Collected works of j s f.., p.347
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 347
CHAPTER XXIV
THE TORPEDO-BOAT DESTROYER
BEFORE VICKERS AND his companions had recovered from the surprise which this extraordinary cool message had given them, the men had bundled Chatfield across the beach and into the boat and were pulling quickly back to the Pike.
Audrey broke the silence with a ringing laugh.
“Captain Andrius is certainly the perfection of polite pirates,” she exclaimed. “More food — more wraps — and books and papers! Was any marooned mariner ever one-half so well treated?”
“What’s the fellow mean about no vessel passing here for two more days?” growled Copplestone, who was glaring angrily at the yacht. “What’s he so meticulously correct for?”
“I should say that he’s referring to some weekly or bi-weekly steamer which runs between Kirkwall and the mainland,” replied Vickers. “Well — it’s good to know that, anyhow. But wait until the Pike’s vamoosed again, and we’ll make up such a column of smoke that it’ll be seen for many a mile. In fact, I’ll go and gather a lot of dried stuff now — you two can drag those boxes and things up the beach and see what our gaolers have been good enough to send us.”
He went away up the cliffs, and Audrey and Copplestone, once more left alone, looked at each other and laughed.
“That’s right,” said Copplestone. “What I like about you is that you take things that way.”
“Is it any use taking them any other way?” she asked. “Besides I’ve never been at all frightened nor particularly concerned. I’ve always felt that we were only put here so that we should be out of the way while our captors got safely away with their booty, and as regards my mother, I know her well enough to feel sure that she quickly sized things up, and that she’ll have taken measures of her own. Don’t be surprised if we’re rescued through her means or if she has set somebody to work to catch the predatory Pike.”
“Good!” said Copplestone. “But as regards the Pike, I wonder if you observed something during the few minutes she was here. I’m sure Vickers didn’t — he was too busy, watching Chatfield.”
“So was I,” replied Audrey. “What was it?”
“I believe I’m unusually observant,” answered Copplestone. “I seem to see things — all at once, don’t you know. I saw that since we made her acquaintance — and were unceremoniously bundled off her — the Pike has got a new and quite different coat of paint. And I daresay she’s changed her name, too. From all of which I argue that when they got rid of us here, the people who are working all this slipped quietly back to some cove or creek on the Scotch coast, did a stiff turn at repainting, and meant to be off to the other side of the world under new colours. And while this was going on, Andrius, or his co-villain, found time to examine those chests that Chatfield told us of, and when they found that Chatfield had done them, they came back here quick. Now they’re off to make him reveal the whereabouts of the real chests.”
“Won’t they be rather running their necks into a noose?” suggested Audrey. “I’m dead certain that my mother will have raised a hue and cry after them.”
“They’re cute enough,” said Copplestone. “Anyway, they’ll run a good many risks for the sake of fifty thousand pounds. What they may do is to run into some very quiet inlet — there are hundreds on these northern coasts — and take Chatfield to his hiding-place. Chatfield’s like all scoundrels of his type — a horrible coward if a pistol’s held to his head. Now they’ve got him, they’ll force him to disgorge. Hang this compulsory inactivity! — my nerves are all a-tingle to get going at things!”
“Let’s occupy ourselves with the things our generous gaolers have been kind enough to send us, then,” suggested Audrey. “We’d better carry them up to our shelter.”
Copplestone went down to the things which the boat’s crew had deposited on the beach — a couple of small packing-cases, a bundle of wraps and cushions, and some books, magazines and newspapers. He picked up a paper with a cry which suggested a discovery of importance.
“Look at that!” he exclaimed. “Do you see? A Scotsman! Today’s date! And here — Aberdeen Free Press — same date!”
“Well?” asked Audrey. “And what then?”
“What then?” demanded Copplestone. “Where are your powers of deduction? Why, that shows that the Pike was somewhere this morning where she could get the morning papers from Aberdeen and Edinburgh — therefore, she’s been, as I suggested, somewhere on the Scotch coast all night. It’s now noon — she’s a fast sailer — I guess she’s been within sixty miles of us ever since she left us.”
