THE RACE
For a wonder, the Gulf of Lyons was not boisterous. They had a pleasant
journey through the night, and Daubeney assured them that his handsome
yacht was doing twelve knots an hour without being pressed.
Next morning they reached the Straits of Bonifacio, and here they had to
slacken speed somewhat, for the navigation of that rocky channel was
difficult and dangerous. Far behind them they could see a huge steamer
approaching. As the morning wore, this vessel came nearer, and Daubeney,
important now in his capacity of commander, announced that she was the
P. and O. steamship _Ganges_, bound for Brindisi and the East, via the
Straits of Messina.
"She left Marseilles at a late hour last night," he said, "and will call
at Brindisi for the Indian mails."
An idea suddenly struck Brett. "Do you know how fast she is steaming?"
he inquired.
"Oh, about thirteen and a half knots an hour. That is her best rate. The
P. and O. boats are not flyers, you know."
"And does she stop at Messina?"
Daubeney now caught the drift of the barrister's questions.
"I don't think so, but Macpherson, my chief engineer, will probably tell
us."
Macpherson was produced, a bearded and grizzled personage, hailing from
Dundee. Being a Scotchman he would not commit himself.
"I hav'na hear-rd o' the P. and O. ships stoppin' at Messina," he
announced, "but aiblins they wad if they got their price." And "Mac"
would not commit himself any further.
Another hour passed, and the _Ganges_ was now almost alongside. Although
both ships were well through the Straits of Bonifacio, and the _Ganges_
should have followed a course a point or two north of that pursued by
the _Blue-Bell_, she appeared to be desirous to come close to them.
Suddenly the reason became apparent. A line of little flags fluttered up
to her masthead.
"She is signalling us," cried Daubeney excitedly. "Here you," he shouted
to a sailor, "bring Jones here at once."
Jones was the yacht's expert signaller. He approached with a telescope
and a code under his arm. After a prolonged gaze and a careful scrutiny
of the code, he announced--
"This is how the message reads: 'Turks on board.
Stopping Messina.--WINTER.'"
For once the barrister was startled out of his usual quiet
self-possession.
"Winter!" he almost screamed. "Is he there?"
A hundred mad questions coursed through his brain, but he realized that
to attempt a long explanation by signals was not only out of the
question, but could not fail to attract the attention of passengers on
board the _Ganges_. This he did not desire to do. Quick as lightning, he
decided that by some inexplicable means the Scotland Yard detective had
reached Marseilles full of the knowledge that Dubois and the diamonds
were _en route_ to Sicily, and had also learnt that he, Brett, and the
others were on board the _Blue-Bell_.
He had evidently taken the speediest means of reaching the island, and
found himself on board the same ship as Gros Jean and the Turks. Hence
he had approached the captain with the request that the _Blue-Bell_
should be signalled.
"What shall we answer?" said Daubeney, breaking in upon the barrister's
train of thought.
"Oh, say that the signal is fully understood."
Whilst the answering flags were being displayed Daubeney asked--
"What does it all mean?"
"It means," said Brett, "that if the _Blue-Bell_ has another yard of
speed in her engines we shall need it all. It perhaps will make no
material difference in the long run, but as a mere matter of pride I
should like to reach Palermo before Gros Jean. If I remember rightly,
Palermo is six hours from Messina by rail. Can we do it?"
"Mac" was again consulted. Of course he would not commit himself.
"We will try damned ha-r-rd," he said.
And with this emphatic resolve the _Blue-Bell_ sped onwards through the
sunlit sea until, late in the evening, the _Ganges_ was hull down on her
quarter.
Macpherson came on deck to take a last look at the P. and O.
"It will be a gr-reat race," he announced, "and I may have to kill a
stoker. But----"
Then he dived below again.
So rapidly did the _Blue-Bell_ speed over the inland sea that as night
fell over the face of the waters on the second day out from Marseilles
the look-out forrard announced "a light on the starboard bow," and
Daubeney, after scrutinizing it through his binoculars and consulting a
chart, announced it to be the occulting light on Cape San Vito.
