The Best Martin Hewitt Detective Stories

by Arthur Morrison

  “Thank you, Mr. Norton,” said Merrick, with a twinkle in his eye; “we won’t forget what you say. Of course, if the stuff is found in consequence of any of your information, you won’t lose by it.”

  The steward said he hoped not, and he wouldn’t fail to keep his eye on the carpenter. He had noticed Wickens was in the tug, and he trusted that if they were going to question him they would do it cautiously, so as not to put him on his guard. Merrick promised they would.

  “By-the-bye, Mr. Norton,” asked Hewitt, “supposing your suspicions to be justified, what do you suppose the carpenter would do with the bullion?”

  “Well, sir,” replied Martin, “I don’t think he’d keep it on the ship. He’d probably dump it somewhere.”

  The steward left, and Merrick lay back in his chair and guffawed aloud. “This grows farcical,” he said, “simply farcical. What a happy family they must have been aboard the Nicobar ! And now here’s the captain watching the second officer, and the second officer watching the captain and the steward, and the steward watching the carpenter! It’s immense. And now we’re going to see the carpenter. Wonder who he suspects?”

  Hewitt said nothing, but his eyes twinkled with intense merriment, and presently the carpenter was brought into the cabin.

  “Good-day to you, gentlemen,” said the carpenter in a soft and deferential voice, looking from one to the other. “Might I ’ave the honour of addressin’ the salvage gentlemen?”

  “That’s right,” Merrick answered, motioning him to a seat. “This is the salvage shop, Mr. Wickens. What can we do for you?”

  The carpenter coughed gently behind his hand. “I took the liberty of comin’, gentlemen, consekins o’ ’earin’ as there was some bullion missin’. P’raps I’m wrong.”

  “Not at all. We haven’t found as much as we expected, and I suppose by this time nearly everybody knows it. There are two cases wanting. You can’t tell us where they are, I suppose?”

  “Well, sir, as to that—no. I fear I can’t exactly go as far as that. But if I am able to give vallable information as may lead to recovery of same, I presoom I may without offence look for some reasonable small recognition of my services?”

  “Oh yes,” answered Merrick, “that’ll be all right, I promise you. The company will do the handsome thing, of course, and no doubt so will the underwriters.”

  “Presoomin’ I may take that as a promise—among gentlemen”—this with emphasis—“I’m willing to tell something.”

  “It’s a promise, at any rate, as far as the company’s concerned,” returned Merrick. “I’ll see it’s made worth your while—of course, providing it leads to anything.”

  “Purvidin’ that, sir, o’ course. Well, gentlemen, my story ain’t a long one. All I’ve to say was what I ’eard on board, just before she went down. The passengers was off, and the crew was gettin’ into the other boats when the skipper turns to the steward an’ speaks to him quiet-like, not observin’, gentlemen, as I was agin ’is elbow, so for to say. ‘’Ere, Norton,’ ’e sez, or words to that effeck, ‘why shouldn’t we try gettin’ them things ashore with us—you know, the cases—eh? I’ve a notion we’re pretty close inshore,’ ’e sez, ‘and there’s nothink of a sea now. You take one, anyway, and I’ll try the other,’ ’e says, ‘but don’t make a flourish.’ Then he sez, louder—’cos o’ the steward goin’ off—‘they’re the likeliest stuff, and at worst we can but drop ’em. But look sharp,’ ’e says. So then I gets into the nearest boat, and that’s all I ’eard.”

  “That was all?” asked Hewitt, watching the man’s face sharply.

  “All?” the carpenter answered, with some surprise. “Yes, that was all; but I think it’s pretty well enough, don’t you? It’s plain enough what was meant—him and the steward was to take two cases, one apiece, on the quiet, and they was the likeliest stuff aboard, as he said himself. And now there’s two cases o’ bullion missin’. Aint that enough?”

  The carpenter was not satisfied till an exact note had been made of the captain’s words. Then after Merrick’s promise on behalf of the company had been renewed, Wickens took himself off.

