LAUNCHING A NEW INVENTION
The eastern sky was just flushing into light when I got back to
the creek at four o'clock. It was a beautiful morning--cool and
still--with the sweet freshness of early dawn in the air, and the
promise of a long unclouded day of spring sunshine.
I tugged the dinghy down to the water, and pushed off for the _Betty_,
which looked strangely small and unreal lying there in the dim,
mysterious twilight. The sound I made as I drew near must have reached
Joyce's ears. She was up on deck in a moment, fully dressed, and with
her hair twisted into a long bronze plait that hung down some way
below her waist. She looked as fresh and fair as the dawn itself.
"Beautifully punctual," she called out over the side. "I knew you
would be, so I started getting breakfast."
I caught hold of the gunwale and scrambled on board.
"It's like living at the Savoy," I said. "Breakfast was a luxury that
had never entered my head."
"Well, it's going to now," she returned, "unless you're in too great a
hurry to start. It's all ready in the cabin."
"We can spare ten minutes certainly," I said. "Experiments should
always be made on a full body."
I tied up the dinghy and followed her inside, where the table was
decorated with bread and butter and the remnants of the cold pheasant,
while a kettle hissed away cheerfully on the Primus.
"I don't believe you've been to bed at all, Joyce," I said. "And yet
you look as if you'd just slipped out of Paradise by accident."
She laughed, and putting her hand in my side-pocket, took out my
handkerchief to lift off the kettle with.
"I didn't want to sleep," she said. "I was too happy, and too
miserable. It's the widest-awake mixture I ever tried." Then, picking
up the teapot, she added curiously: "Where's the powder? I expected to
see you arrive with a large keg over your shoulder."
I sat down at the table and produced a couple of glass flasks, tightly
corked.
"Here you are," I said. "This is ordinary gunpowder, and this other
one's my stuff. It looks harmless enough, doesn't it?"
Joyce took both flasks and examined them with interest. "You've not
brought very much of it," she said. "I was hoping we were going to
have a really big blow-up."
"It will be big enough," I returned consolingly, "unless I've made a
mistake."
"Where are you going to do it?" she asked.
"Somewhere at the back of Canvey Island," I said. "There's no one to
wake up there except the sea-gulls, and we can be out of sight round
the corner before it explodes. I've got about twenty feet of fuse,
which will give us at least a quarter of an hour to get away in."
"What fun!" exclaimed Joyce. "I feel just like an anarchist or
something; and it's lovely to know that one's launching a new
invention. We ought to have kept that bottle of champagne to christen
it with."
"Yes," I said regretfully; "it was the real christening brand too."
There was a short silence. "I've thought of a name for it," cried
Joyce suddenly. "The powder, I mean. We'll call it Lyndonite. It
sounds like something that goes off with a bang, doesn't it?"
I laughed. "It would probably suggest that to the prison authorities,"
I said. "Anyhow, Lyndonite it shall be."
We finished breakfast, and going up on deck I proceeded to haul in the
anchor, while Joyce stowed away the crockery and provisions below. For
once in a way the engine started without much difficulty, and as the
tide was running out fast it didn't take us very long to reach the
mouth of the creek.
Once outside, I set a course down stream as close to the northern
shore as I dared go. Except for a rusty-looking steam tramp we had the
whole river to ourselves, not even a solitary barge breaking the
long stretch of grey water. One by one the old landmarks--Mucking
Lighthouse, the Thames Cattle Wharf, and Hole Haven--were left behind,
and at last the entrance to the creek that runs round behind Canvey
Island came into sight.
One would never accuse it of being a cheerful, bustling sort of place
at the best of times, but at five o'clock in the morning it seemed the
very picture of uninhabited desolation. A better locality in which
to enjoy a little quiet practice with new explosives it would be
difficult to imagine.
I navigated the _Betty_ in rather gingerly, for it was over three
years since I had visited the spot. Joyce kept on sounding diligently
with the lead either side of the boat, and at last we brought up in
about one and a half fathom, just comfortably out of sight of the main
stream.
"This will do nicely," I said. "We'll turn her round first, and then
I'll row into the bank and fix things up under that tree over there.
