. The room was empty and cold. I looked through the door beyond. It contained two Army pattern iron beds. The bed clothes were flung back. There was nobody there. I went out into the yard. The mist blanketed everything, deadening the sound of my boots on the cobbles. It was dank and chill.

I went round to the front of the house. To do this I found myself crossing that little waste of choked hydrangeas and foxgloves, and I stood still for a moment surveying the wreckage of the garden my mother had created. I glanced up quickly at the grey, watchful house and then remembered that she had not been able to see her garden. Her window was round the front. It caught my eye as soon as I turned the corner as though it had been waiting for me to appear.- It was a little dormer window high up in the slope of the roof. Its dim eye was disfigured by the iron bars. I could picture my mother's white, forlorn face peering down hour after hour, day after day.

The mist swirled, lifted and showed me the black granite of Botallack head across the mine workings. Then it closed down again in a damp veil. I went on, past the front door. Then I stopped and went back to gaze up at the faded lettering that showed through the flaking paint above the lintel. Nearne. That had been her maiden name. James Nearne might be her father. She might have named me after her father.

The old lettering fascinated me. But at length I was interrupted by the sound of voices. They were muffled and distant, yet when I turned I could see the short, round figure of Friar already emerging from the mist and quite close to me. He was coming up the track from the mine workings and he was followed by the taller figure of Slim Matthews.

'You have been working already?' I asked.

'Yep,' Friar replied. 'Since ruddy 'alf past five. An' a fat lot o' good it done us. The bleeding trucks ain't turned up.'

'What trucks?' I asked.

'Never you mind,' he answered. 'But the bastards shoulda bin 'ere at six.' His face looked tired and was filmed with a grey dust.

We had breakfast then. Nobody spoke during the meal. Friar and Slim seemed lost in their own thoughts. At length I said, 'When will I be able to have a look at the mine?'

'Dunno,' Friar replied. 'The Capting's gorn ter Penzance ter see aba't the trucks.'

'It won't do any good,' Slim said quietly. 'They've got scared.'

An' wot aba't us?' Friar snapped. 'Do they fink we're goin' ter sit on the ruddy stuff till it's all blown over. I'm for dumpin' it into the sea.'

'You tell that to the Captain,' Slim said with a hard laugh.

'Well, I reckon it's aba't time we packed it in. We're runnin' our bleedin' necks into a noose.'

Slim peered at him down his nose and there was a look of contempt in his eyes. 'Maybe,' he said. 'But suppose we do pack it in? Then we're on the run again. Stay and the whole thing may blow over.'

'That's all right for you,' Friar answered. 'You only got a two year stretch ahead o' you if you're caught. I ain't only a deserter. I got about three other charges against me, includin' resistin' arrest an' woundin' a copper. I don't want ter get caught.' His voice was almost a whine. 'I'd get five years at least. Five years is a hell of a long time.'

'You'd better talk to Manack about it.'

'Not ruddy likely. If I clear a't it'll be quiet like an' in my own time. An' don't you tell the Capting wot I bin sayin'. He'd be sore as hell if 'e thort I were runnin' a't on 'im.'

'Yes,' Slim smiled. 'He's not the sort who takes kindly to rats'

Friar was on his feet in an instant, his red cheeks mottled with anger. "Ere, 'oo you callin' a rat?'

'All right, all right.' A car roared into the yard.

'Here's Manack now,' Slim said. 'Maybe he'll have news.'

'Well, I bet it ain't good news.' Through the window I saw a big, old-fashioned Bentley tourer draw up close to the back of the house. Captain Manack, in riding breeches with a yellow polo-necked sweater under his brown sports coat, got out and came straight over to the outbuildings. He had a newspaper in his hand. A moment later he walked into the room. His thick, wiry hair stood up on end and his eyes looked quickly from one to the other of us as he shut the door. 'The trucks aren't coming, he said.

'Scared?' asked Slim.

Manack nodded. 'And that's not all,' he added. 'You may as well know the worst whilst you are about it.' And he flung the newspaper down amongst the breakfast things. Staring at me from the centre of the front page was a picture of Dave Tanner It was headed — WANTED FOR MURDER. Underneath in black type was the caption:

David Jones, owner and skipper of the ketch, Isle of Mull, whose real name is Dave Tanner, is wanted by the police in connection with the disappearance of the crew of the revenue cutter found abandoned near Penzance yesterday morning. The four revenue officials who manned the cutter are now thought to have been murdered. One of Tanner's girlfriends, Sylvia Coran, of 2 Harbour Terrace, Penzance, has told the police that Tanner returned at about eight p.m. on Wednesday. He had a bullet wound in the arm. He left almost immediately with Jim Pryce, a friend who had just arrived from Italy. (Full Story, page 4).

I looked up. Manack was pacing backwards and forwards, running his long fingers through his hair. He suddenly rounded on the three of us. 'Damn all Welshmen and their vanity,' he said savagely. 'If he'd been content with just one woman it would have been all right. But the girl was in love with him and when the police proved to her that he'd been keeping one of those artist women over at Lamorna Cove, she told them what she knew. Pray God he never mentioned Cripples' Ease to her. They're on to you too,' he said to me. 'There's a full description of you on the inside page. Pretty accurate, too. Anybody see you in the village last night?'

'Yes,' I said. 'I went into the pub up there for a drink.' 'You didn't tell 'em you were coming down here, did you?' He noticed my hesitation immediately. 'Oh, my God!' he said. 'And I suppose you told them your real name?'

