HOW I GOT WEDGED IN A WINDOW, AND LEFT BEHIND
It was some half-mile or so to the west of Southend pier that the
little brown cutter referred to in my last chapter was lying, and,
as I had seen no other boat up or down the river which in any way
corresponded with the description of the boat I was looking for, I at
once decided that before extending my researches in other directions
round the coast I must satisfy myself that the craft in question was
not the “Odd Trick.” In order to do so, and in order also that the
person on board, whoever he might be, should not give me the slip, I
told my man to anchor the steam launch off the pier-head, where steam
launches are often to be seen lying. It did not take long to discover,
by the aid of field-glasses, that there were two people on board the
cutter, one of whom was evidently a paid hand and the other presumably
his employer. That the latter in any way resembled the man for whom
I was looking I could not--much as I should have liked to lay that
flattering unction to my soul--find justification for thinking--at all
events on the evidence of the field-glasses. And as I observed that he
invariably went below if any other boat passed close to the cutter, it
did not seem worth while to attract his attention, and perhaps arouse
his suspicions, by attempting to come to close quarters in order to
make a nearer inspection. The fact that he seemed anxious to keep out
of sight was in itself curious, although no one who was not watching
his movements very narrowly would have noticed it. Somewhat curious too
was another circumstance which happened soon after our arrival. A small
yacht, with three or four young men on board, dropped anchor about a
hundred yards from the brown cutter. She had not been there long before
I saw that the cutter was getting under way for a cruise; but that
the cruise in question was taken chiefly as an excuse to change her
quarters I had reason to suspect, for after sailing a little way out
and circling once round a buoy, as if for the look of the thing, she
sailed in again and brought up a quarter of a mile further west, at a
spot where no other boat was lying.
To any one who had watched this manœuvre as closely as I did it must
have seemed a little strange too that the boat was sailed entirely
by the man who was evidently the paid skipper, his employer neither
taking the tiller nor lending a hand with the sheets. As a rule a
yachtsman who yachts for the love of the thing prefers to handle his
boat himself, and would not give a “thank you” for a sail in which he
plays the part of passenger. Probably I should not have noticed this
trifling circumstance had I not learned from Gunnell that “Mr. Cross”
was no sailor. I had from the first believed that Cross’s story about
his picking up a friend at Sheerness who was to help him with the boat
was a fabrication, and that he had in all probability run in to shore
as soon as he was out of sight of Gunnell and had secured the services
of one of the many watermen who are on the look-out for a job.
Anyhow the circumstances in connection with the brown cutter were
sufficiently suspicious to warrant me in making sure that she was not
the boat I was in search of, and I decided that a watch must be kept
upon her not only by day but also by night. If Mullen were really on
board, and had any intention of changing his quarters, the probability
was that the flitting would be effected by night. I was ready to go
bail for the cutter’s good conduct by day, but if an eye was to be kept
upon her by night it was very necessary that I should have some one to
share my watch. The two men who constituted my crew I knew nothing of
personally, and was not inclined to take into my confidence, so I sent
a letter to Grant, who was still on guard over the “Cuban Queen” at
Canvey, asking him to come to Southend by the first train next morning
and to meet me at the pier-head, whither I would row out to join him in
the dinghy.
He turned up true to time, and, as we had the pier-head to ourselves,
we sat down where we could not be seen by any one on board the cutter,
while Grant related his experiences and I mine. His were soon told, for
no “Mrs. Hughes” had come back to break the monotony of existence on
the “Cuban Queen,” nor had anything occurred at Canvey which concerned
the enterprise in which we were engaged. Then I told my story, after
hearing which and my suspicions in regard to the cutter, Grant agreed
with me that it was highly desirable an eye should be kept upon her at
night as well as by day.
