AN OLD FRIEND IN A NEW GUISE.
The ss. “Merry Maid” was making capital progress. She was well-engined,
well-manned, her disc was well in evidence, and wind and weather were
all that could be desired. The captain was in an unusually good humour,
for, in addition to his regular means of making money over and above his
salary, he had an extra good speculation on hand, in the shape of a
young passenger whose supposed name was Paul Torrens, but whom we have
known as Hugh Stavanger.
Mr. Torrens, as we will also call him for a time, hardly looked like the
typical fugitive from justice, for his face, as he sat talking to
Captain Cochrane, was that of a man who feels exceedingly well pleased
with himself. The two men were sitting in the cabin of the steamer.
Before them stood bottles and glasses, and the clouded atmosphere of the
apartment gave testimony to the supposition that both men were ardent
votaries of the goddess Nicotine.
“After all, it’s quite jolly to be at sea,” observed Mr. Torrens. “I
expected to feel no end of squeamish.”
To which elegant remark Captain Cochrane replied in kind: “And you
haven’t turned a hair! I am glad of it too, for I hate to have to do
with folk who get sea-sick. They are such an awful nuisance while ill,
and are limp and unsociable for days sometimes, even after they are
supposed to be over the worst of the visitation. A fellow who can take
his share at the whisky bottle is more to my taste.”
“Then I ought to suit you?”
“Yes, you do. Perhaps better than you imagine.”
“Indeed? I should like to know what you mean. It’s something new to be
so well appreciated.”
“It doesn’t take much to please me. Kindred tastes and a well-lined
pocket go a long way towards it.”
“But if the owner of the well-lined pocket declines to part with the
rhino?”
“In this case there is something more at stake than mere rhino, and I
think that the present possessor of it will not dare refuse to go shares
with me.”
As Captain Cochrane said this he emphasised his meaning by such an
unmistakably menacing look that Mr. Torrens shrank together as if
struck, and grew pale to the very lips.
“Of whom and of what are you speaking?” he stammered. But his whole
manner showed that he entertained no doubt on the subject, and his
companion was so sure of his position that he did not trouble himself to
enter into explanations, but smiled coolly and remarked: “Suppose we go
into my berth to discuss matters more fully? It may save future trouble
if we come to an understanding at once, and this place is perhaps not
quite private enough.”
Without a word of remonstrance or comment, Mr. Torrens rose and
followed the captain into his private berth. The latter closed the door
behind his visitor, and pointed out a comfortable chair to him.
“Now then, we will talk business, Mr. ---- Torrens. I happen to know
that the individual who got potted for a certain diamond robbery had no
more to do with the job than I had.”
“How do you happen to know that?”
“Well, during the time that elapsed between receiving a visit from a
certain Mr. Stavanger, and the reception of his son as a passenger on
board the “Merry Maid,” I made a good many inquiries which enlightened
me considerably. I based my inquiries on the circumstance that it was
found desirable to send Mr. Hugh Stavanger out of the
country--presumably for his health, which happens to be very good. That
little yarn about his declining health turning out to be fiction, I
looked around for another reason, since it is evident that a reason
there must be. It was not difficult to discover that Mr. Hugh Stavanger
had of late been leading a very fast life, and that he had been much
more flush of money since the robbery than was the case before that
event took place. I am not given to being foolishly charitable in my
opinions of others, and I did not think myself to be far wrong in
believing that I knew the source of his increased income. There was
another thing that convinced me that I was right. There had been no
hesitation in fixing the guilt of the robbery upon a man against whom
there had never been a breath of suspicion, and who had proved himself a
valued servant. The rancour with which such a man was pursued to his
doom ought to have set blear-eyed Justice on the right track. But she
has such a curious knack of toading to wealth and position that a poor
devil in the dock stands no chance at all, but may thank his stars that
no more lies are raked up against him. No doubt Messrs. Stavanger felt
it to be necessary to secure a conviction, since, the affair being
apparently settled, the law’s sagacious bloodhounds could turn their
attention to a less simple case on the face of it. Perhaps they have not
remembered that this Riddell whom they have sent to penal servitude has
friends and relations who may even now be trying to find evidence
against the real thief.”
“And if they are seeking evidence, what has that to do with me?”
“Everything, my dear sir, since it may result in a reversal of your
positions. But we have beaten about the bush long enough. It’s time we
spoke plainly. You are, I am quite sure, the man who stole the diamonds,
and swore away another man’s liberty to save your own skin. There must
be a good share of the stolen property in your possession. In fact, it
is in that little leather bag that you take such care of, that it goes
to bed with you at night. Too much valuable property is good for no man.
You will therefore fetch that bag out of your berth at once. You will
then open it, and spread its contents upon this table, the door being
securely fastened against intruders. I shall then choose my share of the
plunder as a solatium to my conscience for consenting to associate with
a thief.”
“And what if I refuse?”
