“But they could have had no idea that I meant to make this trip until it was arranged in Madeira,” Camilla protested. “I didn’t even know myself.”
The McKay smiled grimly. “Have you ever seen a trick merchant pass a card? You think you’re choosing from the pack but all the same you take the one he intends you to. Well, that’s what happened to you.”
“You mean they guessed I’d fall for this expedition.”
“That’s it. You were jollied into it. Pretty skilfully I admit because Slinger was clever enough not to appear interested at the time. But that’s about what happened.”
There was a general murmur of assent, then, Count Axel, whose lazy glance had been fixed on the Doctor’s face, sat forward suddenly.
“I think that Herr Doctor Tisch could elucidate the point for us—if he cared to do so.”
The little German started guiltily then shook his round bristling head in quick denial. “It is not so! I know nothing. Only that I go to meet Herr Farquason at Madeira. Then I receive his radio and become desperate till the Gnädige Hertzogin agrees to save my great exploration.”
“I see,” said the Count silkily. “So you became desperate Doctor, when you learned that Farquason had failed you. Are you quite certain that you did not receive that information and become desperate, before you left Paris?”
“You impute—what?” the Doctor bluffed angrily, getting to his feet.
In Count Axel’s view Oxford Kate was so obviously the dominant personality in the whole affair and his campaign had been worked out in such careful detail that both Slinger and Captain Ardow must have received their instructions from him long before the ship arrived at Madeira. It seemed to follow therefore that the Doctor must also have had at least some suspicion, if not guilty knowledge of their intentions.
“I impute nothing,” he said bowing slightly. “I was only thinking that had my surmise been correct, and had you chanced to run into our friend Slinger, who must also have been in Paris at that time—it would explain quite a lot of things.”
Little beads of perspiration broke out on the Doctor’s forehead. He was not a good liar and he had never anticipated being placed in his present awkward situation. Slinger had led him to suppose that once they reached the Azores Camilla’s party would be removed from the ship and he would be allowed to proceed untroubled, except for some slight pangs of conscience, upon his expedition. Now he found himself not only tricked but left suspended with a foot in either camp and, all his inclinations being towards the present company rather than the crooks, he was desperately anxious that his criminal complaisance should not be discovered.
He stuttered awkwardly for a moment under the battery of eyes rivetted upon his face then, like a flash of light, he saw that this latest misfortune to his ill-fated enterprise could at least be utilised to counter Axel’s shrewd innuendoes.
“The Herr Count imputes that I, for bringing you here, am in some way responsible,” he blurted. “But I haf no interest except in my life work to find Atlantis. Explain please Herr Count how I shall accomplish that if I am to be taken with you as a prisoner to the distant Falkland Islands?”
Count Axel’s suspicions of the Doctor’s complicity were not entirely set at rest by this potent argument, but he had no answer to it so he replied even more suavely, “My dear Doctor, as I have said, I impute nothing. I voiced only an ingenious theory and as a practising scientist you will know how often theories are entirely wrong.”
“Danke schon Herr Count.” The Doctor thought it best to accept this half apology with as good a grace as he could put upon it, and sat down.
“Where are these Falkland Islands anyway?” Nicky enquired.
“In the South Atlantic off the coast of Patagonia,” volunteered the McKay.
“The hell they are!” said Nicky.
“Yes. It either snows or rains there ten months in every year, and only the two large ones are inhabited.” At the sight of Nicky’s face, the McKay could not resist adding, with a chuckle: “The rest, on one of which they mean to land us, are nothing but barren rocks sticking up out of the sea to the north-west of the group.”
“I see nothing to laugh at,” Camilla cut in sharply.
“Neither do I really,” he apologised.
“Do you think they’ll let us take the servants?”
“What, your maid and Nicky’s man? Yes, certain to. Kate wouldn’t allow them to get back to civilisation before us, in case they blow the gaff.”
“Well that is some comfort.”