We can be back in the river before anything happens."
"Can't we stop and watch?" asked Joyce. "I should love to see it go
off."
I shook my head. "Unless I've made a mistake," I said, "it will be
much healthier round the corner. We'll come back and see what's
happened afterwards."
By the aid of some delicate manoeuvring I brought the _Betty_ round,
and then getting into the dinghy pulled myself ashore.
It was quite unnecessary for my experiment to make any complicated
preparations. All I had to do was to dig a hole in the bank with a
trowel that I had brought for the purpose, empty my stuff into that,
and tip in the gunpowder on top. When I had finished I covered the
whole thing over with earth, leaving a clear passage for the fuse, and
then lighting the end of the latter, jumped back into the boat and
pulled off rapidly for the _Betty_.
We didn't waste any time dawdling about. Joyce seized the painter as
I climbed on board, and hurrying to the tiller I started off down the
creek as fast as we could go, taking very particular pains not to run
aground.
We had reached the mouth, and I was swinging her round into the main
river, when a sudden rumbling roar disturbed the peacefulness of
the dawn. Joyce, who was staring out over the stern, gave a little
startled cry, and glancing hastily back I was just in time to see a
disintegrated-looking tree soaring gaily up into the air in the midst
of a huge column of dust and smoke. The next moment a rain of falling
fragments of earth and wood came splashing down into the water--a few
stray pieces actually reaching the _Betty_, which rocked vigorously as
a minature tidal wave swept after us up the creek.
I put down my helm and brought her round so as to face the stricken
field.
"We seem to have done it, Joyce," I observed with some contentment.
She gave a little gasping sort of laugh. "It was splendid!" she said.
"But, oh, Neil, what appalling stuff it must be! It's blown up half
Canvey Island!"
"Never mind," I said cheerfully. "There are plenty of other islands
left. Let's get into the dinghy and see what the damage really amounts
to. I fancy it's fairly useful."
We anchored the _Betty_, and then pulled up the creek towards the
scene of the explosion, where a gaping aperture in the bank was
plainly visible. As we drew near I saw that it extended, roughly
speaking, in a half-circle of perhaps twenty yards diameter. The whole
of this, which had previously been a solid bank of grass and earth,
was now nothing but a muddy pool. Of the unfortunate tree which had
marked the site there was not a vestige remaining.
I regarded it all from the boat with the complacent pride of a
successful inventor. "It's even better than I expected, Joyce," I
said. "If one can do this with three-quarters of a pound, just fancy
the effect of a couple of hundredweight. It would shift half London."
Joyce nodded. "They'll be more anxious than ever to get hold of it,
when they know," she said. "What are you going to do? Write and tell
McMurtrie that you've succeeded?"
"I haven't quite decided," I answered. "I shall wait till tomorrow or
the next day, anyhow. I want to hear what Sonia has got to say first."
Then, backing away the boat, I added: "We'd better get out of this
as soon as we can. It's just possible some one may have heard the
explosion and come pushing along to find out what's the matter. People
are so horribly inquisitive."
Joyce laughed. "It would be rather awkward, wouldn't it? We couldn't
very well say it was an earthquake. It looks too neat and tidy."
Fortunately for us, if there was any one in the neighbourhood who
had heard the noise, they were either too lazy or too incurious to
investigate the cause. We got back on board the _Betty_ and took her
out into the main stream without seeing a sign of any one except
ourselves. The hull of the steam tramp was just visible in the far
distance, but except for that the river was still pleasantly deserted.
"What shall we do now, Joyce?" I asked. "It seems to me that this is
an occasion which distinctly requires celebrating."
Joyce thought for a moment. "Let's go for a long sail," she suggested,
"and then put in at Southend and have asparagus for lunch."
I looked at her with affectionate approval. "You always have beautiful
ideas," I said. Then a sudden inspiration seized me. "I've got it!" I
cried. "What do you say to running down to Sheppey and paying a call
on our German pals?"
Joyce's blue eyes sparkled. "It would be lovely," she said, with a
deep breath; "but dare we risk it?"
