ON THE TRACK.
A splendid mail steamer, bound for the Orient, was ploughing its way
through the notoriously treacherous waters of the Bay of Biscay, whose
surface to-day was of the brightest and calmest. There was little to
indicate the horrors of which “The Bay,” as it is called by sailors, is
so often the witness, and most of the passengers were congregated about
the deck, chatting, reading, smoking, or otherwise doing their best to
enjoy the leisure hours at their disposal.
“So this is the dreaded Bay of Biscay again,” said Mrs. Colbrook, a
stout, good-humoured-looking lady. “I suppose I am exceptionally lucky,
for it has always been smooth when I crossed it.”
The persons she addressed were Mr. Cory and Miss Annie Cory, who,
however, had thought it advisable to take their passage under the names
of Mr. and Miss Waine. They were bound upon an important errand, and did
not intend to risk failure by proclaiming their identity too widely.
True, the chances that anyone knowing their motive in voyaging to Malta
would come across them by the way were so remote as to be almost beyond
the need of consideration. But Mr. Cory was so far cut out for detective
work that he was not likely to fail through lack of carefulness, and
preferred to neglect not the smallest precaution.
“Yes, Mrs. Colbrook,” he smiled, in reply to that lady’s remark. “There
is little to indicate the mischief that goes on here sometimes. We may
be thankful that we are favoured with such beautiful weather.”
“That we may! I cannot picture anything more awful than to be in a ship
at sea in a storm so bad that destruction is almost certain,” said
Annie. “It seems to me to be like no other danger. On land there is
always some loophole of escape if the peril is of a protracted nature.
But on the wide, trackless ocean, with not another ship in sight, things
look almost hopeless from the first. I have more than once tried to
picture the terror and distress that must reign on board a doomed
vessel, but my mind faints before the awful picture.”
“There I think you are entirely wrong,” remarked Mrs. Colbrook. “I
believe that awful panics on board sinking ships are of much less
frequent occurrence than is generally imagined.”
“And your reason for that belief?” asked Annie.
“A little experience of my own. I was, a year or two ago, on board a
small steamer bound from the Tyne to Antwerp. There were only five
first-class passengers, all of them ladies. We had but been at sea about
three hours when a terrific storm arose, which speedily threatened to
sink our ship. The wind howled, the rain poured in torrents, the
lightning flashed, the thunder rolled, the ship played such a fine game
at pitch and toss, that everything breakable was smashed to atoms, and
we seemed to be oftener standing on our heads than on our heels, or
would have been, if we had been able to stand at all. Soon after the
storm began the steamer’s wooden deck groaned and creaked awfully, and
the timbers, as if afraid that we were not fully realising the dangers
of our position, considerately gaped in a score of places, so that
whether we were in our bunks, or whether we were in the saloon, it was
all the same--we were so copiously supplied with the elemental fluid
that our clothes and bedding were saturated. Three of the ladies sat,
shivering and miserable, holding on to the cabin table, and hoping for
the advent of the steward with news of a probable improvement in the
weather. Near them sat the stewardess, in as helpless a condition as
they were. Even if she had cared to risk an attempt to go on deck, she
could not have done so, as we were battened down, there being some fear
lest the little ship, in her crazy pitchings and rollings, would ship
the cabin full of water and swamp us all. Cooking and attendance were
all postponed for the time being, ‘for,’ as the stewardess coolly
remarked, ‘what was the use of trying to prepare a meal if you were to
be drowned directly afterwards?’
“Three of the passengers, including myself, were lying in bunks, so
sick and ill that we could do nothing whatever. I do not know whether I
was worse than the others or not, but it is certain that I was too
helpless to lift the eau-de-Cologne bottle that was lying by my side,
although I longed for the use of some of its contents, thinking that it
might, perhaps, help to remove the deadly faintness by which I was
overpowered. After several hours of this misery the steward came to us
for a minute, but did not render us any service. Asked by the stewardess
what was thought of the chances of survival by those on deck, he replied
that pretty nearly everybody on deck looked for the end every minute.