“Perhaps. I hope you’ve both treated them decently for your own sakes. Otherwise they may not choose to continue as servants, without pay, once they find themselves on those barren rocks.”
“Oh stop it,” Sally abruptly stubbed out a half smoked cigarette. “Aren’t we in a bad enough mess without your trying to depress us further.”
“Sorry m’dear,” the McKay apologised again, “but when I’m in a nasty hole I always try and face up to the blackest aspect of the case. Things may not turn out so badly but it would be silly to start off by deluding ourselves.”
“God we’re in a hole all right!” Nicky hit the table viciously. “I wish to hell I’d never heard of this damn place Atlantis!”
The others ignored his outburst and the McKay went on: “What happened to the servants last night—by the way?”
“My fellow Bimber was locked in his cabin,” Nicky muttered.
“Oscar—my telephonist also,” volunteered the Doctor.
Camilla nodded. “My maid was locked in too. Oh, this is awful!”
“Yes, you’re hit worst in this,” Nicky said with sudden sympathy. It’s going to be hell’s own trip for all of us as far as I can see, and I just hate to think how long we may be parked on that filthy rock before we can get back to land, but when we do hit New York again you’ll have lost every cent of your fortune. God! Just to think of that great fair-haired brute getting away with all that money!”
“There is just a chance the lawyers may not act on that faked will,” said Sally.
“Why?” shot out the McKay.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve just a hunch that way—that’s all.”
“The whole scheme seemed pretty watertight to me.”
“Perhaps, but Camilla feels the same as I do. Don’t you, Camilla?”
Camilla nodded. “Yes, I was talking to Sally about it in my cabin before lunch and we both feel that there may be a slip in it somewhere. You see old Simon John, our lawyer, has known us since we were children and that letter I was made to write was very clever but it wasn’t quite in my usual style, so he may refuse to act until he gets some confirmation.”
“Besides,” Sally added, “the bulk of the estate was to go to the Hart Institute. That’s for pensions, and libraries, and sanitoriums, for the workpeople in the factories from which the family made all their money. This sudden cutting out of that to leave it to a Bible Society instead is such a drastic sort of change that it is almost certain to make someone suspect that something queer’s been going on.”
The McKay shrugged. “Granted all that m’dear I hardly see how Camilla’s lawyer could get a stay of execution of the will—even if he does suspect that there’s been dirty work afoot. You see the publicity which will be given to the announcement of her death will be so enormous that no one will dream of questioning it. That’s what’s so monstrous clever. Her relatives, however remote they are, will be certain to call for the immediate production of her will in the hope of receiving large legacies. The executors will be bound to publish its contents and the representative of this fake Bible Society will arrive to claim the dough. The lawyers and the Hart Institute people, who’ll naturally be mad as hatters, may enter a caveat against its execution but, immediately it comes into court, what proof have they got that it’s not genuine. Camilla signed the bally thing and what’s more she wrote the letter that accompanied it in her own fair hand. Whatever he may feel about it personally her lawyer would never dare
to suppress such a vital piece of evidence. All the relatives and other beneficiaries will be backing the Bible Society of course to get their whack, and as far as the judge is concerned Camilla will be dead and that document the last expression of her wishes. What possible grounds will he have for refusing to let the share out take place. Get me?”
Count Axel nodded. “I think Captain you have given us an admirable forecast of just what is likely to happen. That very able rogue who has engineered this conspiracy is doubtless expecting some difficulty with the Duchess’s lawyers and particularly with the trustees of the Hart Institute, who would be certain to contest the will even if it were genuine, providing they thought that there was the faintest chance of upsetting it and retaining such a tremendous benefaction as would be theirs under the earlier document. It is for this reason, doubtless, that all the old legacies have been allowed to stand and our charming Sally allotted the sum of one hundred thousand dollars. All dust for the Judge’s eyes when the validity of the will is questioned. He will have to uphold it—there is no serious reason why he should do otherwise—but surely, instead of speculating as to whether he will or no, which is almost a foregone conclusion, would it not be better if we employed ourselves by endeavouring to devise some means of upsetting the enemy’s apple cart before the will ever comes before a Judge at all.”
