Fatal Venture Read Free Page A

winter storms in the Western Ocean is one thing, and summer cruising at half speed in sheltered waters not more than thirty miles from land is quite another.”
    “Would you get a certificate?” Morrison asked dubiously. “I doubt if the Board of Trade would grant it, or Lloyd’s either.”
    “I’ve enquired into that. I’m told they would: for that limited work. But leave that for the moment and consider costs. The ship is bought, say, for a hundred thousand. Another hundred thousand is spent in overhaul and decorations. That is, she costs two hundred thousand instead of two and a half million.”
    Morrison shook his head. “That sounds right enough, but there’s one thing you’ve forgotten.”
    “What’s that?”
    “The two and a half million ship will last twenty years. Yours at two hundred thousand won’t last five.”
    “I think she’d last twenty under the conditions I’ve named – always in sheltered waters and never at more than half speed. There are plenty of steamers forty years old and more still plying under such conditions. However, let’s take ten for argument’s sake. I make interest and sinking fund forty thousand a year, or say, fifteen shillings a week per passenger. That’s a saving of nearly six pound ten per passenger per week.”
    Morrison figured again. “That’s correct, so far as it goes.”
    “Then there’s fuel. I don’t know what the oil would cost for running her at full speed, but I’m told about fourteen thousand pounds per week. Now I estimate my scheme would save sixty-six percent of this. First, if you run her at half speed, you save a lot more than half the fuel, and then on this cruising she’d lie a lot at anchor. There’d be stops during the day for shore excursions, and at night where beauty spots lay close together. Say, however, you only saved nine thousand a week: that would be four pounds ten per week per passenger.”
    “Good God!” Morrison exclaimed, overawed by these figures.
    “Then, of course, the working of the ship would cost less. With the easier conditions, I should hope for a small saving in both deck and engineering staffs. I’d carry only about half her complement of passengers and that would mean a big saving in food and stewards. Then, again, the food would be simpler and cheaper. I don’t know what these would come to, but say another pound per passenger per week.”
    “You mean a total saving of some twelve pounds per passenger per week?”
    “Yes, but it’s not quite so good as it looks. There are items on the other side. Harbour dues, for instance, or, alternatively, the hire of tenders. I’m only speaking very approximately.”
    Morrison felt that Bristow was wrong to limit the number of passengers to be carried, but before he could say so, there came an interruption. A little group of people appeared moving along the corridor, an early contingent from the first lunch. One of these, a flamboyant-looking woman, was talking vivaciously. “Ach, no!” she said in English as she passed the compartment, “I must have the monkey!” She moved on and her further words were lost.
    The incongruous phrase, thrust into the serious discussion on marine transport costs, struck Morrison. Involuntarily, he stopped to listen. Evidently their fellow traveller was similarly affected. Morrison, glancing across the compartment, happened to notice him open an interested eye, look at the speaker, close it again, and remain motionless as if still asleep.
    A little qualm of doubt passed through Morrison’s mind. Had the man been awake long? Had he heard Bristow’s scheme?
    Morrison did not think he could. Bristow had not spoken loudly and the man was the whole length of the seat from him. The coach, admittedly, was running silently, yet even the best coach makes a fair noise at seventy miles an hour. No, it was all right. Nothing could have been heard.
    All the same, Morrison noted again the label hanging from the suitcase above the man’s head: