A MATTER OF INSURANCE
You pass up a broad stone staircase at one end of the Royal Exchange,
and come to a landing where, confronting you, are two big swing-doors
that are constantly opening and closing as bare-headed clerks and
top-hatted brokers go swiftly in and out.
On the other side of the doors is a small counter where a man in
uniform checks, with keen glance, each passer-by. Beyond the counter
are two rooms, one leading to the other, shaped like the letter "L,"
and in the longer of the two sit, in innumerable pews, quiet men with
fat notebooks. From desk to desk flutter the brokers bargaining
their risks, and there is a quiet but eager buzz of voices through
which, at intervals, boom the stentorian tones of the porter calling
by name the members whose presence is required outside.
A stout man made a slow progress down one of the aisles, calling at
the little pews _en route_, making notes in a silver-mounted book he
held in his hand.
He stopped before the pew of one of the biggest underwriters.
"_Taglan Castle?_" he said laconically, and the underwriter looked up
over his spectacles, then down at the slip of paper the man put
before him.
"One per cent.?" he asked, in some surprise, and the other nodded.
"How much?" he asked.
The underwriter tapped the slip of paper before him.
"Ten thousand pounds at 5_s._ per centum," he said. "I can do that."
He initialled the slip, and the man passed on.
He went the round of the room, stopped to exchange a joke with an
acquaintance, then descended the stone stairs.
Back to his stuffy little office went the broker, with little thought
that he had been engaged in any unusual variety of business. In his
private room he found his client; a thick-set man with a straggling
beard, who rose politely as the broker entered, and removed the cigar
he had been smoking.
"You have finish'?" he said, with a slightly foreign accent, and the
broker smiled.
"Oh, yes!"--a little pompously, after the manner of all Lloyd's
brokers--"no difficulty about the _Taglan_, you know. Mail ship, new
steamer, no risks practically on the Cape route; rather a bad
business for you; you'll lose your premium."
He shook his head with a show of melancholy, and took a pinch of
snuff.
"I have a dream," said the foreigner hastily, "ver' bad dream. I
have belief in dreams."
"I daresay," said the broker indulgently. "A sister of mine used to
have 'em, or said she had; dreamt a tiger bit her, and, sure enough,
next day she lost her brooch."
He sat at his desk, signed a receipt, counted some notes, and locked
them in his drawer.
"You won't get your policies for a day or so," he said; "you're
staying----"
"At the Hotel Belgique," said the client, and, pocketing his
receipts, he rose.
"Good-day," said the broker, and opened the door.
With a slight bow, his client departed, and reached the street.
There was a taxi-cab drawn up before the door, and two or three
gentlemen standing on the pavement before the office.
"Cab, sir?" said the driver, but the foreigner shook his head.
"I think you had better," said a voice in French, and a strong hand
grasped his arm.
Before he realised what had happened, the Frenchman was hustled into
the cab, two men jumped in with him, the door banged, and the car
whirled westward.
It was a car which had extraordinary privileges, for at a nod from
the man who sat by the side of the driver the City police held up the
traffic to allow it to pass. It flew down Queen Victoria Street at a
much greater speed than is permissible within the City boundaries,
and the gloved hands of the policemen on duty at the end of
Blackfriars Bridge made a clear way for it.
It turned into Scotland Yard, remained a few minutes, then returned
along the Embankment, up Northumberland Avenue, and through a side
thoroughfare to Bow Street.
Thereafter, the Frenchman's experience was bewildering. He was
searched, hurried through a passage to a small court, where a
benevolent-looking gentleman sat behind a table, on a raised dais.
The prisoner was placed in a steel pen, and a quietly dressed man
rose from the solicitors' table, and made a brief statement.
"We shall charge this man with being a suspected person, your
Worship," he said, "and ask for a remand."
Then another man went into the witness-box.
"My name is Detective-Sergeant Kiegnell, of 'A' Division," he said;
"and, from information received, I went to 976 Throgmorton Street,
where I saw the prisoner. I told him I was a police officer, and
should take him into custody."
That was all.
The magistrate scribbled something on a paper before him, and said
briefly, "Remanded."
Before the prisoner could say a word, or utter anything more than a
"_Sacré!_" he was beckoned from the dock and disappeared from court.
