CALAMITY KEEPS HIS WORD
The next day a number of sampans and canoes loaded with fruit,
vegetables, and flowers, came alongside the _Hawk_. Mr. Dykes had been
in error when he stated his belief that the Germans had cleared all the
natives out. As it was discovered afterwards, the people had fled to the
interior on hearing the guns and had only come back that afternoon.
Smith, walking along the deck, caught sight of Dora Fletcher leaning
over the taffrail, just below which was a sampan loaded with wonderful
tropical flowers. Its owner had been endeavouring to sell these, but
without much success, because none of the crew wanted flowers, being
chiefly concerned with the eatables.
"How much?" asked the girl of the native in the sampan.
The man did not understand English, but he comprehended the girl's
gestures, and made some unintelligible reply.
Miss Fletcher, seeing Smith, asked if he would help her.
"Like a bird," answered the second-mate cheerfully, and, addressing the
owner of the flowers, shouted something in the vernacular.
"Well?" queried the girl, when the man had answered.
"He says," answered Smith, "that you can have all those flowers for a
pair of old trousers."
The girl stared at him with a look of astonishment that gradually gave
place to amusement.
"It's the truth, straight," went on Smith, as though she had questioned
the accuracy of his translation.
"What am I to do?" she asked helplessly. "I wanted those flowers."
"I dunno, unless--half a mo' though. I'll be back in a jiff," and the
second-mate darted off towards his cabin.
He returned a couple of minutes later with a pair of greasy,
paint-daubed trousers over his arm.
"Here, corffee-dial," he said, and flung the garments into the sampan.
The native's face expanded into a broad grin, he cast an approving eye
over the discarded trousers, and then started to hand up the flowers.
"How's that?" demanded Smith triumphantly, when the sampan had been
emptied.
"It's very kind of you," answered the girl. "How much do I owe you for
the trousers?"
"Owe me!" ejaculated the other. Then he smiled. "Well, I reckon I could
have got a bob for them from a Whitechapel Sheeny."
"Then I owe you a shilling."
Smith nodded. He knew she would insist on paying him that shilling and
was wondering how on earth she would raise it. He helped her to carry
the flowers away and heap them on the bunk in her cabin.
"Oh, aren't they lovely?" she murmured.
"Um--m, I s'pose so," answered Smith, eyeing them critically, "but I'd
rather have a cokernut myself," whereupon he departed.
Dora Fletcher, susceptible to beauty herself, was amused at the
second-mate's polite contempt for the flowers. She began to arrange them
about the cabin, and, while doing so, was struck by a whimsical thought.
What, she wondered, would the grim and taciturn Captain think if he came
back and found his cabin full of tastefully arranged flowers?
She paused for a minute with one finger on her underlip, considering the
startling proposition. Then her mouth curved in an ironical little
smile, and, half-amused, half-contemptuous of her action, she gathered
up some scarlet hibiscus into a bunch and made her way towards the
Captain's cabin. Descending the companion quietly, she found herself for
the second time in that mysterious sanctum. It was not very large, and
there were none of the homely decorations--photographs, pictures, and so
forth--with which some skippers decorate their quarters. Some maps and
charts, a pair of pistols, one or two bracket-shelves with books hung
from the bulkheads, and the sideboards were littered with odds and
ends--tobacco-pipes, half-empty boxes of matches, and other masculine
lumber. The place reeked, too, of strong tobacco, and there were two or
three cigar-butts lying on the table.
The girl glanced around her with an expression of mingled amusement and
perplexity, then took a tumbler from the rack and filled it with water.
Having arranged the flowers in it to her satisfaction, she stood for a
moment surveying the effect, with that half-ironical smile still playing
about her lips.
As she stood thus, the cabin door opened softly and she swung round, the
blood mounting in a crimson flood to her face. But, with a gasp of
relief, she saw that the intruder was Sing-hi and not the Captain, and
her heart ceased beating tumultuously.
The imperturbable celestial showed not the slightest sign of surprise at
finding her there, and merely greeted her with his usual urbane smile.
"Sing-hi, I have been putting some flowers here for the Captain," she
said; "but you're not to tell him I've been here--savee?"
"Savee," answered Sing-hi, and the girl left the cabin feeling tolerably
sure that the Chinaman would not betray her.
She was quite correct in this assumption, for, after watching her
disappear up the companion, Sing-hi shuffled back into the cabin,
emptied the flowers out of the port, dried the glass, and returned it to
the rack.
During the afternoon McPhulach, who had recovered from the effects of
his debauch, went ashore to meet Calamity. The engineer wished to
inspect the workshop and the plant it contained, in order to make
arrangements for repairing the _Hawk's_ engines as speedily as possible.
Also, since the Captain had decided to convey some of the prisoners to
Singapore in the gunboat, the latter had to be examined and overhauled
before she could be floated; thus, in one way and another, McPhulach and
his staff were likely to be kept busy for several days to come.
Leaving the engineer to attend to these matters, Calamity went in search
of Mr. Dykes, whom he found superintending the loading of lighters with
coal for replenishing the _Hawk's_ bunkers. To facilitate this work, the
mate had pressed some of the German prisoners into his service and these
were employed in transferring the coal from the "go-down" to the jetty.
