The Killer Mine

CHAPTER SIX The Dog was Murdered Too

'So Ruth Nearne was your mother?'

I was gazing after the old man. The glow-worm light of his lamp was already some distance down the gallery. 'Yes,' I said. I was thinking of all the misery he had brought my mother.

'Is that why you came here?'

I turned to Captain Manack. He was watching me suspiciously. 'No,' I said. 'I didn't know it was your father she went off with. Not until last night.'

'What did you find out last night?'

'That he never married her. That she acted as his housekeeper. And that — she committed suicide.'

'Is that all you found out?'

'My God!' I cried. 'Isn't that enough? Your father drove my mother mad. He kept her shut up in that attic room where I slept. To leave a husband and a child and then find her lover married. Not only that, but when your mother died, he still didn't marry her. She remained here as housekeeper, and he married Kitty's mother. God — it was enough to send any woman mad.'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'Well, it's a strange world,' he said. His eyes seemed to laugh at me — or perhaps it was some trick of the carbon gaslight. It was almost as though he relished the situation. If so, he had the devil's own sense of humour. I felt angry and bitter — and frustrated. I should have thrashed that fiendish old man. It was what he deserved. Instead I'd let him walk away down the gallery telling me my mother was a fine woman. I could still see the yellow glow of his lamp bobbing along the gallery.

'Well, it's done now,' Manack said. There's nothing you can do about it. But it's a strange coincidence, you coming here like this.'

'Yes,' I said. 'It's a strange coincidence.'

'How long will it take you to blast through to the sea bed?' His voice was suddenly matter of fact.

'A day or two,' I replied vaguely. 'I hadn't given it a thought.'

'We'll go back now,' he said. 'You can start this afternoon.'

'I'll need help,' I told him.

'You can have Friar.'

'Okay.'

We started back down the gallery then. Nothing I could do about it. He was right there. I'd get the job done as quickly as possible, and then go back to Italy. I'd be able to forget about Cripples' Ease in Italy.

Back at the main shaft, whilst we were waiting for the gig to come down, Manack said, 'We'll run the air compressor and drill out to the Mermaid immediately after lunch. I've got about half a dozen sharp drills. I'll have Slim re-sharpen the rest.'

'I'll need an extra long drill when we get near the sea bed,' I told him.

He nodded. 'I'll get one,' he said. 'I'll borrow one from Wheal Geevor tomorrow.'

We didn't go straight to the surface, but stopped off at the storeroom gallery. Slim and Friar had practically completed the job of walling up the stores. In half an hour it was done. When it had been covered with muck and dust it looked like solid rock. Slim knew his job as a stone mason. They knocked off for lunch then. Manack stopped me as we went along the gallery to the shaft. 'You feed here,' he said. He pushed back the slabs that formed the entrance to the hideout. 'You'll find iron rations in those boxes. I'll have milk and bread and other things brought down to you. It's not safe for you to feed up at the house now. Okay?'

I nodded. 'No harm in my coming up for a breath now and then?'

'I suppose you'll have to. But keep your eyes skinned.' He left me then and went down the short gallery to the gig. As it rattled upwards and their feet disappeared, I was overcome with a sense of loneliness. I'd never been so lonely in all my life. I heard the gig stop and the door opened. The sound of their voices died away. All sound ceased. It was deathly quiet. The drip of water in the shaft was no more than an echo in the stillness.

In the hideout I found spare lamps, carbide, electric torches, clothes, a clock and a radio. I prised open one of the boxes — corned beef, canned tomatoes, sardines, biscuits, Vitawheat, canned salads, apricots, jam, syrup, butter, knives, spoons, forks, even a can opener. I took some bully and biscuits and went up the narrow, sloping gallery that led to the surface.

This gallery climbed steeply and came out at the bottom of a short shaft. The circle of light at the top was blue and the sun was shining on one half of the protecting wall. There was no ladder to show that it was used, but stone footholds had been placed so that it was easy to climb up the rock wall. I blinked as I climbed over the stone wall into a patch of gorse. The mist had gone. The sky was blue. The light hurt my eyes. I switched off my lamp and looked about me.

I was about fifty yards inland from the main shaft of Wheal Garth. There was no one in sight. The world was very quiet and still, but it was a live stillness, not the deathly stillness underground. A corncrake chattered in a patch of scrub and there was the hum of bees in the blazing gold of the gorse bushes. The chaos of the mine workings, which had looked so grim in the mist, now blended pleasantly into the landscape of wild cliffs and grass green headlands. The debris of rock, which had before looked grey, was now a mass of colour from dark purple to russet brown. The workings sloped away in a riot of dark colour to the cliff tops, and beyond the cliff tops was the sea, calm and blue and shimmering with light.

I climbed up to a slight knoll and lay down in the warm heather to eat my lunch. Cripples' Ease was hidden beyond the rise of the hill, but I could see the track that wound down from it through the ruined mine buildings. And beyond was Botallack Head. There was a farm on the top of it. And down the near side of it were remains of the mine. An old chimney stood out against the shadowed darkness of the cliffs halfway down, and right at the foot, almost in the break of the waves, an engine house stood on a slab of rock. It looked like an aged fort. There were others strung along the cliff top to my left, out towards the headland known as Kenidjack Castle. Three, I counted, square and solid with thick granite walls and broken chimneys of warm red brick rising from one corner.

A girl's voice hallooed. It was far away, towards Botallack Head. I turned, rustling the dry bells of the heather. A lizard scuttled into a crevice of a rock. It was a moment before I could pick the girl out. She was almost at the foot of the Head, standing on the slab of rock on which the old engine house stood. Her hair was blonde and she wore a red shirt and white shorts, and she was waving. In the distance she looked infinitely attractive, infinitely desirable. A man's voice called in answer and I saw his figure scrambling down the rocky path to join her.

