Inspector French and the Cheyne Mystery
Page 25
Given the fact that Dangle overheard the dying man’s story, and that Dangle’s character was what it was, Cheyne now saw that the remainder of his adventure could scarcely have happened otherwise than as it had. To obtain the cipher was Dangle’s obvious course, and there was no reason to doubt his own statement of how he set about it. A search among Price’s papers showed the latter had sent the document to Cheyne, and from Cheyne Dangle had evidently decided to obtain it. But, nothing could be done till after the war, nor, presumably without financial and other help. In this lay, doubtless, the reason for the application to Blessington and Sime, and these two being roped in, the unscrupulous trio set themselves to work. Susan Dangle assisted by obtaining a post as servant at Warren Lodge, and thus gained detailed information which enabled the others to lay their plans. And so in a quite orderly sequence event had followed event, until now it looked as if the climax had been reached.
Like a flash these thoughts passed through Cheyne’s mind, and like a flash he saw what depended on them. Now they knew where Joan Merrill had been taken. If she was still alive—and he simply could not bring himself to admit any other possibility—she was on that boat of Merkel’s some two hundred and fifty miles north of the Azores! From that something surely followed. He turned to French and spoke in a voice which was hoarse from anxiety.
‘What about an expedition to the place?’
French nodded decisively.
‘We must arrange one without delay,’ he said. ‘I think the Admiralty is our hope. That gold wasn’t insured—it was a government business. I’ll go and tell the chief about it now, and get him to see the proper authorities. Meanwhile,’ he looked, for French, quite sharply at the others, ‘not a word of this must be breathed.’
Intense interest was excited in the higher circles of the Admiralty by the news which reached them from the Yard. Great personages bestirred themselves to issue orders, with the result that with enormously more promptitude than the man in the street can bring himself to associate with a Government Department, a fast boat, well equipped with divers and gear, was got ready for sea. French put in a word for both Cheyne and Price, and when, some eight hours after their reading of the cipher, the boat put out into the Thames from Chatham Dockyard, it carried in addition to its regular crew not only Inspector French himself, but also his two protégés.
20
The Goal of the ‘L’Escaut’
Inspector French had gone to bed in the tiny but comfortable stateroom which had been put at his disposal by the officers of the Admiralty boat while that redoubtable vessel was slipping easily and on an even keel through the calm waters of the Straits of Dover. He awoke next morning to find her plunging and rolling and staggering through what, in comparison with his previous experiences of the sea, appeared to be a frightful storm. To his surprise, however, he did not feel any bad effects from the motion, and presently he arose, and having with extreme care performed the ticklish operation of shaving, dressed and climbed with the aid of railings and handles to the companion way, and so to the deck.
The sight which met his eyes on emerging made him hold his breath, as he clung to the rail at the companion door. It was a wonderful morning, clear and bright and fresh and invigorating. The sun shone down from a cloudless sky on to a dark sapphire sea of incredible purity, flecked over with foaming patches of dazzling white. As far as the eye could reach in every direction out to the hard sharp line of the horizon, great waves rolled relentlessly onward, wavelets dancing and churning and foaming on their slow-moving flanks. The wind caught French and, as if it were a solid, held him pinned against the deck house. He stood watching the bluff bows of the boat rise in the air, then crash back into the sea, throwing out a smother of water and foam some of which would sweep up over the fo’c’sle, and after swirling through the forward deck hamper, disappear through the scuppers amidships.
For some moments he watched, then moving round the deck house, he glanced up and saw Cheyne and Price beckoning to him from the bridge, where they had joined the officer of the watch.
‘Some morning this, Inspector,’ Price cried, as he joined them in the lee of the weather canvas. ‘This will blow the London cobwebs out of our minds.’
He was evidently keenly enjoying himself, and even Cheyne’s anxious face showed appreciation of his surroundings. And soon French himself, having realised that they were not necessarily going to the bottom in a hurricane, but merely running down Channel in a fresh south-westerly breeze, began to feel the thrill of the sea, and to believe that the end of his quest was going to develop into a novel and delightful holiday trip.
