THE LETTER
Although the trial had been held in camera, the news of Calamity's
arrest and acquittal soon became known throughout Singapore, though
there were at least half a dozen different versions of the affair. And,
as might have been anticipated, various inaccurate accounts of his
adventures as a privateer were put into circulation by his crew, with
the result that, before many hours had passed, he was looked upon as a
hero of the most romantic type. Crowds flocked to the harbour to gaze at
the two vessels, and the native boatmen did a thriving business in
taking the more enthusiastic spectators round them. Wild tales were
spread concerning the amount of booty which had been taken and the
fabulous sums of prize-money which had been distributed among the crew.
In addition to these confused exaggerations, another one soon gained
currency to the effect that Calamity had been created a lord in
recognition of his exploits.
As for the crew, they were having the time of their lives, being
regarded as heroes by everybody save the police. They were feted both
publicly and privately; interviewed, photographed, and written about,
until, at the end of a week, they had become so overbearing and insolent
that people grew tired of them and the police intimated that the sooner
they found ships and departed the better. Most of the men, having spent
all their money in a brief but glorious debauch, adopted this wise
counsel, but a few, who overrated the patience of the authorities and
continued to act as if the town belonged to them, were seized during a
drunken orgy and locked up.
In the meantime Calamity had left Singapore and gone to Paku, a little
town easily reached by train, where he was reasonably safe from
newspaper men and inquisitive people generally. In order that he might
do this, Mr. Vayne had undertaken to act as his representative in paying
off the officers and making arrangements for them to receive their share
of the prize-money in due course. On the day following the trial, the
lawyer went over to Paku and found Calamity seated on the verandah of
the house where he was staying, clad in white ducks and smoking a very
strong cigar.
"By the way, have you seen anything of Miss Fletcher?" asked the Captain
after they had been talking for some time.
"No, but I heard of her at the Consulate this morning. She had been to
see the Consul concerning certain private matters and will be leaving
for Yokohama in a P. and O. boat to-morrow. I gathered that from
Yokohama she will sail for San Francisco."
"H'm," grunted Calamity, but made no comment.
"And she left this for you," went on the lawyer, and, taking a letter
from his pocket, he handed it to Calamity who glanced at the
superscription and put it aside.
"Thanks very much, Vayne, I'm afraid I'm giving you a lot of trouble."
"Not at all, not at all! But if you would just go into these matters
now, I should be greatly obliged," and the lawyer opened the little
leather handbag he had brought with him.
"Everything," he went on, taking out some documents, "is perfectly
straightforward and simple. By your elder brother's death you inherit
the title and estates, while, of course, his own private property,
investments, and so forth, go to his wife and child----"
"Child?" interrupted Calamity. "Did George have a child, then?"
"Yes, a little girl. She'd be about twelve now."
"And Lady Betty, I suppose, is still at the Towers?"
"Yes."
Calamity's lips tightened and his brows met in a frown. The lawyer
regarded him for a moment, and then, leaning forward, touched him gently
on the knee.
"You're thinking of that wretched business of the alleged forgery," he
said. "You may safely regard it as forgotten now; at least, no one is
ever likely to refer to it in any way unless----" Vayne hesitated and
smiled.
"Unless what?"
"Unless you go in for politics."
Calamity laughed in spite of himself.
"You may safely dismiss that possibility from your mind," he said. "But,
as it happens, I'm going to reopen the matter myself."
"Eh?" ejaculated Vayne.
"You remember the story, don't you? A cheque for five thousand pounds
was forged in my father's name, and, by a series of artificially
prepared 'clues,' it was traced to me. The belief that I was the culprit
was strengthened by the fact that I had been playing the fool pretty
generally and was head over ears in debt at the time. Well, what you
don't know is, that my brother forged the cheque in such a way that I
should be suspected. He had been trying to poison the old man's mind
against me for a long time and----"
"Was it on account of a woman?" interrupted the lawyer shrewdly.
