The sea mystery

by Freeman Wills Crofts

“Good Heavens! They’ll never row against that current!” French exclaimed, aghast at the rushing flood.

“They’re not going to try,” Nield declared. “This is what I’ve arranged with Manners. He has an extra-long painter fixed to his boat. We’ll get the end up on the bridge and tie it to the crate. Then we’ll throw crate and rope over together and Manners can pull the slack of the rope into the boat and float down beside the crate.”

“Right. Let me get into the boat first and then carry on.”

French scrambled down the stone pitching of the bank and with some difficulty got aboard. The rope had been passed up to the bridge and was now worked across till the boat was nearly in midstream. Even with the help of the oarsmen it was all those above could do to hold on. Then the crate appeared rising slowly on to the parapet. Presently it turned over and fell, the rope being thrown clear at the same time.

The crate entered the water with a mighty splash, drenching the boat with spray and disappearing momentarily beneath the surface. Then it came up again, and bobbing about like some ungainly animal, began to move quickly downstream. The boatmen rowed after it, while Manners hurriedly pulled in the slack of the rope.

After the first few plunges the crate settled down on what might be called an even keel, floating placidly down the estuary. They were rapidly approaching the railway bridge, the roar of the water through the piles being already audible. The passage was not without danger and the oarsmen worked hard to keep the boat clear of the piles and to ensure its passing through the same opening as the crate. Then with a rush they were through and floating in the calm water beyond.

French enjoyed that unconventional trip down the Inlet. Apart from the interest of the quest, the glorious weather and the charming scenery made it a delightful excursion. Borne on by the current, they first hugged the salt marshes of the northern shore, then heading out towards midchannel, they passed the post on Careg-ddu and rounded the point at the Llanelly rifle range. They kept inside the long training-bank or breakwater and, passing the entrance to Llanelly harbour, stood out towards the open sea. From the water the highlands north and south looked rugged and picturesque, and even the dingy buildings of the town became idealised and seemed to fit their setting. French took frequent bearings so as to be able to plot their course on the map.

The crate had been settling down steadily, and now only about two inches of freeboard showed, every tiny wavelet washing over it. The rope had been carefully coiled so as to run out easily when the time came. Presently the crate was entirely awash and the air escaping through the upper holes bubbled as the little surges covered them. Then it was below the surface, showing like a phantom under the waves. At last, just one hour and seven minutes after they had left the bridge, it slowly vanished from sight and the rope began to run out.

“That will do,” French said as soon as he had taken bearings. “That’s all I want. We may haul it up and get ashore.”

They followed the example set by Mr. Morgan, and pulling up the crate until the top was showing beneath the surface, made the rope fast to the after-thwart and pulled for the Burry Port harbour. There they beached their burden, the sergeant undertaking to salve it when the tide fell.