'No,' I said. 'I asked where Cripples' Ease was. I–I said I wanted to see you.'

'That's a pretty hot trail you've laid.' His voice was grim. 'Who was there? Any visitors?' 'No,' I told him. 'They all looked like locals.'

'Well, we'll just have to hope they don't bother much about the papers. They're pretty slow about putting two and two together in this village. But George Wetheral, the landlord — he's got his wits about him. He'll remember you. Damn and blast!'

'What are you going to do?' asked Slim. He lingered over the words as though enjoying the situation.

'Do?' There was an excited gleam in Manack's eyes. 'This is what we're going to do. We'll wall the Arisaig's cargo up for a start. By tonight there'll not be a trace of our activities in the whole of Wheal Garth. Pryce, you'll get right ahead with breaching the Mermaid gallery. And you'll live underground. We'll fix you with a bed in a dug-out down the mine. It's quite dry there. It's our bolt hole — concealed entrance and everything. Before you leave I want the Mermaid operating as an underwater passageway to connect up with shipping.'

'What aba't the Ardmore?' Friar asked. 'She's doo in on Sunday or Monday.'

'I'll look after that,' Manack answered. 'In the meantime we run no more cargoes until the undersea route is open. You're working on kerb stones, if anyone asks you — understand? Both of you. And if the police come around and ask for your identity cards and ration books tell 'em I've got them. You needn't worry. They can't touch you.'

'Wot aba't the ol' man?' Friar asked. 'Suppose the police start questioning 'im?'

'He'll not talk about anything but the mine. He never does.' He looked at Slim and Friar. 'You two get to work walling up that cargo. The sooner that's done, the safer it'll be if the police come round with a search warrant.' Then he turned to me. 'You get shaved now, Pryce. As soon as you're ready I'll take you down to the Mermaid gallery.'

'And when I've done the job?' I asked.

'You'll leave for Italy on the Arisaig. I'll hold her until you've finished.'

'But I don't want to go back to Italy,' I said.

'You'll go where you're sent.' His voice was brisk and confident. 'You ought to be grateful to me for getting you out of this mess.' Damn him! He knew I had no choice.

'What aba't Dave?' Friar asked.

'He goes on the Arisaig too.'

'An' good riddance, that's wot I says.' Friar suddenly looked up. 'Blimey, there's that load o' stuff for the Arisaig coming in today or tomorrow. What aba't that?'

'It's not coming. Any more questions? All right then — Get that cargo stowed.'

'Okay.' Friar got slowly to his feet. 'But I don't like it — I tell yer straight I don't,' he grumbled. Then he suddenly asked, 'Wot 'appened to the rest of the Isle o' Mull's crew — Mason, Fergis and Pentlin?'

'You don't need to worry about them,' Manack said. 'They were all on board the Isle of Mull when she blew up.'

Friar scowled. 'Did yer 'ave ter kill the 'ole bleedin' lot?'

Manack glared at him.

'Come on, Slim — we'll get that cargo stowed,' Friar said hurriedly.

They went out, leaving me alone with Manack. He was pacing up and down. I sat there trying to make up my mind what to do. Every instinct told me to get out of the place. The sooner I was away from Cripples' Ease the safer I'd be. But something stronger tugged at me — the bars on that window, the name James Nearne over the door, the letter in my pocket.

Manack suddenly stopped his pacing and faced me. 'Well?' I looked at him. But I didn't say anything. I hadn't made up my mind. He picked up the paper and opened it at an inside page. 'Read that,' he said. I looked down at the type. It was a description of myself: A very powerfully built man, broad shoulders, height about 6ft. 2 ins., slouching walk, dark complexion, blue eyes, thick brown hair starting low on the forehead. When last seen, Pryce was wearing seaman's clothes, dark blue serge jacket and trousers, dark blue jersey. He had no hat and may be carrying a light khaki raincoat several sizes too small for him. The girl had certainly given them a pretty accurate description.

'Still not want to go to Italy?' Manack's voice was sarcastic. I looked up. 'I don't need to tell you,' he added, 'that on that description you'd be picked up in no time — if you left here.' He suddenly sat down in the chair opposite me. 'Listen, Pryce — I run these cargoes into the mine at the moment in a barge propelled by an electric motor. It's a sort of submarine barge and lies submerged when not in use. We bring it to the surface with compressed air before going out to pick up a cargo. I'll show you when we go down. It's not a bad device. But it's too dangerous. It means my boats have to lie off for good weather. And now that this has happened I daren't risk it any more. The Mermaid gallery runs out just on half a mile. I plan to blow the end of it so that cargoes can be lowered on buoyed guide wires down into the gallery. They'll come into the mine by a hawser-drawn wooden carriage running on the rock ledges. It may work or it may not. If it does, then it means that my boats can unload in any weather. I'm not running any more cargoes by the old method. I tell you that so that you'll know just how determined I am for the blasting of the Mermaid gallery to be done now. I've got all the equipment you need, including compressor and pneumatic drills.' He paused, watching my face. 'Why don't you want to go back to Italy?' he asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. 'I was working in the lignite mines. It was all right at first. I wasn't getting shot at and the Italians respected me. But later — well, lignite mining isn't my line. And then again I don't like working with Italians. It's all right if you're the boss. But if they feel they've got you by the shorts — well, much more of their sneers and I'd have been involved in fights. And Italians don't fight the way men do in the gold mines.'

He smiled. 'Parlate Italiano?' he asked suddenly.

'Si, si,' I answered. 'Molto bene.' He nodded. 'Benone? He leaned forward. 'Look, Pryce you seem a reasonably honest and dependable sort of fellow. I've got an estate in Italy. It's a big vineyard in the mountains behind Naples — near Benevento.'

'I know,' I said. 'That's where the Strega comes from.'

'That's right. It's not far from Alberti's. That's where Mulligan's cargoes are coming from. We ship out things like lighter flints, contraceptives, Government surplus watches, rubber tyres and so on, things that fetch a high price out there. With the proceeds Mulligan brings back stuff like chianti, kummel, triple sec and strega. The rest of the cargo is made up of cognac, which is what my estate specialises in. Now then, what I need is an agent out there to look after my interests. It doesn't need any detailed knowledge. All I want is someone there on the estate to whom I can send instructions and know that they will be carried out. A man who'll keep an eye on things generally for me.'

'What about Dave?' I asked.

He shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'Dave's a crook. I need somebody honest. I've other plans for Dave. I'm going to open up trade between Italy and Greece. Mulligan's already got me a fair-sized schooner. It's now being re-fitted at Ischia. Well,' he said. 'What about it? It's a fair offer.'

'Suppose I say No?'

He laughed. 'You won't,' he said. Then he got up. 'Well, the sooner you get to work, the sooner you'll be out of the country and safe. And I'll see that Mulligan doesn't rob you on the way out. Get yourself shaved. You'll find a razor in their sleeping quarters. When you're ready I'll be in my office.'

He left me and I sat there, looking at nothing in particular, seeing the parched earth and brown hills of Italy. Christ, how tired I was of the sun and the dust and the flies! I sat there and cursed Mulligan for taking that money from my belt. If I'd had money I'd never have gone to see Tanner. I'd have been on my way to Canada now. And in Canada I'd have found my self respect.

I got up heavily and went into the bedroom. There was a glass above the washstand. I peered at myself. My eyes seemed sunk in black rings of strain and the two days' growth of stubble completed the picture of villainy. I got myself a razor and went through into the kitchen for hot water. The girl was there on her own. She looked frantically round as I entered as though seeking a way of escape. Then her gaze came back to me and remained fixed as though fascinated. 'What do you want?' she asked.

'Some hot water,' I replied, and the instant relief in her face was obvious. As she drew the water off from the tap, I said, 'Why was my mother shut up in that room?'

She didn't answer, so I repeated the question. 'Did they think her mad?' I asked.

She handed me the jug. The steam rose, clouding her eyes as she faced me. 'Did they?' I insisted.

'Please,' she said.

I took the jug and put it down on the table. 'Was it — because of what happened to your mother?' I asked.

She turned as though to run out of the room. But I caught her by the shoulders. 'Was it?' I repeated. I could feel her trembling just as she had done when she came to my room. 'Was it?' My fingers were digging into her flesh. She cried out. But I didn't care. I had to know.»

Then slowly she nodded.

'What happened?' I cried. Tell me what happened?' I still had hold of her and she began to struggle. Then the door opened and the old woman came in. I let Kitty go and picked up the jug The old woman smiled. I went back to the men's quarters then.

As I scraped at the stubble of my beard I fell to thinking of my mother again. And suddenly I knew I just had to find out the truth of what had happened in those years before the war when Kitty's mother had been killed and my mother had been shut up in that horrible attic room.

I finished shaving and went out into the yard and round to the front door. When I entered Captain Manack's office, the safe door was open and he was feeding papers into the fire. 'Won't be a minute, Pryce,' he said. 'Just checking through things in case.' He gave me a quick, secretive smile. I honestly believed the man enjoyed the situation. 'Have a drink,' he said. A tumbler of cognac stood beside him on the desk. He pushed a bottle with an Italian label across the desk to me. 'Pity to waste it,' he added. 'But we can't leave any of it around now. There's a tumbler on the mantelpiece.'

I helped myself and sat thinking about the girl and the house and the whole incredible set-up whilst Manack went through his safe. One thing I noticed as I sat there; the stack of notes from which he had paid Mulligan was gone. There was no money in the safe, not even my hundred and forty-five pounds.

At last he stood up and closed the safe. 'Okay,' he said. We finished the bottle between us and then went out into the damp blanket of the mist. As we left the house I glanced back at it over my shoulder. The little iron-barred window seemed to be watching us, the panes opaque with the white light of the mist. And at a lower window I caught a glimpse of the old man staring out at us, his bearded face thrust close to the panes. There was something very intense about that face at the window. It made me realise that I and his son were going to destroy what he had spent thirty years to achieve. And he'd offered me two hundred and fifty pounds to clear out.

The house suddenly seemed to recede and become a ghostly outline of a building. Then it disappeared, swallowed up in the mist. It was as though there had never been a house there — as though it were all a nightmare. The air was still and heavy and cold. Beyond the muffled drumming of the sea against the cliffs, I heard the distant moaning of the fog signal at Pendeen Watch, away to the north of us.