This discovery occasioned a slight alteration in the course. The
_Blue-Bell_ ran merrily on until the small hours of the morning, when
everybody on board was suddenly awakened by the stoppage of the screw.
This is always a disturbing incident at sea when people are asleep.
Travellers not inured to the incidents of ocean voyaging cannot help
conjuring up vivid pictures of impending disaster.
It is useless to tell them that for the very reason the ship has
slackened her speed it is obvious she is being navigated with care and
watchfulness. Reason at such a time is dethroned by the natural timidity
of the unseen, and it is not surprising therefore that the passengers on
board the _Blue-Bell_ should one and all find some pretext to gain the
deck in their eagerness to find out why the vessel had slowed down. The
answer was a reassuring one. She had burnt a flare for a pilot, and
quickly an answering gleam came from afar out of the darkness ahead.
The pilot was soon on board. He was an Italian, but, like most members
of his profession doing business in those waters, he spoke French
fluently.
Brett asked him how long, with the north-easterly breeze then blowing,
a small sailing vessel, such as a schooner-rigged fishing-smack, would
take to reach Palermo from Marseilles.
The pilot seemed to be surprised at the question.
"It is a trip not often made, monsieur," he said. "Fishing vessels from
Marseilles are frequently compelled to take shelter under the lea of
Corsica or even Sardinia, but here--in Sicily--why should they come
here?"
"Oh, I don't mean a schooner engaged in the fishing trade, but rather a
small vessel chartered for pleasure, taking the place, as it were, of a
private yacht."
"Ah," said the Italian, "that explains it. Well, monsieur, with this
breeze I should imagine they would set their course round by the north
of Corsica in order to avoid beating through the Straits of Bonifacio.
That would make the run about 650 knots, and a smart little vessel,
carrying all her sails and properly ballasted, might reach Palermo in a
few hours over three days."
"Thank you," said Brett. "Is Palermo a difficult port to make?"
"Oh no, monsieur. There is deep water all round here, no shoals, and but
few isolated rocks, which are all well known. The only thing to guard
against is the changeful current. According to the state of the tide and
the direction of the wind, sailing ships have to alter their course very
considerably, for the currents round here are very strong and
consequently most dangerous in calm weather."
Brett smiled.
"It would be an ignoble conclusion to the chase if the _Belles Soeurs_
were wrecked with her valuable cargo. I most devoutly pray," he said to
himself, "that the breezes and currents may combine to bring Dubois
safely on shore. Then I think we can deal with him."
Soon after daybreak the _Blue-Bell_, after a momentary halt at the
Customs Station, crept past the Castello a Mare, and amidst much
gesticulation, accompanied by a torrent of volcanic Italian, she was
tied up to a wharf in the Cala--the small inner harbour of the port.
Edith, who could not sleep since the advent of the pilot, made an early
toilet and climbed to the bridge, whence she had a magnificent view of
the sunrise over the beautiful city that stands on the Conca d'Oro, or
Golden Shell--the smiling and luxuriant plain that seems to be provided
by Nature for man's habitation. It lies beyond a lovely bay, and is
enclosed on three sides by lofty and precipitous mountains.
Naturally Fairholme was drawn to her side as a chip of steel to a
magnet.
"We are certain to have a furious row here," he remarked when they had
exhausted their superlative adjectives concerning the splendid prospect
opening up before their eyes.
"Why?" cried Edith wonderingly. "I understood that our present adventure
may at any moment have exciting developments, but I do not see the
association between the view and the possibility."
"It is this way," he answered. "I have not read a great deal, as you
know, but I have always noticed in my limited way that wherever Nature
is most lavish in her gifts, she seems to take a delight in setting
people by the ears. Italy is a fine country, you know, yet there are
more murders to the square inch there than in any other place on earth.
Then again, it is likely that several armed policemen are at this moment
chasing bandits among those hills over there," and he nodded towards
the distant blue heights which looked so peaceful in the clear
atmosphere, now brilliant with the rays of the rising sun.
Edith laughed. "Really, Bobby," she pouted, "you are becoming
sentimental. I half expect to find you break out into verse."