"There's no risk," I rejoined. "When I said 'pay a call,' I didn't
mean it quite literally. My idea was to cruise along the coast and
just find out exactly where their precious bungalow is, and what they
do with that launch of theirs when they're not swamping inquisitive
boatmen. It's the sort of information that might turn out useful."
Joyce nodded. "We'll go," she said briefly. "What about the tide?"
"Oh, the tide doesn't matter," I replied. "It will be dead out by the
time we get to Southend; but we only draw about three foot six, and
we can cut across through the Jenkin Swatch. There's water enough off
Sheppey to float a battleship."
It was the work of a few minutes to pull in the anchor and haul up
the sails, which filled immediately to a slight breeze that had
just sprung up from the west. Leaving a still peaceful, if somewhat
mutilated, Canvey Island behind us, we started off down the river,
gliding along with an agreeable smoothness that fitted in very nicely
with my state of mind.
Indeed I don't think I had ever felt anything so nearly approaching
complete serenity since my escape from Dartmoor. It is true that
the tangle in which I was involved, appeared more threatening and
complicated than ever, but one gets so used to sitting on a powder
mine that the situation was gradually ceasing to distress me.
At all events I had made my explosive, and that was one great step
towards a solution of some sort. If McMurtrie was prepared to play the
game with me I should in a few days be in what the newspapers call "a
position of comparative affluence," while if his intentions were less
straightforward I should at least have some definite idea as to where
I was. Sonia's promised disclosures were a guarantee of that.
But apart from these considerations the mere fact of having Joyce
sitting beside me in the boat while we bowled along cheerfully through
the water was quite enough in itself to account for my new-found
happiness. One realizes some things in life with curious abruptness,
and I knew now how deeply and passionately I loved her. I suppose I
had always done so really, but she had been little more than a child
in the old Chelsea days, and the sort of brotherly tenderness and
pride I had had for her must have blinded me to the truth.
Anyhow it was out now; out beyond any question of doubt or argument.
She was as necessary and dear to me as the stars are to the night, and
it seemed ridiculously impossible to contemplate any sort of existence
without her. Not that I wasted much energy attempting the feat; the
present was sufficiently charming to occupy my entire time.
We passed Leigh and Southend, the former with its fleet of
fishing-smacks and the latter with its long unlovely pier, and then
nosed our way delicately into the Jenkin Swatch, that convenient ditch
which runs right across the mouth of the Thames. The sun was now high
in the sky, and one could see signs of activity on the various barges
that were hanging about the neighbourhood waiting for the tide.
I pointed away past the Nore Lightship towards a bit of rising ground
on the low-lying Sheppey coast.
"That's about where our pals are hanging out," I said. "There's
a little deep-water creek there, which Tommy and I used to use
sometimes, and according to Mr. Gow their bungalow is close by."
Joyce peered out under her hand across the intervening water. "It's a
nice situation," she observed, "for artists."
I laughed. "Yes," I said. "They are so close to Sheerness and
Shoeburyness, and other places of beauty. I expect they've done quite
a lot of quiet sketching."
We reached the end of the Swatch, and leaving Queenborough, with its
grim collection of battleships and coal hulks, to starboard, we stood
out to sea along the coastline. It was a fairly long sail to the place
which I had pointed out to Joyce, but with a light breeze behind her
the _Betty_ danced along so gaily that we covered the distance in a
surprisingly short time.
As we drew near, Joyce got out Tommy's field-glasses from the cabin,
and kneeling up on the seat in the well, focused them carefully on the
spot.
"There's the entrance to the creek all right," she said, "but I don't
see any sign of a bungalow anywhere." She moved the glasses slowly
from side to side. "Oh, yes," she exclaimed suddenly, "I've got it
now--right up on the cliff there, away to the left. One can only just
see the roof, though, and it seems some way from the creek."
She resigned the glasses to me, and took over the tiller, while I had
a turn at examining the coast.
I soon made out the roof of the bungalow, which, as Joyce had said,
was the only part visible. It stood in a very lonely position, high
up on a piece of rising ground, and half hidden from the sea by what
seemed like a thick privet hedge. To judge by the smoke which I could
just discern rising from its solitary chimney, it looked as if the
occupants were addicted to the excellent habit of early rising.