“Isn’t it more pertinent to speculate on where she’ll be when we want to find her?” asked Audrey.
“More pertinent still to wonder when somebody will come to find us,” answered Copplestone as he shouldered one of the cases. “However, there’s a certain joy in uncertainty, so they say — we’re tasting it.”
The joys of uncertainty, however, were not to endure. They had scarcely completed the task of carrying up the newly-arrived stores to the shelter which they had made in an angle of the rocks when Vickers hailed them from a spur of the cliffs and waved his arms excitedly.
“I say, you two!” he shouted. “There’s a craft coming — from the south-west. Come up! There!” he added, a few minutes later, when they arrived, breathless, at his side. “Out yonder — a mere black blot — but unmistakable! Do you know what that is, either of you? You don’t? All right, I do — ought to, because I’m a R.N.V.R. man myself. That’s a T.B.D., my friends! — torpedo-boat destroyer. What’s more, far off as she is, my experienced eye and sure knowledge tell me exactly what she is. She’s a class H. boat built last year — oil fuel — turbines — runs up to thirty knots — and she’s doing ’em, too, just now! Come on, Copplestone — more stuff on this fire!”
“I don’t think we need be uneasy,” said Copplestone. “Miss Greyle thinks that her mother will have raised a hue and cry after the Pike. This torpedo thing is probably looking round for us. She — what’s that?”
The sudden sharp crack of a gun came across the calm surface of the sea, and the watchers turning from their fire towards the black object in the distance saw a cloud of white smoke drifting away from it.
“Hooray!” shouted Vickers. “She’s seen our smoke-pillar! Shove more on, just to let her know we understand. Saved! — this time, anyway.”
Half-an-hour later, a spick and span and eminently youthful-looking naval lieutenant raised his cap to the three folk who stood eagerly awaiting his approach at the edge of the surf.
“Miss Greyle? Mr. Vickers? Mr. Copplestone?” he asked as he sprang from his boat and came up. “Right! — we’re searching for you — had wireless messages this morning. Where’s the pirate, or whatever he is?”
“Somewhere away to the southward,” answered Vickers, pointing into the haze. “He was here two hours ago — but he’s about as fast as they make ’em, and he’s good reason to show a clean pair of heels. However, we’ve ample grounds for believing him to have gone due south again. Where are you from?”
“Got the message off Dunnett Head, and we’ll run you to Thurso,” replied the rescuer, motioning them to enter the boat. “Come on — our commander’s got some word or other for you. What’s all this been?” he went on, gazing at Audrey with youthful assurance as they moved away from the shore. “You don’t mean to say you’ve actually been kidnapped?”
“Kidnapped and marooned,” replied Vickers. “And I hope you’ll catch our kidnapper — he’s got a tremendous amount of property on him which belongs to this lady, and he’ll make tracks for the other side of the Atlantic as soon as he gets hold of some more which he’s gone to collect.”
The lieutenant regarded Audrey with still more interest. “Oh, all right,” he said confidently. “He’ll not get away. I guess they’ve wirelessed all over the place — our message was from the Admiralty!”
“That’s Sir Cresswell’s doing,” said Copplestone, turning to Audrey. “Your mother must have wired to him. I wonder what the message is?” he asked, facing the lieutenant. “Do you know?”
“Something about if you’re found to tell you to get south as fast as possible,” he answered. “And we’ve worked that out for you. You can get on by train from Thurso to Inverness, and from Inverness, of course, you’ll get the southern express. Well put you off at Thurso by two o’clock — just time to give you such lunch as our table affords — bit rough, you know. So you’ve really been all night on that island?” he went on with unaffected curiosity. “What a lark!”
“You’d have had an opportunity of studying character if you’d been with us,” replied Vickers. “We lost a fine specimen of humanity two hours ago.”
“Tell about it aboard,” said the lieutenant. “We’ll be thankful — we’ve been round this end-of-everywhere coast for a month and we’re tired. It’s quite a Godsend to have a little adventure.”
