I BOARD THE “CUBAN QUEEN” FOR THE SECOND TIME
“But when you had satisfied yourself that there _was_ a man in hiding
on the ‘Cuban Queen,’” says the reader, “and when you had every reason
for suspecting that man to be Mullen, why not at once arrest him? Why
go to work like Tom Sawyer in ‘Huckleberry Finn,’ who, when he wished
to rescue Jim the nigger from the woodshed, must needs make a seven
days’ job of it, and dig the poor wretch out, when it would have been
an easy matter to abstract the key and let him out through the door?”
Why? Well, for several reasons, one of which is that the story would
then have been shorter and perhaps less interesting. Another is that,
though it is true I had good cause to suppose the man in hiding to be
James Mullen, I had no actual proof of his identity.
The reader must remember that I had seen him but twice in my life.
The first time was in the train, going down to Southend, when my only
cause for suspecting him to be Mullen was a fancied likeness to the
published portrait. The second was on the day of the explosion at the
Post Office, and on that occasion he had been cleverly disguised, and
we had not come to close quarters until after dark, when the difficulty
of identification is greatly increased.
Were I, as matters then stood, to give information to the police, I
could only claim to be the means of accomplishing his arrest, whereas,
if I could once obtain satisfactory proof of his identity my chain of
evidence would be complete, and now that I had spent so much time,
thought and money on the enterprise, I preferred to carry it through
myself rather than hand it over to some one else at the last moment.
By taking Hughes’ place upon the “Cuban Queen” I hoped to obtain the
necessary evidence, and once such evidence was in my possession, I
should lose no time in effecting an arrest.
The morning after my interview with Hughes I took train to Chelmsford,
and thence despatched the pretended telegram from his wife. When I got
back to Southend, the telegram which Hughes was to send to his supposed
brother was waiting for me at the address we had arranged between
us. Lest the police should be tampering with letters and telegrams,
I had arranged that Hughes’ message should contain nothing more than
a request that Bill Hughes would come over to see his brother Jim at
Canvey.
To Canvey I accordingly went, calling first at my cottage, where I
arrayed myself in a well-worn suit of waterman’s clothes, which I
had kept there all along lest I should at any time have to assume a
disguise. My next procedure was to shave off the beard which I had been
wearing on the night of the explosion at the Post Office. The fact that
the night had been very dark was against Mullen’s knowing me again, for
though the bursting of the bomb had lit up the whole neighbourhood, the
street in which our encounter had taken place was entirely in shadow,
owing to the height of the buildings on either side.
That it was quite possible he would recognise me, if only by my voice,
I fully realised, and I knew perfectly well that every moment I spent
in his company my life would be in my own hands; but I flattered myself
that I was more than a match for him in a fair fight, and in regard to
foul play,--well, forewarned is forearmed, and I was not unprepared.
I waited until it was dark before starting for the hulk. Hughes came
on deck in reply to my hail, and proved a better actor than might have
been expected. After he had inquired gruffly, “Is that you, Bill?” and
I had responded, “Bill it is, Jim,” and had been bidden come aboard, he
went on--in response to my question of “Wot’s up?”--to speak his part
in the little play which we had rehearsed together. He informed me he
had had a telegram to say that his wife was ill, and that he wished to
go to her, but did not like applying for relief because he had a cove
on board, disguised as a woman (this in a lowered voice, according to
instruction), who had got into a scrape and wanted to lie low awhile.
My supposed brother then went on to ask me if I would take charge of
the hulk in his absence, assuring me that the cove was “a good un to
pay,” and that the job would be worth a five-pound note if I promised
to keep my mouth shut.
To all this Mullen was no doubt listening, so I replied--emphasising my
remark with the expectoration and expletives which might be looked for
from a seafaring man--that I was ready to take over the job and keep my
own counsel. That point being satisfactorily settled, I was invited to
step below and make the acquaintance of the gentleman in the cabin.