There was no other sign of them to be seen, however, and if the launch
was lying anywhere about, it was at all events invisible from the sea.
I refreshed my memory with a long, careful scrutiny of the entrance to
the creek, and then handing the glasses back to Joyce I again assumed
control of the boat.
"Well," I observed, "we haven't wasted the morning. We know where
their bungalow door is, anyway."
Joyce nodded. "It may come in very handy," she said, "in case you ever
want to pay them a surprise call."
Exactly how soon that contingency was going to occur we neither of us
guessed or imagined!
We reached the Nore Lightship, and waving a courteous greeting to a
patient-looking gentleman who was spitting over the side, commenced
our long beat back in the direction of Southend. It was slow work, for
the tide was only just beginning to turn, and the wind, such as there
was of it, was dead in our faces. However, I don't think either Joyce
or I found the time hang heavily on our hands. If one can't be happy
with the sun and the sea and the person one loves best in the world,
it seems to me that one must be unreasonably difficult to please.
We fetched up off Southend Pier at just about eleven o'clock. A
hoarse-voiced person in a blue jersey, who was leaning over the end,
pointed us out some moorings that we were at liberty to pick up, and
then watched us critically while I stowed away the sails and locked up
everything in the boat which it was possible to steal. I had been to
Southend before in the old days.
These simple precautions concluded, Joyce and I got in the dinghy
and rowed to the steps. We were met by the gentleman in blue, who
considerately offered to keep his eye on the boat for us while I "and
the lady" enjoyed what he called "a run round the town." I accepted
his proposal, and having agreed with his statement that it was "a nice
morning for a sail," set off with Joyce along the mile of pier that
separated us from the shore.
I don't know that our adventures for the next two or three hours call
for any detailed description. We wandered leisurely and cheerfully
through the town, buying each other one or two trifles in the way of
presents, and then adjourned for lunch to a large and rather dazzling
hotel that dominated the sea front. It was a new effort on the part
of Southend since my time, but, as Joyce said, it "looked the sort of
place where one was likely to get asparagus."
Its appearance did not belie it. At a corner table in the window,
looking out over the sea, we disposed of what the waiter described as
"two double portions" of that agreeable vegetable, together with an
excellent steak and a bottle of sound if slightly too sweet burgundy.
Then over a couple of cigarettes we discussed our immediate plans.
"I think I'd better catch the three-thirty back," said Joyce. "I've
got one or two things I want to do before I meet George, and in any
case you mustn't stay here too long or you'll miss the tide."
"That doesn't really matter," I said. "Only I suppose I ought to get
back just in case Tommy has turned up. I can't leave him sitting on a
mud-flat all night."
Joyce laughed. "He'd probably be a little peevish in the morning. Men
are so unreasonable."
I leaned across the table and took her hand. "When are you coming down
again?" I asked. "Tomorrow?"
Joyce thought for a moment. "Tomorrow or the next day. It all depends
if I see a chance of getting anything more out of George. I'll write
to you or send you a wire, dear, anyhow."
I nodded. "All right," I said; "and look here, Joyce; you may as well
come straight to the hut next time. It's not the least likely there'll
be any one there except me, and if there was you could easily pretend
you wanted to ask the way to Tilbury. You see, if Gow wasn't about,
you would have to pull the dinghy all the way down the bank before you
got on board the _Betty_, and that's a nice, muddy, shin-scraping sort
of job at the best of times."
"Very well," said Joyce. Then squeezing my hand a little tighter she
added: "And my own Neil, you _will_ be careful, won't you? I always
seem to be asking you that, but, oh my dear, if you knew how horribly
frightened I am of anything happening to you. It will be worse than
ever now, after last night. I don't seem to feel it when I'm actually
with you--I suppose I'm too happy--but when I'm away from you it's
just like some ghastly horrible sword hanging over our heads all the
time. Neil darling, as soon as you get this money from McMurtrie--if
you do get it--can't we just give up the whole thing and go away and
be happy together?"
I lifted her hand and pressed the inside of it against my lips.