Captain Manack led the way down a slippery path where black slugs crawled and bracken stalks stood gaunt and brown between great heaps of broken mine debris. We passed an old engine house, its chimney thrusting a broken brick finger into the swirl of white vapour. Great stone arches were all that was left of the old blowing houses and here and there a coagulated mass of rotting iron marked the grave of once-active machinery. There were old shafts surrounded by circular stone walls and great concrete pits, all broken by frost, where the tin had been washed. The mist thinned as we went down towards the cliff top. From white it turned to gold. It was little more than a thin veil of moisture between us and the sun. The iridescence of it strained the eyes.

We joined a rough track. The tyre treads of heavy trucks had made deep ruts in the mud between the patches of broken stone. The track led us to a huddle of stone-built sheds with galvanised iron roofs. Manack took us into the nearest. It was full of tools and stores. In a corner was a small forge for resharpening drills. He took down an overall and handed it to me. 'Try that,' he said. 'You and my father are about the same size. There's a pair of his gum boots over there. You'll need them. The mine's pretty wet.' They fitted reasonably well and when we had equipped ourselves in overalls, gum boots and miners' helmets, and had primed our lamps, he led me across to the largest shed which housed the hoist. There were wide doors to this shed and the marks of trucks ran right up to the cage. 'We back the lorries in here so that nobody can see what we're loading,' he explained. I think he really enjoyed showing someone the way they worked.

The gig was not there. He rang a bell. 'If nobody answers then it means that the gig's not in use,' he told me. 'If you're using it and somebody rings, you must answer its ring. There's a bell-push inside the gig.' There was no answer to his ring and he pulled over a large lever. Deep down the shaft I heard the sound of water and an instant later the clatter of the gig coming up. 'It's a pretty rickety contraption,' he said. 'Worked by a water wheel. Push the lever over that way and the gig goes down, this way and it comes up. All very Heath Robinson. But it works. My father won't use it. Prefers the ladders. The gig's slow, but it's got plenty of power, and that's what we need for the stuff we have to bring up in it.'

'Where do you get the water to drive it?' I asked.

'Come Lucky. It's full of water. Adit's blocked. No outlet to the sea like there is in Wheal Garth.' 'Bit dangerous, isn't it — standing right over you like that?' He shrugged his shoulders and grinned. Maybe he got a kick out of working down there with a million tons of water towering above him in the flooded mine next door. But then he wasn't a miner. In this sort of country, honeycombed with old workings, how did he know what thickness of rock stood between him and the water in Come Lucky? The thought of it made my blood I run cold.

The cage came up and we got in. Inside, was a similar lever to the one outside. He threw it over and in a moment we began to sink slowly into the ground. At intervals black gaps showed in the circular walls of the shaft, marking the entrance to the old galleries. He stopped when we had gone fifty or sixty feet down. The gates opened on to a gallery rather larger than the others I had seen. 'What level is this?' I asked as we stepped out. 'It isn't really a level at all. We use it as a store room.' Our lamps shone on dry granite walls. A few yards down the gallery he stopped. 'This is where you'll live now.' He was pointing to the rock wall. 'Where?' I asked.

He peered down as though looking for a mark. Then he pressed against the rock. A slab pivoted inwards. I pressed against the lower slab. That pivoted too. 'An example of Slim's stone masonry,' he grinned. Inside was a rock chamber about twenty feet by twelve. There were three iron bedsteads, an Elsan lavatory, tin wash bowls, cases of tinned food. 'It's ventilated, and the slabs bolt on the inside,' he added.

He pivoted the slabs back into place and we went on. The gallery had various cross-cuts and winzes leading off it. He shone his lamp into a raise which rose steeply. That's the way to the surface,' he said. 'You can only go up in the gig if it's standing at the gallery.' Quite soon the gallery opened out into a big chamber. It was stacked with cases. 'This is the storeroom,' he said.

'Liquor?' I asked.

He pointed to the label on the nearest case and his teeth showed beneath his moustache in a grin. It was marked in Italian — Aranci. Oranges. 'Cognac,' he said. Then: 'Come on. We'll go down now. Friar and Slim will be bringing the remaining cases up from the adit.'

As we went down in the hoist I was very conscious of the growing sound of water. It was not only the water driving the hoist wheels. It was the steady, persistent trickle everywhere. The walls of the shaft glittered with it. Green water-weed lined the slimy, circular surface of the rock. In places water was actually gushing out from crevices. The wooden frame in which the gig ran was green. At the bottom we stepped out into a broad gallery down which ran an ankle-deep stream of water. The air was damp, and a cold draught brought with it the sound of the sea. 'This is the main adit,' Manack said as we sloshed down it towards the boom and suck of the sea. I could feel the sharp ridge of rails below the water. Men's voices came to us on the salt wind and a moment later the gleam of their lamps showed round a bend.

As they approached, Friar's voice called out, 'That you. Capting?'

'Yes,' Manack called back.

They were dragging an iron trolley. The sound of its wheels on the rails filled the gallery as they came up with us. 'Only a couple more cases,' Friar said. 'Per'aps you'll come up then and see to the sealing up of the stores.'

'I'm just taking Pryce down to the end of the Mermaid.' Manack answered, 'I'll be right back.'

'Okay. We'll have the other two cases up by then.'

We stood aside to let the trolley with its load of two cases pass The sound of it dwindled in a hollow rumble as the light of their lamps disappeared round a bend.