"Yes; I see you understand. We were both madly in love with the same
woman, and--well, my brother held the strong suit. But to continue: the
guv'nor accused me outright of forging his signature, and I, being too
proud to deny such a vile charge, especially coming from him, was
branded as a promising young criminal by the entire family. The guv'nor
offered me a sum of money to clear out, which bribe I refused, though I
cleared out all the same."
"And you released Lady Betty from her engagement?" murmured Vayne as the
Captain paused.
The latter winced and went on hurriedly:
"The night before I left I was sitting at the window of an unlighted
room, thinking--God knows what I was thinking, it doesn't matter
now--when I heard voices in the shrubbery and recognised them as
belonging to my brother and his German valet. Hearing my own name, I
leant out of the window and listened; I felt no shame about it, for I
guessed the part George had played in my affairs. And, anyway, I wasn't
caring much about the conventions just then. There's no need to repeat
what I heard, but my suspicions were confirmed, and when the pair moved
out of the shrubbery I knew for certain that, between them, they had
engineered my ruin. To put the matter in a nutshell, my brother had
forged the cheque, having previously arranged matters so that suspicion
should fall on me.
"My first thought was to rush to the old man at once and tell him what I
had discovered. But a moment's reflection convinced me that I hadn't an
atom of tangible proof, that the whole thing would rest on my word,
which, under the circumstances, I could hardly expect anyone to accept.
No, there was nothing for it but to acquiesce in the inevitable and
go--which I did."
"Yes," said Vayne thoughtfully, "you came up to my office one morning
early. There was a look in your face that I shan't forget as long as I
live. It has often puzzled me since why you came to me."
"I don't quite know, myself," answered Calamity. "But you had always
been pretty decent to me, Vayne, and when I was acting the fool at
Oxford, you befriended me more than once. Why a staid and eminently
respectable family lawyer like yourself should lend a helping hand to a
scatter-brained idiot I don't know; but you did, and there it is."
"As to that, my dear John, your family have been clients of my firm for
generations," said the lawyer almost apologetically.
Calamity laughed.
"I'm afraid that's a very weak defence, Vayne, not to say irrelevant.
However, we'll let it pass. You lent me the money to get out of the
country and--well, you know the rest."
"I know as much as you told me in one scanty letter a year," answered
the lawyer drily. "I don't believe you would even have written me to
that extent had I not extracted the promise from you before you left my
office."
"I'm afraid you wouldn't have been very edified had I given you a full
and particular account of my adventures. I served three years before the
mast, got my mate's ticket, and after that a master's ticket. I've
sailed in whalers, colliers, cattle-boats, liners, tramps, blackbirders,
and God knows what sort of craft. I've dug for gold in Alaska, been a
transport rider in South Africa, skippered a pearling-ground poacher in
Japanese waters, run guns in the Persian Gulf, and--well, ended up by
becoming a privateer. Also, I nearly pegged out once with malaria, and,
as you see, I lost an eye."
The lawyer nodded.
"Your father, as I informed you in one of my yearly letters, died in the
belief that you were dead, and so did your brother," he said. "Seeing
that they are both gone, I suggest that you do not attempt to reopen the
matter of the forged cheque. As you have said, you can prove nothing,
and----"
"But I can now," interrupted Calamity, with almost savage energy. "Look
at this."
He took a wallet out of his pocket and extracted from it the document
that Fritz Siemann had drawn up and signed and which Smith and McPhulach
had witnessed.
"There," he said, handing it to the lawyer.
The latter took the document, adjusted his pinc-nez, and carefully read
it through twice.
"That clears you once and for all," he remarked as he handed it back.
"It does, and I'm going to use it."
"My dear fellow!" exclaimed the lawyer in a tone almost approaching
horror.
"Oh, I don't mean that I propose publishing it in the newspapers. But
all those who knew me and believed in my guilt at the time shall see
it."