"Joyce," I said, "think what it means. It's just funking life--just
giving it up because the odds seem too heavy against us. I shouldn't
have minded killing Marks in the least. I should be rather proud of
it. If I had, we would go away together tomorrow, and I should never
worry my head as to what any one in the world was saying or thinking
about me." I paused. "But I didn't kill him," I added slowly, "and
that just makes all the difference."
Joyce's blue eyes were very near tears, but they looked back steadily
and bravely into mine.
"Yes, yes," she said. "I didn't really mean it, Neil. I was just weak
for the moment--that's all. Right down in my heart I want everything
for you; I could never be contented with less. I want the whole world
to know how they've wronged you; I want you to be famous and powerful
and splendid, and I want the people who've abused you to come and
smirk and grovel to you, and say that they knew all the time that you
were innocent." She stopped and took a deep breath. "And they shall,
Neil. I'm as certain of it as if I saw it happening. I seem to know
inside me that we're on the very point of finding out the truth."
I don't think my worst enemy would accuse me of being superstitious,
but there was a ring of conviction in Joyce's voice which somehow or
other affected me curiously.
"I believe you're right," I said. "I've got something of that sort of
feeling too. Perhaps it's infectious." Then, letting go her hand, to
spare the feelings of the waiter who had just come into the room, I
sat back in my chair and ordered the bill.
We didn't talk much on our way to the station. I think we were both
feeling rather depressed at the prospect of doing without each other
for at least twenty-four hours, and in any case the trams and motors
and jostling crowd of holiday-makers who filled the main street would
have rendered any connected conversation rather a difficult art.
A good many people favoured Joyce with glances of admiration,
especially a spruce-looking young constable who officially held up the
traffic to allow us to cross the road. He paid no attention at all to
me, but I consoled myself with the reflection that he was missing an
excellent chance of promotion.
At the station I put Joyce into a first-class carriage, kissed her
affectionately under the disapproving eye of an old lady in the
opposite corner, and then stood on the platform until the train
steamed slowly out of the station.
I turned away at last, feeling quite unpleasantly alone. It's no good
worrying about what can't be altered, however, so, lighting a cigar, I
strolled back philosophically to the hotel, where I treated myself to
the luxury of a hot bath before rejoining the boat.
It must have been pretty nearly half-past four by the time I reached
the pier-head. My friend with the hoarse voice and the blue jersey was
still hanging around, looking rather thirsty and exhausted after his
strenuous day's work of watching over the dinghy. I gave him half a
crown for his trouble, and followed by his benediction pulled off for
the _Betty_.
The wind had gone round a bit to the south, and as the tide was still
coming in I decided to sail up to the creek in preference to using the
engine. The confounded throb of the latter always got on my nerves,
and apart from that I felt that the mere fact of having to handle the
sails would keep my mind lightly but healthily occupied. Unless I was
mistaken, a little light healthy occupation was exactly what my mind
needed.
As occasionally happens on exceptionally fine days in late spring, the
perfect clearness of the afternoon was gradually beginning to give
place to a sort of fine haze. It was not thick enough, however, to
bother me in any way, and under a jib and mainsail the _Betty_ swished
along at such a satisfactory pace that I was in sight of Gravesend
Reach before either the light or the tide had time to fail me.
I thought I knew the entrance to the creek well enough by now to run
her in under sail, though it was a job that required a certain amount
of cautious handling. Anyhow I decided to risk it, and, heading for
the shore, steered her up the narrow channel, which I had been careful
to take the bearings of at low water.
I was so engrossed in this feat of navigation that I took no notice
of anything else, until a voice from the bank abruptly attracted my
attention. I looked up with a start, nearly running myself aground,
and there on the bank I saw a gesticulating figure, which I
immediately recognized as that of Tommy. I shouted a greeting back,
and swinging the _Betty_ round, brought up in almost the identical
place where we had anchored on the previous night.
Tommy, who had hurried down to the edge of the water, gave me a second
hail.
"Buck up, old son!" he called out. "There's something doing."
A suggestion of haste from Tommy argued a crisis of such urgency
that I didn't waste any time asking questions. I just threw over the
anchor, and tumbling into the dinghy sculled ashore as quickly as I
could.