  “Well,” said Merrick, grinning across the table at Hewitt, “this is a queer go, isn’t it? What that man says makes the skipper’s case look pretty fishy, doesn’t it? What he says, and what Brasyer says, taken together, makes a pretty strong case. I should say, makes the thing a certainty. But what a business! It’s likely to be a bit serious for someone, but it’s a rare joke in a way. Wonder if Brasyer will find out anything more? Pity the skipper and steward didn’t agree as to whom they should pretend to suspect. That’s a mistake on their part.”

  “Not at all,” Hewitt replied. “If they are conspiring, and know what they’re about, they will avoid seeming to be both in a tale. The bullion is in bars, I understand?”

  “Yes; five bars in each case, weight, I believe, sixteen pounds to a bar.”

  “THE TWO DIVERS LOOKED UP AT THE GREAT HOLE IN THE NICOBAR’S SIDE.”

  “Let me see,” Hewitt went on, as he looked at his watch; “it is now nearly two o’clock. I must think over these things if I am to do anything in the case. In the meantime, if it could be managed, I should like enormously to have a turn under water in a diving-dress. I have always had a curiosity to see under the sea. Could it be managed now?”

  “Well,” Merrick responded, “there’s not much fun in it, I can assure you; and it’s none the pleasanter in this weather. You’d better have a try later in the year if you really want to—unless you think you can learn anything about this business by smelling about on the Nicobar down below?”

  Hewitt raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “I might spot something,” he said; “one never knows. And if I do anything in a case I always make it a rule to see and hear everything that can possibly be seen or heard, important or not. Clues lie where least expected. But beyond that, probably I may never have another chance of a little experience in a diving-dress. So if it can be managed I’d be glad.”

  “Very well, you shall go, if you say so. And since it’s your first venture, I’ll come down with you myself. The men are all ashore, I think, or most of them. Come along.”

  Hewitt was put in woollens and then in indiarubbers. A leaden-soled boot of twenty pounds’ weight was strapped on each foot, and weights were hung on his back and chest.

  “That’s the dress that Gullen usually has,” Merrick remarked. “He’s a very smart fellow; we usually send him first to make measurements and so on. An excellent man, but a bit too fond of the diver’s lotion.”

  “What’s that?” asked Hewitt.

  “Oh, you shall try some if you like, afterwards. It’s a bit too heavy for me; rum and gin mixed, I think.”

  A red nightcap was placed on Martin Hewitt’s head, and after that a copper helmet, secured by a short turn in the segmental screw joint at the neck. In the end he felt a vast difficulty in moving at all. Merrick had been meantime invested with a similar rig-out, and then each was provided with a communication cord and an incandescent electric lamp. Finally the front window was screwed on each helmet, and all was ready.

  Merrick went first over the ladder at the side, and Hewitt with much difficulty followed. As the water closed over his head, his sensations altered considerably. There was less weight to carry; his arms in particular felt light, though slow in motion. Down, down they went slowly, and all round about it was fairly light, but once on the sunken vessel and among the lower decks the electric lamps were necessary enough. Once or twice Merrick spoke, laying his helmet against Hewitt’s for the purpose, and instructing him to keep his air-pipe, lifeline, and lamp connection from fouling something at every step. Here and there shadowy swimming shapes came out of the gloom, attracted by their lamps, to dart into obscurity again with a twist of the tail. The fishes were exploring the Nicobar. The hatchway of the lower deck was open, and down this they passed to the orlop deck. A little way along this they came to a door standing open, with a broken loc
k hanging to it. It was the door of the bullion-room, which had been forced by the divers in the morning.

  Merrick indicated by signs how the cases had been found piled on the floor. One of the sides of the room of thin steel was torn and thrust in the length of its whole upper half, and when they backed out of the room and passed the open door they stood in the great breach made by the bow of the strange coasting vessel. Steel, iron, wood, and everything stood in rents and splinters, and through the great gap they looked out into the immeasurable ocean. Hewitt put up his hand and felt the edge of the bullion-room partition where it had been torn. It was just such a tear as might have been made in cardboard.

