Part 41 (1/2)

THE WRECK AT DORBY

A small group of people stood surveying the wreck of one of the great construction docks in the Dorby yards. Prominent among them were Sir Andrew Farlow and his son. They were standing beside a naval officer of considerable rank. A number of naval uniforms stood out from the rest of the civilians; but these were of lesser degree.

The sky was heavily overcast. A light, penetrating drizzle of rain was falling. Somehow these things seemed to add to the sense of destruction prevailing.

The corrugated iron roof--thousands of square feet of it--was lying tumbled and torn upon a tangle of fallen steel girders. Great slabs of ferro-concrete walls loomed grey amidst the chaos. Steel stanchions of great height and strength, used to support the roofing, lay about, bent or broken, like so much lead piping. The ma.s.s of wreckage was stupendous, and through it all, and beyond it, towards the water's edge, the rigid steel ribs of twin vessels stood up defiantly, as though indifferent to the fierce upheaval which had wrecked their cradles.

Ruxton pointed at the latter.

”They've wrecked everything but what they set out to wreck.”

He had voiced a general thought. There was no answer to his comment.

The naval commander displayed his feelings in the almost childlike regret in his eyes. The wrecking of anything in the shape of sea craft smote him to the heart. It was no question of values to him. The sea and all that belonged to it were the precious things of life to him.

Sir Andrew frowned down upon the scene. His strong Yorks.h.i.+re features were sternly set.

”It means two weeks' delay. That is all.” Sir Andrew's words were the outcome of his resolve.

”All of that,” said the commander. ”It's curious,” he reflected. ”It suggests inexperience or--great hurry. What of the offices?”

”You mean the drawing office?” Sir Andrew's lips set grimly as he glanced in Ruxton's direction.

”Burnt to a cinder and scattered to the four winds.” Ruxton emitted a sound like a laugh deprived of all mirth.

”The drawings?” The commander's eyes were gravely enquiring.

”Not a drawing or tracing saved. Not a single working plan. Complete.

Oh, yes, complete. But----”

”But?” The concern had deepened in the officer's eyes.

Ruxton shrugged.

”We have duplicates and triplicates of everything, besides the originals. They must take us for babes or--imbeciles.”

The officer was relieved. He even smiled.

”A good many do that. Well, they have told us their intentions pretty plainly. They'll get no second opportunity unless they've a staff of miracle workers. Shall you be present at the enquiry this afternoon, Sir Andrew?”

Sir Andrew signified a.s.sent. Then he asked:

”What about the inquest?”

”To-morrow morning,” one of his own staff informed him.

”Four deaths. Seven injured.” It was the officer again who spoke. ”Two of them my men. The others operatives. One of the injured is believed to be a foreigner. If he is fit to give evidence it may be interesting.”

The talk ceased. There was nothing more to be said. The wrecking was complete. No further talk could serve them.

Presently Sir Andrew moved away. His resentment outweighed his regrets.