Collected works of j s f.., p.538
Collected Works of J S Fletcher, page 538
“They’re going to board her!” I exclaimed. “I wonder what they’ll find?”
“Dead men!” answered Miss Raven, quietly.
“What else? After all that shooting! I should think that man who’s just got away was the last.”
“There was a man left on board who fired at him — and at whom he fired back,” I pointed.
“Yes — and who never fired again,” she retorted. “They must all — oh!”
She interrupted herself with a sharp exclamation, and turning from watching the blue-jackets and their boat I saw that she was staring at the yawl. From its forecastle a black column of smoke suddenly shot up, followed by a great lick of flame.
“Good heavens!” I exclaimed. “The yawl’s on fire!”
I guessed then at what had probably happened. The man who had just disappeared with his boat behind the spit of land further along the cove had in all likelihood been one of two survivors of the fight which had taken place in the early hours of the morning. He had wished to get away by himself, had set fire to the yawl, and sneaked away in the only boat, exchanging shots with the man left behind and probably killing him with the last one. And now — there was smoke and flame above what was doubtless a shambles.
But by that time the boat’s crew from the destroyer had crossed the bar and entered the cove and the vigorously impelled oars were flashing fast in the sheltered waters. The boat disappeared behind the drifting smoke that poured out of the yawl — presently we saw figures hurrying hither and thither about her deck.
“They may be in time to get the fire under,” I said. “Better, perhaps, if they let the whole thing burn itself out. It would burn up a lot of villainy.”
“Here are people coming along the beach,” remarked Miss Raven, suddenly. “Look! They must have seen the smoke rising.”
I turned in the direction in which she was looking, and saw, on the strip of land and pebble, beneath the woods, a group of figures, standing at that moment and staring in the direction of the burning ship, which had evidently just rounded the extreme point of the cove at its southern confines. There were several figures in the group, and two were mounted. Presently these moved forward in our direction, at a smart pace; before they had gone far, I recognized the riders.
“A search party!” I exclaimed. “Look — that’s Mr. Raven, in front, and surely that’s Lorrimore, behind him. They’re looking for us.”
She gazed at the approaching figures for a moment, shielding her eyes from the already strong glare of the mounting sun, then ran forward along the shingle to meet them; I followed as rapidly as my improvised foot-wear would permit. By the time I reached them, Mr. Raven and Lorrimore were off their horses, the other members of the party had come up, and my companion in tribulation was explaining the situation. I let her talk — she was summing it all up in more concise fashion than I could have done. Her uncle listened with simple, open-mouthed astonishment; Lorrimore, when it came to mention of the Chinese element, with an obvious growing concern that seemed to be not far away from suspicion. He turned to me as Miss Raven finished.
“How many Chinese do you reckon were on board?” he asked.
“Four — including the last arrival, described as a gentleman,” I answered.
“And two English?” he inquired.
“One Englishman, and one Frenchman,” said I. “My belief is that the Chinese have settled the other two — and then possibly settled themselves, among them. There’s one man somewhere in these woods. Whether he’s a Chinaman we can’t say — we couldn’t make out.”
He stared at me wonderingly for a moment; then turned and looked at the yawl. Evidently the blue-jackets had succeeded in checking the fire; the flame had died down, and the smoke now only hung about in wreaths; we could see figures running actively about the deck.
“There may be men on there that need medical assistance,” said Lorrimore. “Where’s this boat you mentioned, Middlebrook? I’m going off to that vessel. Two of you men pull me across there.”
“I’ll go with you,” said I. “I left my boots in the cabin — I may find them — and a good deal else. The boat’s just along here.”
The search party was a mixed lot — a couple of local policemen, some gamekeepers, two or three fishermen, one of Mr. Raven’s men-servants. Two of the fishermen ran the boat into the water; Lorrimore and I sprang in.
“This is the most extraordinary affair I ever heard of,” he said as he sat down at my side in the stern.
“You didn’t see all these Chinamen? Miss Raven says that you actually suspected my man Wing to be on board!”
