THE ‘SOUTHERN CROSS’
WHEN Soft Sam left him in Hyde Park, Huey Gosper stood for a time stock
still, as still and moveless as the monument of Captain Cook close at
hand.
What should he do? Give up all, and fly like a child in a moment of
panic? Was it not the action of a fool? And his plans so well laid,
too! He was certain nothing could be traced to him. Had he not worked a
lone hand—no accomplice to split on him? No; he would stop and brave it
out. And then he should lose Bertha! Was life worth having without her
after he had risked so much for her sake? Yes, he would stop.
But then, again, Soft Sam had always been right—right even when he (Huey)
had felt most confident. Was he not right over the Sydney Cup? Had he
not said that of The Vengeance and Bertha, Bertha was a trifle the better
horse? And had not Sam made Alec’s fortune for him, and would he not
have made one equally as good for himself—he, Huey Gosper, if he had only
followed the old man’s advice?
And now it was no question of money. It was liberty, life, that was at
stake, and Soft Sam said go. Clearly the old man knew all; what was
there he did not know? And perhaps he knew that others knew, or
suspected, and so his warnings. It was good of the old chap, but just
like him. Yes, he had better go. When the old man gave the word it was
no time to linger. He had said “At once.” He would stand not on the
order of his going, but go.
Hurriedly Huey walked to his lodgings, and packed up his most portable
valuables in a small hand-bag. His money he put in a belt round his
waist. Most of his money was, to his regret, in New South Wales
bank-notes. What would be the good of them in a foreign country? He
went down to the wharves and shipping offices, and inquired as carelessly
as possible what ships were starting.
There was no boat going from Sydney to South America, but one would leave
in about a week from Newcastle. There was a ship out in the stream that
would sail that night for Batavia, and a schooner the following day for
the South Sea Islands.
Huey did not half care for going to the Dutch Colony; the South Seas
seemed to him a more inviting spot. Amidst those thousands of islands it
would surely not be difficult for him to hide his trail, as good, or
perhaps better, than South America.
He decided on the schooner, which he found was called the _Southern
Cross_. This would also give him time in the morning to change his notes
into gold.
* * * * *
Together with another officer, and armed with a warrant, Constable Hobbs
proceeded the following morning to the residence of Huey Gosper, but he
was not at home, had not slept there that night, the landlady said.
Nevertheless, Hobbs entered his room, which was all turned over and
littered about. There was every outward sign of a hasty
departure—clothing, books, and toilet articles littered about in a
disorder not even to be excused in a bachelor’s department.
“The bird has flown?” muttered Hobbs. “Just my luck!”
Hastily they proceeded to overhaul the various articles left behind. A
small portmanteau attracted the constable’s attention, and on opening it,
was found to contain a bundle of fine rope, which, being unfolded,
revealed itself as a rope ladder with two claw hooks at one end.
“That’s the trick, was it?” said Mr. Hobbs, contemplatively; “but how the
dickens did he fix it? Those hooks would hang nicely on the iron bars of
the window, but how did he get them there, and getting them there, take
them down?”
The answer was not long in coming. In the corner of the room stood, what
looked like a Malacca walking-cane. On careful examination it was found
to be an article that is sold at Japanese stores as a telescope
fishing-rod. The last, or weakest, joint had been removed, and two
implements were found in the pocket of an old coat hanging on the door
that fitted in the hole intended for the last joint. One was simply a
T-shaped piece of iron, with its upper points bent upwards. This Hobbs
saw in a moment would readily hook on and unhook the ladder.
The other tool was not so simple—a lump of lead, weighing perhaps four or
five pounds. It also had a staple to fit the rod top. It was in shape
oblong and round, and in the centre of its smallest end was a
diamond-shaped opening, big enough for a pea to drop in. With a long
needle Hobbs measured the depth of this opening; it was four inches. To
Constable Hobbs it stood revealed as a leaden handle without a blade.
“Here,” said he, speaking unintelligibly to his companion, “is my boy’s
clothes-prop. With a narrow knife fixed in such a weapon, one could,
with a little practice, easily stab a man ten feet away, particularly if
that man was asleep. But it would be far more difficult to withdraw the
blade; the weight of the lead from a good drop would drive it in, but
there would be little power to withdraw it.
“So the blade fitted the handle loosely, and came away when it had done
its work.
“All that is clear to me now—this that the old man saw with a single
glance of his eye from a scratch in the paint! We have the evidence.
Now for the man! Fortunately you cannot leave Australia by express
train, and if he is ashore I will have him.”
Constable Hobbs’s first care was to go to the quays and shipping offices.
Here he learned that a ship had sailed the previous evening for Batavia,
besides several inter-colonial steamers.
“If he has had a good scare, as he seems to have had, he will try to go
as far off as possible, likely enough he is on his way to the East Indies
in the ship that sailed last night.”
And Hobbs felt his spirits sink with disappointment. To have got so far
and to be beaten in the last step of his progress was humiliating,
disgusting. He gained a little more hope, when he was told at the office
that the Batavia ship had taken no passengers. If Gosper had gone by her
it must have been as a stowaway.
Hobbs did not think this probable. A man with a pocketful of money would
hardly resort to such means of escape.
At the last moment he learned, in answer to a chance inquiry, that a
schooner had cleared that morning for the South Sea Islands, but they
could not say if she had sailed.
Full of a fresh-born hope, Hobbs went to the telegraph office and wired
the signalling office at South Head—
“Has schooner _Southern Cross_ passed outwards?”
In a few minutes answer came—“Southern Cross anchored in Watson’s Bay,
awaiting change in wind.”