I lay back and closed my eyes. How nice to be on holiday. How nice to be on holiday down there with a girl. I'd never realised how beautiful Cornwall could be. My father had always said it was the most beautiful spot on earth, but when I'd arrived I'd thought it bleak and grim. I opened my eyes again — the boy and. girl were climbing up a narrow path to the top of the cliffs. I watched them disappear over the top of the headland.

I closed my eyes again. The shimmer of the sea was very bright. But the sun hadn't the hard glare of the Italian sun — it was somehow soft and iridescent and the country was green and pleasant, not burnt an arid brown.

When I looked about me again, a figure was coming over the brow of the hill that hid Cripples' Ease. I sat up. It was a girl. She was not coming down the track, but striking across the heather above the mine. She was walking straight towards me, taking the direct route from Cripples' Ease to the shaft of Wheal Garth. It was Kitty. She was wearing a brown skirt and a green jersey. Her legs were bare and brown, and her hair was blowing in the wind.

I turned over on to my elbow and watched her as she came towards me across the heather. She had a basket in her hand and she was gazing out across the sea. She moved carelessly and with ease, as though she'd walked these cliff tops all her life. I wondered if she, too, were glad to be out of that house. Fifty yards from me she turned down the slope towards Wheal Garth. She didn't notice me in the heather. Soon I could see into the basket. It contained milk and bread and several packages. 'Are you looking for me?' I asked.

She stopped and glanced quickly round. 'Oh,' she said seeing me looking down at her. 'You startled me. Captain Manack asked me to bring these things down to you.' She held up the basket. 'I'll leave the basket here. One of the men can bring it back when they come up this evening.' She set the basket down. 'I brought it straight down because I thought you might need bread for lunch. Those biscuits must be awfully dry. The milk's fresh, too.' She started back the way she had come.

'Don't go,' I said. 'Come up here and sit with me for a moment.'

'No. No, I must get back.'

'Why?' I asked.

'— I've a lot to do.' She stood irresolute, her face clouded.

'If you've got so much to do,' I said, 'why didn't you let Slim or Friar bring the basket down?'

'I've told you,' she answered quickly. 'I thought you might need some bread for your lunch.' She started up the slope.

'Kitty,' I said. 'Don't go — please. I want to talk to you.'

'No,' she said. 'I thought you'd be down the mine. I didn't expect to find you here.'

She was hurrying up the slope. I got to my feet. 'Well, if you won't come and talk to me, I'll have to come and talk to you,' I said.

'Go back to the mine,' she said. 'You oughtn't to be out here in the open.'

I caught up with her, 'Please,' I said. 'I must talk to you.'

She stopped and faced me suddenly. She was panting and her cheeks were flushed. 'Will you have some sense? If you're seen out here you'll be recognised at once — anybody would recognise you from that description.'

'Oh, you know about that,' I said.

'I can read,' she answered. 'Now be sensible and go back to the mine. Besides, the milk will spoil out there in the sun.'

'Do you know everything that goes on here?' I asked.

'Enough to know you shouldn't be standing out here in the open like this.'

'Why the hell don't you leave Cripples' Ease?' I said. 'It's no place for a girl like you. Have you always been here?'

She nodded. 'Yes, always,' she said.

'Didn't you go to school?'

'No.'

'Then how did you learn to read?'

She laughed at that. And then suddenly her laughter died. 'Your mother taught me,' she answered.

'My mother?'

She nodded. 'She was almost my governess. You see, Mummy was a rather gay person. She hadn't much time for me, poor dear. I was a little girl in pigtails then.' She gave a quick laugh and turned. 'I must go now,' she said.

'No,' I said. 'Not yet. It's about my mother I want to talk to you.'

'I know. But I'd rather not.'

I caught her hand and pulled her round. 'Can't you understand?' I said. 'I never knew my mother. And now suddenly I'm in the place where she lived. You knew her. She loved you. Isn't it natural for me to want to hear about her? And I want to know why she was shut in that room.'

'I don't want to talk about it.' Her voice was angry and she wrenched at her hand. 'Let me go. I tell you I won't talk about it.'

'And I want to know why she committed suicide,' I added, holding her by the hand. 'I can guess. But I want to know.'

Her eyes widened. 'You can guess?' she repeated.

'Of course,' I said. 'My mother ran away with Manack in 1920. And Manack was still living with his first wife then. Even when she died he didn't marry her. He married your mother. And my mother went on living here, acting as housekeeper and as your governess. My God! That's enough to break any woman.'

'It wasn't that,' she said slowly. Then suddenly she pulled her hand free. 'I'm going back now.'

I caught up with her. She turned on me then, her eyes blazing. 'Will you let me be,' she cried. Her voice was shrill, frightened.

'Not until you've told all there is to tell about my mother,' I cried.

'Never,' she answered.

Then I'll stay with you until you do,' I told her angrily. 'She loved you. She gave you that brooch. It was the only thing of my father's she had left. I have nothing of hers — nothing at all. And you, who have everything of hers that I as her child ought to have had — you haven't the decency to talk to me about her for a few minutes.'

'It isn't that,' she said, and her voice was sad.

'What is it then?' I asked.

'Can't you realise that I'd rather not talk about her? Can't you just leave it at that?'

'No, I can't,' I said angrily.

'Please,' she pleaded.

'For God's sake,' I said, catching her by the shoulders. 'Now come on.' I shook her. 'Why was my mother shut in that room?'

Her grey eyes were full of tears. 'No,' she sobbed. 'I can't. I mustn't.' I shook her violently. Then she looked up at me. The tears were trickling out of her wide eyes. For a moment she seemed unable to find her voice. Then she said in a whisper that I could scarcely hear: 'Don't you see — she killed my mother.'

'I don't believe it,' I said.

'Please let me go now.' She was sobbing quietly.

'No,' I said. 'I don't believe it. You're not telling me the truth.

Why should she do a thing like that? She loved you. She said so in that letter.'

