GETTING TO WIND'ARD OF PENGELLY
AT four o'clock in the afternoon of the same day on which the _Mendez
Nunez_ was towed into Falmouth harbour, Gerald Broadmayne, "clothed
and in his right mind" (to be precise, he had bathed, shaved and
shifted into naval uniform) passed through the wicket-gate of
Devonport Dockyard on his way to interview the Commander-in-Chief.
Rollo Vyse had gone home to assure his parents that he was not
drowned, and that, if Mr. Vyse had ignored Captain Cain's demands
for ransom, he might with perfect confidence continue to do so.
The chums' detention had been of short duration. At the
police-station they had asked the inspector to send for two local
residents whom they knew well, and who were ready to give their
assurances that the two suspects could with safety be released. In
the interval, ready-made and ill-fitting suits were sent to the
station to replace the borrowed garments belonging to El Capitaño
José Lopez.
A powerful car was hired and brought round to the police-station. To
it Broadmayne and Vyse were escorted between crowds of curious
spectators and followed by a knot of eager pressmen, who vainly
sought an interview with either or both of the Englishmen who had
come ashore from the Spanish tanker.
At Fowey the chums parted, Rollo to his home, the Sub to his, whence
after a bath, a change into the uniform of a sub-lieutenant, and a
square meal, Broadmayne resumed his car journey to Devonport
Dockyard.
With mixed emotions the Sub traversed the familiar cobblestones of
the dockyard, past the gigantic figureheads that served in a measure
to remind the New Navy of the deeds of the Old, and ascended the
steps of the Georgian portico of the admiral's official residence.
It was hard for the Sub to realise all that had occurred during the
comparatively brief interval from the time the luckless _Ibex_ left
Fowey harbour. He was in a rather unenviable position. Captain Cain
had undoubtedly saved his life and that of his companion. That, in
Broadmayne's opinion, outweighed the pirate's cavalier treatment of
his involuntary guests. In spite of his threats, Cain had respected
their scruples and had not compelled them to perform any act
amounting to piracy. And, with reference to the threatened flogging,
the Sub was none too sure that the pirate captain would have
proceeded to extremes.
And now Broadmayne had been officially called upon to give evidence
against Captain Cain and his rascally crew. Ought he, he wondered,
to reveal everything, even the secret of Cain's former association
with the Senior Service as a commissioned officer?
Cain was a pirate, a freebooter, an absconding swindler; but there
was this in his favour--he had never molested a British ship, and he
had not been guilty of murder, for even in the engagement with the
_Surcouf_ he had given directions controlling the fire, so that
although the Frenchman had been badly mauled, none of her crew had
been slain, the casualties, as subsequently given out, amounting to
five men wounded.
It was a perplexing problem for Sub-Lieutenant Broadmayne. More than
likely, from his intimate knowledge of the _Alerte_, he would be
appointed to some vessel detailed to accomplish either her capture
or her destruction. He did not hanker after the job; but he decided,
if it were to be his mission, he would do his utmost to carry it to
a successful conclusion. With Broadmayne, Duty, spelt with a capital
D, was the one object of his life as far as the Service was
concerned.
Then his thoughts turned to Pengelly. It did not take long to
dismiss him. Pengelly, he decided, was a mealy-mouthed, double-faced
blighter, hand in glove with Cain, speaking fair to his face and yet
never scrupling to cheat him out of his ill-gotten gains behind his
back. No, he had not the faintest sympathy for Paul Pengelly.
There was that other character, Silas Something. Broadmayne did not
remember his surname, but he knew the number and name of his lugger.
So did Vyse, who had overheard the plotting conversation between
Silas and Pengelly. Very well, then; Rollo Vyse could tackle that
part of the business. It would be something for him to do.
Broadmayne had not the detective instinct; Vyse had.
Giving his name to a messenger, Broadmayne was taken with little
delay into the Commander-in-Chief's private office. Here, in
addition to the admiral, his secretary and flag-lieutenant, were
several lieutenant-commanders, including Raxworthy, of the destroyer
_Windrush_. A couple of civilian shorthand writers completed the
gathering.
"Now, Mr. Broadmayne," said the admiral, after a few preliminaries,
"we want your story. Take your time and don't omit details. They may
seem unimportant, but in the long-run they may be of great service.
Now, fire away."
The Sub did so, keeping nothing back, with the exception of his
knowledge of Captain Cain's previous history. By the time he had
finished, both the shorthand writers, although they worked in
relays, were visibly fatigued; but the naval officers showed no
signs other than those of intense interest.
Broadmayne was then subjected to a lengthy string of questions.
