I PLAY A GAME OF “BLUFF” WITH HUGHES
“Why not on the ‘Cuban Queen’ indeed?” I repeated, as I called to mind
the fact that it was there Mullen had lain secure when the hue and cry
were at their height. It was only when the hue and cry had somewhat
subsided that he had ventured forth to commence his devilry afresh; and
what was more likely, now that the hue and cry had been raised once
more, than that he should have crept back to his former hiding-place?
The next afternoon I was in the little cottage at Canvey again, and
should have been there sooner but for the fact that I wished first to
satisfy myself that my movements were not being watched by the police.
I did not intend on this occasion to waste time in trying to find
out whether Hughes had any one on board with him or not, especially
as I was now without Quickly’s assistance. This was a case in which
it seemed to me safer to achieve my purpose by a bold stroke than to
adopt the more cautious course of beating about the bush. The thing to
do would be to engage Hughes in conversation, and when he was off his
guard to charge him suddenly with sheltering a fugitive from justice on
board the “Cuban Queen.” The cleverest rogue is apt to betray himself
when a surprise is thus sprung upon him, and such a clumsy rascal as
Hughes should not be difficult to deal with. I did not doubt that he
would deny the impeachment with much bluster and more bad language, but
by keeping a keen eye upon his face when playing my game of “bluff” I
hoped to be able to come to some definite conclusion in regard to the
theory I had formed concerning Mullen’s whereabouts.
But I had yet to catch the hare which I felt so competent to cook, and
of the two tasks the former promised to be the more difficult. Hughes,
as the reader already knows, did not often leave the hulk, and as it
was quite out of the question that I should seek him there, some plan
for making it necessary for him to come ashore must be devised. After
much brain-cudgelling I hit upon an idea which I immediately proceeded
to carry out. The oil which was burned in Hughes’ cabin was taken out
to him every Monday and Thursday by the attendant whose duty it was to
fetch and carry for the caretakers of the hulks. I knew that it was so
as the man had to pass my door on his way to the boat, and I had seen
the tin can in his hand repeatedly. As a matter of fact, I was at that
moment reminded of the matter, for the day was Thursday, and the man in
question was just going by my gate, carrying the can in one hand and a
small sack of potatoes in the other. If I did not avail myself of this
opportunity I should have to wait until the following Monday before
taking action, so I at once opened the door and hailed him.
“I want you to do a little commission for me,” I said. “You’ll be going
down to the village some time to-day, I know. Could you leave a letter
to Mr. Hayes at the vicarage?”
“Yes, sir,” he said civilly; “with pleasure.”
“That’s right. Put that sack and the can down and come into the other
room while I scribble the letter. I daresay I can find you a glass
of grog in there and a cut of cold beef if you feel like having a
mouthful.”
“Thank you, sir,” he said, unburdening himself of his load and
following me into the inner room. I had not finished my own breakfast
very long, and a small joint was still on the table.
“Pull up and help yourself,” I said, producing knife and fork. “What’ll
you have to drink? I’ve got some old rum. How’ll that suit you?”
“Capital, sir,” he replied.
“All right. It’s in the other room, I think. I’ll be back in a moment.
You make a start, meanwhile, on the cold beef.”
No sooner was I in the other room with the closed door between us than
I whipped out the cork from the paraffin can, and seizing a siphon of
soda-water that stood upon the table--it was the only liquid handy--I
slipped the spout into the mouth of the can and pressed the tap.
“If this isn’t pouring oil on the troubled waters it’s at least pouring
troubled waters on the oil,” I said to myself, when half a tumbler of
soda had hissed into the can. “There’ll be some rosy language about
when Hughes goes to light his lamp after filling it up with this stuff,
for he’ll never get it to light, much less to burn. And if he doesn’t
make the discovery too early the man who looks after his requirements
will be gone, and Master Hughes will have to sit in the dark and go
to bed with his supper uncooked, or come into Canvey and get some
more oil. He _may_, of course, get filling up his cooking stove in
the daytime, and find the oil won’t burn, or he may have enough left
in it to carry him through. But anyhow, if the thing doesn’t work out
as I hope, there will be no harm done, for at the worst they can only
suppose that some water has accidentally got into the can.”