Then we were left to our own reflections again.
“Now this was the time when a panic would have been the most likely to
arise, since it was the moment when we practically lost all hope. But,
strange as it may seem, the four women at the table sat as quietly as
before, and two of them, who were sisters, calmly wondered how the news
of their death would be received at home. The other two were crying
quietly, and spoke very little. The three sick ones, beyond an
occasional moan of misery, gave no outward token of having realised
their apparently speedily approaching end, and the only thing that I now
longed for was that the steamer, if she was going to sink, would be
quick about it, so that my misery would be at an end.”
“And you were not drowned after all?” queried Annie, with a spice of
mischief in her voice.
“No, we were not drowned after all--but, look there, how excited all
those people seem to be.”
Mr. Cory and his daughter followed the direction of Mrs. Colbrook’s
eyes, and saw that quite a crowd of people were gathering on the
starboard bow, whence some object of interest ahead seemed to be
engaging their attention. Our friends soon became members of the curious
crowd, and were saddened by the spectacle pointed out to them. It was
the battered and mastless hull of a derelict ship, floating on the now
smooth waters, and presenting mute evidence of their whilom relentless
fury.[A]
[A] It may be argued by seafarers that the Bay of Biscay is out
of the track of derelicts. This supposition is, upon the
whole, correct. But there are exceptions to every rule, and
at the time of writing there is marked in charts a derelict
off Lisbon.--THE AUTHOR.
Glasses were hurriedly brought into use, and countless conjectures as to
the name, nationality, and experiences of the wreck were hazarded. Not a
sign of life was perceptible on its deck, and it was all too evident
that the crew no longer found a home in it. As to their fate, who could
say what it had been? Perhaps they had been saved by some passing
vessel. Perhaps they had been swept into the seething and roaring
waters, their last shrieks rendered inaudible by the war of the
elements. Perhaps, imagining their battered ship to be sinking, they had
succeeded in taking to the boats, and might be even now floating on this
billowy waste, with the pangs of hunger and thirst gnawing at their
vitals, and with “water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink.”
Perhaps--but why lose oneself in endless painful conjectures, since a
solution of the questions that puzzle us is out of our power to arrive
at?
To Mr. Cory and Annie the sight was especially painful, for it brought
vividly to their minds poor Hilton’s fate, and they could not help
picturing the last scene of his life as an awful one. This only
strengthened their determination to avenge his untimely end, and the sad
conjectures with which the fast approaching wreck was greeted were
mingled with a feeling of bitterness at the misery and suffering which
were permitted to run riot upon the earth.
“No,” said Annie, after a lengthened pause in the conversation, during
which she seemed to have divined her father’s thoughts; “we mustn’t lose
faith, after all. Please God, all will come right yet. Those scoundrels
will be brought to book, and Harley will be proved innocent. Then we
shall all be happy again.”
“Meanwhile, though, Harley is suffering untold misery; Mrs. Riddell
seems to be fretting herself into her grave; Hilton has met with a
violent end; and Providence seems to be doing its best to help the cause
of villainy.”
“Yes, it is difficult to understand. But the cause of the wicked cannot
always prosper, and the tangled skein of our destiny will unravel itself
in time.”
“So I suppose. We can only hope that the thread of our life doesn’t snap
before then. One doesn’t like to feel as if one were so much the sport
of fate, as to be like a mere cork on the ocean of life, tossed about
with as little ceremony as--as--as that bottle.”
Mr. Cory had found himself somewhat at a loss for a suitable simile,
when his eyes fell on a bottle lightly tossing on the rippling water.
“I suppose that bottle is carefully corked, or it would fill with water
and sink,” observed Annie, contemplatively.
“Yes, I should imagine it has papers in it,” said her father, “unless
somebody has corked and sealed an empty bottle for a freak.”