  They regained the upper deck, and Hewitt, placing his helmet against his companion’s, told him that he meant to have a short walk on the ocean bed. He took to the ladder again, where it lay over the side, and Merrick followed him.

  The bottom was of that tough, slimy sort of clay-rock that is found in many places about our coasts, and was dotted here and there with lumps of harder rock and clumps of curious weed. The two divers turned at the bottom of the ladder, walked a few steps, and looked up at the great hole in the Nicobar’s side. Seen from here it was a fearful chasm, laying open hold, orlop, and lower deck.

  Hewitt turned away, and began walking about. Once or twice he stood and looked thoughtfully at the ground he stood on, which was fairly flat. He turned over with his foot a whitish, clean-looking stone about as large as a loaf. Then he wandered on slowly, once or twice stopping to examine the rock beneath him, and presently stooped to look at another stone nearly as large as the other, weedy on one side only, standing on the edge of a cavity in the claystone. He pushed the stone into the hole, which it filled, and then he stood up.

  Merrick put his helmet against Hewitt’s, and shouted:

  “I MIGHT EASILY FORGET THESE FIGURES.”

  “Satisfied now? Seen enough of the bottom?”

  “In a moment!” Hewitt shouted back; and he straightway began striding out in the direction of the ship. Arrived at the bows, he turned back to the point he started from, striding off again from there to the white stone he had kicked over, and from there to the vessel’s side again. Merrick watched him in intense amazement, and hurried, as well as he might, after the light of Hewitt’s lamp. Arrived for the second time at the bows of the ship, Hewitt turned and made his way along the side to the ladder, and forthwith ascended, followed by Merrick. There was no halt at the deck this time, and the two made their way up and up into the lighter water above, and so to the world of air.

  On the tug, as the men were unscrewing them from their waterproof prisons, Merrick asked Hewitt:

  “Will you try the ‘lotion’ now?”

  “No,” Hewitt replied, “I won’t go quite so far as that. But I will have a little whisky if you’ve any in the cabin. And give me a pencil and a piece of paper.”

  These things were brought, and on the paper Martin Hewitt immediately wrote a few figures, and kept it in his hand.

  “I might easily forget these figures,” he observed.

  Merrick wondered, but said nothing.

  Once more comfortably in the cabin, and clad in his usual garments, Hewitt asked if Merrick could produce a chart of the parts thereabout.

  “Here you are,” was the reply, “coast and all. Big enough, isn’t it? I’ve already marked the position of the wreck on it in pencil. She lies pointing north by east as nearly exact as anything.”

  “As you’ve begun it,” said Hewitt, “I shall take the liberty of making a few more pencil marks on this.” And with that he spread out the crumpled note of figures, and began much ciphering and measuring. Presently he marked certain points on a spare piece of paper, and drew through them two lines forming an angle. This angle he transferred to the chart, and, placing a ruler over one leg of the angle, lengthened it out till it met the coast-line.

  “There we are,” he said musingly. “And the nearest village to that is Lostella—indeed, the only coast village in that neighbourhood.” He rose. “Bring me the sharpest-eyed person on board,” he said; “that is, if he were here all day yesterday.”

  “But what’s up? What’s all this mathematical business over? Going to find that bullion by rule of three?”

  Hewitt laughed. “Yes, perhaps,” he said; “but where’s your sharp look-out? I want somebody who can tell me everything that was visible from the deck of this tug all day yesterday.”

  “Well, really I believe the very sharpest chap is the boy. He’s most annoyingly observant sometimes. I’ll send for him.”

  He came—a bright, snub-nosed, impudent-looking young ruffian.

  “See here, my boy,” said Merrick, “polish up your wits and tell this gentleman what he asks.”

  “Yesterday,” said Hewitt, “no doubt you saw various pieces of wreckage floating about?”

  “Yessir.”

  “What were they?”