Charts were produced and studied, plans of condemned submarines, and
lists of when and where they were sold for breaking-up purposes were
consulted. Notwithstanding the fact that the admiral usually dined
at seven-thirty, it was nearly nine o'clock before the "levee" broke
up, Broadmayne being "requested"--otherwise ordered--to report at
the Commander-in-Chief's office at nine-thirty the following
morning.
Broadmayne was putting on his greatcoat when Raxworthy, breaking off
a conversation with another officer, came across the vestibule to
him.
"Where are you putting up?" inquired the lieutenant-commander.
"At the Club, sir," replied the Sub.
"So am I," rejoined Raxworthy. "I'd like to have a pow-wow with you
over this business."
"Very good, sir."
The two left the dockyard together, hired a taxi, and were soon
bowling along Union Street to a residential club frequented by naval
officers when sleeping ashore.
"You're dog-tired," remarked Raxworthy, noting the strained look in
the other's eyes. "We'll have a meal and then you had better turn
in. We'll defer our private conference till the morning."
"Better get it over now, sir," said Gerald, with a laugh. "Probably
I'll be as fat-headed as an owl in the morning. And I've to see the
Commander-in-Chief."
"Well, look here," said Raxworthy, "this is a sort of private tip;
the admiral's going to have you appointed to one of the destroyers
told off to hunt the _Alerte_. Any objection if I apply for you?"
"No, sir," replied Broadmayne. Since he was to be one of the
hunters, it did not matter which ship he was appointed to. "Only I'd
like to point out that, with his previous experience, Cain isn't
likely to be caught napping by a destroyer again."
"We'd fix him by directional wireless."
"I've never known him to send out a message," declared the Sub.
"He'll receive them gladly if they gave him an indication of the
approach of a possible prize."
"How about the co-operation of a seaplane or flying-boat."
"Might, if the water's clear enough," admitted Broadmayne. "But
there's one way--if I might suggest----"
"Carry on," urged Raxworthy.
"Do the old Q-boat stunt, sir. A tramp well armed with concealed
Q.F.'s and disguised as a French or Belgian African cargo boat."
"By Jove, the very thing!" exclaimed the lieutenant-commander. "I'll
mention the suggestion to the admiral, tell him that the credit of
it belongs to you, and try and get him to give me command. He'll
probably start with ticking me off and finish up with doing his
level best to get me the appointment. Of course, you'll be willing
to serve with me?"
"Well, sir," replied Broadmayne, "you did your level best to send me
to Davy Jones. I'll return good for evil and try to help you pull
off the little stunt. We want to capture her, I presume?" he added
anxiously.
"To capture," confirmed the lieutenant-commander gravely. "It will
probably mean a hanging job for Cain and Pengelly. The others would
certainly get a term of penal servitude. Failing capture--that is,
if we fall in with the _Alerte_--we'll have to destroy her."
At the appointed hour Broadmayne reported to the admiral. This time
it was a fairly short interview, but none the less important. Not
only did the Commander-in-Chief promise to apply to the Admiralty
for the Sub's appointment, but he approved warmly of the suggestion
that a disguised and armed tramp should be employed as a decoy ship.
"There's another matter I want to mention," said the
Commander-in-Chief. "I think you stated that a Silas Somebody was
acting as a sort of intermediary, and that he was going to hide part
of the pirates' booty to the benefit of himself and--let me see, who
is it?" He broke off to refer to a type-written report of the
previous evening's evidence. "Ah, Pengelly; that's the man. You've
no idea where the place is?"
"My friend Vyse might be able to give you additional information,
sir."
"Then I'll have a wire sent to him," decided the admiral. "Perhaps
he would be able to assist us while you are on particular service
afloat."
"I think he'd be delighted to do so, sir," replied Broadmayne.
"Very well, then. You can carry on with your leave for a few days,
but I wish you to be present when Mr. Vyse is here. We have your
address?" At two the same afternoon, Broadmayne was "rung up" from
the dockyard, the message stating that Mr. Vyse had arranged to call
at Admiralty House at three; would Mr. Broadmayne be present?
Rollo Vyse was able to give some important information, namely, the
number of the _Fairy_--PZ 4452b. Communicating by telephone with the
Registrar of Shipping at Penzance, it was found that the owner's
name was Silas Porthoustoc, and that he lived just outside the
village of Mousehole. The registrar also added the somewhat
disconcerting information that the individual under discussion was
dead and buried, and that his house was to be sold by public auction
on the following Monday.
"But I don't suppose, sir," he concluded, "that that will interest
you."