Both speakers knew of the practice of confiding news concerning sinking
or endangered ships to papers sealed in bottles, and felt a subdued
interest in the black little object bobbing about the water. How their
interest would have been quickened could they have known how Hilton had
employed his last night on board the “Merry Maid,” and could they have
dreamed that this was perhaps the very bottle whose contents were
intended to be instrumental in proving who was really guilty of the
great diamond robbery, for the perpetration of which Harley was enduring
penal servitude. But so it is. We often strive for the unattainable, and
pass our greatest blessings by with indifference.
The derelict ship was by this time quite near, and scores of eager eyes
were scanning it, to see if perchance there was not after all someone
left on board. But all looked as quiet and deserted as when the wreck
had been first sighted, and it was with many a sigh of pity that the
hope of still saving some of the crew was abandoned. There had been many
suggestions from passengers that the mail boat should slow down, and
send some men to board the derelict. But this proposal was negatived by
the captain, as he did not believe anybody was on board, and was not
justified in losing time for mere curiosity’s sake.
So the great steamer forged ahead, leaving the stranger in its wake, and
it was already well astern, when suddenly a long, mournful howl was
heard, thrilling every soul on board with a feeling of horror. Once more
eyes and glasses were brought into requisition, and then it was seen
that a large dog, or, rather, the emaciated skeleton of one, was
tottering to and fro on the poop of the dismasted wreck, and howling
forth a pitiful appeal for succour to the possible saviours whom, in the
semi-obliviousness of exhaustion and starvation, he had failed to see
when nearer.
“You will stop the ship now, won’t you?” cried out a dozen people at
once. But the captain declined to do any such thing.
“I have my reputation for speed and efficiency to keep up,” he said. “I
have no end of competition to fight against, and I cannot afford to lose
time for a dog’s sake.”
“Oh, how can you be so cruel?” exclaimed a bright, fair girl, of about
Annie’s age. “It will be as bad as murder if you refuse to save the poor
beast. Oh! listen.”
Again that long-drawn howl of despair escaped the distracted and
suffering animal, as he saw that the distance between himself and an ark
of safety was rapidly widening, and there were others who joined their
entreaties once more to those of Miss Bywater.
But the captain’s resolve was adamantine, and loud murmurs of
disapproval were heard on all sides, while many of the ladies could not
refrain from crying, so powerfully was their pity and excitement
aroused. Mr. Cory’s face was also twitching with sympathy, and his hands
were clenched angrily, until the conduct of the dog put an idea into his
head upon which he at once based his action.
Seeing that the steamer was leaving him to certain death, the brave
beast flung himself into the water, determined upon making an effort to
reach the vanishing asylum. Of course, the feat was hopeless, for,
though he might have been a good swimmer, starvation had reduced him to
such straits, that it was problematical if he would be able to swim
twenty yards.
“Annie, I cannot stand this,” said Mr. Cory, hurriedly. “You mustn’t be
alarmed at what I’m going to do. You know that few swimmers can beat me,
and if I can save that dog, I mean to do it.”
The next moment he had thrown off his coat and waistcoat, and before
anyone quite realised what he was about to do, he had dived into the
water, and, with swift and powerful strokes, was making for the
struggling dog. Instantly there was a tremendous commotion, and the cry
of “Man overboard!” resounded from end to end of the mighty vessel,
while orders to reverse the engines and to lower a boat were issued
immediately. What was refused for the sake of a mere dog, dared not be
denied to a man, and every effort was at once made to overtake the
plucky swimmer, who was swiftly nearing the object he was striking for.
A boat was manned and lowered with astonishing quickness, and amid the
suppressed cries of some, and the encouraging shouts of others, the
rowers bent to their work, and gave speedy promise of succour. What a
race for life that was! And what a shout went up from the deck of the
ocean racer when Mr. Cory was seen to reach the dog, which must have
been at its last gasp when he seized it, for it was limp and motionless
now. This was deemed a very fortunate thing by the spectators, some of
whom had feared that the drowning animal’s struggles might impede the
rescuer’s movements. A few minutes more, and the boat reached the plucky
swimmer, who, together with the dog, was hauled in, amid the
enthusiastic plaudits of the excited onlookers, many of whom, however,
thought that help for the starving animal had come too late.