“Lorrimore,” said I, “in ten minutes you’ll probably see and learn things that you’d never have dreamed of. Whether your man Wing is on board or not I don’t know — but I know that that girl and I have had a marvellous escape from a nest of human devils! I can’t say for myself, but — has my hair whitened?”
“Your hair hasn’t whitened,” he said. “You were probably safer than you knew — safe enough, if Wing was there.”
“Well, I don’t know,” I retorted. “In future, let me avoid the sight of yellow cheeks and slit eyes — I’ve had enough. But tell me — how did you and your posse come this way? Didn’t Mr. Raven get a wire last night?”
“Mr. Raven did get a wire,” he replied; “but before he got it, he’d become anxious, and had sent out some of his men folk along the moors and cliffs in search of you. One of them, very late in the evening, came across a man who had been cutting wood somewhere hereabouts and had seen you and Miss Raven passing through the woods near the shore in company with two strangers. Mr. Raven’s man returned close on midnight, with this news, and the old gentleman was, of course, thrown into a great state of alarm. He roused the whole community round Ravensdene Court, got me up, and we set out, as you see. But — the whole thing’s marvellous! I can’t help thinking that Wing may have been on board this vessel, and that it was due to him you got away.”
“You’ve heard nothing of him — from London?” I suggested.
“Nothing, from anywhere,” he replied. “Which is precisely why I feel sure that when he went there he came in contact with these people and has been playing some deep game.”
“Deep, yes!” said I. “Deep indeed! But what game?”
He made no answer; we were now close to the yawl, and he was staring expectantly at the figures on her deck. Suddenly two of these detached themselves from the rest, turned, came to the side, looked down on us. One was a grimy-faced, alert-looking young naval officer, very much alive to his job; the other, not quite so smoke-blackened, but eminently business-like, was — Scarterfield.
“Good Heavens!” I muttered. “So — he’s here!”
Scarterfield, as we pulled up to the side of the yawl, was evidently telling the young officer who we were; he turned from him to us as we prepared to clamber aboard and addressed us without ceremony, as if we had been parted from him but a few minutes since our last meeting.
“You’d better be prepared for some unpleasant sights, you two!” he said. “This is no place to bring an empty stomach to at this hour of the morning — and I fancy you’ve no liking for horrors, Mr. Middlebrook.”
“I’ve had plenty of them during this night, Scarterfield,” said I. “I was a prisoner on board this vessel from yesterday afternoon until soon after midnight, and I’ve sat on yonder beach listening to a good many things that have gone on since I got away from her.”
He stared at me in astonishment for a moment; so did his companion, whose sharp eyes, running me over, settled their glance on my swathed feet.
“Yes,” I said, staring back at him. “Just so! — I was bundled off in such a hurry that I left my boots behind me. They’re in the cabin — and if they aren’t burned up I’ll be glad of them.”
I was making a move in that direction, for I saw that the fire, now well under control, had been confined to the fore-part of the yawl — but Scarterfield stopped me. He was clearly as puzzled as anxious.
“Middlebrook!” he said earnestly. “I don’t understand it, at all. You say you were on this vessel — during the night? Then, in God’s name, who else was on her — whom did you find here — what men?”
“I left six men on her,” I answered. “Netherfield Baxter — a Frenchman — a Chinese gentleman, so described — three Chinese as well. The Frenchman and the Chinese gentleman were those fellows we heard of at Hull, Scarterfield, and one, at any rate, of the other three Chinese was Lo Chuh Fen, of whom we’ve also heard.”
“And you got into their hands — how?” he asked.
“Kidnapped — Miss Raven and myself — by Baxter and the Frenchman, in those woods, yesterday afternoon,” I answered. “We came across them by accident, at the place where they’d just dug up that monastic silver — there it is, man!” I continued, pointing to the chests, which still stood where I had last seen them. “You’ve got it, at last.”
He threw an almost careless glance at the chests, shaking his head.
