A NEW DEPARTURE
The question of packing was a very small matter altogether, and it was
barely seven o'clock when, this finished, Cleek and Mr. Narkom had
collected their coats and hats from the hat-stand, given Borkins the
benefit of their very original ideas as to closing up the house and
clearing out of it as soon as possible, each of them slipped a sovereign
into his hand, and were standing talking a short while at the open front
door. The chill of the evening crept into the house in cold breaths,
turning the gloomy hall into a good representation of a family vault.
"All I can say," said Cleek, chewing a cigar, his hands in his trousers'
pockets, and his feet rocking from toe to heel, "is--get out of it,
Borkins, as soon as you can. I don't mind tellin' you, I'm jolly glad to
be clearin' out myself. It's been a devilish uncanny business from first
to last, and not much to my taste. Now, _I_ like a decent robbery or a
nice, quick-fingered forger that wants a bit of huntin' up. You know,
even detectives have their particular favourites in the matter of crime,
Borkins, and a beastly murder isn't exactly in _my_ line."
Borkins laughed respectfully, rubbing his hands together.
"Nor mine, sir," he made answer. "Though I must say you gentlemen 'aven't
been a bit what I imagined detectives to be. When you first come down,
you know, I spotted something different about you, and--"
"Ought to be on the Force yourself!" supplemented Cleek.
"And not such a bad callin' neither!" returned Borkins with a grin. "But
I knew you wasn't what you said you was, in a manner of speakin'. And if
it 'adn't been for all this unpleasantness, it would 'ave bin a nice
little change for yer, wouldn't it? Sorry to see the last of you, sirs,
I am that. And that young gentleman of your'n. But I must say I'm glad to
be done of the business."
Cleek blew a cloud of smoke into the air.
"Oh, you'll have another dose of it before you're entirely finished!" he
responded. "When the case comes on in London. _That's_ the ticklish part
of the business. We'll meet there again, I expect, as Mr. Lake and I will
be bound to give our evidence--which is a thankless task at the best of
times.... Hello! Dollops, got the golf-clubs and walking-sticks? That's
a good lad. Now we'll be off to old London again--eh, Lake? Good-bye,
Borkins. Best of luck."
"Good-bye, gentlemen."
The two men got into the taxi Dollops had procured for them, while that
worthy hopped on to the seat beside the driver and gave him the order to
"Nip it for the eight o'clock train for Lunnon, as farst as you kin slide
it, cabby!" To which the chauffeur made some equally pointed remark, and
they were off.
But Borkins either did not realize that the eight-o'clock train for
London was a slow one, or thought that it was the most convenient for the
two gentlemen most interested, because he did not give a thought to the
matter that that particular train stopped at the next station, some three
miles away from Fetchworth. And even if he had and could have seen the
two tough-looking sailormen who descended from the first-class
compartment there and stepped on to the tiny platform among one or two
others, he would never have dreamed of associating them with the Mr.
Headland and his man Dollops who had such a short time ago left the
Towers for London.
Which is just as well, as it happened, for it was with Borkins that Cleek
and Dollops were most concerned. Upon the probability of their friendship
with the butler hung the chance of their getting work. They had left Mr.
Narkom to go up to London and keep his eyes open for any clues in the
bank robberies case, and had promised to report to him as soon as
possible, if there were anything to be gleaned at the factory. Mr. Narkom
had expressed his doubts about it, had told Cleek that he really did not
see how any human agency could possibly get Nigel Merriton off, with such
appalling evidence to damn him. And what an electrical factory could have
to do with it...!
"You forget the good Borkins's connection with the affair," returned
Cleek, a trifle sharply, "and you forget another thing. And that is, that
I have found the man who attempted my life, and mean eventually to come
to grips with him. That is the only reason why I did not speak at the
inquest this afternoon. I am going to bide my time, but I'll have the
beggar in the end. If working for a time at an electrical factory is
going to help on matters, then work there I'm going to, and Dollops with
me....
"If there should be need of me, don't forget that I am Bill Jones,
sailorman, once of Jamaica, now of the Factory, Saltfleet. And stick to
the code. A wire will fetch me." He hopped out upon the platform just
here, in his "cut-throat" make-up--a little hastily done, for the time
between the stations had been short--but excellent, nevertheless; then as
Mr. Narkom gripped his hand, he put his head into the carriage again.
"My love to Ailsa if you see her, and tell her all goes well with me,
like a good friend!" whispered Cleek, softly.