“Then I shall have you fastened in the remaining spare berth, without
giving you a chance to overhaul your baggage. I shall then have you
taken ashore at Malta, and formally charged with being an absconded
thief; your baggage will be searched, and you know best whether you can
afford to refuse my offer of complete protection, on condition that we
go shares in the plunder.”
For a few seconds Mr. Torrens did not reply. Then he resigned himself to
the inevitable, and, cursing his ill-luck, which left him no peace;
cursing his father, who had chosen a scoundrel to convey him out of
harm’s way; cursing the captain because he was an avaricious brute;
cursing anything and everybody but his own vile self, he proceeded to
the berth he had occupied during the time he had been at sea. Thence he
soon after emerged, carrying the small bag to which Captain Cochrane had
referred.
Meanwhile the latter was smiling with satisfaction, and chuckling at the
astuteness which was helping him to enrich himself so easily. When Mr.
Torrens left him for a moment he felt no uneasiness concerning the
diamonds, for he considered that that worldly-wise young man would not
throw the proof of his guilt through the window in preference to sharing
it with another.
“He is not fool enough to chuck it away, and if he were so inclined, I
am keeping a sharp eye on his berth, and can stop him if he even tries
to open the bag before he brings it here.”
So murmured the captain, quite unconscious of the fact that his
low-spoken words found an eager listener. Yet so it was, and to explain
how this happened a slight description of the cabin of the “Merry Maid”
is necessary.
It was a square apartment, lighted from a large skylight in the centre.
On either side it was flanked by berths. To the right, at the foot of
the companion, was the steward’s pantry. Then came the berth allotted to
Mr. Torrens, and those which the officers occupied. Immediately opposite
the passenger’s berth was the captain’s room. On either side of the
latter were built respectively a small berth for the steward and a
bathroom. Another spare berth on this side completed the accommodation.
The steward was evidently a man with an inquisitive turn of mind, for
during the conversation just recorded he was kneeling on the top of his
bunk, with his ear pressed close to a small orifice in the partition
wall. It was an odd coincidence that the steward, who had shipped under
the name of “William Trace,” should have a hole at the front of his
berth through which he could survey the cabin when desirous of doing so.
Still more odd was it that the pantry should also be similarly furnished
with means of observation. To prevent undue notice of his own movements,
Mr. Trace had furnished his peepholes with small discs of cardboard,
with which he covered them when he required a light in his room. The
orifices were so small and so cleverly placed as to be almost certain to
escape detection, provided the steward was careful.
When we first observe him watching the captain, and listening to his
conversation with Mr. Torrens, his face is lighted up with joy, and his
limbs are shaking with excitement.
“He cannot escape me,” he thinks. “I have run him to earth, and within
ten days he will be denounced. Heaven grant me patience to keep my
counsel until we reach Malta. Ha! now he returns with his ill-gotten
gains, and that other scoundrel little imagines how he will be punished
for his greed.”
For the next ten minutes Mr. Trace finds connected thought impossible,
but, with his eye put close to the peephole, is taking a necessarily
circumscribed view of the scene being enacted in the captain’s berth.
There is a tempting display of very beautiful jewellery, and there is
considerable haggling anent its distribution. But the latter is
accomplished at last, and the captain places his share in his private
desk, which he locks very carefully. Mr. Torrens, wearing a very savage
look on his face, crosses the cabin to his own berth, and fastens the
door after him. As it is still early in the afternoon, he is perhaps
thinking of taking a nap.
The steward is apparently satisfied with his observations for the
present, for he gets down from his post of vantage, and prepares himself
for his afternoon duties. Tea has to be ready at five o’clock, and, from
a purely stewardly point of view, much time has been wasted, so that it
behoves him to hurry himself now. His beard, which is brown and bushy,
requires some little readjustment, and Captain Cochrane would be
considerably surprised if he could see how easily removable both beard
and wig are.
But we, who already recognise in William Trace our friend Hilton
Riddell, feel no surprise whatever, unless it be at his temerity in
offering himself for a post concerning the duties of which he knew
positively nothing. When, on attempting to engage a berth as passenger
in the “Merry Maid,” he found his application rejected, he straightway
resolved to change his disguise; and having found that the ship had not
her full complement of men, and could not sail until morning, he
resolved to apply to the mate to be taken on as steward. The mate,
without much inquiry, gave him the post, and had already repented of his
indiscretion, for a man may have a great deal of natural aptitude, and
yet fail utterly at a post that is quite strange to him. It was so with
William Trace, and he had already learnt the savour of a seaman’s
invective.
It may have hurt his pride a little to hear himself called a fraud and a
duffer, and to have a number of burning adjectives hurled at his head
every day. But, in view of his recent discoveries, he is inclined to
condone these offences against his self-respect.
Unfortunately for him, he has forgotten to lower the piece of cardboard
with which he is wont to cover the peephole which overlooks the
captain’s berth.
From such simple oversights do tragedies spring.