'Perhaps,' she said. Her voice was suddenly sad. 'She was very sweet. She used to bring me out here on the hills and tell me fairy stories and teach me the names of the flowers and birds. I loved her very much. And then — " Her voice trembled and broke. 'Oh God! It was horrible,' she sobbed.

I sat her gently on the heather. 'What was horrible?' I said.

'You may as well know now,' she said quietly. 'She wasn't responsible for what she did. I'm sure of that. But afterwards — I was always frightened of her afterwards.'

'You mean she was mad?' I asked.

She nodded. 'I didn't want you to know. But I had to give you that letter. I'd promised to do that if ever I got the chance. I had to give it to you, didn't I?'

'Of course,' I said. 'Please tell me all that happened. I'd rather know everything. I know it's painful to you, but please — you do understand?'

She nodded slowly. But she didn't speak for a moment. She sat looking out across the sea. I sat on the heather beside her, trying to see in the profile of her face the little girl in pigtails who had wandered hand-in-hand with my mother across these cliff tops. She must have been a pretty child. She was pretty now. She had a broad, open face with high cheek bones and a short, stubby nose. It was the sort of face that made me think of a Chekov play. Perhaps she also had her dreams of a Moscow she was always just arranging to visit but never did.

'I was four years old when Mummy and I came to live at Cripples' Ease,' she said. 'I remember your mother — Miss Nearne she called herself — didn't like me at first. And I didn't like her. Probably she resented us and though I didn't know why then, I must have sensed that resentment. And then one day I fell inside one of those old engine houses. It was that one out there by Kenidjack Castle. I'd been chasing a lizard. I cut my knee and couldn't get out. There's a sort of well where the boiler used to be. It was quite deep with sheer stone sides. I cried and cried, but nobody came. I thought nobody ever would. Mummy was always out somewhere and there was only Miss Nearne. It was dark when she found me. She took me back and bandaged my knee and then she told me a fairy story to stop me from being frightened any more. But long before she'd finished I'd fallen asleep. So, of course, the next night I wanted to hear the rest of the story. And after that she always told me a fairy story at bedtime. And she started taking me for walks and telling me little stories about the animals and birds we saw. She told me about the piskies and the miners who'd worked these cliffs.' She looked at me and her eyes were sad. 'You see, we were both lonely. And she knew such a lot of things.'

'Yes,' I said. 'She was a school teacher before she married my father.'

She nodded and looked out towards the sea again. 'I know And she used to tell me about her little boy who was a few years older than me. She talked a lot about you. She made up stories about you. She lived in a dream-world of her own, and she let me share it. And I loved it. Soon she began teaching me properly I went everywhere with her. I helped her with the milking and with that little garden she made. I tried to keep it tidy after her death — as a sort of memory for the kindness she had shown me. But there was the war and I had so little time. Now, I'm afraid, it'll never be a garden again. I wish it had never happened,' she added, with sudden passion.

'Why did she stay on here?' I asked. 'I mean after the old man married your mother.'

'I don't know.'

'Was it because of you — because she was lonely and all the love that she had lost was concentrated on you?'

'Perhaps,' she said slowly. 'She treated me as though I were her own child. At first it was all right, whilst Mummy had her own car and was having a gay time. But then during the depression, I think she must have lost a lot of money. She sold the car and began to be at home much more. That's when the rows started. Mummy had to occupy her mind with something and she suddenly remembered she had a child. But I was always with Miss Nearne. I think she became jealous. Anyway, when they started to have rows, — I'm afraid I took Mummy's side. You see, I was growing up then. I was less dependent on Miss Nearne and just beginning to be interested in the outer world. Mummy was always nicely dressed and her conversation was of people, real people — mostly men, I'm afraid. I saw less of Miss Nearne then and more of Mummy. And Miss Nearne gradually drew into herself.' She turned to me again. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I suppose, in a way, it was my fault. But I was only a kid. I didn't understand how people feel.'

She seemed to hesitate so I said, 'How long did this go on before your mother died?'

'Several years. It was on a Tuesday. I can't remember the exact date, but it was on a Tuesday in October the year before the war. Mummy was going to send me away to school. Miss Nearne objected. There was a terrible scene. Mummy called her frightful names. And then my stepfather came in and stopped them. That was after lunch. Miss Nearne went up to her room and stayed there. My stepfather took her tea up to her himself. That evening Mummy went out for a long walk with her dog, Peter. He was an old Labrador. She was very fond of him. Shortly afterwards Miss Nearne went out, too. I remember her going out. I was in the kitchen and she went past me without a word, her face very white and strained. I watched her going down towards the cliffs. I watched her because I was trying to make up my mind whether to run after her and talk to her. You see, I was to go away to school — it had all been decided that afternoon. And I felt sorry at leaving her.' Her voice dropped. 'Oh, how I wish I had gone after her!' She paused and then went on. 'An old shepherd we had then found her about an hour later out on the cliffs. He brought her back in a state of collapse. They took her up to her room. She was very ill and could remember nothing.

Mummy never came back. They were out searching for her all night. They found her next morning. She was at the bottom of an old shaft that was half-hidden in brambles. That one down there.' She pointed to a circular stone wall beyond the main shaft of Wheal Garth. 'The wall wasn't there then. Nobody knew about the shaft. I don't believe my stepfather knew about it — and he knew every gallery of the mine even in those days.'

'Who found your mother?' I asked.

'A miner. She'd never have been found if it hadn't been for the dog howling. Peter died when they tried to bring him up. His back was broken. The man who found her said the dog must have fallen down the shaft and she'd tried to get to him. The coroner took the same view at the inquest.'

'Then it was an accident?' I said.