Mr. Narkom nodded, waved his hand, and then the two navvies swung away
from the train, gave up their tickets to the porter--having procured
third-class as well as first for just this very arrangement--and after
enquiring just how far it was to Saltfleet Bay, and learning that it was
a matter of "two mile and a 'arf by road, and a couple o' mile by the
fields," strode off through the little gate and on to the highroad. Just
how adventurous their quest was going to turn out to be even they did not
fully realize.
They reached the outskirts of the bay, just as a clock in the church
tower half a mile away struck out nine, in deep-throated, sonorous tones.
To the right of them the "Pig and Whistle" flaunted its lights and its
noise, its hilarious laughter and its coarse-thrown jests. Cleek sighed
as he turned toward it.
"Now for it, boy," he said softly, and then started to whistle and to
laugh alternately, making his way across the cobbles to the brightly-lit
little pub. Someone ran to the doorway and peered out at sound of his
voice, trying to penetrate the darkness and discover who the stranger
might be thus gaily employed.
Cleek sang out a greeting.
"Good evenin' to yer, matey! This 'ers's Bill Jones and 'is pal. 'Ow,
I'll tyke the 'ighroad, and you'll tyke the laow road! and I'll be in
Scotland afore yer'.... 'Ere, Sammie, me lad, come along o' me an' warm
yer witals. I could drink the sea--strite I could!"
He heard the man in the doorway laugh, and then he beckoned to him to
come along. And so they entered the "Pig and Whistle," and were greeted
enthusiastically by the red-headed barmaid, while many voices went up to
greet them, showing that already they had got on the right side of the
men who were to be their fellow-workers.
"Gen'leman 'ere yet?" queried Cleek, jerking his thumb in the direction
where Borkins had stood the night before. "I've what you calls an
appointment wiv 'im, yer know. And.... 'Ere the blighter is! Good
evenin', sir. Pleased ter see yer again, though lookin' a bit pale abaht
the gills, if yer don't mind my sayin' so."
"And so would you be, if you'd been through the ordeal I 'ave this
afternoon," snapped out Borkins in reply. "It's a beastly job a-tellin'
people what yer seen and 'eard. It is indeed!"
"'Arder ter tell 'em wot you _'aven't_ seen an' 'eard, all the syme,
matey," threw in Cleek. "Done that meself, I 'as--bit of sleight-o'-'and
what they'd pulled me up for out Whitechapel way when I was a kid. Seein'
the master ternight, ain't we, sir?"
Borkins slopped down his tankard of beer and wiped his mouth before
replying.
"Seen him already," he answered with a touch of asperity, "and told
'im about you both, I 'ave. 'E says you're ter go up to the foreman
termorrow, say I sent you. Say the master 'as passed you, that'll be
all right. Couple o' quid a week, and the chance of a rise if you're
circumspect and keeps yer mouth closed."
"That's my gyme all right, guv'nor!" struck in Dollops shrilly, clapping
his tankard down upon the bar with a loud bang. "Close as 'ouses we are,
guv'nor. An' me mate's like a hoyster."
"Well, mind you remember it!" retorted Borkins sharply. "Or it'll go
badly with the pair of you. That's fixed, then, ain't it? What's yer
names again? I've forgotten."
"Bill Jones, an' 'im's Sammie Robinson," replied Cleek quickly. "I'm much
obliged to yer, sir. Any one know where we kin get a shake-down for the
night? Time enough ter look for lodgin's termorrer."
It was the barmaid's turn to speak, and she rested her rather heavy
person against the bar and touched Cleek's shoulder.
"Mother, she 'as lodgers, dearie," she said in a coaxing voice. "You kin
come along to us, and stay right along, if you're comfortable. Nice beds
we 'ave, and a good 'ot dinner in the middle uv the day. You kin take yer
breakfast with us. Better come along to 'er ternight."
"Thanks, I will," grunted Cleek in reply, and dug Dollops in the ribs,
just to show him how pleased he was with the arrangement.
And so the evening passed. The lodgings were taken, the charge being
moderate for the kind of living that men in their walk of life were used
to, and the next morning found them both ensconced at their new work.
The overseer proved to be a big, burly man, who, having received the
message from "the gentleman at the inn," immediately set them to work on
the machinery. The task was simple; they had merely to feed the machine
with so much raw material, and the other men and machines did the rest.
But what pleased them more, they were put to work side by side. This gave
Cleek a good opportunity of passing remarks now and then to Dollops and
telling him to take note of things.
The factory was a smallish place, with not too large a payroll, and Cleek
gleaned from that first morning's work that it was run solely for the
purpose of making electrical fittings.