The sound of the sea became louder as we descended the sloping tunnel. The dank, salt-laden air grew colder. Round another bend we came suddenly on a patch of daylight — a cold, grey light that was barely strong enough to reveal the black, slime-streaked walls. 'One of the old shafts,' Manack said as we paused, looking up a sloping cleft in the wet rock. Green, half-rotten ladders were pegged to the rock, snaking up through the gloom to the bright light that filtered down from above. The rock cleft sloped so many ways that it was impossible to see the top. 'This is the way my father comes into the mine. Sometimes he uses the gig, but not often. Personally, I wouldn't trust myself on those ladders. They've been there since before the war. The shaft is part of the really early workings of the mine. It's not shown on any of the plans and was only discovered after — after a nasty accident.'

'You mean when Mrs Manack was killed? Was this the shaft?'

He looked at me quickly. His face looked pale in the grey half-light. 'Yes,' he said. 'You know about that?'

I nodded. 'Friar told me,' I said.

'Friar talks too much.' He stared up the shaft.'She was my stepmother. I only met her once. A pretty little woman. They had to put ladders down to get her up. Her body was about halfway down. My father explored and opened up the rest of the shaft later. You wouldn't think a man would prefer the shaft where his wife was killed to the hoist, would you now? It's almost as though he dares the shaft to kill him, too.' He gave a harsh laugh and turned away.

As I followed him down towards the growing sound of the sea, I said, 'Your father is very interested in the mine, isn't he?'

'Interested! He's mad about it. He eats, sleeps and dreams Wheal Garth. He thinks of nothing else. Worked in it when he was a kid. Swore he'd own it one day. Now he does, every single share — except what the girl, Kitty, owns. That must have riled him.' He laughed. The sound of it echoed against the walls of the adit. 'The woman who was killed in that shaft was her mother. A few weeks before her death, Harriet Manack made a fresh will, leaving everything she possessed, which was mostly worthless holdings in Wheal Garth, to Kitty — or that's the story. My father never talks about it.'

I said, 'Your mother had holdings in Wheal Garth, didn't she?'

The beam of his lamp shone on me. 'How did you know that?' he asked.

'I didn't,' I answered. 'I was just guessing. A man whose sole interest is the acquisition of a mine might be expected to marry into a family that had holdings.'

'Yes,' he said. 'You're quite right. My mother's father was one of the original adventurers. He had quite a big shareholding.'

I hesitated. A question was on the tip of my tongue. But it stuck in my throat. It was too direct. I twisted it round another way. 'I suppose you hold an interest in Wheal Garth — from your mother?'

'No,' he answered. 'She left it all to the old man.' Again that harsh laugh. 'She was hardly likely to leave it to me. At the age of fourteen I ran away from school. Went to South Africa. Worked as a mechanic in a garage, opened up a tractor business, selling and delivering to Rhodesian farms, did a bit of engineering. I was a sad disappointment to them. They both wanted me to become a miner, you see. I don't suppose I'd written to my mother for a year at the time she died. And I was the only child. She died in 1924, just after I'd got to South Africa. I was fifteen then. After six years in South Africa I went to South America, trading in machinery along the western seaboard. Then I went to Mexico, fooling around in oil. I was in Persia, trying to outsmart the Arabs, when war broke out.'

The sea was very loud now. But I scarcely noticed it. I was thinking that if his mother died in 1924, she must have still been alive when my mother went off with Manack senior. The question that had stuck in my throat before came out suddenly 'How did your mother die?' I asked.

He turned and the beam of his lamp glared in my eyes. 'Pneumonia,' he said. Then in that hard, quick voice of his: 'What made you ask that?'

'I just wondered — that's all,' I mumbled.

He went on then. All down the adit we had passed old galleries, leading off on either side, — some of them so narrow that a man could scarcely squeeze his body through, others little more than boles through which a man would have to crawl on hands and knees. But at a bend a wider gallery ran off to the right, and as I shone my lamp into the gaping blackness I caught a glimpse of the top of a ladder poking up through a hole in the floor. The rhythmic thump and suck of a pumping engine sounded above the muffled thunder of the waves in the mouth of the adit. 'That leads down to the Mermaid,' Captain Manack said. There's a pump worked by a water wheel farther along that gallery. It clears the mine to a depth of twenty-three fathoms below sea level. You'll see the water running into the adit later.'

A pale glimmer of daylight showed round the next bend and in a moment we entered what looked like a large natural cave. The marks on the rock walls, however, showed that it had been hewn by hand. The cave was half-filled with water which slopped and heaved against the rocks as though seeking a way of escape. The sound of it was magnified by the rock walls so that it was scarcely possible to speak. Every now and then the shaft of daylight that came in through the narrow entrance of the cave was blocked as a wave heaved up and crowded into the cleft. Sometimes the sea spilled through in a white froth of surf and then the wind would whip a blinding sheet of spray across the cavern. Two packing cases stood on a flat ledge of rock which ran along one side of the water like a small landing stage. On the other side of the cave a stream of ochre-coloured water poured out of a hole — presumably the water pumped up from the lower levels.

'The entrance is quite wide below the surface of the water,' Manack shouted to me.

'Where's the barge?' I asked.

He pointed into the tumbled water. 'Down there,' he yelled. He went out on to the ledge by the cases and thrust his hand down into the water. He brought up a rubber pipe. 'She's fitted with tanks,' he called out to me. They're full of water at the moment. We empty them by compressed air.' He dropped the pipe back and shone his torch into a recess. There were half a dozen compressed air cylinders stacked there. 'We take her out submerged. The only thing above water is the man at the helm. Neat, eh? But it requires pretty calm weather.'