The thing _did_ work out as I had hoped, however, for as night was
beginning to close in I saw Hughes unlashing the dinghy as if to come
ashore, and judging from the sounds which broke the evening stillness
I had reason to believe that he was at his old habit of swearing aloud
to himself. This is a habit which is more soothing to the swearer
than to an enforced listener, especially when the swearer is rowing a
heavy boat against the tide, and jerks out a fresh and aggressively
emphasised oath with each expulsion of breath. On this occasion the
hopes which were expressed about the soul, eyes, limbs, and internal
organs of every one who had been connected with the offending oil,
beginning with the individual who “struck” it, and finishing off with
the shopkeeper who sold it, and the man who brought it to the hulks,
were distinctly uncharitable.
Nor did Hughes confine himself to human beings, for the unfortunate
can in which the oil had been carried and the various matches which
had been struck in his unavailing efforts to light the lamp were with
strict impartiality similarly banned.
“Oil!” he growled as he ran the boat ashore. “I’ll oil ’im and the man
wot sold it too!” (More hopes in regard to the soul, eyes, limbs, and
internal organs of the offender.) “A pretty fine fool ’e made o’ me,
standin’ there burnin’ my fingers and a box of matches trying to find
out what was wrong. Oil! Call that splutterin’ stuff oil! Why, I might
as well ’ave tried to set fire to the river.”
Still swearing, he made fast the dinghy and proceeded, can in hand, in
the direction of the village.
After a time I started to follow, and overtook him just as he was
passing my cottage.
“Good-night,” I called out over my shoulder in passing, as is the
custom in the country.
He replied by bidding me go to a place which, though it may likely
enough have been his ultimate destination, I sincerely hope may never
be mine nor the reader’s.
“I’m sure I know that dulcet voice,” I said, stopping and wheeling
round. “It must be, it _is_, the genial Hughes. How are you, my worthy
fellow?”
The worthy fellow intimated that his health was not noticeably affected
for the better by the sight of me.
“Oh, don’t say that,” I said. “You were most hospitable to me in the
matter of drinks when I had the pleasure of spending a very delightful
hour in your company on board the ‘Cuban Queen’ one evening. Pray
let me return the compliment. This is my cottage, and I’ve got some
excellent whisky aboard. Won’t you come in and have a glass?”
This was a temptation not to be withstood, and he replied a little more
civilly that he “didn’t mind,” and even unbent so far as to answer Yes
or No to one or two casual remarks I made.
When he rose to go, some spirit of mischief prompted me to ask him what
he had in the oilcan, and this, apparently recalling his grievance,
put him in the worst of tempers again, for he snatched at it, savagely
blurting out,--
“What the dickens ’as that got to do with you?”
“Keep a civil tongue in your head, you scoundrel!” I said sharply,
taking a step towards him. “Answer me like that again, and I’ll give
you a lesson you won’t forget!”
“_You_, yer bloomin’ monkey!” he snarled, spitting on the ground in
front of me as an outward and visible sign of his contempt. “_You_ give
me a lesson! And where should I be, do yer think?”
I looked him full in the face and shot my bolt.
“You would be in prison, my good fellow, for harbouring a murderer,
disguised as a woman, and you’d be charged with being an accessory
after the fact.”
He stepped back, paling visibly under his bronze complexion, and
answered, for once, without an oath.
“’E ain’t a murderer. ’E’s a private soldier wot struck ’is superior
officer for comin’ between ’im and ’is wife, and then deserted. I see
it myself in the paper ’e showed me, and I’d ’a done the same if I’d
bin in ’is place. And so ’ud you, Mister.”
“Ho, ho! my friend,” I said to myself. “I was a ‘monkey’ a moment
ago--now I’m a ‘Mister.’ So you are funking it already, are you?”