“Brava! Brava!” Prince Vladimir sat back and clapped his hands. “The first speaking of sanity which has been made to-day. We attack eh!—For our so beautiful Duchess we will wipe off these bandits every one.”
Nicky regarded him dubiously. “You’ve never been in the States, Prince—have you?”
“No, there I do not dwell.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with the States as far as ordinary citizens are concerned. They live their lives and don’t have to worry overmuch, but I was thinking of the lower East Side, and the bad belt in Chicago—particularly. You don’t happen to know anything about them?”
“No—but bandits I understand. My uncle, Count Zirminie, was what you call Lord Captain de Police Provincal in my zone authorative last year. In the hillocks lurk bandits who make the workers on our lands pay too dear. We make a meeting with other friends and we take luncheons together. We toast the bandits, we toast ourselves, we toast everybody. Then we go out a moppings up to do. There are no more bandits when we remit ourselves to dine. Next day there is a funeral service, those of us who have come back from our celebration place flowers upon the graves. So is it done. I know all about bandits.”
Nicky sat back and raised his blue eyes to heaven. “Tell him the truth someone for the Lord’s sake—I can’t.”
“It’s like this Prince,” the McKay sat forward. “The people we are up against now are very different. There is every reason to believe them to be excellent shots and they are armed with the latest weapons—even machine guns as I saw for myself this morning. To endeavour to attack them therefore would be sheer suicide. They would shoot you without a second thought, so you had better put the idea right out of your head.”
“They are not then bandits,” said the Prince, “but what you call gangster such as I have seen in film plays but thought only to be a story for cocks and bulls.”
“That’s it—that’s right,” a soothing murmur ran round and the Prince temporarily relapsed into silence.
“To get back,” said Count Axel, “the only chance which I can see of defeating these people’s plans is by getting a message through to the authorities.”
“I agree,” the McKay smiled grimly, “but how?”
“Wireless,” suggested Sally.
“Not a hope m’dear. You heard what Captain Ardow said last night after his Chief had left us. The bridge, the boat deck abaft the bridge, and the deck within twenty yards of the wireless house has been placed out of bounds for all passengers. Any of us overstepping those limits is not to be challenged—but shot on sight. While I was sunbathing this morning I took a dekko over the situation myself. Two of the gunmen were on the bridge and another two posted on the wireless house, the other four relieve them watch and watch about. They’ve even roped off the ladders and approaches to the limits set. Believe me, Oxford Kate is taking no chances of our getting near that wireless.”
“We have a week to work in,” announced Count Axel.
“True, but unfortunately we’re miles from the track of transatlantic shipping. We may raise a stray cargo ship in the next few days. If so some of us must keep the gunmen occupied while others signal. If we can get a message through to New York they’ll send out a destroyer to relieve us and the whole of Mr. Kate’s pretty little scheme will be blown sky high—but that’s about our only hope.”
“Couldn’t we bribe one of the stewards to get a message through to the wireless man,” suggested Sally.
“There’s no harm in trying, but the odds are he wouldn’t send it. Captain Ardow is sure to have picked his men for this job and the wireless operator is a key man in the whole performance. It is he who had to send the fake message about the accident to the bathysphere and all our deaths remember, so he is certain to be standing in for a big fat cheque when it’s all over. If we could reach him we might counter-bribe him with a higher sum but these people we are up against have foreseen that possibility and posted a couple of gunmen on him to keep him clear of all temptations.”
“Well, couldn’t we bribe the gunmen first then?” Sally persisted.