* * * * *
Half-an-hour later Hobbs, on board the police steam launch, was
proceeding rapidly down the harbour.
Would they never get there? The launch seemed to him to crawl. Past
Cremorne, past Bradley’s Head, past the islands that dotted the blue lake
with their olive-green foliage and ruddy sandstone rocks, past Rose Bay
with its long-stretched fringe of silver sand, and then out into full
view of Watson’s Bay, nestled in snug security under the mighty cliffs of
South Head.
Yes? The _Southern Cross_ was still at anchor, resting like a lifeless
thing upon the water. A pair of anxious eyes watched the approach of the
launch from its deck. And, as the little steamer curved round and drew
alongside, and a policeman from its bows hastily climbed on to the deck
of the schooner, a loud splash was heard on the further side of the boat.
Hobbs was just in time to see the man he wanted disappear with a dive off
the bulwarks. Without a moment’s hesitation he doffed his coat and
helmet, and with a rush and a spring he too was in the water.
The constable quickly came to the surface, but the watchers on the
schooner could see no sign of Huey Gosper. Twenty pair of eyes at least
scanned the surface of the sea in every direction, but no re-appearance
was visible. Hobbs vainly called for directions; a lowered boat vainly
rowed to and fro. No sign of the man but his floating hat was to be
found.
That he had dived a quarter of a mile to the shore and climbed up the
rocks unperceived was hardly credible.
Hobbs felt sure he was not far off. Perhaps in diving he had struck a
rock and got stunned. Even then he should have floated.
With the courage of despair, Hobbs dived and dived again where Huey had
disappeared. With the skill of a pearl diver he felt over the bottom, or
as near the bottom as he could reach. Finally he came to the surface
panting, waving his hand for help.
The boat came, and strong arms soon lifted on to the schooner’s deck the
senseless form of Hubert Gosper. Striking a rock appeared to have
stunned him, and a heavy belt of gold around his waist kept him from
floating.
“Just my luck!” cried Hobbs, with a melancholy growl, as he shook the
water off himself like a shaggy Newfoundland dog. “Just my luck!”
“But you’ve got him after all,” said his companion.
“Got him!” replied Hobbs sarcastically. “What’s the good of a dead
criminal to a live policeman?”
* * * * *
The following day Bertha left Darlinghurst triumphantly on the arm of
Professor Norris, who had come to meet her. The Crown abandoned her
prosecution, and Soft Sam, having removed the embargo on his revelations,
Bertha was free to relate those particulars of the crime that had so far
remained a mystery.
“Soft Sam saw how it was done at once, Pro,” Bertha said. “After getting
to the window and killing my husband in the way Hobbs suggested, he must
have hooked Alec’s trousers off the chair where he had left them, taken
the key out of the pocket, got an impression in wax, replaced the
trousers, closed the window, gone home, filed out a duplicate key, and
then robbed the office safe. Who would ever have thought it of him? He
was passionate, I know, and dreadfully jealous. Do you remember the
wonderful character you gave him, Pro, when you examined his head at
Windsor?”
“And I stick to my character even now,” said the Professor. “A great
criminal or a great man! What is the difference? The circumstances of
his environment, an accident of life, a disappointed love, or a baulked
ambition. We have all the potential power for the greatest good or the
greatest evil if circumstances so will it, and the greater the brain the
greater the power. The Demon of Avarice destroyed Hubert Gosper as
surely as it is destroying thousands of hopeful lives every day. It
first demoralized, then brutalized him. But he paid the penalty, as
every one must inevitably pay.
“You cannot rob your brother of silver without at the same time robbing
your own mind of gold. There is no usury like it. Thou shalt not steal
from yourself your honour, your self-respect, your love of your
fellow-man; for in that moment the light of true guidance shall go from
you, and all shall be darkness.”
“Pro, you ought to have been a parson, with a beautiful long black coat,
a white fence round your neck, and a shovel hat. Then I could have come
and ‘sat under’ you—that is what they call it, I think—and made slippers
and smoking-caps for you.”
“The truth cannot be sold, my dear, or dispensed day by day like
butcher’s meat. They who hawk salvation for pay are bartering their own
souls. But let that pass. Now you are free, what are you going to do
for Police-Constable Hobbs? I hear he is to be promoted to sergeant.”
“I will give him five hundred pounds to buy a house of his own. Do you
think that will do?”
“I thought you would do no less, my dear. Mr. Hobbs, when he hears it,
will be the happiest man in the police force.”
* * * * *
Twelve months later Bertha startled the Professor by a resolution she
seemed suddenly to have arrived at.
“I have been thinking, Pro.”
“What about, my dear? A new bonnet?”
“Now don’t be a quiz! It’s not in your line, as the theatrical people
say. You are more suited for the ‘heavy’ business. I have decided to go
to Paris. You know how I love to get you to talk about that place. And
now I mean to see it for myself. I have heaps of money, which, as you
will not help me to spend it, I must try and do myself.”
“And are you going alone?”
“That depends. I had thought”—looking slyly at the Professor—“that you
might like the trip yourself.”
“Then I must marry you,” replied the Professor.
“Would that be so very dreadful?”
“You know I am yours, Bertha, to do what you will with. That which a man
may do with honour for the woman he loves, that will I do for you now and
ever more.”
* * * * *
Amongst its departing list of passengers by the following Messageries
Maritime mail steamer _Marseilles_, _en route_ for Paris, the _Evening
Times_ announced the names of Professor and Mrs. Norris.
* * * * *
THE END