'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!'