  “Hatch-gratings mostly—nothin’ much else. There’s some knockin’ about now.”

  “I saw them. Now, remember. Did you see a hatch-grating floating yesterday that was different from the others? A painted one, for instance—those out there now are not painted, you know.”

  “Yessir, I see a little white ’un painted, bobbin’ about away beyond the foremast of the Nicobar.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Certain sure, sir—it was the only painted thing floatin’. And to-day it’s washed away somewheres.”

  “So I noticed. You’re a smart lad. Here’s a shilling for you—keep your eyes open and perhaps you’ll find a good many more shillings before you’re an old man. That’s all.”

  The boy disappeared, and Hewitt turned to Merrick and said, “I think you may as well send that wire you spoke of. If I get the commission I think I may recover that bullion. It may take some little time, or, on the other hand, it may not. If you’ll write the telegram at once, I’ll go in the same boat as the messenger. I’m going to take a walk down to Lostella now—it’s only two or three miles along the coast, but it will soon be getting dark.”

  “But what sort of a clue have you got? I didn’t——”

  “Never mind,” replied Hewitt, with a chuckle. “Officially, you know, I’ve no right to a clue just yet—I’m not commissioned. When I am I’ll tell you everything.”

  Hewitt was scarcely ashore when he was seized by the excited Brasyer. “Here you are,” he said. “I was coming aboard the tug again. I’ve got more news. You remember I said I was going out with that railway clerk this afternoon, and meant pumping him? Well, I’ve done it and rushed away—don’t know what he’ll think’s up. As we were going along we saw Norton, the steward, on the other side of the way, and the clerk recognised him as one of the men who brought the cases to be sent off; the other was the skipper, I’ve no doubt, from his description. I played him artfully, you know, and then he let out that both the cases were addressed to Mackrie at his address in London! He looked up the entry, he said, after I left when I first questioned him, feeling curious. That’s about enough I think, eh? I’m off to London now—I believe Mackrie’s going to-night. I’ll have him! Keep it dark!” And the zealous second officer dashed off without waiting for a reply. Hewitt looked after him with an amused smile, and turned off towards Lostella.

  III.

  It was about eleven the next morning when Merrick received the following note, brought by a boatman:—

  “Dear Merrick,—Am I commissioned? If not, don’t trouble, but if I am, be just outside Lostella, at the turning before you come to the Smack Inn at two o’clock. Bring with you a light cart, a policeman—or two perhaps will be better—and a man with a spade. There will probably be a little cabbage-digging. Are you fond of the sport?—Yours, Martin Hewitt.

  “P. S.—Keep all your men aboard; bring the spade artist from the town.”

  Merrick was off in a boat at once. His principals had replied to his telegram after Hewitt’s departure the day before, giving him a free hand to
do whatever seemed best. With some little difficulty he got the policemen, and with none at all he got a light cart and a jobbing man with a spade. Together they drove off to the meeting-place.

  It was before the time, but Martin Hewitt was there, waiting. “You’re quick,” he said, “but the sooner the better. I gave you the earliest appointment I thought you could keep, considering what you had to do.”

  “Have you got the stuff, then?” Merrick asked anxiously.

  “No, not exactly yet. But I’ve got this,” and Hewitt held up the point of his walking-stick. Protruding half an inch or so from it was the sharp end of a small gimlet, and in the groove thereof was a little white wood, such as commonly remains after a gimlet has been used.

  “Why, what’s that?”

  “Never mind. Let us move along—I’ll walk. I think we’re about at the end of the job—it’s been a fairly lucky one, and quite simple. But I’ll explain after.”

  Just beyond the Smack Inn Hewitt halted the cart, and all got down. They looped the horse’s reins round a hedge-stake and proceeded the small remaining distance on foot, with the policemen behind, to avoid a premature scare. They turned up a lane behind a few small and rather dirty cottages facing the sea, each with its patch of kitchen garden behind. Hewitt led the way to the second garden, pushed open the small wicket gate and walked boldly in, followed by the others.