The Place of Dragons: A Mystery

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER XXVIII

  DESCRIBES A CHASE

  The driver, with the southerner's disregard of the feelings of animals,lashed his weedy horse into a gallop, as up-hill and down-hill we sped,back to the town.

  Entering the city gate, the man scattered the dogs and foot-passengersby his warning yells in Arabic, until at last we were down upon thelong, semi-circular quay, our eager eyes looking over the blue, sun-litsea.

  No sign could we discern of the motor-boat, but Fournier, with his handuplifted, cried--

  "See! Look at that white steam-yacht at the end of the Mole--the long,low-built one. That belongs to the Count. Perhaps he has already boardedher!"

  I looked in the direction my companion indicated, and there saw lyinganchored about half a mile from the shore a small white-painted yacht,built so low that her decks were almost awash, with two rakish-lookingfunnels, and a light mast at either end with a wireless telegraphsuspended between them. The French tricolour was flying at the stern.

  From the funnels smoke was issuing, and from where I stood, I could seemen running backwards and forwards.

  "She's getting under weigh," I cried. "The fugitives must be aboard. Wemust stop them."

  "How can we?" asked the Frenchman, dismayed. "Besides, why shouldwe--except that we were nearly suffocated in that room."

  "That man you know as the Comte d'Esneux is the most dangerous criminalin all Europe," I told him. "To the Prefecture of Police in Paris--toyou in Algiers also--he is known as Jules Jeanjean!"

  "Jules Jeanjean!" choked out the man in the shabby straw hat. "Is thatthe actual truth, M'sieur?"

  "It is," I replied. "And now you know the cause of my anxiety."

  "Why, there is a reward of four hundred thousand francs for his capture,offered by companies who have insured jewels he has stolen," he cried.

  "I know. Now, what shall we do?" I asked, feeling myself helpless, forat that moment I saw the motor-boat draw away from the yacht, with onlyone occupant, the man driving the engine. It had turned and was speedingalong the coast back in the direction of the villa, white foam rising atits elevated bows.

  "What can we do?" queried my companion. "That yacht is the fastestprivately owned craft in the Mediterranean. It is the _Carlo Alberta_,the Italian torpedo-boat built at Spezzia two years ago. Because it didnot quite fulfil the specifications, it was disarmed and sold. The Countpurchased her, and turned her into a yacht."

  "But surely there must be some craft on which we could follow?" Iexclaimed. "Let's see."

  We drove down to the port, and after a few rapid inquiries at the bureauof the harbour-master, found that there was lying beyond the Mole, a bigsteam-yacht belonging to an American railway magnate named Veale. Theowner and some ladies were on board, and he might perhaps assist thepolice and give chase.

  Quickly we were aboard the fast motor-boat belonging to the harbourauthorities, but ere we had set out, the _Carlo Alberta_, with longlines of black smoke issuing from her funnels, had weighed anchor andwas slowly steaming away.

  Silas J. Veale, of the New York Central Railroad, a tall, very thin,very bald-headed man in a smart yachting suit, greeted us pleasantlywhen we boarded his splendid yacht. When he heard our appeal he enteredinto the adventure with spirit and gave the order to sail at once.

  Beside us, on his own broad white deck, he stood scanning thelow-built, rapidly disappearing _Carlo Alberta_ through his binoculars.

  "Guess they'll be able to travel some! We'll have all our work cut outif we mean to keep touch with them. Never mind. We'll see what the old_Viking_ can do."

  Then he shouted another order to his captain, a red-whiskered American,urging him to "hurry up and get a move on!"

  As we stood there, three ladies, his wife and two daughters, the latterrespectively about twenty-two and twenty, all of them in yachtingcostumes, came and joined us, eagerly inquiring whither we were bound.

  "Don't know, Jenny," he replied to his wife. "We're just following acouple of crooks who've got slick away in that two-funnelled boatyonder, and we mean to keep in touch with them till they land. That'sall."

  "Then we're leaving Algiers!" exclaimed the younger girl regretfully.

  "Looks like it, Sadie," was his reply. "The police have requested ouraid, an' we can't very well refuse it." Then turning to me he exclaimed,"Say, I wonder where they're making for?"

  "They are the most elusive pair of thieves in Europe," I replied. "Theyare certain to get away if we do not exercise the greatest caution."

  The ladies grew most excited, and as the vessel began at last to movethrough the water, the chief officer shouting at her men, the girl whosename was Sadie, a smart, rather good-looking little person, thoughtypically American, exclaimed to me, as she fixed her grey eyes on thefleeing vessel--

  "Do you think they are faster than we are?"