But Mr. Cory had no notion of giving up hope, and clung tenaciously to
his prize, although assured that it was dead. And so it seemed for a
time, but there were plenty of people willing to aid in completing the
good work, and as much pains was bestowed upon the resuscitation of the
insensible brute as if it had been a human being. When at last the poor
thing opened its eyes, the joy on board the steamer was almost
unanimous, and if the ship’s surgeon had not asserted his rights, it
would have been forthwith killed with kindness, inasmuch as it would
have been plied with food which its stomach was too weak to take.
Meanwhile, the vessel proceeded on her way, as soon as the boat was
hoisted up, and Mr. Cory went to change his wet clothes for dry ones.
When he came on deck again some time later he was rejoiced to find that
the dog, which he forthwith christened “Briny,” was making steady
progress towards recovery, and that he was already, after his own
fashion, giving grateful acknowledgment of the attentions lavished upon
him by Annie and the surgeon. He proved to be a large Newfoundland, and
would, no doubt, soon recover his wonted size, strength, and beauty.
The only person who looked coldly on Mr. Cory after this exploit was the
captain, who could not forgive the trick that had been played upon him,
and who would not have deemed the lives of twenty dogs a sufficient
equivalent for the loss of time spent in saving them.
Mrs. Colbrook was a middle-aged lady, the wife of an officer stationed
at Malta. She had been in England to visit a daughter, and to see after
a legacy which she had unexpectedly succeeded to. She and the Corys had
fraternised from the beginning of the voyage, and as time passed she
learned to respect them more and more.
“You are only bound for Malta, at present,” she said one day. “And you
tell me that the business which takes you there may compel you to leave
the place directly. My husband will be delighted to know you, and if you
will stay with us while you are in Malta you will confer a favour on us
both.”
“You are very kind,” said Mr. Cory, “and it would certainly be much
pleasanter for us than staying in an hotel. But I could not think of
trespassing upon your hospitality to such an extent without making you
acquainted with the object of our visit to the place.”
“I do not think that at all necessary.”
“But I do, in justice to you. And as I am sure we can trust you
thoroughly, I will at once tell our story to you. You will be interested
in it, and will the better realise how it is that Annie is at times so
sad and preoccupied. She has had some painful experiences, poor child.”
And forthwith Mr. Cory confided to Mrs. Colbrook the whole history of
the diamond robbery and its disastrous consequences, and found her
henceforth all that he had expected--sympathetic, kind, discreet, and
helpful. To Annie she was as one of the kindest of mothers, and the girl
found it a great comfort to be able to talk of her troubles to one who
took such a friendly interest in her, and had such firm faith in the
truth of all her statements.
At Malta Major Colbrook met his wife on board the steamer, and his
attention was speedily directed to the new friends she had made. As soon
as he learned Annie’s story and object he was all eagerness to help her,
and promised to make some inquiries on Mr. Cory’s behalf respecting the
man of whom he was in search.
The day after Malta was reached there was quite a merry party gathered
at the house of Major Colbrook, for various friends had dropped in to
hear Mrs. Colbrook’s English news, and to congratulate her on her return
home. The Corys, on second thoughts, had preferred to put up at an
hotel, but readily promised to spend all their spare time with the
Colbrooks. They were both feeling somewhat preoccupied, but did their
best to present as cheerful a front to strangers as possible.