The same weather held all that day and the next, but on the third the wind fell, and the sea gradually calmed down to a slow, easy swell. The sun grew hotter, and basking in it in the lee of the deck house became a delight. Little was said about the object of the expedition. French and Price were content to enjoy the present, and Cheyne managed to keep his anxieties to himself. The ship’s officers were a jolly crowd, immensely excited by their quest, and conducting themselves as the kindly hosts of welcome guests.
On the fourth day it grew still warmer, indeed out of the breeze made by the ship’s motion it was unpleasantly hot. French liked to get away forward, where it was cooler, and leant by the hour over the bows, watching the sharp stem cut through the water and roll back its frothing wave on either side. Dolphins were now to be seen swimming in the clear water, and two hung at the bows, one on each side, apparently motionless for long periods, until suddenly they would dart ahead, spiral round one another and then return to their places.
That fourth evening the captain joined his passengers as the trio were smoking on deck.
‘If we carry on like this,’ he remarked, ‘we should reach the position about four a.m. But those beggars may be taking a risk and not showing a light, so I propose to slow down from now on, in order not to arrive till daylight. Come on deck about six. If they’re here we should raise them between then and seven.’
French, waking early next morning, could not control his excitement and remain in his berth until the allotted time. He rose at five, and went on deck with the somewhat shamefaced feeling that he was acting as a small boy, who on Christmas morning must needs get up on waking to investigate the possibilities of stockings. But he need not have feared ridicule from his companions. Both Cheyne and Price were already on the bridge, and the skipper stood with his telescope glued to his eye as he searched the horizon ahead. All three were evidently thrilled by the approaching finale, and a slight incoherence was discernible in their somewhat scrappy conversation.
The morning was calm and very clear. Once again the sky was cloudless, and the soft south-westerly wind barely ruffled the surface of the long flat swells. It was a pleasure to be alive, and it seemed impossible to associate crime and violence with the expedition. But beneath their smiles all concerned felt it might easily develop into a grim enough business. And that side of it became more apparent when at the captain’s order the covers of the six pounders mounted fore and aft were removed, and the weapons were prepared for action by their crews.
The hands of French’s watch had just reached the quarter hour after six, when Captain Amery, who had once again been sweeping the horizon with his telescope, said quietly: ‘There she is.’ He handed the glass to French. ‘See there, about three points on the starboard bow.’
French, with some difficulty steadying the tube, saw very faint and far off what looked like the upper part of a steamer’s deck, with a funnel, and two masts like threads of the finest gossamer. ‘She’s still hull down,’ the captain explained. ‘You’ll see her better in a few minutes. We should be up with her in three-quarters of an hour.’
In order to leave them free later on, it was decided to have breakfast at once, and by the time the hasty meal had been disposed of the stranger was clearly visible to the naked eye. She lay heading westward, as though anchored in the swing of the tide, and her fires appeared to be either out or banked
, as no smoke was visible at her funnel. The glass revealed a flag at her fore peak, but she was still too far off to make out its colouring.
Now that the dramatic climax was approaching, the minds of the actors in the play became charged with a very real anxiety. Captain Amery, under almost any circumstances, would have to deal with a very ticklish situation. He had to get the gold, if it was salvable, and the fact that they were not in British waters would be a complication if the Belgian had already recovered it. French had to ascertain if his quarry were on board, and if so, see that they did not escape him—also a difficult job outside the three mile limit. For Price a fortune hung in the balance—not of course all the gold that might be found, but the proportion allowed him by law; while for Cheyne there remained something a thousand times more important than the capture of a criminal or the acquisition of a fortune—for Cheyne the question of Joan Merrill’s life was at stake. Their several anxieties were reflected on the faces of the men, as they stood in silence, watching the rapidly growing vessel.
Presently an exclamation came from Captain Amery.