“Yes m’dear if you can get near them—and they’ll listen to you—which I doubt. Don’t you see that this whole thing’s been worked out like a chess problem. We are up against a succession of cul-de-sacs whichever way we turn. It is because ideas like yours have been anticipated that the gunmen have been ordered to shoot us on sight if we approach nearer to them than twenty yards. How the thunderin’ blazes can you try and bribe a man if you can’t get within talking distance of him without forcing him to disobey his orders under the eyes of his bosses on the bridge or getting yourself shot. That wireless house has been ringed like a bullseye with concentric circles governed by the three great factors of discipline, fear, and self interest. We haven’t got an earthly chance of getting anywhere near it so you had better count that possibility out.”
Sally made a face. “We’re in a worse jam than I thought then!”
“Why, were you counting on getting a message through?”
“Yes—within a week.”
“Why within a week? We’ll have much more chance when Slinger’s left us and we’re running down to the Falklands. The gunmen may have got slack and bored with their job by then. They’ll enjoy sitting up on deck in the sunshine for a bit, but later on they’ll probably get fed up with doing nothing and we may be able to make friends with them or catch them off their guard.”
“The Falklands,” groaned Nicky. “Aw hell! Just think of all those pictures I’m contracted to make. It’ll about break me I reckon.”
“And it’s winter in the southern hemisphere,” added Camilla miserably. “Just picture us shivering on that barren rock the McKay says they mean to take us to, without any proper clothes.”
Count Axel gave a heavy sigh. “I have always enjoyed cooking as an art but I am, I expect, the only one among you who understands it even moderately so I suppose I shall have to become cook. As a daily task I do not find it the least attractive.”
“You’ll be lucky if there’s anything to cook after we’ve consumed the stores they intend to leave us,” said the McKay bitterly. He did not mean to add to their depression but the remark slipped out and it was only a very moderate expression of the situation which he was visualising. He saw the seven of them and the two servants encamped upon a stony ledge a few yards clear of the spray from the thundering surf. A single lean-to tent had been erected against the cliff face and the edges of its canvas sides weighted down with huge stones in the hope of preventing the whole flimsy structure being lifted bodily into the sea by the bitter ice-cold unceasing gale that screamed and blustered. No fire was possible
, for that appalling wind scattered the twigs, gathered with so much difficulty from the infrequent crevices, even before they could become glowing embers. The inmates were crouching, blue with cold, in an indistinguishable huddle of arms and legs against the rock wall in the most sheltered corner of the tent. Only so could they keep the ill-nourished flame of life still flickering in their emaciated bodies. In his mind’s eye the McKay regarded that dirty unkempt heap of human flesh again and decided that the bodies only numbered eight. One of them must have died from exposure the day before and, facing such severe privations unsheltered from the elements it was reasonable to suppose that when the grey dawn came to light those semi-arctic seas another would be found dead to-morrow. He jerked his thoughts back and stared at Sally.
“We’ve simply got to get a message through in a week,” she said firmly.
“Why? I don’t see that,” he argued. “We’ve got a month before they land us on the Falklands. That’s the danger spot—the thing I really dread. If we can’t do something before then we are going to be up against the sort of trouble that you have no conception of; but if we wait till Slinger has cleared out we shall still have three clear weeks and the gangsters will be getting slack about their job. That’s the time to have a cut at outwitting these birds—in about ten days from now.”
“But my dear don’t you see,” Sally insisted, “for this first week before the faked accident is reported, we are safe. No one is going to try and harm us—but after that—heaven knows. The real trouble is going to start the moment Camilla’s death is reported. I’ve told you that I’m dead certain the faked will’s going to be contested. Then, if it fails to go through that devil who was here last night will come back again. What he’ll do, I don’t pretend to say, but he’ll be so mad that he’ll probably shoot the lot of us or send us down to our deaths cooped up in the bathysphere. I’m certain he’ll come back—certain—and that’s why we’ve absolutely got to get a message through and have him arrested within the week.”
They Found Atlantis Page 12