“I want something beyond that,” he muttered. “But — you say there were six men altogether — six?”
“I’ve enumerated them.” I replied. “Two Europeans — four Chinese.”
He turned a quick eye on the naval officer.
“Then one of ‘em’s escaped — somehow!” he exclaimed. “There’s only five here — and every man Jack is dead! Where’s the other!”
“One did escape,” said I. I, too, looked at the lieutenant. “He got off in a boat just as you and your men were approaching the bar yonder — I thought you’d see him.”
“No,” he answered, shaking his head. “We didn’t see anybody leave. The yawl lay between us and him most likely. Where did he land?”
“Behind that spit,” I replied, pointing to the place. “He vanished, from where I stood, behind those black rocks. That was just as you crossed the bar. And he can’t have gone far away, for he was certainly wounded as he left the yawl — a man fired at him from the bows. He fired back.”
“We heard those shots,” said the lieutenant, “and we found a chap — Englishman — in the bows, dying, when we boarded her. He died just afterwards. They’re all dead — the others were dead then.”
“Not a man alive!” I exclaimed.
Scarterfield cast a glance astern — the glance of a man who draws back the curtain from a set stage.
“Look for yourselves!” he muttered. “Too late for any of your work, doctor. But — that sixth man?”
Lorrimore and I, giving no heed just then to the detective’s questioning about the escaped man, went towards the after part of the deck. Busied with their labours in getting the fire under control, the blue-jackets had up to then left the dead men where they found them — with one exception. The man whom they had found in the bows had been carried aft and laid near the entrance to the little deck-house — some hand had thrown a sheet over him. Lorrimore lifted it — we looked down. Baxter!
“That’s the fellow we found right forward,” said the lieutenant. “He’s several slighter wounds on him, but he’d been shot through the chest — heart, perhaps — just before we boarded her. That would be the shot fired by the man in the boat, I suppose — a good marksman! Was this the skipper?”
“Chief spirit,” said I. “He was lively enough last night. But — the rest?”
“They’re all over the place,” he answered. “They must have had a most desperate do of it. The vessel’s more like a slaughter-house than a ship!”
He was right there, and I was thankful that Miss Raven and I for whatever reason on the part of the Chinese, had been so unceremoniously sent ashore before the fight began. As Lorrimore went about, noting its evidences, I endeavoured to form some idea, more or less accurate, of the events which had led up to it. It seemed to me that either Baxter or the Frenchman, awaking from sleep sooner than the Chinese had expected, had discovered that treachery was afoot and that wholesale shooting had begun on all sides. Most of the slaughter had taken place immediately in front of the hatchway which led to the cabin in which I had seen Baxter and his two principal associates; some sort of a rough barricade had been hastily set up there; behind it the Frenchman lay dead, with a bullet through his brain; before it, here and there on the deck, lay three of the Chinese — their leader, still in his gaily-coloured sleeping suit, prominent amongst them; Lo Chuh Fen a little further away; the third man near the wheel, face downwards. He, like Chuh, was a small-made, wiry fellow. And there was blood everywhere.
Scarterfield jogged my elbow as I stood staring at these unholy sights. He was keener of look than I had ever seen him.
“That fourth Chinaman?” he said. “I must get him, dead or alive. The rest’s nothing — I want him!”
CHAPTER XXIV
THE SILK CAP
I GLANCED ROUND; Lorrimore, after an inspection of the dead men, had walked aside with the lieutenant and was in close conversation with him. I, too, drew the detective away to the side of the yawl.
“Scarterfield,” I said in a whisper, “I’ve grounds for believing that the fourth Chinaman is — Lorrimore’s servant — Wing.”
“What!” he exclaimed. “The man we saw at Ravensdene Court?”
“Just so,” said I, “and who went off to London, you remember, to see what he could do in the way of discovering the other Chinaman, Lo Chuh Fen.”
“Yes — I remember that,” he answered.