She shook her head slowly. 'No. It wasn't an accident. That morning, after they found Mummy's body, Miss Nearne was sitting with me in the kitchen. She was terribly upset. She always felt everything very deeply, if it was only a sheep falling over the cliff. Mr Manack came into the kitchen. He didn't seem to notice me. He looked straight at Miss Nearne and said, "Does this belong to you?" It was a handkerchief. She took it, saw her initials and said, "Yes, where did you find it?" He said, "Just by the shaft where Harriet was killed." Then he ordered her to her room. Shortly afterwards I heard him going up. I was terribly puzzled — morbidly curious, if you like. I followed him. The door was ajar. I could hear what he said from the bottom of the stairs.'

'And what did he say?' I asked as she hesitated.

'He said, "I knew you'd done it, even before I found the handkerchief. There was no other explanation. The dog would never have fallen down that shaft. He knew them all. And Harriet always kept to the paths. She'd never have pushed her way through that gorse, unless someone had called her down that rabbit track." He told her then that she was not responsible for her actions.'

'But what about the dog?' I asked.

'Mr Manack found Mummy long before the miner did. He found her when he first went to look for her. He found her because Peter was standing over the shaft, whining.'

'Good God!' I said. Then — "

'Yes. He threw the dog down the shaft. There had to be a reason for Mummy going along that track. Peter was the only reason he could think of.'

'How horrible!' I murmured.

'Yes,' she said. 'He was a lovely dog. He used to bring me baby rabbits — he'd bring them back in his mouth alive and quite unhurt. But it saved your mother. And after that — " She hesitated and then added quickly, 'After that the bars were put in the attic window. You see, she couldn't remember where she'd been or what she'd been doing whilst she was out there on the cliffs. She was very ill for a long time.'

I was staring out across the cliffs. But I didn't see the sea. I didn't see anything — only that bare little room with the bars across the window and the hatch cut in the door. I was cold, despite the warmth of the sun. And when I did notice the sea, shimmering like gold, it seemed a mockery in this wretched place. 'But was she really mad?' I asked. I couldn't believe it.

'I'm afraid so,' she replied sadly. 'Loneliness does queer things to people. I know what loneliness is. Loneliness unbalanced her. She had fits of rages when she broke things. Sometimes she didn't remember what she'd done for perhaps a day or even more.' She suddenly put her hand on my arm. 'I'm sorry to have told you all this. I didn't want to. That's why I tried to avoid you, but I couldn't. You see, she told me so much about you. And I was very fond of her when I was little. Please — just remember that. She was a good, kind person. But things went wrong with her life and — well, it was too much for her.'

We sat quite silent then. I tried to think of something to say, but I couldn't. The whole story was so fantastic — so horrible. I wanted to be by myself. I wanted to think it all out. 'The milk will spoil out there in the sun,' I muttered, getting to my feet.

'Yes,' she said. 'The milk will spoil.'

I left her then and went slowly down across the rustling heather. I stopped by the basket and looked back. Kitty's figure was outlined against the blue of the sky as she climbed towards Cripples' Ease. I was sorry I had let her go then. I would like to have gone on talking to her about other things. I needed someone to talk to. The sound of voices made me turn. The girl in the red shirt and white shorts was coming back along the cliff top. She was holding her boy friend's hand and the sound of her laughter came to me on the light breeze. I went into the hoist shed and so back to the hideout. The light thrown by the inch-long jet of my lamp was very dim after the sunlight. But the gloomy rock walls and the dim light were better suited to my thoughts than the brilliant glare of a beautiful September day. I sat down on the bare springs of one of the beds and cursed Cripples' Ease as I had heard my father curse the place so many years ago.

I was awakened from my reverie by the sound of knocking against the slabs of the entrance. A voice called, muffled and faint. I got up and shot back the bolt. I couldn't remember having bolted it. But apparently I had. The stone slabs swung back and Friar poked his head in. 'Blimey, like chokey, ain't it?' He grinned. 'Still, it ain't got iron bars. It's seein' the daylight through iron bars wot used ter get me da'n. You ready? We got to load the compressor. Slim's gorn on da'n.'

'Yes, I'm ready.' I said.

We went up into the blue sunlight and down to the mine sheds. As we waited for the gig to come up I said, 'Where's Captain Manack?'

"E's still up at the ha'se. Be da'n later. 'E's 'avin' a ra' wiv the ol' man. Proper set to, they're 'avin'.'

We got into the gig and began to descend. 'What's the row about?' I asked.

'Same ol' thing — the ol' man don't want the Mermaid flooded.' Friar laughed. 'But the Capting'll get 'is way. 'E always does in the end. Reck'n 'e's got somefink on the ol' man. Must 'ave, otherwise 'is father, wouldn't stand for 'is monkeyin' ara'nd wiv the mine the way 'e does. There ain't no luv lost between them two. I went in after lunch ter find a't wot the Capting wanted doin'. Blimey, I could 'ear 'em at each other's froats before I opened the door. An' when I went in, there was the ol' man, white wiv rage an' quiverin' — actoolly quiverin'.'

We had passed the main adit level and the gig stopped of its own accord at the next gallery. The shaft went on down, but I could see that this was as far as the gig went. The place was full of the noise of rushing water. In a cleft behind the shaft I could see a big water wheel revolving slowly.

A lamp shone towards us, lighting up the arched rock walls of the gallery. 'That you, Friar?' It was Slim's voice.

'Yep,' Friar answered. 'Mind the cable,' he said to me as we went forward.

The cable was taut at about waist height. A dark bulk showed in silhouette against the light of Slim's lamp. It was a flat platform of wood about six feet wide, its wheels resting on the rock ledges on either side of the gallery. As we drew nearer I saw there was an air compressor standing just in front of it. Two planks were up-ended against the strange carriage. 'Is this the top of the Mermaid gallery?' I asked Friar.

'That's right, mate,' he answered. 'An we're goin' ter ride a't ter work in style. This 'ere is known as the Basket.'

'Why the Basket?' I asked.