‘By Jove!’ he said, ‘this is a rum business. I can see that flag now and it’s our red ensign. What’s a Belgian boat doing with a British flag? And what’s more, it’s jack down—a flag of distress. What do you think of that?’ He looked at the others with a puzzled expression, then went on: ‘I suppose they’re not armed? You don’t know, Inspector, do you? If they were armed it would be a likely, enough ruse to get us close by, so as to make sure of hitting us in a vital place.’
French shook his head. He had heard nothing about arms, though for all he knew to the contrary the L’Escaut might carry a gun.
‘I don’t see one,’ the captain continued, ‘but then if they have one they’d keep it hidden. But I don’t like there being no signs of life aboard her. There’s no smoke anywhere, neither from her boilers nor her galley. There’s no one on the bridge, and I’ve not seen a movement on deck. It doesn’t look well: in fact it looks as if they were lying low and waiting for us.’
They were now within a mile of the stranger, and her details were clear even to the naked eye.
‘It’s the L’Escaut anyway,’ Captain Amery went on. ‘I can see the name on her bows. But I confess I don’t like that flag and that silence. I think I’ll see if I can wake her up.’
He put his hand on the foghorn halliard and blew a number of resounding blasts. For a few seconds nothing happened, then suddenly two figures appeared at the deck house door, and after a moment’s pause, rushed up on the bridge and began waving furiously. As they passed up the bridge ladder they came from behind the shelter of a boat and their silhouettes became visible against the sky. They were both women!
A strangled cry burst from Cheyne as he snatched the captain’s telescope and gazed at them, then with a shout of ‘It’s she! It’s she!’ he leaped to the end of the bridge and began waving his hat frantically.
At this moment two other figures appeared on the fo’c’sle and, apparently moving to the vessel’s side, stood watching the newcomers. Amery rang his engines down to half speed and, slightly porting his helm, headed for some distance astern of the other. Then starboarding, he swung round, and bringing up parallel to her and some couple of hundred yards away, he dropped anchor.
Without loss of a moment a boat was lowered, and French, Cheyne, Price, the first officer and half a dozen men, all armed with service revolvers, tumbled in. Giving way lustily, they pulled for the Belgian.
It was by this time possible to distinguish the features of the women, and French was not surprised to learn they were Joan Merrill and Susan Dangle. Evidently they recognised Cheyne, who kept waving furiously as if he found the movement necessary to relieve his overwrought feelings. The two figures forward were those of men, and these stood watching the boat, though without exhibiting any of the transports of delight of their fellow shipmates on the bridge.
As they drew closer Joan made signs to them to go round to the other side of the ship, and dropping round her stern, they saw a ladder rigged. In a few seconds they were alongside, and Cheyne, leaping out before the others, rushed up the steps and reached the deck.
If there had been, any doubts as to the real relations between himself and Joan, these were set at rest at that moment. Instinctively, he opened his arms, and Joan, swept off her feet by her emotion, threw herself into them and clung to him, while tears of joy and relief ran down her cheeks. As far as Cheyne was concerned, Susan Dangle, the figures on the fo’c’sle, French and the men behind him might as well not have existed. He crushed Joan violently to him, covering her face and hair with burning kisses, as he murmured brokenly of his love and of his thankfulness for her safety.
French, anxious to learn the state of affairs and seeing nothing was to be got from Joan, turned expectantly to Susan Dangle. What could these unexpected developments mean? Was, Susan, the enemy, now a friend? Where were the others? Were the ship’s company friends or foes? Could he ask her questions which might incriminate her without giving her a formal warning?
But his curiosity would brook no delay.
‘I am Inspector French of Scotland Yard,’ he announced, while Price and the first officer stood round expectantly. ‘You are Miss Susan Dangle. Where are the other members of this expedition?’
The girl wrung her hand’s, and he noticed how terribly pale and drawn was her face and what horror shone in heir eyes.
‘Oh!’ she cried, with a gesture as if to shut out the sight of some hideous dream. ‘Oh, it’s been awful! I can’t speak of it. They’re dead! My brother James, Charles Sime, Mr Merkel, most of the crew, dead—all dead! Mr Blessington wounded—probably dying! They got fighting over the gold!’ She began suddenly to laugh, a terrible high cackling laugh, that made her hearers shiver, and attracted the attention even of Joan and Cheyne.