Copplestone had been right in surmising that Sir Cresswell Oliver had bestirred himself to find him and his companions. They were presently shown his message. They were to get to Norcaster as quickly as possible, and to wire their whereabouts as soon as they were found. If, as seemed likely, they were picked up on the north coast of Scotland, they were to ask at Inverness railway station for telegrams. And to Inverness after being landed at Thurso they betook themselves, while the torpedo-boat destroyer set off to nose round for the Pike, in case she came that way back from wherever she had gone to.
Copplestone came out of the station-master’s office at Inverness with a couple of telegrams and read their contents over to his companions in the dining-room to which they adjourned.
“This is from Mrs. Greyle,” he said. “‘All right and much relieved by wire from Thurso. Bring Audrey home as quick as possible.’ That’s good! And this — Great Scott! This is from Gilling! Listen!— ‘Just heard from Petherton of your rescue. Come straight and sharp Norcaster. Meet me at the “Angel.” Big things afoot. Spurge most anxious see you. Important news. Gilling.’ So things have been going on,” he concluded, turning the second telegram over to Vickers. “I suppose we’ll have to travel all night?”
“Night express in an hour,” replied Vickers. “We shall make Norcaster about five-thirty tomorrow morning.”
“Then let us wire the time of our arrival to Gilling. I’m anxious to know what has brought him up there,” said Copplestone. “And we’ll wire to Mrs. Greyle, too,” he added, turning to Audrey. “She’ll know then that you’re absolutely on the way.”
“I wonder what we’re on the way to?” remarked Vickers with a grim smile. “It strikes me that our recent alarms and excursions will have been as nothing to what awaits us at Norcaster.”
What did await them on a cold, dismal morning at Norcaster was Gilling, stamping up and down a windswept platform. And Gilling seized on Copplestone almost before he could alight from the train.
“Come to the ‘Angel’ straight off!” he said. “Mrs. Greyle’s there awaiting her daughter. I’ve work for you and Vickers at once — that chap Spurge is somewhere about the ‘Angel,’ too — been hanging round there since yesterday, heavy with news that he’ll give to nobody but you.”
CHAPTER XXV
THE SQUIRE
SUCH OF THE folk of the “Angel” hotel — a night porter, a waiter, a chamber-maid — as were up and about that grey morning, wondered why the two old gentlemen who had arrived from London the day before should rise from their beds to hold a secret and mysterious conference with the three young ones who, with a charming if tired-looking young lady, drove up before the city clocks had struck six. But Sir Cresswell Oliver and Mr. Petherton knew that there was no time to be lost, and as soon as Audrey had been restored to and carried off by her mother to Mrs. Greyle’s room, they summoned Vickers and Copplestone to a private parlour and demanded their latest news. Sir Cresswell listened eagerly, and in silence, until Copplestone described the return of the Pike; at that he broke his silence.
“That’s precisely what I feared!” he exclaimed. “Of course, if she’s been hurriedly repainted and renamed, she stands a fair chance of getting away. Our instructions to the patrol boats up there are to look for a certain vessel, the Pike — naturally they won’t look for anything else. We must get the wireless to work at once.”
“But there’s this,” said Copplestone. “They certainly fetched old Chatfield to make him hand over the gold! They won’t go away without that! And he said that he’d hidden the gold somewhere near Scarhaven. Therefore, they’ll have to come down this coast to get it.”
“Not necessarily,” replied Sir Cresswell, with a knowing shake of the head. “You may be sure they’re alive to all the exigencies of the situation. They could do several things once they’d got Chatfield on board again. Some of them could land with him at some convenient port and make him take them to where he’s hidden the money; they could recapture that and go off to some other port, to which the yacht had meanwhile been brought round. If we only knew where Chatfield had planted that money—”
“He said near Scarhaven, unmistakably,” remarked Vickers.