"Thought I might as well make use of these squareheads, sir," he
explained when the Captain came up.
"Where are the others?"
"Still in the shack yonder, sir. Before rations were served out this
morning I made 'em all take a bath in the harbour. One of 'em, who
speaks English, said he should complain to you."
"On account of the bath?"
"Yes, sir. Called it cruelty towards defenceless prisoners."
"We'll see about that later. How many have you got, Mr. Dykes?"
"Somewhere between thirty and forty I guess, sir. One of them--the slob
who complained about the bath--reckons that the explosion and the fire
did for about the same number, not countin' those who were killed and
wounded in the fighting."
"Which means that there must have been about a hundred men in the fort
all told."
"That's how I figger it out, sir."
"Well, you'd better fetch the prisoners out, Mr. Dykes, and I'll have a
look at them," said Calamity.
Accordingly they were marched out of the "go-down" under an armed guard
and paraded before the Captain. Most of them were soldiers, but a few
had formed part of the gunboat's crew and belonged to the German Naval
Reserve.
"Which is the man who wishes to make a complaint?" asked Calamity, when
the prisoners had filed past him.
"You with the grouch, fall out!" cried the mate.
A man in sailor's uniform stepped out of the ranks, and, drawing himself
up stiffly, saluted the Captain. The latter, as he glanced at him more
closely, started, and a look of recognition flashed between the two.
"Your name?" asked Calamity.
"Fritz Siemann, sir," answered the prisoner.
"Mr. Dykes," said the Captain, "have this man sent aboard the _Hawk_,
and see that he's kept away from the other prisoners."
"Very good, sir," answered the mate, who supposed that Calamity was
going to deal with the grumbler in a manner that would check any further
display of discontent.
When, later on in the day, the Captain returned on board the _Hawk_, he
ordered Fritz Siemann to be brought to his cabin. The prisoner was
brought in by a couple of sailors, who, at a word from Calamity, left
them together.
"This is a strange meeting, my worthy Fritz," said the Captain, looking
at the man with an ironical smile.
The prisoner shrugged his shoulders, but made no answer. He was a man of
between thirty and forty, very fair, tall, and with a pair of small,
cunning eyes.
"Well, how is it that I find you out here in the Pacific, a sailor
instead of a valet?" asked the Captain after a pause.
"I came out on a cruiser as a Naval Reservist, and was afterwards
transferred to the gunboat," answered the fellow.
"When did you leave England?"
"A day or two before war was declared."
"You were recalled by the German Government?"
"Yes."
"H'm; and how was your master when you left?"
"He died about three months before I went," answered the man.
"Died!"
"Yes, sir, he fell from his horse while hunting."
Calamity was silent for some moments, and then he turned once more to
the German.
"Did he ever mention my name in your presence?"
"Not often, but he was always trying to find out if you were dead."
A grim smile stole over the Captain's face at this. Somehow it seemed to
amuse him.
"But, so far as you know, he was never able to find out for certain?"
"I don't think so, but everyone thought you were dead, except Mr.
Vayne."
"Yes, Vayne was the only friend I had," muttered the Captain. He turned
sharply to the prisoner. "Did my brother pay you well for assisting him
in his rascality?"
"I--I don't understand," faltered the German nervously.
"Nevertheless, I should advise you to try," answered Calamity quietly,
"it may save you considerable discomfort. Now, answer my question."
"He paid me well enough while I was in his service," growled the man
reluctantly; "but, as for rascality----"
"I'm referring to the forged cheque," broke in the Captain.
The prisoner started and shot a keen glance at him.
"Forged cheque?" he repeated as if puzzled.
"I am perfectly aware of the part you played in that little affair, so
don't risk your neck by trying to prevaricate. As it is, I'm half
inclined to hang you here and now, but you shall assuredly swing, my
lad, if you utter a single lie."
The ex-valet turned deathly pale, for he realised that the threat was no
empty one. He shifted uneasily from one foot to another, glanced
furtively round the cabin as if considering the possibilities of escape,
and finally let his gaze rest on the Captain.
"What do you want me to say?" he asked sullenly.
"I want you to tell me the truth, and bear in mind that your life
depends on it."
"About the cheque?"
"About the cheque."
"He forged it."
"How do you know?"
"I was in the room with him?"
"You helped him, in fact?"
"I suppose so."
"By God, you deserve to be hanged if ever a man did," exclaimed the
Captain.
"You asked me to tell you the truth, sir," said the man, shrinking back.
"Get on with your story."
"There's nothing much to tell, sir. The scheme worked without a hitch,
and everyone was deceived--except Mr. Vayne; he was always doubtful."
"Well, and what did you get out of it? Such assistance as you gave was
invaluable."
"Five hundred pounds."
"H'm, a very profitable stroke of business on your part, especially as
it placed you in a position to levy blackmail at will. Now what fee"--an
ugly expression crossed the Captain's face as he uttered this--"do you
require in consideration of your writing down a full account of that
interesting transaction and signing it in the presence of witnesses?"
The other hesitated a moment.
