ON THE SCENT.
FOURTH Officer Aubyn knew that it was for no ordinary purpose that he
had been sent with a message to the chief engineer. It was most
unusual for a deck-officer to have to go to the engine-room on duty.
There was something beyond a normal anxiety to know when the ship
would be able to raise steam that caused Captain Ramshaw to make an
inquiry from the bridge without using the telephone.
It was a diplomatic stroke on the part of the "old man." He knew by
experience that McBride could be easily led, while on the other hand
the dour old Scotsman would not be driven. It was not a case of
preferential treatment in the case of the chief engineer. Captain
Ramshaw invariably treated all his subordinates alike, giving his
orders in a bland, courteous manner that rarely failed to produce an
instant response on the part of those with whom he had to come in
contact. Yet from the chief officer down to the pantry-boy no one on
board would dare to take undue advantage of the skipper's courtesy.
Woe betide the unlucky man to whom Captain Ramshaw had to give the
same order twice. There had been instances, but not on board the SS.
"Saraband." The good understanding between the captain, officers, and
crew made her the counterpart of a "happy ship" in the Royal Navy.
But now, for the first time on record during Captain Ramshaw's
command, a dirty piece of work had been done on board--seemingly
unaccountably. Some one in the engine-room had committed a dastardly
crime. Captain Ramshaw would not rest until the culprit had been
spotted; for with the safety of the ship, passengers, crew, and
cargo, and in the interests of the owners, it was absolutely
necessary to discover the identity of the offender.
Terence opened the door of the engine-room and paused. Between the
bars of the "fidley" wafts of hot air and steam, mingled with the
nauseating odours of burning oil, eddied upwards. At his feet gaped a
vague, ill-lighted cavern, the only approach to which was by means of
a series of short, shining steel ladders.
As his eyes grew accustomed to the semi-gloom the outlines of the
gleaming masses of intricate machinery became apparent; a bewildering
array of polished steel, copper, and brass. A subdued roar, mingled
with the clatter of drills and tapping of hammers and men's voices
shouting peremptory orders came from the metal cavern. The auxiliary
engines, for supplying power to the derricks and for lighting
purposes, were fortunately intact.
It was new ground to Terence Aubyn, and hardly a place where "white
ducks" could be considered _de rigeur_. Grasping the hand-rail he
descended cautiously till his feet came in contact with the slippery
iron gangway by the side of the now motionless piston-heads. At the
extremity of the platform, confronted by a number of indicators, the
senior engineers on duty were generally to be found; but McBride was
not there.
Another length of vertical ladder had to be negotiated, with
seemingly little space for the descending man between the rungs and a
complication of gleaming copper pipes that threatened to hit him in
the back. To add to Aubyn's discomfort, the motion of the vessel in
the trough of the sullen rollers was unpleasantly noticeable. On deck
he revelled in the undulating movement. In the stuffy engine-room it
was very different.
"A proper death-trap if anything goes wrong," thought he. "Thank
goodness I'm a deck-officer."
Terence had to descend three more lengths of ladder before he reached
the plates of the engine-bed. Here there were men in swarms, for the
most part greasers in dungaree suits. Amongst them Aubyn spotted
Kenneth Raeburn, looking very different from his spruce appearance in
the engineers' mess or when he went ashore.
Raeburn and Aubyn were good pals. Whenever, between the intervals of
stowing and unloading the cargo in the holds, Terence was able to get
ashore, they generally contrived to be in each other's company.
The third engineer was generally voted "a decent sort" by his
messmates. His case was very similar to that of Terence Aubyn; for he
had been intended for the Royal Navy until a drastic modification of
the regulations, whereby cadets had eventually to specialize in
marine engineering, had put him out of the running. He, too, held a
commission in the Royal Naval Reserve, and in the natural buoyancy of
his spirits, Kenneth Raeburn often hoped for the time when Great
Britain and Germany were to measure their strength for the supremacy
of the sea. Then, he realized, would be the chance for mercantile
officers in the R.N.R. to prove their worth as effective assistants
to their comrades of the Royal Navy.
"Looking for McBride?" repeated Raeburn. "He's down the tunnel. The
main-shaft bearings are seized up. Beastly job. You won't be able to
get to him, old chap."
"I must," said Terence firmly.
"At the expense of your uniform then. I'll find him. Follow me."
At the head of the next ladder Raeburn paused.