And then, aloud,--
“Do you think any jury will believe that you thought a private soldier
could afford to pay you what that man’s paying? Now, look here! I’ve
got the whip hand of you, but I don’t wish you any harm, personally. If
you’ll do exactly as I tell you, and play me fair, I’ll pay you the sum
that yonder man’s paying you, and you sha’n’t get into any trouble if I
can help it.”
“Wot d’ yer want me to do?” he asked.
“Answer me one question first. Supposing I were to arrange to take your
place on the ‘Cuban Queen’ for a couple of days. In that case the man
who waits on the hulks would have to be squared to keep his mouth shut.
Could that be done?”
“P’raps. ’E ain’t the inspector. ’E’s paid to wait on us, so as we
don’t ’ave to leave the ’ulks. ’Tain’t ’is business to look after what
we do. P’raps ’e might if it wos worth ’is while.”
“Very well. I’ll give you the money to-night to square him, and some on
account for yourself as well. And now another question. Where does your
wife live?”
“Mill Lane, Chelmsford.”
“That’s all right. When you get back to the ‘Cuban Queen’ you’ll get a
telegram from Chelmsford to say she’s dying, and that you must go to
her. You must show that to the man you’ve got aboard. What do you call
him by-the-bye?”
“Winton.”
“Well, you must show the telegram to Winton, and tell him you intend
applying for leave, and that he must go somewhere else in the meantime.
He won’t want to leave the only safe hiding-place he’s got, and he’ll
try and persuade you not to go, and will perhaps offer you a big money
bribe to stay. You must persist in going; but after a time you must say
that you have a brother at Southend who could come and take your place
while you are away, and that you are sure he’d keep his mouth shut if
he were well paid. Winton will _have_ to consent if you persist. Then
you’ll send a telegram to me, as if I were your brother, asking me to
come over to see you; and when I come you’ll show me the telegram and
ask me to take charge of the hulk while you go away to see your wife. I
shall come at night, so as not to be seen, and shall pretend to agree,
and then you can go ashore and put up at my cottage here until I signal
you to return. Do as I tell you, and play me fair, and I’ll give you
fifty pounds for yourself when it’s all over. What do you say?”
“Can’t be done,” he answered sullenly.
“Why not?”
“’Cos it can’t.”
“Very well. Good-night, then. I’m going straight from this house to
the coastguard station, and shall send two armed men out to the hulk
to arrest the murderer you’ve been harbouring, and two more to arrest
you--you can’t get far away in the meantime--for harbouring him and
for being an accessory after the fact. I suppose you know what the
punishment for that is? And when you come out you’ll be a ruined man.
The hulk-owners will discharge you without a character for gross
violation of rules.”
He looked murder, and had he been less of a coward might have attempted
as well as looked it. Then something seemed to occur to him, and he
stood staring absently at me while turning the matter over in his
bovine brain. I guessed the upshot of his meditations to be somewhat
as follows: “This man, whoever he is, has me in his power and can ruin
me. I wish he were out of the way, but I don’t mean risking my own
neck for him. If I let him go on the hulk Winton is more than likely
to suspect he’s a spy. In that case he’s just the sort of man to knock
the meddling fool on the head, and the job I want done would get done
without my putting my neck in a noose.”
Anyhow, he looked at me curiously for a minute, and then said, in a
more conciliatory tone,--
“What are you going to do to Winton?”
“Arrest him by-and-bye. If I can I’ll keep your name out of it. If I
can’t, and you lose your crib, I’ll make it up to you in some way. But
let me tell you one thing: you’d better play me fair, or it will be the
worse for you. The ‘Cuban Queen’ is being watched night and day, and if
you tell Winton of your meeting with me, and he tries to escape or you
try to give us the slip yourself, you’ll be instantly arrested, and it
will go hard with you then. Play me fair and I’ll play you fair, and no
harm need come to you at all in the matter. Once more, will you come to
my terms? If not, I’m off to the coastguard station. There’s only one
policeman in Canvey, and I shall want two or three men--armed men--for
Winton, and the same for you. I mean business, I can tell you. Come, is
it Yes or No?”
“Yes,” he answered, with a horrible oath. And then we sat down to
arrange the details of our little conspiracy.