THE VICE-CONSUL'S WARNING
The _Naomi_ was fitted out with the greatest luxury imaginable. She
was not a large vessel, but she was so well designed that every inch of
space was utilised. The cabin allotted to me was small but beautifully
compact and tastefully furnished. There was a proper brass bedstead,
not a bunk; pile carpet, silk curtains, silver-plated toilet fittings
and an electric fan. My traps had been unpacked and my clothes stowed
away in a cunningly contrived wardrobe. Carstairs, Garth's man, showed
me where everything was. He was a nice, fresh-faced young fellow, of
smart military appearance. He told me he had served in the war with
the Royal Engineers.
Luncheon ended, Marjorie Garth left us to go and write letters to be
sent ashore in the launch for posting. I repaired to my cabin to
snatch a little sleep in the siesta hour; for I was very tired after
our disturbed night. But though the gently whirring fan kept the
atmosphere nicely cool and my bed invited repose, I could not sleep.
Now that I was alone again, I found my thoughts continually recurring
to the slip of oilsilk with its enigmatic message.
I have always found that short commons of sleep is an excellent mental
tonic. Though I was physically worn out, my brain was alive and active
and, pulling from my pocket the dead man's message (for so I designated
it to myself) I fell to studying it with renewed zest.
I had it already by heart even to the bars of music (though for music I
have little ear); but I read it over again. What absolute rot it
sounded!
"Noon. 18/11/18."
I considered the date for an instant. Why, by November 18th, 1918, the
war was over! The Armistice had been signed seven days earlier. And
at once a light dawned on me. The dead man, I had surmised, had an
appointment with someone at Cock Island, probably with El Cojo's gang.
Realising that he was about to die the Unknown had left this message
for his friends; but, probably knowing that an occasional ship touched
at the island, he had coded his instructions to prevent them from
falling into the wrong hands. The date of the message seemed to give
the clue as to why his friends had failed to keep their appointment, so
that the message had remained on the grave until it was found months
later by Adams. The Armistice had been signed; Germany was beaten; and
consequently the services of such obliging "neutrals" as El Cojo and
Co. had abruptly ceased.
With growing excitement, for I felt certain that, this time, my
deductions were not at fault, I read on:--
"Flash, flash, much
"The garrison of Kiel"
This absolutely defeated me and I passed on.
"With the compass is best
"Think of the Feast of Orders"
_Der Ordensfest_! Unconsciously, as I repeated the words to myself,
the clean white panels of the cabin melted away, and there rose before
my mind a dim picture, a study in grey, an outdoor scene across which
swept the wintry wind with biting blast.... A leaden sky, grey
buildings, their roofs deep-thatched with snow, and grey-clad troops,
masses of them, set about a vast square. It was a blurred picture
with, here and there, a detail clear, the rime glistening on an
officer's _pelisse_, the plume of a helmet blown out in the icy
breeze.... Ah! I had it! Berlin.... The Feast of Orders, with the
annual ceremony of the so-called nailing of the Colours. I had seen it
once, that famous winter parade, as a boy when my brother Francis and I
had been on a visit to a cousin of ours, who was secretary at the
Berlin Embassy....
But what did it mean in this connection? What had the Feast of Orders,
the annual bestowal on the old Prussian bureaucracy of thousands of
crosses and stars and medals, as an economical substitute for increases
in salary, what had it to do with a compass?
Then it came to me with a flash.... A compass argued a compass
bearing, and this bearing was there concealed in this phase! "Der
Ordensfest!" Stay! The date. What was the date? And that came back
to me too.... January 27th, "Kaisers Geburtstag," the Emperor's
birthday.
By Jove! At last a beam of light was piercing the darkness.
Those two lines meant indubitably: "Take a compass bearing of 27
degrees!"
The next two lines:--
"Past the Sugar-Loaf
"You'll see the Lorelei"
obviously referred to those "peaks" of which the "Sailing Directions"
had spoken.
"If you desire the sweetheart."
_Schätzchen_ was the German word. But, ye gods, _Schatz_ of which
_Schätzchen_ is the diminutive, properly speaking, means "treasure"!
By what form of physical and mental blindness had I been smitten to
have failed to see this direct reference to treasure in the cipher?
The four bars of music brought me up with a jerk. I hummed the tune
which I had strummed out on John Bard's piano. It seemed, as I said,
vaguely familiar as a German ditty of the popular sort but what or
where.... I....
On this I must have fallen asleep. I awoke with a start, as one does
from an afternoon nap, and stared round blankly, trying to recollect
where I was. There was a little sidelong motion in the cabin as the
yacht rose and fell at anchor to the swell and the electric fan purred
gently as it revolved. Someone was tapping at the door.
"Come in!" I cried and Carstairs put his face in.
"Sir Alexander begs pardon for disturbing you, sir," the man said, "but
could you make it convenient to go to him at once in his cabin? He
said as how it was urgent...."
"Of course. Tell Sir Alexander I'll be with him immediately."
Garth had a little suite at the far end of the saloon consisting of a
small state-room, very handsomely furnished, with sleeping apartment
and bath off it. I found him seated in a swivel-chair at his desk in
conversation with a dark young man, his face yellowed from the tropics,
in a creased white duck suit.