"I think I've spotted the rascal," he announced. "Keep behind me.
When I drop a spanner, have a look at the fellow we're passing. I'll
tell you more later on."
Along the electrically lighted platform the two young officers made
their way, frequently stepping over the prostrate bodies of greasers
who were tackling an intricate job under the supervision of the
second engineer.
With a clatter the spanner dropped on the metal floor within a few
inches of a tall, broad-shouldered, fair-haired man, dressed like his
companions in a very dirty boiler suit. The fellow was lying on his
side with his hands above his face as he secured an
intricately-placed hexagonal nut. Hearing the clatter he turned his
head, stifled an imprecation, and grasping the spanner, held it at
arm's length for Raeburn to take.
Aubyn glanced at the man's face. Although outwardly a casual look he
marked the fellow's features. He was convinced that he had not seen
him before, but that was not to be wondered at, as there is no
necessity for the deck-officers to know the greasers and firemen
individually as in the case of the deckhands. Nevertheless, he felt
certain that he would know the man again.
"Hang on a few moments," bawled Raeburn, for the noise in this
quarter was deafening. He vanished, leaving Terence in his
unaccustomed and distasteful surroundings while he went to find his
chief.
Presently McBride appeared, dirty, smothered in oil and perspiring
like the proverbial bull. The chief engineer was one of those
officers who was not content with mere supervision. When work of an
urgent nature, such as the present, was at hand, he tackled it
methodically and deliberately.
"Ma compliments to Captain Ramshaw," said McBride, when Terence had
delivered his message, "but I'll nae commit mesel'. The wurrk is
takin' longer than I anticipated, and we're doin' double shifts to
set things aright. Gie' him to onderstan' that directly we are able
to raise steam, steam will be raised, but not before."
"Haven't you any idea?" asked Aubyn.
"Nay, I'll nae commit mesel'," reiterated the chief engineer, and
without another word he hastened back to his cramped quarters in the
tunnel of the starboard main shafting.
Raeburn followed his chum to the engine-room door.
"Look me up at seven bells to-night," he said. "We'll do a little
amateur detective business. That greaser I pointed out is new to the
ship. Joined us at Southampton. There's nothing out of the ordinary
about that, but on one or two nights I've noticed him talking to a
second-class passenger. On the first occasion I stumbled upon them by
accident, and they shut up like oysters. Then when the trouble
developed, I remarked this somewhat unusual meeting and kept a watch.
At the same hour these two met, and the passenger handed our man a
small packet of something. It might have been tobacco, of course; but
curiously enough we've discovered the cause of the bearings of the
two main shafts seizing and getting almost red-hot. There were
phosphor-bronze filings in the drip lubricators. Now, it's a
remarkable thing that it was part of this greaser's duties--Stone is
his name, by the by--to attend to the lubrication of these bearings;
and I'll swear he couldn't get hold of phosphor-bronze filings from
the engineers' stores. So I want you to keep a lookout on the
passenger; I don't know his name, but if you see them you can easily
find that out."
"Why not inform McBride?" asked Terence.
"When I have proof," replied Raeburn. "So look out for me at seven
bells."
The fourth officer returned to the bridge and reported the result of
his brief interview.
"Very good, Mr. Aubyn," was Captain Ramshaw's only comment.
The "old man" was disappointed but not nettled by McBride's message.
H e had great faith in the old Scotsman, and only sheer anxiety had
prompted him to obtain a report of the progress of operations from
the chief engineer. There was nothing to do but to wait patiently.
The rest of the day passed almost without incident, except that
Grant, the wireless operator, reported a partial "jamming" of the
aerial waves. Messages were received in a very disjointed form, and
in spite of the fact that Grant requested the unknown disturber to
release the "jamb," owing to the receipt of unintelligible reports,
his efforts were in vain. Some vessels on shore-stations using a
differently "tuned" installation were literally holding the air. The
curious part of the business was that the "Saraband" received several
messages in which the words "neutrality of Belgium" figured largely,
but beyond that no enlightening context was obtainable.
During the afternoon Terence Aubyn had to exercise the gun-crews at
drill with one of the two 4.7's that had recently been fitted to the
ship. These weapons, mounted aft, one on each quarter, were for the
purpose of keeping up a running fight in the event of the outbreak of
war. They would enable the ship to beat off the possible attack of a
hostile commerce-destroyer, or at any rate prolong the action until
the arrival of a British cruiser.