“There is Lo Chuh Fen,” I said, pointing to one of the silent figures. “And I think that Wing not only discovered him, but came aboard this vessel with him, as part of a crew which Baxter and his French friend got together at Limehouse or Poplar. As I say, I’ve grounds for thinking it.”
Scarterfield looked round, glanced at the shore, shook his head.
“I’m all in the dark — about some things,” he said.
“I got on the track of this craft — I’ll tell you how, later — and found she’d come up this coast, and we got the authorities to send this destroyer after her — I came with her, hell for leather, I can tell you, from Harwich. But I don’t know a lot that I want to know, Baxter, now — you’re sure that man lying dead there is the Baxter we heard of at Blyth and traced to Hull?”
“Certain!” said I. “Listen, and I’ll give you a brief account of what’s happened since yesterday, and of what I’ve learned since then — it will make things clear to you.”
Standing there, where the beauty of the fresh morning and the charm of sky and sea made a striking contrast to the horror of our immediate surroundings, I told him, as concisely as I could, of how Miss Raven and myself had fallen into the hands of Netherfield Baxter and the Frenchman, of what had happened to me on board, and, at somewhat greater length, of Baxter’s story of his own career as it related to his share in the theft of the monastic treasure from the bank at Blyth, his connection with the Elizabeth Robinson and his knowledge of the brothers Quick. Nor did I forget Baxter’s theory about the rubies — and at that Scarterfield obviously pricked his ears.
“Now there’s something in that,” he said, with a regretful glance at the place where Baxter’s dead body lay under its sheet. “I wish that fellow had been alive, to tell more! For he’s right about those rubies — quite right. The Quicks had ’em — two of ’em.”
“You know that?” I exclaimed.
“I’ll tell you,” he answered. “After we parted, I was very busy, investigating matters still further in Devonport and in London. And — through the newspapers, of course — I got in touch with a man who told me a lot. He came to headquarters in London, asking for me — wouldn’t tell any of our people there anything — it was a day or two before I got at close quarters with him, for when he called I was away at the time. He left an address, in Hatton Garden — a Mr. Isidore Baubenheimer, dealer, as you may conclude, in precious stones. Well, I drove off at once to see him. He told me a queer tale. He said that he’d only just come back from Amsterdam and Paris, or he’d have been in communication with me earlier. While he’d been away, he said, he’d read the English newspapers and seen a good deal about the two murders at Saltash and Ravensdene Court, and he believed that he could throw some light on them, for he felt sure that either Noah Quick or Salter Quick was identical with a man with whom he had not so long ago talked over the question of the value of certain stones which the man possessed. But I’ll show you Baubenheimer’s own words — I got him to make a clear statement of the whole thing and had it taken down in black and white, and I have a typed copy of it in my pocket-book — glance it over for yourself.”
He produced a sheet of paper, folded and endorsed and handed it to me — it ran thus:
My place of business in Hatton Garden is a few doors away from the Hatton Garden entrance to the old Mitre Tavern, which lies between that street and Ely Place. On, as far as I can remember, the seventh or eighth of March last, I went into the Mitre about half-past eleven o’clock one morning, expecting to meet a friend of mine who was often there about that time. He hadn’t come in — I sat down with a drink and a cigar to wait for him.
In the little room where I sat there were three other men — two of them were men that I knew, men who dealt in diamonds in a smallish way. The other was a stranger, a thick-set, middle-aged, seafaring sort of man, hard-bitten, dressed in a blue-serge suit of nautical cut; I could tell from his hands and his general appearance that he’d knocked about the world in his time. Just then he was smoking a cigar and had a tumbler of rum and water before him, and he was watching, with a good deal of interest, the other two, who, close by, were showing each other a quantity of loose diamonds which, evidently to the seafaring man’s amazement, they spread out openly, on their palms.
After a bit they got up and went out, and the stranger glanced at me. Now I am, as you see, something of the nautical sort myself, bearded and bronzed and all that — I’m continually crossing the North Sea — and it may be he thought I was of his own occupation — anyway, he looked at me as if wanting to talk.