'Lumme,' he said. 'You wouldn't need ter ask that question if you'd worked as long as Slim and me 'as ter get the thing workin'. A bleedin' year we bin cuttin' them ledges. An' you'd better go careful when you blast yer way up to the sea bed. 'Cos if this 'ere contraption don't work when the Mermaid's been flooded me an' Slim'll 'ave a word ter say ter you. Won't we, Slim?'

'You know my view,' Slim's voice answered.

'Bleedin' pessimist, you are,' Friar said. 'Fifty quid's the bet. An' don't you forget it.' He turned to me. 'Me an' Slim's got a bet of fifty quid on the Basket. 'E says the Capting's scheme won't work when the sea's in the Mermaid. I says it will. The Capting's no fool, Slim. You don't know 'im as well as I do 'E's an engineer, an' don't yer forget it.'

'Even engineers get hoist with their own petard.'

'Wot the 'ell are you talkin' aba't? Wot's a petard?'

'A mine,' Slim answered with a sardonic laugh. 'Come on. he added, 'let's get the compressor loaded on to the Basket Levering with crowbars we manoeuvred the compressor on to the platform of the carriage. 'Better check that we got every fink on that you need,' Friar suggested. I flashed my lamp over the platform. There was a pneumatic drill, steel drills, air pipe, drill-holder, picks and shovels.

'What about charges?' I asked.

'The Capting 'as 'em,' was the reply.

'Okay,' I said.

'Right. Up you get, then.' I climbed up beside the compressor 'Any more for the Skylark.' Friar grinned and clambered up behind me. Slim went up the gallery to the bottom of the shaft He threw over a lever. There was the sound of a gear engaging and I sensed the cable ahead of us sucking out of the mud. An instant later I was nearly jerked off my feet as the contraption began to move forward. The compressor swayed as the rubber-tyred wheels moved over the uneven surfaces of the ledges. The sprung bearings at the sides grated and clattered against the rock sides of the gallery. 'It's worked by the same wheel wot runs the hoist,' Friar shouted in my ear.

I nodded. It was impossible to talk. The gallery sloped steadily downwards, opening out before us to the extent of the beam of our lamps. The carriage swayed and clattered And yet, considering that it was not on rails, but on rock ledges, it ran remarkably smoothly. The gallery began to level out. Water splashed on my hands and face from the roof and lay in dark pools that reflected the light of our lamps.

'We're under the sea now,' Friar yelled in my ear.

I nodded. But I wasn't thinking any more about the weight of water over our heads. I was becoming accustomed to the mine and my thoughts were engrossed in the ingenuity of Captain Manack's idea. When he had first told me that he was letting the sea into the gallery in order to provide an undersea route for contraband to be brought into the mine, I must admit I thought the whole idea quite fantastic. But now I was beginning to realise that it wasn't quite so fantastic as it seemed, only rather unorthodox.

The use of caves for smuggling, whether natural or hewn by hand, is as old as the hills. It had not surprised me, therefore, to find the underground workings of an old mine being used in this way. But an undersea entrance, with the contraband dropped over the side on wire slides on to an underwater truck — that was an entirely novel idea. True, the whole contraption, with its hawser-drawn carriage and rock ledge rails was crude. But then so much of mining is crude.

The carriage slowed up as the scaffolding at the end of the gallery came into view. It stopped directly beneath the shaft that had been begun in the roof. 'Well, wotjer fink of it, mate?' Friar asked in the sudden silence.

'Okay,' I said.

'Reck'n it'll work?'

'Yes,' I said, 'I think it will.'

He nodded and his cheeks cracked in a grin. 'It'd ruddy better,' he said. 'More'n a year we bin cuttin' they ledges. An' just over twenty-three 'undred kerb stones we made outa the rock we cut. So for Gawd's sake be careful when yer blast through to the sea. I got fifty pa'nd on it.'

'I will,' I said. I was looking up at the dark hole that showed between the scaffolding. I think at that moment I had forgotten everything else but the job of breaking through to the sea bed as neatly as possible. It's a ticklish job blasting through to what Cornish miners call the house of water. I hadn't done it for a long time, not since I was in the Rockies — in the Coolgardie fields I'd always been working deep. The job only happens in hilly country. Your mine has been developed to the limit of the capacity of the pumps to remove the water. When you reach that limit you have to consider some alternative means of de-watering. If the mine is on the side of a mountain, as so many of the mines in the Rockies are, then the next thing is to drive an adit from the nearest valley up under the mine to act as a drain for the water that is preventing deeper development. It's quite a straightforward job, provided there's no underground river or reservoir of water — that's what makes it dangerous. You probe ahead with a long drill. And sometimes when you reach the house of water and the drill comes out with a gush of water pouring from the drill hole, the whole face of the adit collapses, drowning the miners. There'd been some nasty accidents like that at mines my father and I had worked in. But it had never happened to me.

In this particular case, drilling up to the sea bed, it was less dangerous in one respect — Manack had said he could give me accurate figures for the amount of country we had to blast through. On the other hand, the weight of water was likely to be much greater than one would ordinarily encounter. I stood there for quite a time, gazing up into the gaping hole and considering the problem.

'Come on, mate,' Friar said at length. 'Let's get crackin'.'

'Okay,' I said.

We removed the tools, fitted the air pipe to the compressor and got the drill up to the platform of the scaffolding. Friar then went down to the very end of the gallery where the giant block and tackle was fixed that held the hawser, pulled a rock out of the wall and lifted the receiver of a field telephone. He wound the handle and then said: 'Slim? Okay — yes, she's workin'. Pull the Basket back about four yards, will yer?' An instant later the hawser at the rear of the carriage drew taut and the whole thing, complete with compressor, backed away from under the scaffolding. 'Yes, that's fine,' Friar said as the carriage stopped. He replaced the receiver and climbed up on to the platform beside me, 'On'y fing we ain' got laid on da'n 'ere is room service.' He peered up at the shaft above our heads. 'Wot aba't when the ruddy sea comes in?' he said. 'It's the only fing as far as I can see that may gum the 'ole works.'