"I can do that, too," he said, "though it is not my own. Hasn't Heber
got a hymn which tells us of a place where
Every prospect pleases,
And only man is vile.
I forget the rest of it."
Miss Talbot faced him rapidly.
"Good gracious, Bobby, what is the matter with you? I never knew you in
such a melting mood before?"
"How can I help it?" he half-whispered, laying his hand on her shoulder.
"We have never been together so much before in our lives. Don't you
realize, Edith, what it means to us if Mr. Brett discovers those
diamonds within the next few hours or days?"
He bent closer towards her and his hand passed from her shoulder round
her neck. "When we return to England, if you are willing, we can be
married within a week."
A bright flush suffused her beautiful face. She bent her head and was
silent. It is quite certain that Fairholme would have kissed her had not
Daubeney shouted--
"Look here, you two, flirting on the bridge is strictly forbidden. You
will demoralize the whole crew. Even the pilot cannot keep his eyes off
you."
They laughed and giggled like a couple of children caught stealing
gooseberries. Yet the incident and the words were fraught with a solemn
significance which often came back to their minds in other days.
The party breakfasted on board and then set out to survey the hotels.
Brett's first care was to ascertain the scheduled hours of the train
service between Messina and Palermo. To his joy he discovered that
neither Winter nor the gang he was shadowing could possibly reach the
city until a quarter to four in the afternoon. They decided in favour of
the Hotel de France as being most modern in its appearance and centrally
situated.
The next thing to do was to provide an efficient watch on all sailing
vessels entering the harbour, and here the pilot proved to be a valuable
ally. Brett explained to him that he was most anxious to meet some
people who were coming from Marseilles on a fishing smack named the
_Belles Soeurs_, No. 107. It was possible, he explained, that both the
number and the name might be obliterated, so he wished the pilot, or any
helpers he might employ for the duty, to take particular note of all
strange boats answering to this description, and at once report their
appearance. This the man guaranteed to do. He said that it was quite
impossible for a French-rigged smack to enter Palermo without attracting
his notice.
As the daily remuneration fixed for his services was far beyond any sum
he could earn as a pilot, he set about his task with enthusiasm. He
engaged two assistants to take turns in watching the harbour, and gave
the barrister such assurances of devotion to duty that Brett felt quite
satisfied that Dubois could not arrive in Palermo without his
knowledge. Of course it was quite on the cards that some secluded creek
along the coast might be preferred by the astute schemer as a point of
debarkation, but this was a risk which must be taken.
By approaching the police authorities and requesting their co-operation,
and also using Gros Jean and the Turks as a stalking-horse, Brett felt
tolerably certain that the time would soon arrive when Dubois and he
would stand face to face.
In making these manifold preparations the morning passed rapidly. The
barrister insisted that his companions should go for a drive whilst he
busied himself with the necessary details, and they should meet at the
hotel for the midday meal. It was then that he singled out Sir Hubert
for his personal share in the pursuit.
"You know Mr. Winter?" he said to the baronet.
"Yes, I remember him perfectly."
"In that case I wish you to go to the station and meet the 3.45 p.m.
train on arrival. You will probably see the Turks and Gros Jean, but pay
no attention to them. Keep a bright look-out for Mr. Winter. Walk up
quite openly and speak to him, and the probability is that should Gros
Jean have become suspicious of this Englishman who follows in the same
track as himself, your presence on the platform will convince him that
he was mistaken in imagining the slightest connection between Winter's
journey and his own."
"That is good," said the major-general. "It would never have occurred to
me. Any other commands?"
"None, save this," continued Brett, smiling at the old soldier's
eagerness to obey implicitly any instructions given to him. "When you
meet Winter, tell him, if possible, to so direct his movements as to
find out Gros Jean's destination, if it can be done without giving the
Frenchman the slightest cause for uneasiness. Otherwise the matter is of
no consequence. I have already interviewed the chief of police here, and
it will only be a question of an hour's delay before the local
detectives effectually locate the quarters occupied by Gros Jean and the
Turks."