Inquiries promptly made had resulted in the following information:--The
“Merry Maid” had discharged her cargo of Government stores, and had
proceeded to Sicily, leaving behind a gentleman who had come out from
England as a passenger. This gentleman’s name was Paul Torrens, and it
was believed that he was now in Spain. Being aware of the facility
offered to criminals by the lack of an extradition treaty between
England and Spain, Mr. Cory was inclined to think the supposition
correct, but felt reluctant to leave Malta without feeling sure that the
man he was tracking had really left the island. Annie hardly knew what
to think. At one time she was all anxiety to be gone, and the next
moment she was oppressed by an uneasy feeling that to quit Malta at once
would be to diverge from the trail. It will, therefore, be readily
supposed that their thoughts refused to concentrate themselves on the
topics of conversation current in Mrs. Colbrook’s drawing-room. Annie,
at last, considering that she had done enough homage to conventionality,
rose to leave, asking Mrs. Colbrook to excuse her, as she really did not
feel equal to remaining inactive.
“You won’t be offended if I leave you now?” she pleaded in a low voice.
“I seem to be wasting my time unless I am making some progress in
Harley’s cause, and I am sure my father, for my sake, is just as eager
for progress as I am.”
“To be sure, dear child,” said Mrs. Colbrook caressingly. “I can quite
enter into your feelings, and would rather help you than hinder you. So
don’t consider me at all, but go at once if you really feel that you can
employ your time to more purpose.”
Mr. Cory was just as anxious to forego the pleasures of polite society
as Annie was, so the pair took their leave unobtrusively, and walked
towards their hotel. Oddly enough, however, their thoughts now reverted
to a conversation to which they had but listened inattentively awhile
ago.
“I suppose the Colbrooks and some of their afternoon callers will be
going to see this balloon ascent they were talking of,” said Mr. Cory,
after walking some distance in apparent deep contemplation of a more
serious subject.
“Really father,” was Annie’s rejoinder, “I should have been surprised
to hear you talking about balloons and kindred subjects just now, were
it not that something else surprises me still more. While Captain
Drummond was talking so enthusiastically about this wonderful aeronaut,
I did not feel the slightest interest in the subject. In fact, I didn’t
consciously listen to the conversation. And yet, when you spoke just
now, I was actually feeling a desire to witness the forthcoming ascent.
I am not quite sure that there isn’t something uncanny about it, for I
have often had opportunities of witnessing similar displays, and haven’t
cared to go to them. To-day, when it would seem to be sheer waste of
time, I feel irresistibly impelled to go and watch the performance of
this much-talked-of balloonist. An absurd fancy, isn’t it?”
“I am not so sure of that, Annie. I can recall many instances in which
I have been unaccountably induced to act contrary to my original
intention, and have been glad afterwards that I yielded to an apparently
freakish impulse of the moment. Here is a case in point: About twelve
months ago certain shares were being boomed sky-high, and so much
percentage was being derived from them that I, in common with many other
people, decided to share in the general prosperity. As, perhaps, you
know, both your aunt and I lost a great deal of money through buying
some shares in a big brewery company, which, though about two millions
were foolishly paid for it by the dupes who formed the limited liability
company which took it over, turned out to be simply an unlimited fraud.
The original proprietors had, by dint of advertisements and paragraphs,
increased the public confidence in their concern at the very time when
it was tottering for support. It was by way of retrieving our losses in
connection with the brewery shares that I wanted to profit by buying
rising mining shares, and I proceeded to the office of a well-known
stockbroker, in order to negotiate without delay. I found Mr. ----
engaged six deep, and sat down to await my turn to go into his inner
sanctum, but had not been seated there three minutes when a strange
thing happened. It was as if someone had suddenly whispered to me,
saying, ‘Get out of this office while you are still well off. Don’t
trust to this boom.’ I gave myself no time to think, either one way or
the other, but at once took my departure, saying to the clerk that I
would call another time. I have so far not called to see Mr. ----, and
the much-boomed shares are just worth so much waste paper.”
“Then you don’t think my fancy to see the balloon ascent an absurd one?”
“By no means. There may be something in it. Anyhow, we will go. But
there is plenty of time to spare.”
“Then what do you say to going first to such shops as there are, and
trying to find out if Hugh Stavanger has been raising money on any of
his plunder?”