'You mean if too much rock comes in and blocks the carriage way?' I asked.

He nodded.

'That's my job,' I said. 'We'll keep to light blasts, clearing the rock after each blast, as you've been doing up to now. In the end there'll be a thin crust of rock between us and the sea. If the rock's sound it'll be all right.'

'An' if it ain't?'

'You won't be around to pay Slim the fifty quid you'll owe him,' I said.

'Gawd!' he breathed, and I could see his face was a shade paler. He wasn't a miner and I don't think he enjoyed working underground, anyway. But give him his due — he wasn't a coward. Only at the very end did he let his fear get the better of him.

By the time we'd rigged the clamp for the drill, screwing it like a bar horizontally across the face of the shaft, I had worked out where I was going to put my drill holes and the size of the blast I was going to use. I had forgotten about the rich lode that began in the pit below us, about Cripples' Ease and all that lay above ground. My whole mind was concentrated on the task before us.

By this you mustn't imagine that I hold with the idea of smuggling or wanted any part of the working and profits of the scheme. Mining is like any other job. Give a good miner a problem to work out and he'll become enthusiastic because of the job itself. And I figured I was a pretty good miner, even though I had been out of the game for six years.

Captain Manack came down shortly after four. We were drilling our third charge hole then. It was some time before we noticed him, for we were both of us right up in the roof of the shaft and the roar of the compressor and the clatter of the pneumatic drill and the sizzle of compressed air and water was shatteringly loud in that confined space. He clambered up the ladders beside us and when I saw the light of his lamp I turned off the juice. My ears were deafened. I could hardly hear what he said, though the only sound was the muffled roar of the compressor's engine and the hiss of escaping air. 'How are you getting on?' he shouted in my ear.

'Okay,' I said, and shone my lamp on the holes we had already drilled. 'We'll make about a dozen holes and put in light charges,' I shouted. 'It's more than usual for a face as small as this, but it'll be safer that way.'

He nodded, 'When will you be ready to blow?' he asked.

I looked at my watch. 'About seven, maybe eight o'clock,' I replied.

Again he nodded. 'I brought some tea down,' he said. He'd placed a canvas bag on the platform below. Out of the neck of it protruded the top of a Thermos flask. We knocked off then and the three of us had our tea seated on the platform of the scaffolding.

'I've just been going over my figures,' Manack said as he munched a jam sandwich. 'I reckon you've eighteen feet to go. How much headway will you make with each blasting?'

'About three feet,' I said. 'Maybe a little more.'

'It'll be the fifth or sixth blow, then?'

'Yes,' I said.

'Today's Friday. That makes it Sunday night or Monday morning if you do two blastings a day. Can you do two?'

'Yes, I can do two,' I told him.

'Good. Then I'll arrange for the Arisaig to take you and Dave off on Monday night.' He brought out a cigarette case and we sat smoking for a moment in silence. He leaned over the edge of the platform and shone his lamp down into the pit between the rock runways of the carriage. The dull surface of the tin in the hole reflected back the light. 'Pryce,' he said, 'will letting the sea into the Mermaid prevent us ever working that lode?'

'What's the next level?' I asked.

'Undersea level?'

'Yes.'

'It'd be the two hundred level. That's nearly five hundred feet below us.'

I said, 'That's a hell of a gap. It'll mean de-watering the mine down to that level. You'll be able to gauge the probable position of the lode from the geological charts your father has, but even if the charts are accurate, there'll be a deal of development work to do before you strike the lode. And even then you can't be sure that it's the same lode he saw at the sixteenth level. It may be just a pocket. You'd need a lot of capital with no return for your outlay until you hit the lode. And she'd make a fair amount of water with the sea in this gallery.'

He nodded and shrugged his shoulders. 'Oh, well, it's just too bad.'

'The old man's pretty mad, is he?' I asked.

'Yes. Mad as hell. But you needn't worry. He won't interfere.'

I thought of what I'd do to any son of mine who insisted on letting the sea in on a lode as rich in tin as that, and I wasn't so sure the old man wouldn't interfere. 'It seems a pity,' I said. 'Why don't you throw up the smuggling racket and take to a legitimate business, mining that lode.'

'Because I'm not interested in mining,' he replied.

'But God,' I said. 'If that lode goes down like the old man says it does, you'd both make a lot of money.'

He peered at me, eyes suddenly narrowed. 'What's the idea, Pryce?' he said. 'You don't want to do that blasting job, that's it, isn't it?'

'I don't care what I do here,' I replied, 'so long as I get out of the place quick.'

'Then you stick to your job and leave me to handle my own affairs.'

I started to make some angry retort, but he got to his feet. 'You get on now, I'll bring the charges down soon after six. What size do you want them?'

I told him what size I wanted and he left us then. 'The Capting don't want advice,' Friar said as we watched Manack's lamp going down the gallery.

'He's a fool,' I said. 'If that lode goes on he'd make a fortune.'

'Wot, wiv taxation like it is na'?' Friar laughed. 'I can just see the Capting coping wiv forms and regulations and accounts. 'E just ain't cut a't fer it.'

We clambered back up the ladders then and continued with the drilling. At a quarter to seven Manack phoned up to find out what progress we'd made. There were still three more drills to do, so we knocked off for the evening meal. Friar went up to the house for his. I had mine alone like a badger in my rock-hewn hole. By eight-thirty we had begun drilling again and by ten I had inserted the charges and fused the detonators. We took the compressor and all equipment back with us on the carriage out of the way of the blast. The pit had been covered over with heavy timbers.

Slim left the capstan controls as the carriage came to rest at the bottom of the main shaft and came towards us. His face looked even longer than usual. 'Got some bad news for you.' he said to Captain Manack.

'What is it?' Manack asked.

'Dave's turned up.'