“Near Scarhaven!” repeated Sir Cresswell, laughing dismally. “That’s a wide term — a very wide one. Behind Scarhaven, as you all know, are hills and moors and valleys and ravines in which one could hide a Dreadnought! Well, that’s all I can think of — getting into communication with patrol boats and coastguard stations all along the coast between here and Wick. And that mayn’t be the least good. Somebody may have escorted Chatfield ashore after they left you yesterday, brought him hereabouts by rail or motor-car, and the yacht may have made a wide detour round the Shetlands and be now well on her way to the North Atlantic.”
“But in that case — the money?” asked Copplestone.
“They would get hold of the money, take it clean away, and ship it from Liverpool, or Glasgow, or — anywhere,” replied Sir Cresswell. “You may be sure they’ve plenty of resources at command, and that they’ll work secretly. Of course, we must keep a look out round about here for any sign or reappearance of Chatfield, but, as I say, this country is so wild that he and his companions can easily elude observation, especially as they’re sure to come by night. Still, we must do what we can, and at once. But first, there are one or two things I want to ask you young men — you said, Mr. Vickers, that Chatfield solemnly insisted to you that he did not know that the man who had posed as Marston Greyle was not Marston Greyle?”
“He did,” replied Vickers, “and though Chatfield is an unmitigated old scoundrel, I believe him.”
“You do!” exclaimed Gilling, who was listening eagerly. “Oh, come!”
“I do — as a professional man,” answered Vickers, stoutly, and with an appealing glance at his brother solicitor. “Mr. Petherton will tell you that we lawyers have a curious gift of intuition. With all Chatfield’s badness, I do really believe that the old fellow does not know whether the man we’ll call the Squire is Marston Greyle or not! He’s doubtful — he’s puzzled — but he doesn’t know.”
“Odd!” murmured Sir Cresswell, after a minute’s silence. “Odd! Very, very odd! That shows that there’s still some extraordinary mystery about this which we haven’t even guessed at. Well, now, another question — you got the idea that some one else was aboard the yacht?”
“Some one other than Andrius — in authority — yes!” answered Vickers. “We certainly thought that.”
“Did you think it was the man we know as the Squire?” asked Sir Cresswell.
“We had a notion that he might be there,” replied Vickers, with a glance at Copplestone. “Especially after what happened to Chatfield. Of course, we never saw him, or heard his voice, or saw a sign of him. Still, we fancied—”
Sir Cresswell rose from his chair and motioned to Petherton.
“Well,” he said, “I think you and I, Petherton, had better complete our toilets, and then give a look in at the authorities here and find out if anything has been received by wireless or from the coastguard stations about the yacht. In the meantime,” he added, turning to Vickers and Copplestone, “Gilling can tell you what’s been going on in your absence — you’ll learn from it that our impression is that the Squire, as we call him, was on the Pike with you.”
The two elder men went away, and Copplestone turned to Gilling.
“What have you got?” he asked eagerly. “Live news!”
“Might have been livelier and more satisfactory,” answered Gilling, “if it hadn’t been for the factor which none of us can help — luck! We tracked the Squire.”
“You did?” exclaimed Copplestone. “Where?”
“When I said we I should have said Swallow,” continued Gilling. “You remember that afternoon of our return from Bristol, Copplestone? It seems ages away now, though as a matter of time it’s only four days ago! — Well, that afternoon Swallow, who had had two or three more keeping a sharp look out for the Squire, got a telephone message from one of ’em saying that he’d tracked his man to the Fragonard Club. I’d gone home to my chambers, to rest a bit after our adventures at Bristol and Falmouth, so Swallow had to act on his own initiative. He set off for the Fragonard Club, and outside it met his man. This particular man had been keeping a watch for days on that tobacconist’s shop in Wardour Street. That afternoon he suddenly saw the Squire leave it, by a side door. He followed him to the Fragonard Club, watched him enter; then he himself turned into a neighbouring bar and telephoned to Swallow. The Squire was still in the Fragonard when Swallow got there: from that time he kept a watch. The Squire remained in the Club for an hour—”