French stepped quickly forward and seized her arm.
‘There now, Miss Dangle,’ he said kindly but firmly. ‘Stop that and pull yourself together. Your terrible experiences are over now and you’re in the hands of friends. But you mustn’t give way like this. Make an effort, and you’ll be better directly.’ He led her to a hatchway and made her sit down, while he continued soothing her as one would a fractious child.
But so great was the agitation of both girls that it was quite a considerable time before the tragic tale of the L’Escaut’s expedition became fully unfolded. And when at last it was told it proved still but one more illustration of the old truth that the qualities of greed and envy and selfishness have that seed of decay within themselves which leads their unhappy victims to overreach themselves, and instead of gaining what they seek, to lose their all. Shorn of incoherent phrases and irrelevant details the story was this.
On the 24th of May the L’Escaut had left Antwerp with twenty-eight souls aboard. Aft there were Joan, Susan, Blessington, Sime, Dangle and Merkel, with the captain, first officer and engineer—nine persons, while forward were three divers, six assistants, a cook, a steward, four seamen and four engine-room staff, or nineteen altogether. Once clear of the Scheldt Joan’s treatment had changed. Her food was no longer drugged, and when in a few days she got over the effects of the doses she had received, she found her jailers polite and friendly and anxious to minimise the inconvenience and anxiety she was suffering. They told her they did not wish her evil, and were taking her with them simply to prevent information as to themselves or their affairs leaking out through her. This, of course, she did not believe, since she did not possess sufficient information about them to enable her to interfere with their plans. But later their real motive dawned on her. Gradually she realised that Blessington had fallen in love with her, and though he was circumspect enough, her distrust of him was such that she felt sick with horror and dread when she thought of him. Nothing, however, had occurred to which she could take exception, and had it not been for her fears as to her own fate and her anxieties as to Cheyne’s, the voyage would have been pleasant enough.
On reaching the wreck in the first instance the captain had mustered his crew aft and had informed them—what he could no longer keep secret—that they were out for gold, and that if they found it in the quantities they hoped, every man on board would receive at the end of the trip a gift of £1000 in addition to his pay. The men at first seemed more than satisfied, but as ingot after ingot was recovered the generosity of this offer shrank in their estimation. Four days before the appearance of French’s party the divers had reported that another day would complete the work, and then appeared the first hint that all was not well. On that last evening before the completion of the diving the men came forward in a body and asked to see the captain. They explained that they had been reckoning up the value of the gold, and they weren’t having £1000 apiece: they wanted an even divide all round. The captain argued with them civilly enough at first—told them that they couldn’t get the metal ashore and turned into money in secret, that the port officers or coastguards wherever it was unloaded would be bound to learn what they were doing and that then the government would claim an enormous percentage of the whole, so that the £1000 per man was an extremely liberal gift. The men declared that they would look after the unloading, and that they were going to have what they wanted. Hot words passed, and then the captain drew a revolver and said that he was captain there, and that what he said would go. Susan was watching the scene from the quarter-deck behind, but she could not be quite sure of what followed. One of the crew pressed forward and the captain raised his revolver. She did not think he meant to fire, but another of the men either genuinely or purposely misunderstood his action. He raised his hand, a shot rang out, and the captain fell dead. The mutineers were evidently terribly upset by a murder which they had apparently never intended, and had Blessington and Sime acted intelligently, the trouble might have gone no further. But at that moment these two worthies, who must have been in the chart-house all the time, began firing through the windows at the men. A regular pitched battle ensued, in which Sime and five of the crew were hit, three of the latter being killed. It was then war to the knife between those who berthed forward and those who berthed aft. All that night sporadic shots rang out at intervals, but at daybreak on the following day matters came to a head. The crew with considerable generalship made a feint on the fo’c’sle with some of their number while the remainder swarmed aft below decks. The defenders, taken in the rear, were shot down, and the mutineers were masters of the ship.