“I’ll tell you what I think will be a good plan,” he said. “I know
a man who has a little boat down here which he isn’t using, and I’m
sure I can arrange to get the loan of her for a week or two. Suppose
I anchor her about as far away on the other side of the brown cutter
as your steam launch is on this side. Then I can keep an eye upon the
cutter at night, and if by any chance she tried to give us the slip,
and made, as I expect she would, for the open sea, she’d have to run
almost into your arms to do it. I should of course follow and hail you
to give chase as I went by, when you could soon overtake her. If, on
the other hand, she goes up the river, it’ll be as easy as driving a
cow into a pen, for once in she’ll have us behind her like a cork in
the neck of a bottle; and even if she gets a bit of a start at first,
a sailing-boat would stand no chance in a race against steam. What do
you think of it?”
I replied that I thought it capital, and after we had arranged a means
of communication I got into the dinghy to row back to the steam launch,
and Grant set off again for Southend to put his plan into effect.
The very next morning, as I was cooking a haddock for breakfast, one of
my men put his head into the little cabin.
“Are you expecting any one from Southend, sir?” he said. “There’s a man
coming out in the skiff, and I think he’s making for us. Seems in a
hurry too.”
I stepped outside and looked in the direction indicated, and there,
sure enough, was a rowing-boat coming along at a great pace, and
apparently heading directly for the steam launch. As soon as the skiff
was within hailing distance its occupant looked over his shoulder,
relinquished a scull, and, arching his hand to windward over his mouth,
hailed us lustily.
“Ahoy there! Are you the ‘Maybelle’?”
“‘Maybelle’ it is,” I bellowed, and, once more bending to his task, the
fellow was alongside of us in half a minute.
“Mr. Max Rissler?” he inquired.
“Yes, my man, I’m Mr. Rissler. What is it?” I replied.
“A letter, sir. I was to be as quick as I could about it,” he said,
handing me with his right hand a note which he had taken from the
lining of his cap, and smearing his forehead with the back of his left
hand, as if to hint that if he were damp outside he was dry within.
“Give him some beer,” I said to my skipper, as I opened the note.
It was in Grant’s writing, and was as follows:--
“Come as fast as you can to Going’s Oyster Bar, in the High Street,
exactly opposite the Royal Hotel. Come ready to go to town if
necessary. If I’m gone when you get to Going’s, wait there till you
receive wire from me.
“F. G.”
As luck would have it, I was already dressed, and in a blue-serge
suit, which, if somewhat shabby, would be inconspicuous anywhere. I
did at first think of changing my yachting shoes--which had tan uppers
with gutta-percha soles--for black boots, but it occurred to me that
the shoes would be extremely convenient for shadowing, and as the tan
uppers made them look like the now common brown shoe, I decided to go
as I was.
“Can you wait here while one of my men and I row ashore?” I said to the
messenger, tossing my yachting cap into an open locker and putting on
the customary hard felt. “He’ll be fresher than you are, and I don’t
want to lose a minute.”
“Yes, sir; I’m in no hurry,” the man replied.
“All right. Here’s something for yourself. Jump in, Brown. You take one
oar and I’ll take the other. Make for the beach, just below the Royal
Hotel. The tide is running in fast, and I shall get there quicker by
boat than if you landed me at the pier and I walked. Put your back into
it, and I ought to be ashore well inside a quarter of an hour.”
Brown bent to with such will that, by means of our united efforts, I
was at Going’s Oyster Bar within twenty minutes from receiving the
message. Grant was sitting where he had a full view of the hotel
opposite, but could not himself be seen from outside. He had his eyes
upon the hotel when I entered, and, except for one quick glance at me,
never took them off again, but motioned me with his hand to the chair
beside him. No one was in the shop, so, without further ado, he began
his story.
“I came ashore last evening to post a letter,” he said, “but kept an
eye on the cutter all the same, and, as it was a fine evening, strolled
up and down the Esplanade before going back to turn in for the night.