"Where do they ship 'em to, matey?" he asked his next-door neighbour,
a pleasant-faced chap about twenty-three or four.
"Over ter Belgium. Big firm there what buys from the master."
"Oh?" So they were trading with Belgium, were they? That was interesting.
"Well, then, 'ow the dickens do they send 'em out?"
"Boats, idiot!" The man's voice was full of contempt for the nincompoop
who couldn't use his head. Above the clang of the machinery Cleek's voice
rose a trifle higher.
"Well, any fellow would know _that_!" he said with a laugh. "But what I
means is, what sort er boats? Big uns, I should sy, fer stuff like this."
The man looked about him and bent his head. His voice dropped a note or
two.
"_Fishin'_ boats," he said softly, and could be made to say no more, in
spite of the scornful laugh with which Cleek greeted this news.
Fishing boats?... H'm. That was devilish peculiar. Sending out electrical
fittings to Belgium in _fishing boats_! Funny sort of a way to do trade,
though no doubt it was quite permissible up to a point. Well, he must
glean something more out of this good fellow before the day was over.
A glass of beer at the "Pig and Whistle" after dinner worked wonders with
the man's tongue. He was not a favourite, so free drinks did not often
come his way. After the second glass he seemed almost ready to sell
his soul to this amicable newcomer, but Cleek was wise, and bided his
time. He didn't mean to fleece his man of the information in sight and
sound of his fellows. So he simply talked of the topics of the day,
discussed the labour question--from a new view-point--and then, as they
strolled back together to the factory, just as the whistle began to blow
that told the hands the dinner-hour was over, Cleek fired his first shot.
"See 'ere, matey," he began confidentially, "you're a decent sort of
bloke, you are! Tell us a bit more about them there fishin' boats wot you
spoke uv. I'm that interested, I've been fair eaten up with curiosity.
Yer didn't mean the master of this plyce goes and ships electrical
fittin's and such-like out to Belgium in _fishin'_ boats--strite, eh?"
"Yus." Jenkins nodded. "That's exactly what I do mean. Seems sort er
funny, don't it? And I reckon there's somethin' a bit fishy about the
whole thing. But I keep me mouth shut. That overseer's the very devil
'imself. Happen you'll larn ter do likewise. Two chaps who were 'ere
larst thought they'd be a bit smarty like, and told 'im they were goin'
ter tell all they knew--though God knows what it was! I ain't been able
to learn much, and haven't tried neither. But they went--zip! like that!
Never saw 'em no more, and nothin' come of it.... Best to keep your mouth
shut, mate. In this 'ere place, any'ow."
"Oh," said Cleek off-handedly, "I'm not one to blab. You needn't be
afraid o' that. By the way, who's the chap with the black mustache
a-stragglin' all over 'is fyce? An' the narsty eye? Saw 'im with Borkins,
the man wot engaged me night before last."
"That wasn't Borkins, me beauty," returned Jenkins with a laugh. "That
ain't his name. 'Ow did you come ter think of it? That fellow's name's
Piggott. And the other man? We calls 'im Dirty Jim, because 'e does all
the dirty work for the boss; but 'is real name's Dobbs. And if you takes
my word for anything, pal, you won't go rubbin' 'im up the wrong way.
'E's a fair devil!"
H'm! "Dirty Jim," otherwise Jim Dobbs. And he was in the employment of
this very extraordinary firm for the purpose of doing its "dirty work."
Well, there seemed a good deal of employment for him, if that was the
case. And Borkins was _not_ Borkins in this part of the world.
Cleek stepped back to his work a little thoughtful, a little
absent-minded, until the frown upon his forehead caused Dollops
to lean over and whisper anxiously, "Nothin' the matter, is there, sir?"
He shook his head rapidly.
"No, boy, no. Simply thinking, and smelling a rat somewhere."
"Been smellin' of it meself this parst two hours," returned Dollops in
a sibilant whisper. His eye shone for a moment with the light of battle.
"Got summink ter tell you," he whispered under cover of the noise.
"Summink wot ought ter interest yer, I don't fink. 'Ave ter keep till
evenin'. Eh, Bill?"
"Right you are, matey." Cleek's voice rose loudly as the overseer passed,
pausing a moment to watch them at work. "Nice job this, I must sy. Arfter
me own 'eart, strite it is. Soon catch on to it, don't yer?"
"_Ra-ther!_" returned Dollops significantly.
The overseer, with a shrug of the shoulders, moved on.