“A capital idea! I should not have thought of it. I’m afraid you will
have to depend more upon yourself than upon me for inspiration. What do
you say, Briny?”
Briny was fast getting into condition now, and a great affection had
sprung up between him and his new owners, who were bent upon always
taking him out with them whenever it was practicable, as he was likely
to prove a good protector. An hour was now devoted to doing as Annie had
suggested, but without getting any idea of Hugh Stavanger’s present
whereabouts. One thing, however, they did learn. There was one man to
whom two men had offered some diamonds for sale a week ago. The dealer,
not being in a large way of business, had not come to terms with the
strangers.
“To tell the truth,” he said, “they were too avaricious. One of the men
was, I think, a ship’s captain. The other was a landsman, and I think he
must be in the trade, for he knows as much about precious stones as I
do. He knew the exact value of the things he had to offer me, and he
wouldn’t take the highest offer I was prepared to make. But he promised
to call back again, and as I think he was very anxious in reality to
turn his stones into cash, I have been expecting him to come and close
with my offer. If, as I gather from your inquiries, the diamonds have
been stolen, I am very glad I did not buy them, for the affair might
have ruined me.”
“And I am very sorry you did not get them,” said Annie, eagerly. “If he
comes back, secure the diamonds at his price. We will buy them from you,
and will give you a liberal commission for your trouble. The man who has
been here was the principal witness against an innocent man, who is now
in prison. It is our mission to bring the guilt home to the right party,
in the person of the son of the diamond merchant, who professed to have
been robbed by a Mr. Riddell. If we can prove him to be possessed of the
property, we can prove the innocence of Mr. Riddell. You will help us,
will you not?”
“I will do my best, madam. You will find me discreet and silent, and I
hope to be able to help in the good work.”
“And, meanwhile, here is a banker’s reference,” said Mr. Cory. “And you
may rely upon finding us profoundly grateful if you help us to solve
this painful mystery.”
“Is the accused gentleman a relative of yours?” asked the jeweller,
hesitatingly, as if afraid that he was taking too much liberty.
“He is my daughter’s fiancé.”
“Ah, now I understand your earnestness in the matter. But how about the
seafaring man?”
“I expect it is the captain of the ‘Merry Maid,’ the steamer in which
Hugh Stavanger sailed. If he also had diamonds to dispose of, we may
conclude that they are part of the stolen property, and that it is as
important to find him as it is to find the original thief.”
“He said the ship was sailing next day, so you won’t find him in Malta.”
“No; but we can follow. But, in any case, don’t let Stavanger slip
through your fingers if he turns up here again.”
A few more preliminaries were settled with the friendly jeweller, and
then, prior to going to their hotel for dinner, our amateur detectives
went to see the balloon ascent, which was to take place at six o’clock.
There was a tolerable muster in the enclosure, and considerable local
interest seemed to be shown in the event. The aeronaut was a man of
great experience, and had an assistant in whom he had every confidence.
The conversation with the jeweller had taken up so much time that our
two friends only arrived a few minutes before the order to “leave go”
was given, and had not seen many of the preparations. Besides the
aeronaut and his assistants, the car was to contain two passengers, both
of whom had paid ten pounds for the privilege, and neither of whom had
ever been up in a balloon before. Some of the onlookers were betting
upon the results, and there was considerable diversity of opinion as to
where the descent would take place.
Presently the ropes were let loose, and the ponderous machine rose
rapidly into the air, amid the plaudits of the assembled crowd. Mr. Cory
was looking on quietly, when his interest became suddenly excited by one
of the objects which bobbed over the edge of the car. He looked at Annie
in astonishment, to note that she also was gazing breathlessly at the
now fast rising balloon.
“We have him at last!” whispered Mr. Cory, joyfully.
“God be thanked, Harley will soon be free!” said Annie, the tears of joy
running down her cheeks.
Perhaps their confidence was rather premature, but it was easy to
comprehend. For they had both recognised one of the faces looking down
at them as that of Hugh Stavanger.