'Dave? At Cripples' Ease?'

Slim nodded.

The bloody fool!' Manack was beside himself with fury. 'I warned him that if there was ever any trouble he wasn't to come near the place. God! Where is he now? Not up at the house. I hope?'

'No,' Slim replied. 'He had that much sense. He came straight to the mine. I put him in the bolt hole where Pryce is living.'

'Good. I'll go up and have a few words with Master Tanner. He's scared, is he?'

'Scared as hell.'

'That's the trouble with Welshmen,' Manack snarled. 'Too emotional. And they dramatise everything, like the Italians. Right now I suppose he thinks he's Gypo Nolan being chased all over the streets of Dublin.' He crossed over to the gig. As the cage rattled upwards, he said nothing. But his eyes gleamed in the light of the four lamps. He'd taken his helmet off and was running his long fingers through his hair.

We followed him into the bolt hole. Bedding had been brought down and put on one of the beds. Dave was leaning against the rolled-up mattress, smoking a cigarette as we came in. He leapt to his feet when he saw Manack. His quick dark eyes roved round the rock walls. He almost cringed away as Manack went up to him.

'Well?' Manack's voice was soft, but the tone abrupt.

'I had to come,' Dave said softly. He took a puff at his cigarette. 'It was the only safe place. I never thought the Coran girl would give me away like that. I was over at Clynt's farm near Morvah. Lizzie Clynt brought me the paper herself. I didn't trust her after that. So I came here. I had to, man — don't you understand?'

'You disobeyed orders and endangered the lives of the rest of us.' Manack's voice was cold and violent. 'You'll leave for Italy on the Arisaig Monday night. In the meantime you'll live here with Pryce. And you'll stay here, do you understand? No going up to the surface. You'll stay here and you'll keep the entrance closed. I'll give you instructions, money and papers on Monday.'

He turned to me. 'See he stays down here,' he said. 'I don't trust him in his present state.'

He went out, followed by Slim and Friar. The two slabs swung to behind them. 'What did he mean by my present state?' Dave's voice was pitched high and his cigarette glowed red. 'What did he mean, man? Does he think I'm scared? I didn't come here because I was scared. Indeed I didn't. I came here because' — he hesitated and trod out his cigarette — 'because I didn't trust Lizzie Clynt. Women are the devil, you know. I've no use for them, but the one — but you've got to trust them sometimes now, haven't you? But when she showed me that paper.' He opened his gold cigarette case. It was empty. 'Have you got a cigarette, man?'

'No,' I said. 'Perhaps there are some in the food cases there.' I searched in the case I had opened and found a carton of cigarettes. 'Here you are,' I said, and tossed him over a packet of twenty.

He lit one immediately. The flame of the match shook in his hand. He got up then and pushed open the slabs of the entrance. 'I hate being shut up, don't you? I like to be able to hear what's going on outside. We'd hear the gig coming down now. wouldn't we?'

'Yes,' I said.

He was crossing towards the bed again when a muffled roar came from the depths of the mine. The ground shook slightly. Dave swung round. 'What was that?' he cried.

'Blasting,' I said. 'We're blowing in one of the galleries.'

He went quickly over to the bed and sat down as though his knees ached. A blast of air swept dust in from the gallery outside. 'What are you blasting for? Manack isn't opening up the mine, is he?'

'Just a few structural alterations,' I said.

He didn't pursue the matter. He wasn't interested. That was outside himself and he was only interested in himself. He wanted to justify his presence at Wheal Garth. He wanted to prove — to himself most of all — that he wasn't frightened. 'You know when I left you?' he said. 'Up at the Ding Dong mine?'

'Yes.'

'I went down to Morvah. That's about two miles up the coast from here. Just outside the village, on the hills, there's a farm. Belongs to a farmer called John Clynt. His wife, Lizzie, is about twenty years younger than him, you know — a lovely girl she is. I met her at a dance once and I'd go up to the farm sometimes in the daytime when I was in port. Her husband's out farming all day. Well, I went there, you see. I knew she'd hide me away for the fun of having me during the day. But how was I to know the police would find out about that woman at Lamorna? She brought the paper up to me this afternoon. I was in one of the hay lofts, you know. And one look at her face told me she'd do what Syl had done. Syl was in love with me. That's the trouble, you know. They all fall in love with me, damn them. Why is it that women can't behave rationally? Syl was jealous. I knew that. But to go and give a man away to the police! That's what I can't forgive.'

'Oh! for God's sake, shut up,' I said.

'But, look you, man, she'd no cause to do a thing like that. I never told her I loved her. But a man needs a woman now and then. It was the same with Liz. She thrust the paper at me as I lay down there in the straw waiting for her to come to me and her face was set, you know, like a piece of sculpture in a church. But for the scandal if her husband found out, she'd have been down to Morvah village right away to fetch the police. But I couldn't stay. There was murder in her eyes as she stood over me whilst I read that story in the paper. The only place I could go was Cripples' Ease. What's Manack got to grumble at? It was the most sensible thing to do. Indeed, it was the only thing to do. I'd like to get my hands on Sylvia Coran now. I'd teach her not to go sneaking to the police. I'd — " He looked up and saw that I'd picked up an electric torch and was moving towards the door. 'Where are you going?'

'Up top — to get a breath of fresh air,' I told him.

'No,' he said. 'Stay down here and talk to me, man. I'm not used to these mines. I don't like — '

'I'm going up top,' I said.

His face looked white and scared as I closed the slabs upon the lamplit gloom of that little rock chamber.

There's something about a man who's scared that always seems unwholesome. They say a dog can smell fear. Maybe that's it. But I just couldn't stay down there with Dave Tanner. I went up the raise and climbed the shaft. At the top I poked just my head over the protecting wall. The night was bright with moonlight. There was nobody around and I climbed out. The sea was all silver and the stars gleaming palely behind the dark outlines of the old engine houses. A faint rhythmic beat pulsed in the still air, it was the sound of a ship's engines. The dark outline of her showed against the silver of the sea. She glided slowly along the rim of the cliffs like a phantom.