He went back up the adit to the shaft that led down to the Mermaid. 'You see now why I want the Mermaid gallery opened up. That submerged barge is all right, but it's cumbersome and too dependent on the weather.' We had reached the shaft and he led the way down. The rhythmic sound of the pump was louder even than the rumble of the sea in the cavern. As we reached the bottom, he said, 'Take my advice and just keep to the main adit, this shaft and the Mermaid gallery. Don't go exploring the other workings. God knows when the mine was first opened up. It was way back in the seventies. Father knows his way around. But he's the only one. And he admits that in all the years he's been here he doesn't know the whole mine It's an absolute rabbit warren. The seaward side of the main shaft has most of the really old workings. There are dozens of ways out on to the cliffs. They used to tunnel in for the ore. The cliff face looks like a cave dweller's settlement in Sicily. Inland from the main shaft the mine squeezes itself between Botallack and Come Lucky. It's more recent than the old cliff workings, but it's still pretty old and the galleries have collapsed in places.'

'I shan't go exploring,' I said. I was thinking of all that water lying above us in Come Lucky.

'Maybe not,' he said. 'But I thought I'd just warn you. You're a miner, I know. But I don't imagine the mines in the Rockies are honeycombed like these old Cornish mines.'

They certainly are not,' I said.

We were climbing up a narrow, sloping tunnel that twisted and turned as they had won the ore from the granite country that enclosed it on either side. In places the roof slanted up beyond the beam of my lamp. The remains of the timber used for sloping still clung in rotten beams to the rock. In other places the roof came down sharply and we had to bend almost double. Then suddenly we clambered over a shelf of rock and dropped into a much wider gallery that sloped gently.

Captain Manack stopped here and caught my arm. 'This is the upper end of the Mermaid,' he said. 'It runs direct from the main shaft. It's almost dead straight from the shaft to where it stops, half a mile under the sea. And it slopes up all the way so that at the shaft it's above sea level. See here. Look at this.' He directed his lamp on to the sides of the gallery. 'This is what Friar and Slim have been working at for over a year.' The sides of the gallery had been worked so that on either side there was a smooth-topped ledge. The work was recent. Down the centre of the gallery two steel cables rested in the sludge. 'We've built those ledges right the way out to the seaward end of the Mermaid,' Manack said. 'Most places we were able to hew it out of the rock, for the gallery is a pretty uniform width. Only occasionally we had to build it up.' His face under the glare of the lamp on his helmet was full of enthusiasm. He must have been the sort of small boy who was always blowing himself up with fireworks.

'I take it there's some sort of a truck going to run on these ledges,' I said.

'It's already running,' he replied. 'It's wood and galvanised iron with rubber tyred wheels and large sprung ball-bearings to hold it steady against the rock walls. The cables there run on to a winch. Come on. We'll go and have a look at the end of it.'

'Seems a hell of a lot of labour,' I said. 'And you don't know really whether it'll work or not.'

'It'll work all right,' he said.

'It may now,' I said. 'But it may not work when you break through the bed of the sea and the water comes roaring in.'

'That's your job,' he said. The gallery had levelled out and the walls were wetter. I guessed we must be under the sea now.

'You say you've had plenty of experience of blasting. Have you had any experience of blasting into the house of water?'

'Sure,' I said. 'But then I knew the amount of country I'd got to go through before I got to the water. And I'd some idea of the weight of the water, too. Blasting through the bed of the sea is a different matter.'

'I've got all the data you need,' he said. 'I've been over it with azdic. I know the exact depth of the sea above the blasting point and I know the exact depth below sea level of the end of the Mermaid. I'll explain in more detail when we get there. I've got scaffolding up and everything. I wanted my father to do it for me. He's an experienced miner. But he wouldn't, blast him. I'd almost persuaded him to about a month ago and, in fact, he did some preliminary blasting. That was how he struck the seam he was looking for. That finished it. He wouldn't dream of having the sea let into the Mermaid after that.'

'Well, it's a pretty rich lode,' I pointed out.

'He showed you a sample, did he?'

'Yes. And if that lode goes right down to the sixteen level, as he believes, you'd both of you be pretty rich men.'

He laughed. 'Father doesn't realise how much labour and machinery cost these days — that is, when you can get them. He's just on sixty-five, you know, and his brain's getting a little — well, he gets excited and he's not very realistic. It'd mean floating a company. The control would pass out of his hands. And he wouldn't stand for that. By the way, Pryce — he'll try to stop you from doing this job. I don't know just how he'll try, but he will. If he gets too troublesome, let me know. It'll mean a row. But I always get my own way in the end.' He said it with the hint of a chuckle, as though he got some devilish enjoyment out of rowing with his father. I thought of the two hundred and fifty pounds the elder Manack had offered me. And the face at the window watching us go down to the mine.

We were splashing through nearly six inches of water now. Occasionally I felt the outline of the cable through my gum boots.

The gallery was very quiet here. The distant sound of pumping was muffled and distorted so that it was like the steady beat of some giant's heart. Cripples' Ease seemed remote and far away. We were in a world of our own. We were rag worms burrowing under the sea. It ain't natural. That's what Friar had said. I'd never worked under the sea before. To keep my mind off the weight of water above our heads, I began thinking again of Cripples' Ease. The ghostly effect of the house fading away into the mist — that picture of it was indelibly imprinted on my mind. That and the little barred window. It all seemed so unreal. 'Has Cripples' Ease been in your family long?' I put the question to him more for something to say than out of any real curiosity.