By-and-bye I saw a boat coming off from cutter, two men in it, and
making for shore. Waited to see where they were going to land, and then
hid behind bathing machine to shadow ’em. A man got out--looked as if
he had reddish hair and beard--and the other one took dinghy back to
cutter. Man with red beard went to station. It was past eleven, and
there’d be no up train, so I supposed he’d be going on to Shoebury by
the last down train just about due, and decided to go with him. Down
train came in, but he turned as if he’d just come by it, and went to
Royal Hotel. He couldn’t know me, so I followed, bold as brass. Heard
him ask for bed, and I did same. His room was opposite mine, and I
saw him go in. I didn’t go to bed all night lest I should oversleep.
Peeped out at six and saw his boots outside, so he was still there
evidently. Dressed and came down--boots still outside. Wouldn’t wait
for breakfast--came out--slipped in here--sent note to you--had
breakfast--paid bill, but said would wait, as friend was to join me,
and here I am. He hasn’t come out yet. Wonder if there’s any way out
from hotel at back? Great Scott! there he is! Is that your man?”
I looked and saw a man, with reddish hair and beard, and a brown bag in
his hand, leave the hotel and turn to the left in the direction of the
station.
“Don’t know,” I said. “I can’t say I recognise him; but there is
something--I don’t know what--about him that seems familiar. Anyhow,
we’ll shadow him. He is going to the station, I expect, to catch the
10.12 up. I’ll hail that closed carriage passing by. You jump in and
drive to station. You must get there before him. Book to town, and get
in fore part of train. I’ll follow on behind him and get in back part.
Wait in the train till he has passed your carriage at Fenchurch, and
join me as I go by.”
Grant’s reply was to jump into the cab with the words “London and
Tilbury railway. Fast as you can,” and I soon had the satisfaction of
seeing him whirled past the man with the red beard, and disappear round
the corner which led to the station.
“The man _may_ go by the other line--the Great Eastern,” I said to
myself as I followed at a respectful distance, “in which case I must
do the same, and shan’t see Grant at the other end, which is awkward,
as we haven’t arranged a meeting-place. But I hadn’t time to think
of everything, and as the 10.12 will be starting directly it _does_
look as if he was going by that. Ah! he _has_ turned the Tilbury line
corner, so it’s all right after all.”
I waited at the door a moment while the red-bearded man was taking his
ticket. “Fenchurch--third single,” he said briskly. “Fenchurch--third
single,” I repeated as soon as he had passed the barrier, and, hurrying
after, was just in time to see him enter a third smoker in the centre
of the train. I slipped quietly into a carriage in the rear, and in
another couple of minutes we were puffing out of Southend.
Although the man I was shadowing had booked to Fenchurch Street, I
thought it wise at every stoppage to keep an eye upon the passengers
who left the train; and so we journeyed on, making calls at Westcliff,
Leigh, Benfleet, Pitsea Laindon, East Horndon, Upminster and
Hornchurch. At the last-named stopping-place a burly farmer, with a
body like a bullock, leant half out of the window of my carriage to
carry on a conversation with a friend upon the platform, and in doing
so blocked my view completely.
“Will you allow me to get a paper, please?” I said, fuming with
impatience at not being able to obtain a peep outside, although the
train was already moving.
“So I tould ’im I’d give ’im five pun’ ten,” continued the yokel
leisurely, but interpolating a surly “Yer can’t get one ’ere,” which he
threw at me over his shoulder without turning his head or attempting
to withdraw from the window; “I tould ’im I’d give ’im five pun’
ten”--this to the friend who was running along the platform beside the
now quickly-moving train--“and he sez, sez he, ‘I’d rather give ’im to
yer.’ Ha, ha, ha!”
In despair I thrust my head under his arm just in time to see the man
with the red beard disappearing, brown bag and all, through the place
where tickets were collected. To get out and follow him was impossible,
for the yokel drew in his great shoulders almost at the same moment
that I put my head out, and in so doing wedged me into the window like
a plug in a cask, and by the time I could extricate myself the train
had cleared the station and was spanking along toward London.