  "I fear so," was my reply. "But your father has promised to do hisbest."

  "What crime is alleged against the men?" inquired Mrs. Veale, in ahigh-pitched, nasal tone.

  "Murder," replied Fournier, in French, understanding English, but neverspeaking it.

  "Murder!" all three ladies echoed in unison. "How exciting!"

  And exciting that chase proved. Old Mr. Veale entered thoroughly intothe spirit of the adventure. With Fournier, I took off my coat and,descending to the engine-room, assisted to stoke, we having put to seashort-handed, three men being ashore. Amateur stoking, of course, is notconducive to speed, but Veale himself, his coat also off, and perspiringfreely, directed our efforts.

  Still our speed was not up to what it should have been. Therefore theowner of the yacht went along to the storeroom, and dragging out sidesof cured bacon, chopped them up, and with the pieces fed the furnaces,until we got up sufficient steam-pressure, and were moving through thecalm, sun-lit waters at the maximum speed the fine yacht had attained onher trials.

  As the golden sun sank away in the direction of Gibraltar, the fugitivevessel held on her course to the north-east, straight to where thenightclouds were rising upon the horizon. Far away we could see the longline of black smoke lying out behind her upon the glassy sea. And thoughwe had every ounce of pressure in our boilers, yet with heart-sinking wewatched her slowly but very surely, getting further and further awayfrom us, growing smaller as each half-hour passed.

  The fiery sun sank into the glassy sea, and was followed by a wonderfulcrimson afterglow, which shone upon our anxious faces as, ever and anon,we left our work in the stifling stokehold, and went on deck for abreath of fresh air.

  Fournier's face was grimy with coal-dust, and so was mine, while Vealehimself also took his turn in handling the shovel.

  The chase was full of wildest excitement, which was certainly shared bythe three ladies, to whom the hunting of criminals was a decidednovelty.

  With the aid of a whisky and soda now and then, and on odd hamsandwich, we worked far into the night.

  The captain reported that before darkness had fallen the _Carlo Alberta_had, according to the laws of navigation, put up her lights. But an hourafter the darkness became complete she must have either extinguishedthem or had passed through a bank of mist. For fully half an hournothing was seen of the lights, though most of the men on board wereeagerly on the watch for a sight of them. Suddenly, however, they againreappeared.

  Then our captain, after consultation with Mr. Veale, decided to try aruse. He extinguished every light in the ship, but still held on hiscourse, following the distant yacht. For quite an hour we wentfull-speed ahead with all lights extinguished, keeping an activelook-out for shipping, or for obstacles.

  We did this in order that the fugitives should believe we had given upthe chase. Though their vessel was so fast, it was apparent thatsomething must have happened to them, for they had not drawn away fromus so far as we had expected. An ordinary steam-yacht, however swift shemay be, can never hold her own with a destroyer.

  "Guess she's got engine-trouble," remarked the American captain as Istood with him upon
the bridge, peering into the darkness. "We mayoverhaul her yet if you gentlemen keep the furnaces a-going as you havebeen. Hot job, ain't it?"

  "Rather," I laughed. "But I don't mind as long as we can get alongsidethat boat." And then I returned to my place in the stokehold, perspiringso freely that I had not a stitch of dry clothing upon me.

  Half an hour later I was again on deck for a blow, and saw that thefugitive steamer had perceptibly increased the distance between us. Hadher engines been working well she would, no doubt, have been well out ofsight two hours after we had left Algiers. Yet, as it was, we were stillfollowing in her wake, all our lights out, so that in the darkness shecould not see us following.

  The whole of that night was an exciting one. All of us worked at thefurnaces with a will, pouring in coal to keep up every ounce of steam ofwhich our boilers were capable. No one slept, and Mrs. Veale, now asexcited as the rest, brought us big draughts of tea below.

  In the stokehold the heat became unbearable. I was not used to such atemperature, neither were the railway magnate nor the detective. Thelatter was all eagerness now that he knew who was on board the vesselaway there on the horizon.

  "She's making for Genoa, I believe," declared the captain, towards fouro'clock in the morning. "She's not going to Marseilles, that's veryevident. If only we had wireless on board we might warn theharbour-police at Genoa to detain them, but, unfortunately, we haven't."

  "And they have!" I remarked with a grin.

  Dawn came at last, and the spreading light revealed us. From the two lowfunnels of the escaping vessel a long trail of black smoke extended faraway across the sea, while from our funnel went up a whirling,woolly-looking, dunnish column, due to our unprofessional stoking.