'Father moved there in the early twenties,' he replied. 'I don't know much about it — I'd left by then. Some woman he'd taken up with gave it to him. Her father died and left it to her, together with a holding in Wheal Garth. You can see the name over the front door. James Nearne. He was landlord when the place was still a pub.' He caught my arm. 'Here we are,' he said. He bent his head so that his lamp lit the floor of the gallery. It dropped away into a great pit. Beyond the pit the gallery continued for perhaps ten feet and then stopped. In the blank wall at the end was fixed a great galvanised iron block round the wheel of which ran the cable we had been following.

There was water at the bottom of the pit. It lay like a still, black sheet some fifteen feet below us, its surface rippled by falling drops. Scaffolding spanned the hole and was built up into a shaft cut vertically in the roof of the gallery. Ladders climbed the scaffolding and disappeared in the black funnel of the shaft. 'We've cleared about ten feet of that shaft by blasting,' Manack told me. 'I reckon there's about another fifteen feet to go. Didn't dare go on without an expert. After each blow we cleared the rock. In the final blow I'm banking on all the loose rock falling down there.'

He indicated the pit.

'The weight of the water may carry rock into the gallery,' I said. 'I wouldn't like to say what'd happen when the sea breaks in here.'

'I've thought of that,' he said. 'My idea is this. You work up as near to the sea as you can. When you daren't go any farther, you fix your main explosives in watertight cartridges. Then you run a long drill through, put a small charge in and let the sea seep into the Mermaid. When the whole gallery is filled right up, then we blow the main charges by electric detonators. Okay?'

'Suppose the entrance gets jammed by rock?'

'Then I'll go down in a diving suit. Don't worry about it. That'll be my problem. What you've got to do is get to work on that shaft there. And remember, the sooner you get the job done, the sooner you'll be safe aboard the Arisaig. You take a look round now. I'm going back to the main shaft to see how Friar's getting on. I must remind him to get those compressed air cylinders up to the store room. I'll be back inside half an hour. Then maybe you'll be able to tell me how long the job is going to take and what your plan of operation is.'

'All right,' I said. 'I'll have a look round.' I watched his lamp bobbing along the gallery. It was surprising how straight that Mermaid gallery was. The levels of most Cornish mines twist and turn as they.follow the sea. It was only later that I learned that the Mermaid was a development gallery. They had been looking for just what Manack had found.

As the glimmer of Captain Manack's lamp faded to a far-off pinpoint of light, I became very conscious of the sound of water all round me. The regular heart-beats of the pump were just a faint throb — a sound so slight that it might have been the pressure of blood in my ears. Dominating everything — the only definite sound — was the sound of the water. It trickled, it gurgled, it went plop, plop, plop in the pool at the bottom of the pit. I suppose it drained through to the lower levels, for there wasn't any more than a few inches on the gallery floor, and it had to go somewhere. I thought of all those levels, sixteen of them, thrusting out under the sea. And this was the top. The roof of the Mermaid gallery was the bed of the sea. It bore the whole weight of the water.

It felt chill and dank. The trouble was I didn't yet feel at home in the mine. It was different to any I'd been in before. And when things are different, that's when a miner worries. Whilst I had been standing there listening to the sounds of the water, the light of Manack's lamp had disappeared altogether. He must have reached the end of the gallery and turned up to the adit. I swung myself on to the ladders and climbed the scaffolding.

The shaft they had blasted was roughly circular and about ten feet in diameter. It coincided with the pit in the floor of the gallery. The ledges on which the carriage wheels would run must be a good eight feet apart. That gave plenty of room for the rubble from the breach in the sea bed to fall straight into the pit. I climbed until I reached the end of the shaft. For amateurs they'd done a pretty neat job. They'd kept the shape of the shaft, though it was a bit ragged at the edges. I felt the rock above my head. It was wet and in the light of my lamp I saw what looked like a shrimp scuttle into a crevice. The sides of the shaft streamed with water. I wondered whether Manack's calculations were right. The rock had a peculiar feel about it, as though it was part of the sea bed. It wasn't that it was soft, and yet that's the way it felt. It was granite all right, with streaks of basalt. But the surface of it was slimed over.

I climbed down and had a look at the pit. There was a ladder running down into it. As I peered down a change in the rock caught my eye. There were some tools on the lower platform of the scaffolding. I went down into the pit with a hammer and a cold chisel. It was about fifteen feet down to the water. The rock formation that had attracted my attention was across the other side. I put my gum boot down into the water. It was only a foot deep. I waded across.

Sudden excitement surged through me as I examined that dull rock. I got to work with hammer and chisel. All other thoughts were swept from my mind. I knew I was not making any discovery. The elder Manack had found it first. But God, if you've ever been a tinner — to chisel out almost solid ore like that!

After about a quarter of an hour's work I was streaming with sweat and my blood was thudding through my veins, for the air was not good down there. But I didn't care. I held in my hand a piece of mother tin about the size of my fist. And I had chiselled it out myself. I cleaned it on the sleeve of my overalls and peered at it, turning the jet of my lamp full on in order to see it better. Gold or tin — what did it matter? The ore content was such that the man who worked the seam couldn't help but become rich. If this were Australia now, I could have staked out a claim somewhere near Manack's. I stood there dreaming with the ore in my hand until a voice suddenly said, 'So you have found the lode, eh?'