"A thousand pounds in cash and a guarantee that I shall not be handed
over to the British authorities as a prisoner of war."
"Agreed. You shall have the money in English and American notes as soon
as you have prepared the document."
"And if I change my mind?"
"Why, then," answered Calamity with a genial smile, "it'll be the last
time you ever change it on this earth," and, rising, he laid pen, ink,
and paper before the prisoner.
"Call the steward when you have finished and he will send for me," said
Calamity as he left the cabin.
For nearly an hour the German wrote steadily, pausing every now and
again to read what he had written. When at last he had finished he
called for the steward.
"Tell the Captain I'm ready," he said as Sing-hi appeared in the
doorway.
The Chinaman nodded and a few minutes afterwards the Captain entered,
accompanied by Smith and McPhulach.
"Be seated, gentlemen," said Calamity, himself taking a chair. "I have
brought you here," he went on, "to witness the signature of a document
which this man has written. He will read it over first, and when I tell
you that every word is absolutely confidential, I feel sure you will
both observe the strictest secrecy. At least," he added significantly,
"it will be to your advantage to do so."
The two witnesses murmured assent and settled themselves down to listen.
Then, at a nod from the Captain, Fritz picked up the paper and began to
read. At the start, the engineer and the second-mate looked mildly
surprised, but as the man read on their expressions changed to amazement
and they stared from the reader to Calamity with looks of mingled
incredulity and awed wonder. At length the prisoner, having finished
reading the document, laid it on the table and signed it.
"Blimey!" muttered Smith under his breath.
"A michty quare business," remarked McPhulach.
"Now, gentlemen," said Calamity, "I will ask you to append your
signatures as witnesses of this interesting confession."
Smith picked up the pen, and, after a preparatory flourish, signed his
name. Then he handed the pen to McPhulach, who took it somewhat
gingerly.
"I'm no incurrin' ony liabeelity?" he asked cautiously.
"None whatever," answered the Captain.
"I dinna hauld wi' signing papers mesel'," went on the engineer, "it's
producteeve of unco----"
"Are you going to sign that paper or not?" interrupted the Captain.
McPhulach hesitated no longer, but hastily scrawled his signature
underneath Smith's.
"Thank you both," said Calamity; "that's all I shall need."
Smith and the engineer, taking the hint, departed and left the Captain
with his prisoner.
"Now you want your reward, I suppose," remarked Calamity, and, stepping
into his little sleeping cabin, he brought out the money-chest which had
been taken from the treasure-house in the fort. From this he counted out
the equivalent of one thousand pounds, most of it, at the prisoner's
request, in American notes.
"You must give me a receipt for these," he said.
The man wrote out a receipt, signed it, and took in exchange the parcel
of notes.
"You've promised not to hand me over to the British, remember," said he.
"I shan't forget it," answered the Captain. "There are quite enough
scoundrels in English prisons already, without adding to their number."
"And I can't go back to the island."
"I suppose not. Well, I will see what can be done, and in the meantime
you had better stay here."
Calamity locked the document in a steel deed-box, placed it under the
bunk in his sleeping-cabin, and then went on deck, having previously
told Sing-hi to keep watch outside the cabin and not to let the prisoner
leave it. He was somewhat puzzled with regard to the promise he had made
Fritz Siemann, for, should he be taken to Singapore with the other
prisoners, he would certainly be interned. The only way out of it,
seemingly, was to put in at some neutral port and land the man there.
Some two hours later he returned to the cabin and found the prisoner
seated on the settee ostensibly reading a book.
"I hope," said the Captain quietly, "you find the book entertaining, Mr.
Siemann?"
"Ye--yes, thank you," answered the man rather nervously.
"May I ask, purely as a matter of curiosity, whether you always read
your books upside down?"
The volume slipped from the German's hand and he muttered a guttural
oath.
"I just picked it up as you came in," he said.
"And did your investigations meet with success?"
"My--I don't understand."
"I mean," went on the Captain, "did you succeed in your efforts to force
that deed-box and abstract your confession?"
The prisoner's face changed colour, but he tried to bluster out a
denial.
"I--I haven't touched the box," he said.
"Then it's rather strange that your jacket should be smeared with white
paint. You see, my bunk was re-painted only this----"
The Captain's remark was cut short, for the German suddenly sprang to
his feet and aimed a terrific blow at him with a short, pointed
sheath-knife. Calamity was just in time to avoid the weapon, which
struck the table with such force that the point snapped off, while the
would-be murderer stumbled forward under the impetus of the stroke.
Before he could recover himself, the Captain had seized him by the
throat, at the same time calling for Sing-hi.
"The irons out of my drawer," he said when the Chinaman appeared.
Sing-hi opened a drawer, took therefrom a pair of handcuffs and slipped
them over the prisoner's wrists.
"You'd better lock the fellow in your pantry for the time being," said
Calamity as he went out.
The same night Mr. Fritz Siemann--that is to say, his mortal
remains--was lowered into the sea, sewed up in a canvas bag. And, inside
that bag, besides the firebars used as sinkers, was the thousand pounds
in notes.
Captain Calamity was not the man to break his word.