So unimportant was this case that none of the reporters in court
troubled to record more than the fact that "a well-dressed man of
foreign appearance was charged with loitering with intent."
Certainly nobody associated his arrest with the announcement that the
_Taglan Castle_ had left Cape Town, homeward bound.
It was an interesting voyage for the passengers of the _Taglan
Castle_, which, by the way, carried specie to the amount of £600,000.
She left Cape Town soon after dusk. The next morning, to the
surprise of her captain, she fell in with a little British fleet--the
_Doris_, the _Philomel_, and the _St. George_, flying a Commodore's
flag.
Greatest surprise of all came to the captain of the _Taglan Castle_
when he received the following signal:
"Slow down to thirteen knots, and do not part company."
To the captain's "I am carrying the mails," came the laconic message,
"I know."
For ten days the four ships kept together, then came the sensation of
the voyage. At dawn of the tenth day, a big steamer came into view
over the horizon. She was in the direct path of the flotilla, and to
all appearance she was stationary. Those who were on deck at that
early hour heard shrill bugle sounds from the escorting warships,
then suddenly the engines of the _Taglan_ stopped, and a crowd of
curious passengers came running up from below. The _Taglan Castle_
had obeyed a peremptory order given by the _St. George_, and was
hove-to.
The _St. George_ and _Doris_ went on; then, from the funnels of the
stationary steamer, came clouds of smoke, and, through their
telescope, the passengers saw her turn slowly and move.
Slowly, slowly she got under way, then----
"Bang!"
The forward 9.2 gun of the _St. George_ emitted a thin straight
streak of flame, and there was a strange whining noise in the air.
"Bang! Bang!"
The _Doris_ came into action at the same time as the _St. George_
fired her second gun. Both shots fell short, and the spray of the
_ricochets_ leapt up into the air.
The fugitive steamer was now moving at full speed; there was a great
fan-shaped patch of white water at her stern.
"Bang!"
All this time the two British warships were going ahead, firing as
they went. Then, from the stern of the strange steamer, floated a
whiff of white smoke, and, in a second, the eerie whine of a shell
came to the passengers who crowded the deck of the _Taglan Castle_.
The shell missed the firing warships; indeed, it did not seem to be
aimed in their direction, but it fell uncomfortably close to the mail
boat. Another shell fell wide of the steamer, but in a line with
her. The manoeuvre of the flying vessel was now apparent. She
carried heavier metal than the second-class cruisers of the British
fleet, but her object was to disable the mail boat.
The captain of the _Taglan_ did not wait for orders; he rung his
engines full speed ahead, and swung his helm hard aport. He was
going to steam back out of range.
But no further shot came from the _Maria Braganza_.
Smaller and smaller she grew until only a pall of smoke on the
horizon showed where she lay.
Obeying a signal from the distant warship, the _Taglan_ came round
again, and in half-an-hour had come abreast of the two warships, the
faithful _Philomel_ in attendance.
There was a swift exchange of signals between the warships, and their
semaphore arms whirled furiously.
Then the Commodore's ship signalled:
"Hope you are not alarmed; you will not be troubled again; go ahead."
On the twelfth day there was another shock for the excited passengers
of the _Taglan Castle_, for, nearing Cape Verde Islands, they came
upon not one warship but six--six big black hulls lying at regular
intervals along the horizon. But there was no cause for alarm. They
were the six Dreadnought cruisers that had been sent down from
Gibraltar to take up the burden of the Cape Fleet.
It was all a mystery to the bewildered passengers, whatever it might
be to the officers of the _Taglan_, who had received a long "lamp"
message in the middle of the night.
There was a two hours' delay whilst the captain of the _St. George_
went on board the _Indefatigable_ to report.
This was the end of the adventures that awaited the _Taglan_. She
was escorted to the Needles by the six warships, and came into
Southampton, her passengers a-flutter with that excitement peculiar
to men who have come through a great danger and are exhilarated to
find themselves alive.
The arrival of the _Taglan_ was opportune; it gave confirmation to
the rumours which had been in circulation, and synchronised with the
issue of the manifesto of the Nine Men--a manifesto unique in history.