"Won't it, by Jove!" exclaimed the Commander-in-Chief, when Penzance
exchange had "rung off." "It will. It rather simplifies matters. If
we can lay our hands on the specie or bullion without the public
getting wind of it, so much the better for us, and so much the worse
for that scoundrel Pengelly. By the bye, the Captain Cain, as he
calls himself; do you know by any chance what his name is? Is it
Trevorrick?"
"I've never heard him called by the name, sir," replied Broadmayne,
while Vyse replied in a similar strain.
"Because," continued the admiral, "if it were Trevorrick, then we've
fixed the precious pair. They ran a shipbreaking concern on the
river Fal. Of course, it is only a surmise. There are heaps of
Pengellys in the West Country. I know several, and they are men of
unimpeachable character. Very well, Mr. Vyse; if you'll be so kind
as to put your services at the Admiralty's disposal, I think you'll
see the end of the Porthoustoc business."
This was on a Wednesday. Since the sale of Old Silas's cottage was
fixed for the following Monday, there was little time to be lost.
The matter of recovering the booty could, of course, be managed
by the use of a search-warrant, but for certain reasons the
Commander-in-Chief decided to deal with it without invoking the aid
of the law. Once the booty were taken possession of, then the
Admiralty Courts could take up the case and restore the plunder to
its lawful owners--the Norddeutscher-Lloyd Company.
The complicated machinery of Whitehall was set in motion at high
pressure, with the result that early on Friday morning the
Commander-in-Chief at Devonport was given authority to purchase the
cottage without a limit being placed upon the amount to be paid.
Two hours later the admiral sent for a retired boatswain named
Primmer, an honest, reliable and discreet old man, who had
previously served three commissions under the Commander-in-Chief
before the latter attained Flag rank.
"Primmer," began the Admiral brusquely, "I want you to buy a house."
The ex-bo'sun looked considerably surprised.
"Very good, sir," he replied. "But I beg leave to state, sir, I've
already a little house at Mutley."
"Buy a house at Mousehole, near Penzance, and live in it," continued
the Commander-in-Chief. "But only for a month--perhaps less than
that. You'll have all expenses paid and fifty pounds in addition.
Change of air will do you a world of good, Primmer. Take the missus
and a vanload of furniture and you'll have quite an interesting
holiday."
"Very good, sir," said the pensioner again.
Then the admiral explained matters and introduced Rollo Vyse as a
supposed paying-guest.
"You two can work together splendidly," declared the admiral. "If
you require additional assistance, wire at once."
The sale by auction was at eleven. At two o'clock came a wire from
Primmer addressed in a precautionary measure to a private address at
Plymouth--that of one of the Commander-in-Chief's staff. The
telegram was to the effect that Primmer had secured the house and
had paid the necessary deposit to Messrs. Jeremiah Built & Co.,
Auctioneers and Surveyors, of Penzance.
Directly Primmer reported that his furniture had arrived and that
his temporary abode was ready to receive his guest, Rollo Vyse took
train to Penzance. After making arrangements for his luggage to be
sent on, Vyse set out to walk to Mousehole.
His rôle was that of an artist wishing to make seascapes under
winter conditions. There were, he knew, swarms of artists in Newlyn
and Mousehole, so that by making out that he was one of them, his
presence amongst a strictly conservative body of fisherfolk would
not attract so much attention as otherwise.
It was a pleasant walk. Although December was well advanced, the air
was mild. The bay looked a perfect picture in the slanting rays of
the sun.
"Wonder where Silas's former abode is?" he asked himself as he
rounded a bend in the cliff path and saw the secluded little harbour
of Mousehole nestling under the cliffs. "I'll ask. It may save my
having to retrace my steps."
The first man he met after the decision was a tall bronzed man
wearing fisherman's rig, including thigh boots.
"Up-along, Maaster," was the reply. "You'm see chimbly over atop o'
yon wall."
Vyse thanked him and went on.
"I've seen that fellow before," he soliloquised. "Where? Dash it!
That's done it. He's the mate of the _Fairy_. I thought he looked a
bit straight at me. If he's spotted who I am, then there's trouble
ahead."
The recognition had been mutual, and the former mate of the lugger
was considerably perturbed at finding Vyse on his way to the cottage
where Porthoustoc lived.
"Wot be 'is game, us 'ud like to know?" he muttered.
Since Silas's death, the former mate had become the master and owner
of the lugger _Fairy_, his share on the various nefarious transactions
undertaken by Porthoustoc enabling him to find the purchase-money.
The new owner was hoping to continue in the former skipper's
business. Reticent and apparently slow-witted, he had formed a
shrewd idea of the nature of the _Alerte's_ activities; but the
difficulty that confronted him lay in the fact that he did not know
the medium of communication between Captain Cain and his agent. He
was willing to become Porthoustoc's successor in the business; Cain
would have been only too glad of his services. But the connecting
link had snapped, hence a complete deadlock.