"Ah, major," said the baronet, "I'm sorry to have had to spoil your
forty winks. But a rather curious thing has happened. They're getting
a warrant out against you for murder. The British Vice-Consul here has
been good enough to come off and give us the tip...."
"It's a most singular thing," said the Vice-Consul. "Last night a poor
white, a drunken Englishman who lived with a negress in the native
quarter, had his throat cut. He was a worthless creature, called
himself Adams; I knew him well. In fact, it's only about a fortnight
ago that we threw him out of the Consulate. Well, an information has
been laid against you by two citizens who swear that they saw you leave
this man Adams's shack in the early hours of the morning.
"Now in the ordinary way nobody in Rodriguez makes any bones about a
plain murder like this. But our friend Adams--or his black lady who,
incidentally, was also killed--seemed to have had some amazing
political pull. The Procurator-General of the Republic in person came
down to the office half an hour ago to see me about it. He seemed
scared out of his life, told me he would certainly lose his job unless
he could produce you for trial. Now----"--the Vice-Consul cleared his
throat and drew hard on the black cigar he was smoking, "I don't know
anything about you, major, or your business,"--he looked sharply at me,
"and I'm not inquiring. But I do know that, while straightforward
murder in Rodriguez is scarcely a penal offence, dabbling in politics
is a very serious matter. What I came off to tell you was to beat it
while the going's good.... That's all!"
"It's extremely kind of you to have taken the trouble," I replied, "and
I highly appreciate your discretion in the matter. But surely, if the
warrant is out, it will be served at once. After all, we're within the
three-mile limit...."
The Vice-Consul waved his hand.
"In this illustrious Republic," he remarked dryly, "no business of any
description is ever done in the siesta hours. Even during our
periodical revolutions there's a truce every day between noon and 4
p.m. But you'll want to hurry; for, as soon as it cools off, you'll
have a bunch of coffee-coloured dons alongside in the harbour-master's
launch!"
"I'll see about getting under way at once!" said Garth, and hastened
out.
The Vice-Consul picked up his panama and approached me. He looked
cautiously about him and lowered his voice as he spoke.
"I'm risking my job by doing this," he said, "for the Consul's down
with fever and I'm acting on my own responsibility. But Bard was
telling us about you at the Club, about your D.S.O. and that in the
war, and it's the least a fellow can do who didn't fight--I'm rotten
through and through with malaria, you know--to help a chap who did.
Now, listen! You're in great danger. You've run up against the
biggest bunch of crooks in Central America...."
"You mean El Cojo and his gang?"
"Aye...."
"Who is this man, El Cojo?"
"No one knows. No one ever sees him. No one knows where he lives.
Some say he is a Mexican. But his power is tremendous and his
vengeance swift and terrible. I could tell you stories.... You should
be safe on this yacht. But take my advice and don't leave it until you
can go ashore under the American or the British flag!"
He gave me his hand.
"I shan't forget this service," I said warmly, "if there's anything I
can ever do in return...."
"Well," he answered slowly, "I was recommended for the M.B.E. once.
But the F.O. turned it down. If you had any influence...."
"If Sir Robert is still my friend," I assured him, "you shall have it.
And perhaps it might be an O.B.E. Write me down your name and
address...."
As we emerged on the deck the crew were busy getting the yacht ready
for sea. There was a bit of commotion at the gangway. Garth and
Captain Lawless stood at the head of the ladder in animated
conversation with a very trim young man, beautifully dressed in
spotless white drill.
"Hullo," said the Vice-Consul, "it's Custrin, your new doctor!"
"It's no good," Garth was saying as we approached the group, "we'll
have to be away in ten minutes, doctor, and there's so much work going
forward on deck that your friends would only be in the way...."
"But, sir," the young man urged, "they need only stay for a minute. As
distinguished residents of Rodriguez they wished to have the honour of
meeting you, of showing you courtesy. They set great store by such
things here and if you refuse I'm very much afraid they'll take it
amiss...."
I glanced over the side. In a row-boat at the foot of the ladder sat
three swarthy gentlemen in frock-coats, their large dark eyes turned
appealingly up to the deck of the _Naomi_.
"You'll tell your friends," said the baronet, "how much I appreciate
their great attention and how much I regret that circumstances prevent
me from receiving their visit on board. Captain Lawless, the
Vice-Consul's launch!"
Lawless gave an order and while the doctor descended the ladder and
spoke to the party in the boat, the Vice-Consul took his leave and
boarded his launch.
Five minutes later the _Naomi_, curtseying to the long green swell,
pointed her bows towards the fronded headlands which marked the
entrance to the harbour. As we passed out between the bluffs, the dull
report of a gun drifted out to us over the freshening breeze. At the
same moment, in a smother of spray, a launch came tearing out of the
port, a mere speck in the shimmering green sea far astern.
At my side on the bridge, Garth laughed.
"Here comes the warrant!" he said. "Captain, is that launch back
yonder going to overhaul us?"
Lawless took his freckled hand off the engine-room telegraph and looked
back.
"Huh!" he grunted, "not on this side of hell. Or any other!"