Aubyn was very keen on this part of his duties. It was, until he had
undergone his training in the Royal Navy, a purely honorary task.
Later on he might hope to draw a modest ten pounds a year from the
National Exchequer for his ability to perform a combatant duty. From
a pecuniary point of view it did not seem very promising, but the
fourth officer was used to meagre pay for much work. He had to be
able to "read the heavens," to use at least a dozen highly
complicated nautical instruments, to undergo a strenuous scientific
training, and to take sole charge of a ship during his watch. Lives
and property of incalculable value were in his hands, yet his pay was
an amount at which many a sleek, discontented clerk would turn up his
nose in utter disgust.
For half an hour Terence kept his gun's crew hard at it, going
through imaginary loading exercises and training the docile weapon at
imaginary targets, to the great interest of most of the passengers
and to the ill-bred scorn of others who derided the whole business as
idiotic make-believe.
This done the fourth officer was at leisure for rest and sleep until
turned out at 4 a.m. to take his watch.
At the hour agreed upon Aubyn met Raeburn outside the engineers'
mess. It was now pitch dark, for in the Tropics there is little or no
twilight. The sky was overcast, although the glass was steady, and
not a star shed its light on the waste of waters. The "Saraband,"
brilliantly lighted, still floated idly, drifting at the rate of
fifteen miles a day under the influence of the weak Counter
Equatorial Current.
Selecting a hiding-place in a corner thrown into deep shadow by the
glare of a powerful lamp, the churns waited. Half an hour passed
without result. They began to feel stiff and cramped in their
confined quarters.
Presently Raeburn nudged the fourth officer.
Strolling along the alley-way was a short, sparely built man. He was
dressed in a white flannel suit with a dark red cummer-bund. He was
bareheaded, and as a ray of light fell upon his features Terence
could see that his were of a yellow cadaverous appearance. His hair
was black, thick, and closely cut. His moustache was heavy and
drooping. His eyes turned furtively from side to side as he advanced,
although he kept his head as rigid as if immovably fixed to his body.
He passed by their place of concealment. Aubyn could hear his soft
shoes pattering upon the deck. Presently he returned, promenading the
whole length of the alley-way. Thrice he did this, then, giving a
swift glance behind him, stepped into a store-room immediately
opposite the companion to the greasers' and firemen's quarters, the
after bulkhead of which formed with the side of the ship the recess
in which the two chums lay concealed.
The fellow was breathing heavily. Through the iron partition the two
watchers could hear his laboured gasps which were the result not of
unusual activity but of intense mental strain.
Again Raeburn touched his companion on the shoulder. Some one else
was approaching--not from the engine-room hands' quarters but along
the alley-way.
It was a woman, slight of build, and in spite of the heat, closely
veiled. Without hesitation she went straight to the place where the
suspected man was waiting.
For ten minutes the pair talked, rapidly and in low, excited tones;
then together they made their way aft.
"A rotten sell," remarked Aubyn, as soon as the coast was clear. "We
came to spot a pair of conspirators--not to witness a meeting between
a pair of lovers."
"Shouldn't think the woman was sweet on that chap, but there's no
accounting for taste," rejoined Raeburn. "That's the fellow right
enough. Did you hear what they were talking about?"
"Not I; it wasn't my business," replied Terence.
"It ought to. They were talking in German."
"Don't understand the lingo," declared the fourth officer. "Besides,
what if they did? There are seven German passengers on board; and
it's hard lines if they can't speak in their own tongue if they want
to, especially if they avoid lacerating the ears of their
fellow-passengers with the saw-edged language."
"There's more in it than you imagine, old man. That fellow is an
intermediary between the woman and Stone, the greaser. Apparently
Stone--referred to by the woman as Hans, although the name he gave is
Henry--is holding out for more money for doing something. The woman
maintains that he failed to do his allotted task satisfactorily--that
he bungled badly over it. She wanted to tackle Stone himself, and the
passenger fellow, whose name is Karl, objected. Possibly it was owing
to her presence that Stone failed to put in an appearance."
"By Jove, Raeburn, I believe you're on the right track after all!"
"I think I am," replied the third engineer quietly. "At all events
we'll keep this to ourselves for a little until we obtain further
evidence. If I don't see you before, we'll meet here to-morrow night
at seven bells, and trust that Stone will show his hand."