"Welcome, sir, welcome!" exclaimed Mr. Primmer, on Vyse's arrival.
"Well, how goes it?" asked Rollo.
"Terrible queer place, this, sir," replied the ex-bo'sun. "People
hereabouts tell you everything you don't want to know. If you do
want to know anything they are as tight as the intercepted thread of
the breech-block of a fifteen-inch gun, if you understan' my
meanin'. I'm taboo--sort of leper amongst this little lot. They
don't take to newcomers."
"Well, I hope we shan't be here long, Mr. Primmer," said Rollo. "I'd
like to get away before Christmas."
"Same 'ere, sir," agreed the new tenant cordially. "We'll get to
work soon as you like. I've got crowbar, picks and spades an'
such-like. An' I brought a sack of cement up from Plymouth. Thought
it 'ud make 'em think if I got it hereabouts."
"I'll change, and then we'll have a look at the kitchen," decided
Rollo. "It'll make a bit of a mess, I fancy."
"My missus she don't mind," said Mr. Primmer reassuringly. "Fact is,
we've been doin' all the cooking in the spare room--proper sort o'
galley it makes."
Having completed the necessary change of clothing, Rollo,
accompanied by his host, went to the room under discussion. It was
about twenty feet in length and fifteen in breadth, stone walled and
stone floored. A doorway gave direct access to the garden; another
into the living-room. There were two narrow windows, which gave the
place a look of perpetual gloom. One wall was blank, the kitchen
having been partly let into the steep hillside at the back of the
cottage.
"That's our task," declared Rollo, pointing to the blank wall.
"I've been a-lookin' at it, sir," said the ex-bo'sun. "Wall's made
of stone set in cement. It don't look as if it's been touched come
these fifty year--maybe longer."
"I'll get a torch," said Rollo. "It's too dark to see much without
artificial light. We'll have to curtain those windows pretty heavily
when we work at night. Any one coming along that path--it's a
public one, I take it?--can see right in if we don't screen the
windows."
Throwing the rays of his electric torch upon the mass of masonry,
Vyse saw that the ex-bo'sun had good reason for his statement. The
stones were black with smoke, the cement as hard as iron. Further
examination showed that there was a small rectangular aperture in
the roof close to the wall. Evidently the former occupants were in
the habit of kindling a fire on the open hearth adjoining the wall
and allowing the smoke to escape through the hole in the roof.
"'Fraid the Admiralty have made another bad bargain, sir," remarked
Mr. Primmer.
"It looks like it," admitted Rollo, scraping the cement with the
back of the blade of his penknife. "I suppose the cave does exist?
Wonder if the entrance is under these flagstones?"
"We'll soon find that out, sir," declared the other. "I've a pick
and a crowbar close handy."
It was a long and difficult task chipping away the mortar between
the flagstones. As Rollo toiled and sweated, he wondered what it
would be like having to loosen cement. Mortar was hard enough.
At length, one stone was eased from its setting. With the aid of the
crowbar it was lifted. Underneath was soft soil mingled with rock.
Obviously that mixture would not hold over the mouth of a cave.
"Done there," admitted Vyse. "I'll swear old Porthoustoc said
'behind the kitchen,' not under it; but there's no reason why the
entrance should or should not be in the centre. We'll try at one
side and work right along."
Rollo had not been scraping more than five minutes when he gave an
exclamation of satisfaction.
"This is new cement, Mr. Primmer!" he exclaimed. "Look: it's quite
clean underneath the surface. Silas has been doing a bit of
camouflage; rubbing soot over the joints. The stuff hasn't
penetrated the cement like it has elsewhere. However, we've done
enough for the present. We'll start again to-morrow morning. I don't
think we'll have much difficulty now."
That night Rollo slept heavily. He had had a strenuous day.
Accustomed to plenty of fresh air, he invariably slept with the
bedroom window wide open.
Suddenly he awoke with a start to find the room full of moist
vapour. A sea-fog, banking up after a warm, humid day, had swept
inland.
It was not the fog that had aroused him. A curious horripilation,
such as he had never before experienced, gripped him. For some
moments he lay with wide-open eyes fixed upon the dark grey
rectangular patch of open window.
Something prompted him to get out of bed and go to the window. He
did so. Above the fogbank, which perhaps was less than fifty feet
from the ground, the stars were shining. The fleecy pall of vapour
was moving, curling, and alternately diminishing and increasing in
volume as it was urged landwards by the faint breeze. The fog,
catching at his throat, made him cough slightly. As he did so, he
distinctly heard the sound of footsteps moving rapidly and
stealthily away.
