ON BOARD THE AMERICAN LINER
Arthur returned with his case of knives. He saw his brother would be
worse than useless about him in the task he had in hand.
Personally, he had no more compunction about dismembering his fellow-men
than a butcher had in disjointing a calf--it was his business.
"Drink this, Charley"--he had poured out some brandy and handed it to
his brother. "And now put on your hat and go out; take a cab down to
Goffs. Buy two large portmanteaus--second hand--not less than a yard
long. Put them on a cab, and come back here with them. Rap three times
on the door--don't forget, three times--then I shall know it is you.
While you are away I will do what is necessary."
He did. Before his brother returned, there were five small parcels and
one larger one--the contents may be guessed--done up in newspaper.
Not a trace of blood or otherwise of his handiwork was visible. He had
been an attentive student, and profited by it now. In class he had been
marked "clean."
Three raps at the door. He opened it, and the dentist entered with the
portmanteaus.
"Put them down, laddie, and while I pack, you clear out. See here, those
bags in the cloak room at the station had better be fetched away; there
is no knowing what is in them. If they are not large, get a porter to
bring them by hand; if too big, put them on a cab and bring them that
way. Here are the cloak room tickets."
And while his brother was away he packed the two portmanteaus with the
American, and carefully locked and strapped them.
The keys he tied together with a piece of twine, and put into his
pocket. Not that they were of use--the locks were never to be turned
again.
He helped his brother in with the two bags from the cloak room. They
carefully went through the contents, opening the locks with the keys
they had found in the dead man's trousers pocket.
The bags were full of clothing, hosiery, and general wearing apparel;
not a scrap of paper or article of any other kind.
"Charley," said the surgeon, "chirp up, old man. There is nothing to
fear. Before I am far away on the trip to America you may be sure that
every trace of a clue to the contents of those portmanteaus will be
lying at the bottom of the sea. A dark night, an open port, and there
will be an end of the matter. This passage ticket is, I see, for a two
berthed cabin--that makes it easier."
"I fear----"
"I know you do, old man--early and provident fear is the mother of
safety. But there is nothing to fear. Murder will out, that we see day
by day. But it is not as if we had murdered the man. We have not that
crime on our consciences. Keep cool, and all will be well.
"I shall--must--land in America. I shall clear from the boat, one of the
first. There I shall get another outfit, and come back in the next boat
in another name. I shall go out, of course, as George Depew."
"I cannot get rid of the fear----"
"No, Charley, I know you cannot. But there is nothing to fear. Think
what the money means to you, to us both. To you more than to me. You
have a wife and little Edith to think of. Think what the money means,
the happiness it will bring to mother and child--to them both."
"I know--I know."
"After all, I am doing whatever is being done, Charley. You
conscientious old beggar you, just wipe the thing out of your mind. Let
it be a leaf in the book of the past. Paste it down. Don't look at it,
don't think of it. Only think of the future--the brightness of a future
from which the clouds have rolled away, and which a few hours ago did
not seem to have a piece of blue sky in it."
"Yes--yes."
"The boat starts from Liverpool, calls only at Queenstown, and then
steams away across to the States. Why, given ordinary traveling--I shall
not be away more than a fortnight, Charley, and when I come back I shall
expect you to have cashed all those notes--and turned them into
something less traceable."
"How had I better do that? Go to the bank?"
"M'no. I don't think I can trust you to do that, Charley. You would
present those notes with such a white face and trembling hand that the
most unsophisticated bank clerk breathing would think there was
something fishy."
"What shall I do, then?"
"M'well.... I have it! There are two rooms empty above these?"
"Yes."
"Take them to-morrow. Take them in the name of Jones, Brown,
Robinson--any name. Get a list of the brokers on the stock exchange, and
buy from separate men nine hundred pounds' worth of stock. Good
stock--no risk. Railway shares and that sort of thing. Pay each of the
brokers with a thousand pound note; you will want the change out of it
for working with. Worse come to the worst, if the shares have to be
sold, there will only be the loss of a few pounds."
"I will do that."
"And now get along home, Charley, or you will have your little woman
worrying about you. Don't, for heaven's sake, breathe a solitary
syllable which will give the faintest clue to what has happened. Your
wife is a smart little woman--don't give her too much money at first.
Just a pound or two more for housekeeping expenses. Let her think your
practice is gradually getting better day by day. And now shake hands.
Good-bye."
"But you----"
"Oh! I stop here to-night."
"With those----"
"Yes. I don't let them leave my possession till I drop the contents in
the sea. I take no unnecessary risks."
"But--you--can--sleep----"
"Certainly! soundly. Why not? There might be some reason to fear a live
man, but a dead one--bah!"
"I will come up early, and see you off."
"You will do nothing of the sort. Don't do anything a wee bit out of the
ordinary course of things. I shall go out for half an hour presently,
taking the key of the door with me, get something to eat, buy some
collars, shirts, and a few necessary things for the journey, and then
sleep in your operating chair."
"The chair he died in!"
"Dear boy, what of that? There, get along. Good-bye."
He literally pushed his brother from the rooms, and closed the door.
Afterwards he did as he had said he would do.
In early morning a cab took the four portmanteaus to Euston Station, and
he caught the train for Liverpool.
There he had two of the portmanteaus labeled "For Cabin Use!" the
others, bags of clothing, were shot into the hold.
He found that the occupant of the other berth, his cabin companion for
the voyage, had already turned in--presumably to get as much sleep as
possible before the voyage began--and was breathing heavily, the breath
of sleep.
A short time after he had got on board the vessel started. He determined
not to leave the cabin, or sight of his portmanteaus, till he had
thrown them or their contents into the deep waters.
That he would do when they were fairly out to sea. Then he would pick
safer--quite safe.
The vessel steamed on for her one and only stopping--Queenstown, to pick
up the mails.