I strolled down to the sheds of Wheal Garth and in the shadows there lit a cigarette. It was so wonderfully still and peaceful. I drank in that stillness. This world of moonlight seemed so remote from that other world — the world in which Dave Tanner was scared and —. I pushed the other thoughts out of my mind. The moonlight and the stars and the stillness with the rhythmic beat of the ship's engine like a distant tom-tom — that for the moment was reality, not the rest.

The moonlight and the peaceful beauty of the place made me restless. I turned and climbed up the slope behind me. My boots rustled on the heather, scaring rabbits into their burrows. It was only when I came within sight of Cripples' Ease that I stopped to think why I was walking towards the house. Then I knew I was going to see Kitty. I needed her shy understanding. I wanted her sympathy. Not only that. There was more I wanted. The blood tingled in my veins. I wanted to see her smile, to make her aware that I was a man — not just Miss Nearne's son.

I went on, walking fast across the old workings. There was nobody about. The headland was all white in the moonlight. And the house, which had looked so grim in the storm that first night, was white too. I tried to avoid looking at that little dormer window in the roof. But it seemed to watch me as I went past the front of the house and into the yard.

I reached the kitchen by the scullery door. Kitty was sitting beside the open range, her head bent over a book. The old woman sat opposite her, mending some socks. They looked up as I came in. Kitty jumped to her feet. Her cheeks were red with the heat of the fire. 'What are you doing here?' she asked.

I hesitated. 'I came to see you,' I said.

'Came to see me?' She seemed surprised and her eyes dropped to the book in her hand. She put it down on the table. 'What do you want to see me about?' Her voice had a slight tremor in it.

'I just felt lonely,' I said quickly. 'It's such a lovely night and — and I wanted somebody to talk to,' I added lamely.

'There's Slim and Friar through there, if you want company,' she added. 'But you shouldn't be up here.'

'I don't want to talk to either Slim or Friar,' I told her. 'I want to talk to you.'

She looked down and her fingers turned the leaves of the book she had been reading. 'You shouldn't be up here,' was all she said.

'I know that,' I answered. 'Look — take a stroll down to the headland in a short while, will you? I'll meet you down by the mine.'

She didn't answer. But the old woman looked up from her darning and said, 'There's a nice moon, dearie, and the walk will do 'ee good.'

'Will you?' I asked again.

'Maybe,' she said very quietly.

Footsteps sounded in the corridor. She looked up, startled. They didn't turn off towards the front door but came straight on to the kitchen. The door opened. It was Old Manack. He stopped there in the doorway. His pale eyes glittered in the lamplight. My hands clenched automatically and I felt a violent desire to take him by his beard and fling him over Botallack Head where my mother had gone. He must have seen the violence in my eyes, for he stared at me as though fascinated by what he saw. A sound broke through my clenched teeth. It wasn't speech, it was just a sound. Fear snowed in his eyes, but only for a second. Then they narrowed cunningly and I swear he smiled in his beard. I started towards him then. I don't know what I intended to do, but I wanted to get hold of him. Kitty caught hold of my arm and he quickly closed the door. I stood there, sweating in the warm kitchen, and listening to his footsteps going down the corridor to the front door.

'Don't do anything, please,' Kitty said. 'Go back to Wheal Garth. I'll come down to you there, just as soon as I've cleared the supper things away. I promise,' she added.

I looked down at her. I'd forgotten all about my need of her in that sudden surge of rage. I could feel her body close against me as she held my arm. She stepped back. I suddenly felt cold and drained. She was watching me, wondering what I was going to do. Her face was pale and her breath was coming fast through her half-open lips. 'Guess I'd better go,' I said. 'I'll wait for you at the mine.'

She nodded and turned away towards the range. I went out again into the moonlight. I could hear Friar's voice behind the curtained windows of the outhouse dining-room. I went round the house and started towards Wheal Garth. And then I stopped. Directly ahead of me, in black silhouette against the silver of the sea, I saw Old Manack going down towards the mine.

My muscles tensed. If the swine were going down the mine. I'd have him there. But he wouldn't be such a fool. Surely he wouldn't be such a fool. I waited tense with excitement, until his figure disappeared down the dip of the slope. I crossed the old mine workings then and from the top of the slope I watched him making for the sheds. Once he stopped and looked back almost as though he feared I might be following him. I dropped close to the ground. He hadn't seen me, for he went on and, when he reached the mine, he went into the store shed. I scrambled down the slope. When he came out again, I was concealed amongst the gorse that surrounded the shaft to the hideout. He had a helmet and overalls on and he carried a lamp. But he didn't go to the hoist. He went on down the slope.

He was making straight for the shaft he used — the shaft where his wife had been killed. The rim of its protecting wall showed like a ghostly circle amongst the brambles. I could have laughed aloud. To play right into my hands like this! I'd get the truth from him now. I'd wring it out of him down there in the bowels of his own damned mine.

The old man had reached the top of the shaft now. He turned and glanced about him. It was a furtive glance. He wanted to be unobserved. What the hell was he doing going down the mine at this time of night? And why did he use that shaft? What fatal fascination was there for him in that place? And then another thought flashed into my mind. A man who could cold-bloodedly throw a dog down a shaft was capable of anything. That thought was to recur more than once before the night was out.

Satisfied that no one was watching him, Manack climbed over the protecting wall. He stood for a moment on the inside, his head and shoulders visible as he looked up towards the house. Then he disappeared.

I didn't stop to think. I'd forgotten all about Kitty. I had my torch. I could be down in the main adit as soon as he was. I ran to the hoist and tumbled into the gig, flinging the lever over as I shut the door. And slowly the cage sank into the dripping darkness of Wheal Garth.