NO ADMISSION

WITHOUT SHIP'S BUSINESS

By order S. Jaabeck, Master.

Alan unhooked the chain and stepped beyond it. He had gone a few feet towards a steel doorway when a voice hailed him.

'You see the notice! No more reporters!'

Alan turned. The man approaching along the deck was in his mid-thirties, tall and wiry. He wore a rumpled brown suit and had a stubble of beard. His accent, by its slurred r's, was Scandinavian.

'I'm not a reporter,' Alan said. 'I'd like to see the captain.' 'The captain is busy. I am third officer.' The tall man gave a catarrhal cough, cleared his throat, and spat neatly over the side.

'That's a nasty cold you have,' Alan said.

'Ach! It is this country of yours – damp and chill. In my home, Sweden, it is cold too, but the air is sharp like a knife. Why do you wish the captain?'

'I'm a lawyer,' Alan said. 'I came to see if I could help this stowaway of yours, Henri Duval.'

'Duval! Duval! Suddenly it is all Duval; he becomes the most important thing here. Well, you will not help him. We are – how is it said? – stuck? He will be with us until the ship sinks.' The tall man grinned sardonically. 'Look around you; it will not be long.'

Alan surveyed the rust and peeling paintwork. He sniffed; the decaying cabbage smell was strong, 'Yes,' he said, 'I see what you mean.'

'Well,' the tall man said. 'Perhaps, since you are not a reporter, the captain will see you.' He beckoned. 'Come! As a Christmas gift I shall take you to him.'

The captain's cabin was suffocatingly hot. Its owner evidently liked it that way because both portholes on to the outside deck, Alan noticed, were clamped tightly shut. The air was also thick with the smoke from strong tobacco.

Captain Jaabeck, in shirt sleeves and old-fashioned carpet slippers, rose from a leather chair as Alan came in. He had been reading a book – a heavy volume – which he put down.

'It was good of you to see me,' Alan said. 'My name is

Maitland.'

'And I am Sigurd Jaabeck.' The captain extended a gnarled, hairy hand. 'My third officer says you are a lawyer.'

'That's right,' Alan acknowledged. 'I read about your stowaway and came to see if I could help.'

'Sit down, please.' The captain indicated a chair and resumed his own. In contrast to the rest of the ship, Alan noticed, the cabin was comfortable and clean, its woodwork and brass gleaming. There was mahogany panelling on three sides, with green leather chairs, a small dining-table, and a polished roll-top desk. A curtained doorway led to what was presumably a bedroom. Alan's eyes moved round, then settled curiously on the book the captain had put down.

'It is Dostoevsky,' Captain Jaabeck said. 'Crime and Punishment.'

'You're reading it in the original Russian,' Alan said, surprised.

'Very slowly, I fear,' the captain said. 'Russian is a language

I do not read well.' He picked up a pipe from an ashtray, knocked out the bowl, and began to refill it. 'Dostoevsky believes there is always justice in the end.'

'Don't you?' 'Sometimes one cannot wait so long. Especially when young.'

'Like Henri Duval?'

The captain pondered, sucking at his pipe. 'What can you hope to do? He is a nobody. He does not exist.'

'Perhaps nothing,' Alan said. 'All the same, I'd like to talk with him. People have become interested, and some would like to help him if they could.'

Captain Jaabeck regarded Alan quizzically. 'Will this interest last? Or is my young stowaway what you call a nine days' wonder?'

'H he is,' Alan said, 'there are seven days left.' Again the captain paused before responding. Then he said carefully, 'You understand it is my duty to be rid of this man. Stowaways cost money to feed and there is little enough money nowadays in running a ship. Profits are low, the owners say, and therefore we must use economy. You have already seen the condition of the ship.'

'I understand that. Captain.'

'But this young man has been with me for twenty months. In that time one forms, shall we say, opinions, even attachments.' The voice was slow and ponderous. 'The boy has not had a good life, perhaps he will never have one, and I suppose it is no affair of mine. And yet I would not like to see his hopes raised, then destroyed cruelly.'

'I can only tell you again,' Alan said, 'that there are people who would like to see him given a chance here. It may not be possible, but if no one tries we shall never know.'

'That is true.' The captain nodded. 'Very well, Mr Maitland, I will send for Duval and you may talk here. Would you like to be alone?'

'No,' Alan said. 'I'd prefer it if you stayed.'

Henri Duval stood in the doorway nervously. His eyes took in Alan Maitland, then darted to Captain Jaabeck.

The captain motioned Duval inside. 'You need not be afraid. This gentleman, Mr Maitland, is a lawyer. He has come to help you.'

'I read about you yesterday,' Alan said, smiling. He offered his hand and the stowaway took it uncertainly. Alan noticed that he was younger even than the newspaper picture had made him seem, and that his deep-set eyes held an uneasy wariness. He was wearing denims and a darned seaman's jersey.

'It was good, what was written. Yes?' The stowaway asked the question anxiously.

'It was very good,' Alan said. 'I came to find out how much of it was true.'

'It all true! I tell truth!' The expression was injured, as if an accusation had been hurled. Alan thought: I must choose my words more carefully.

'I'm sure you do,' he said placatingly. 'What I meant was whether the newspaper had got everything right.'

'I not understand.' Duval shook his head, his expression still hurt.

'Let's forget it for the moment,' Alan said. He had made a bad start, it seemed. Now he went on, 'The captain told you I am a lawyer. If you would like me to, I will represent you and try to bring your case before the courts of our country.'

Henri Duval glanced from Alan to the captain. 'I have not money. I cannot pay lawyer.'

'There would be nothing to pay,' Alan said.

'Then who pay?' Again the wariness.

'Someone else will pay.'

The captain interjected, 'Is there any reason you cannot tell him who, Mr Maitland?'

'Yes,' Alan said. 'My instructions are not to reveal the person's name. I can only tell you it is someone who is sympa-thetic and would like to help.'

'There are sometimes good people,' the captain said. Apparently satisfied, he nodded reassuringly to Duval.

Remembering Senator Deveraux and the Senator's motives, Alan had a momentary qualm of conscience. He stilled it, reminding himself of the terms he had insisted on.

'If I stay, I work,' Henri Duval insisted, 'I earn money. I pay back all.'

'Well,' Alan said, 'I expect you could do that if you wanted.'

'I pay back.' The young man's face mirrored eagerness. For the moment mistrust had gone.

'I have to tell you, of course,' Alan said, 'there may be nothing I can do. You understand that?'

Duval appeared puzzled. The captain explained, 'Mr Maitland will do his best. But perhaps the Immigration will say no… as before.'

Duval nodded slowly. 'I understand.'

'One thing occurs to me. Captain Jaabeck,' Alan said. 'Have you, since coming here, taken Henri to the Immigration Department and asked for an official hearing of his application to land?'

'An immigration officer was aboard my ship…'

'No,' Alan insisted, 'I mean apart from that. Have you taken him to the Immigration Building and demanded an official inquiry?'

'What is the good?' The captain shrugged. 'It is always one answer. Besides, in port there is so little time and I have many attentions for the ship. Today is the Christmas holiday. That is why I read Dostoevsky.'