"Sorry I kept you waiting, Tommy," I said, as he jumped into the boat.
"Been here long?"
"About three hours," he returned. "I was beginning to wonder if you
were dead."
I shook my head. "I'm not fit to die yet," I replied. "What's the
matter?"
He looked at his watch. "Well, the chief matter is the time. Do you
think I can get to Sheppey by half-past nine?"
I paused in my rowing. "Sheppey!" I repeated. "Why damn it, Tommy,
I've just come back from Sheppey."
It was Tommy's turn to look surprised. "The devil you have!" he
exclaimed. "What took you there?"
"To be exact," I said, "it was the _Betty_"; and then in as few words
as possible I proceeded to acquaint him with the morning's doings. I
was just finishing as we came alongside.
"Well, that's fine about the powder," he said, scrambling on board.
"Where's Gow?"
"Joyce sent him off for a holiday," I answered, "and he hasn't come
back yet." Then hitching up the dinghy I added curiously: "What's up,
Tommy? Let's have it."
"It's Latimer," he said. "I told you I was expecting to hear from him.
He sent me a message round early this morning, and I've promised him
I'll be in the creek under the German's bungalow by half-past nine. I
must get there somehow."
"Oh, we'll get there all right," I returned cheerfully, "What's the
game?"
"I think he's having a squint round," said Tommy. "Anyhow I know he's
there on his own and depending on me to pick him up."
"But what made him ask you?" I demanded.
"He knew I had a boat, and I fancy he's working this particular racket
without any official help. As far as I can make out, he wants to be
quite certain what these fellows are up to before he strikes. You
don't get much sympathy in the Secret Service if you happen to make a
mistake."
"Well, it's no good wasting time talking," I said. "If we want to be
there by half-past nine we must push off at once."
"But what about you?" exclaimed Tommy. "You can't come! He's seen you,
you know, at the hut."
"What does it matter?" I objected. "If he didn't recognize me as the
chap who sent him the note at Parelli's, we can easily fake up some
explanation. Tell him I'm a new member of the Athenians, and that you
happened to run across me and brought me down to help work the boat.
There's no reason one shouldn't be a yachtsman and a photographer
too."
I spoke lightly, but as a matter of fact I was some way from
trusting Tommy's judgment implicitly with regard to Latimer's
straightforwardness about the restaurant incident, and also about
his visit to the hut. All the same, I was quite determined to go to
Sheppey. Things had come to a point now when there was nothing to be
gained by over-caution. Either Latimer had recognized me or else he
hadn't. In the first event, he knew already that Tommy had been trying
to deceive him, and that the mythical artist person was none other
than myself. If that were so, I felt it was best to take the bull by
the horns, and try to find out exactly what part he suspected me of
playing. I had at least saved his life, and although we live in an
ungrateful world, he seemed bound to be more or less prejudiced in my
favour.
Apart from these considerations, Tommy would certainly want some help
in working the _Betty_. He knew his job well enough, but with a haze
on the river and the twilight drawing in rapidly, the mouth of the
Thames is no place for single-handed sailing--especially when you're
in a hurry.
Tommy evidently recognized this, for he raised no further objections.
"Very well," he said, with a rather reckless laugh. "We're gambling a
bit, but that's the fault of the cards. Up with the anchor, Neil, and
let's get a move on her."
I hauled in the chain, and then jumped up to attend to the sails,
which I had just let down loosely on deck, in my hurry to put off in
the dinghy. After a couple of unsuccessful efforts and two or three
very successful oaths, Tommy persuaded the engine to start, and we
throbbed off slowly down the creek--now quite a respectable estuary of
tidal water.
I sat back in the well with a laugh. "I never expected a second trip
tonight," I said. "I'm beginning to feel rather like the captain of a
penny steamer."
Tommy, who was combining the important duties of steering and lighting
a pipe, looked up from his labours.
"The Lyndon-Morrison Line!" he observed. "Tilbury to Sheppey twice
daily. Passengers are requested not to speak to the man at the wheel."
"I think, Tommy," I said, "that we must make an exception in the case
of Mr. Latimer."