  All the bacon had been used, as well as other stores, to make as muchsteam as possible, yet even though the _Carlo Alberta_ had plainlysomething amiss with her engines, we found it quite impossible tooverhaul her.

  The day went past, long and exciting. The captain held to his opinionthat our quarry was making for Savona or Genoa. The weather was perfect,and the voyage would have been most enjoyable had not the race been oneof life and death.

  To Veale and his party I related some of the marvellous exploits of thecriminal pair, and told how cleverly they had escaped us from the VillaBeni Hassan. I described the dastardly attempt made upon my life, andthat of Lola, and my narrative caused every one on board to work with awill in order to break up the desperate gang.

  As we had feared, when night again fell the vessel we were chasingshowed no lights. Only by aid of his night-glasses could our captaindistinguish her in the darkness, but fortunately it was not so cloudy ason the previous night, and the moon shone from behind the light patchesof drifting vapour much, no doubt, to Jeanjean's chagrin, for itrevealed their presence and allowed us to still hang on to them.

  Our American captain was a tough-looking fellow, of bull-dog type, andfull of humorous remarks concerning the fugitives.

  I recollected what Lola had told me in regard to her uncle's wirelessexperiments with a friend of his in Genoa. Yes. Finding themselvespressed by us they, no doubt, intended to land at that port. Howdevoutly we all wished that their engines would break down entirely. Butthat was not likely in a boat of her powerful description. Yet somethingwas, undoubtedly, interfering with her speed.

  The second day passed much as the first. We were already within sight ofthe rocky coast near Toulon, and in the track of the liners passing upand down between Port Said and Gib'. We passed two P. and O. mailsteamers, and a yellow-funnelled North German Lloyd homeward bound fromChina. Still we kept at our enemies' heels like a terrier, though theseas were heavy off the coast, and a strong wind was blowing.

  Fournier suffered from sea-sickness, so did Mr. Veale's second daughter,but we kept doggedly on, snatching hasty meals and performing themonotonous, soul-killing work of stoking. The run was as hard a strainas ever had been put upon the engines of the _Viking_, and I knew thatthe engineer was in hourly dread of their breaking down under it.

  If she did, then all our efforts would be in vain.

  So he alternately nursed them, and urged them along through the long,angry waves which had now arisen.

  Another long and weary night passed, and again we both steamed alongwith all lights out, a dangerous proceeding now that we were right inthe track of the shipping. Then, when morning broke, we found we wereoff the yellow Ligurian coast, close to Savona, and heading, as ourcaptain had predicted, for Genoa. The race became fiercely contested. Westood on deck full of excitement. Even Fournier shook off hissea-sickness.

  Soon the high, square lighthouse came into view through the haze, and wethen put on all the speed of which we were capable in a vain endeavourto get closer to the fugitives. But again the black smoke trailed outupon the horizon, and suddenly rounding the lighthouse, they were lostto view.

  At last we, too, rounded the end of the Mole, and entered the harbourwhere the _Carlo Alberta_ had moored three-quarters of an hour earlier.Fournier instantly invoked the aid of the dock police and, with them, weboarded the vessel, only, alas! to find that its owner and his Englishguest had landed and left, leaving orders to the captain to proceed toSouthampton.

  The vessel was, we found, spick and span, luxuriously appointed, andtremendously swift, though, on that run across the Mediterranean, one ofthe engines had been under repair when the Count and his friend had sounexpectedly come on board, and the other was working indifferently.

  The captain, a dark-bearded, pleasant-faced Englishman from Portsmouth,believed that his master had dashed to catch the express for Rome. Hehad, he said, heard him speaking with Mr. Vernon as to whether theycould catch it.

  "Did they use the wireless apparatus on board?" I asked quickly.

  "Once, sir," was the captain's reply. "The Comte was in the wirelesscabin last night for nearly an hour. He's always experimenting."

  "You don't know if he sent any messages--eh?"

  "Oh, yes. He sent some, for I heard them, but I didn't trouble to try toread the sounds."

  Therefore, having thanked Mr. Veale and his family, I set forth,accompanied by Fournier and the two Italian police officers, to therailway station up the hill, above the busy docks.

  Eagerly I asked one of the ticket-collectors in Italian if the Romeexpress had gone, knowing well that in Italy long-distance trains areoften an hour or more late.

  "No, Signore," was his reply. "It is still here, fifty-five minuteslate, from Turin." Then glancing down upon the lines, where severaltrains were standing in the huge, vaulted station, he added: "Platformnumber four. Hurry quickly, Signore, and you will catch it."