His bedroom window was less than ten feet from the ground, the house
being low. On his left was the front of the kitchen--a one-storeyed
building. It was from that direction that the sound of the
mysterious footsteps came.
Rollo's first impulse was to drop to the ground and go in pursuit,
but calmer counsel prevailed. He was at an obvious disadvantage. He
was not at all acquainted with the ground surrounding the house. He
was barefooted and in pyjamas. There was also the question of
arousing Primmer and his wife, since if he jumped from the window he
could not regain his room except by the door, which was barred and
locked. Besides, by this time the intruder had gone a considerable
distance, for his footsteps were no longer audible.
"Well, I think I scared him," he mused. "In future, while I'm here I
think I'll have a bed made up in the old kitchen. Then, if any one
tries to break in he'll feel sorry for himself."
Next morning Vyse related what had occurred. Examination of the
kitchen door showed that no attempt had been made to force it.
Apparently the nocturnal visitor had either been disturbed before he
could get to work, or either he had contented himself with flashing
a lantern through the window, which was too narrow even for a slim
man to squeeze through.
The forenoon Rollo spent in "pottering around" the village and
harbour with his easel and palette, simply to sustain his rôle of a
painter. At the same time he kept a sharp look-out for the _Fairy's_
new owner, but in this direction he was disappointed.
After the midday meal, Vyse and his assistant got to work. They were
on the right track this time. Three hours' strenuous toil resulted
in the removal of a couple of large stones set in very hard cement.
Through the small aperture thus formed, they could discern a cavern
of generous proportions.
It had taken Silas Porthoustoc half a day to build up the mouth of
the cave, working single-handed. Eight hours intermittent toil on
the part of Rollo and Primmer resulted in a hole big enough for them
to crawl through.
Armed with a torch, Rollo led the way. It was a matter of about a
three-feet drop to the floor of the cave, the natural mouth of which
was of oval section, seven feet in height and four in width. In
length it went back nearly eighty yards, the width and height
increasing at ten feet or so from the entrance.
There was the booty, packed as it was when it was transhipped from
the _Alerte_ to the _Fairy_, with the exception of one or two sacks
which had been opened by Old Silas, either for present use purposes
or else to enable him to satisfy himself of the nature of their
contents.
Working at high pressure, Vyse and his companion removed all the
booty from the cave and stored it in one of the rooms. They then
proceeded to wall up the cave, carefully discolouring the cement in
order to impart the appearance of age.
At the same time, the new owner and master of the lugger _Fairy_ was
composing an anonymous letter to the chief officer of the Water
Guard at Penzance.
Rollo had another disturbed night. With an automatic pistol ready to
hand, he slept on a camp-bed by the side of the large pile of booty;
but although he kept waking and tiptoeing to the window, somewhat to
his surprise there were no signs of the intruder of the previous
evening. As soon as the post office opened, a telegram was
dispatched to Devonport asking for a van to be sent to remove the
"furniture"; while to allay suspicion on the part of his neighbours,
Primmer spread the yarn that his recently-acquired cottage was
haunted, that his wife refused to remain there another night, and
that he had arranged to clear out that very clay.
Just before noon a motor pantechnicon bearing the name of a
well-known firm of furniture removers, but driven by a naval
artificer in mufti and accompanied by four stalwart marines in
civilian clothes (unfortunately their soldierly bearing discounted
their rôle of furniture-packers), arrived at the late Porthoustoc's
former abode.
Primmer's goods and chattels, together with the carefully-covered
boxes and sacks of bullion and specie, were stowed in the van. His
wife had previously gone on to Penzance station. Vyse and the
ex-bo'sun were taking a final look round before locking up the
cottage when a policeman walked up to the door.
"You haven't made a long stay," he remarked, addressing Mr. Primmer.
"Seems to me you're taking away a sight more stuff than ye brought
in a day or so back. D'ye mind if I have a look at some of those
boxes?"
The ex-bo'sun, taken aback, glanced appealingly at Rollo, who merely
shrugged his shoulders. In his part of an artist he could not very
well assume any responsibility without giving himself away.
"Sure I do mind," replied Primmer, at a loss to say anything else.
"Then," continued the representative of law and order, "it is my
duty to----"
He broke off suddenly, possibly thinking that the odds were too
great for him to tackle single-handed. He gave a sharp blast on his
whistle. From behind the stone wall appeared half a dozen men in the
uniform of His Majesty's Water Guard.
"Contraband!" exclaimed the policeman, waving his hand in the
direction of the loaded pan-technicon. "Caught red-handed you be!"