The beam of a lamp flashed on me from above. I looked up. I could see nothing but the glaring disc of a miner's lamp. 'Now you understand why the gallery must not be flooded,' the voice added, and I knew then that it was the old man. 'Well? What have you decided?' he asked.

I didn't know what to say.

Perhaps he took my silence for acquiescence, for he said, 'You shall have your two hundred and fifty pounds. And when I start to work that lode, you shall be one of my bal captains.' He stared up at the scaffolding. Standing there above me on the edge of the pit he looked a magnificent figure of a man. If his helmet could have sprouted horns he would have looked like the old prints I had seen of the Vikings. 'My son is a fool,' he said. 'He doesn't know when he is rich. This will not work. And if it does — sooner or later he'll be caught. Then what good will it have done to have let the sea into the Mermaid? Before we could work that lode, this gallery would have to be sealed off, the mine would have to be de-watered to the two hundred level and the lode located there. Men are blind when they don't understand. All he knows about is machinery.' He leaned towards me again. 'Come on up, my boy. You shall have your money and then you can go.'

I found my voice then. 'No,' I said. 'I'm not going.'

He peered down. 'You mean you intend to stay here and blast your way through to the sea as my son wants?' His voice quavered.

'I don't know,' I said. 'But I can't go.'

'Why?' His tone was tense.

I waded across to the ladder. I was at a disadvantage down here with him standing above me. I couldn't have it out with him like this. I began to climb. My lamp flashed on his gum boots. He was standing right at the head of the ladder. 'Why?' he asked again, and the echo of his question was flung back by the dripping walls.

'Because,' I said, 'there's too much I need to find out.' And I heaved myself out of the pit and leapt to my feet. We stood there facing each other, seeing the reflection of our mine lamps in each other's eyes.

'You mean about my son?' he asked.

'No,' I said.

He caught hold of my arm. For a man of sixty-five he was immensely strong. The grip of his fingers was like iron. 'Listen,' he said. 'I've found what I've been looking for all my life. Neither you nor anybody — not even my son — is going to rob me of that. Take my offer and go — before it is too late.'

'No,' I said again.

'Don't be a fool,' he cried. Take it and get out. If you don't — " He stopped and half-turned. The light of another lamp was shining on us.

Take what?' It was Captain Manack's voice. The question was strung tight like a bow string. We must have been so lost in our altercation that we had not noticed him coming along the gallery.

'I have told him that I will not allow the sea to be let in here,' his father said. 'I have offered to pay him what you would pay him if he will go.'

'And what will you pay him with?' sneered his son. 'With my money. Oh no. He stays until he's finished the job.'

'You intend to go through with this plan?' The old man's voice quavered.

'Yes,' his son replied.

'Then, sir, I must order you off my property.' The old man had a strange dignity. 'I have no alternative,' he added sadly. Though it is hard for me to say this to my own son.'

'Your own property?' Captain Manack laughed. 'I know how you got this property. If you want me to leave Wheal Garth then you'll have to get the police to shift me. And you won't do that, will you, Father?'

The old man's eyes glittered dangerously. 'Take care,' he said. 'One day you'll push me too far. Get rid of this man. That's all I ask. Get rid of him and let the Mermaid be.'

That's all you ask.' His son laughed. 'Have you read this morning's paper?'

'You know I never read the papers. This is my world. I'm not interested in any other.'

'Well, to begin with, Pryce can't leave. The police are after him. There's a complete description — " He stopped then for he realised that the old man wasn't listening to him. He was staring at me — a look at once incredulous and fearful. Then suddenly his eyes were blank, giving no clue to his thoughts. 'I thought you said his name was O'Donnel,' he said to his son.

'Yes. But his real name's Pryce.'

'Jim Pryce,' I said.

The old man was trembling. He turned and stared at me. 'Pryce, did you say?'

'Yes,' I answered. And then I added slowly, 'Ruth Nearne was my mother.'

His eyes jerked wide and his whole body tensed. He was like a man under the impact of a bullet. 'No,' he said. 'No — no, it's impossible.' His eyes darted round the rock walls. Then he recovered himself. 'So you're Ruth Nearne's son. She was a fine woman — a fine woman.' He nodded in a fatherly way. 'She often spoke of you.'

The calmness of his. manner roused me. 'How would you know?' I snarled. 'She was alone. You took her away from my father and then you deserted her.' I went towards him. 'You killed her. You drove her to suicide.'

The old man was watching me. His eyes had a cunning look. He edged away down the gallery. Captain Manack got hold of my arm. I flung him off. I was within a few feet of the old man now. I said, 'You think I'd help you to work this mine, knowing what I do of the way you treated my mother? No,' I shouted. 'Instead I'll blast a way through to the sea for you. I'll flood the place. All your life you've thought of nothing but that damned lode of tin. Well, you'll never touch it. You'll never touch it because of what you did to Ruth Nearne. When the sea comes roaring into this gallery, that'll be the end of your dreams. Then it'll be your turn to walk over the cliffs.'

The old man was trembling. 'Don't do it,' he said. 'Don't do it. The mine wants to be worked. It has the pride of a rich mine. It must be worked. And if you try to let the sea in, it'll kill you. I've warned my son. Now I'm warning you. The mine will kill you.'

He turned then and went quickly off down the gallery. And I let him go.