"But whatever wrong your brother may have done you, he is dead now, and
it would hardly be--er--good form to dishonour his memory. _De mortuis
nil nisi bonum._"
"Damn his memory!" flashed out Calamity. "I beg your pardon, Vayne," he
went on in a quieter tone, noticing the other's shocked expression, "but
I don't see why a live man should suffer in order to shield a dead man's
reputation. He made me suffer while I was alive, and it is a very poor
revenge, albeit the only one at my disposal, to charge him with his
crime now he's dead. I for one won't bow down to the shibboleth of
honouring the dead just because they are dead; I hate my brother as much
now as ever I did, and the mere fact that he's no longer able to enjoy
the fruits of his rascality makes no difference to that."
"As you will, John; it's a matter for you to decide, not me."
The lawyer rose from his chair and slowly fastened his little leather
bag.
"By the way," he said a little hesitatingly, "have--er--have Letters of
Marque been revived since the war started?"
"'Pon my word, Vayne, I don't know," answered Calamity.
"Then you----"
"Oh, as usual, I took risks."
"H'm," grunted the lawyer, and added, after a pause, "when will you be
ready to sail?"
"A fortnight or three weeks from now. I want to make sure that all my
officers receive their proper share of the profits."
"Very well. I shall see you to-morrow, I suppose?"
"Yes, I shall be here," answered Calamity, shaking hands.
The lawyer had scarcely gone when a native servant entered and stated
that a gentleman had called to see Captain Calamity.
"What is his name?"
"Abott, master."
"Then show him up."
The pilot was duly ushered in, and, as soon as the servant had departed,
he congratulated Calamity on having been acquitted of the charge which
Solomon had brought against him.
"Thanks," answered Calamity. "I told you I had something in store for
the old rascal."
"Then it's true he's been arrested?"
"Yes; I don't think you're likely to gaze on his benevolent smile again,
Abott."
"Then there's a story going round that you're a lord or a dook or
something of that sort."
"Don't take any notice of it," answered Calamity; "you'll hear a good
deal worse than that when rumour's got well under way. And now to
business."
"The stuff's down at my old shack, and, as it'll be dark in a few
minutes, I thought we might as well toddle over there."
Calamity agreed, and, leaving the house, they proceeded at a rapid walk
till the outskirts of the village were reached. By this time it was
dark, and Abott, taking an electric torch from his pocket, led the way
along a narrow foot-track till they reached the sea-shore.
"Here we are," he said, throwing a gleam of light on a tumble-down hut
about fifty yards from the water's edge. "I'll go first."
He unlocked the door, a crazy affair that a good push would have brought
down completely, and led the way in. With the aid of the torch he found
an old lantern with a piece of candle in it, and, after lighting this,
set it on an upturned barrel.
"There we are," he remarked; "'tain't much of a light, but it'll do to
talk by."
In the yellow glimmer it was just possible to make out a number of cases
and sacks piled in a corner with lumber of various sorts, such as empty
water-beakers, odd spars, rusty anchors, and so forth.
"Looks as if it were worth about half a dollar the lot, doesn't it,
instead of somewheres around two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?"
remarked the pilot as he seated himself on a water-beaker. "And to
think," he went on musingly, "that I pull fifty thousand out of it. What
for?"
"For playing the game," answered Calamity gravely, and, taking a handful
of cheroots from his pocket, he offered them to the other.
Abott took one, opened the door of the lantern, and they both lit up.
"Now," said the pilot, exhaling huge clouds of pungent smoke, "we'd
better fix matters up. This isn't the sort of stuff you can tuck under
your arm, walk into a bank with, and ask for it to be placed to the
credit of your account. No, sir, questions might be asked, seeing that
bar gold and promiscuous jewellery ain't common currency even in this
country. And, I take it, if the Admiralty knew about it, they'd want to
confiscate a tidy lump as treasure trove, or whatever it's called."
Calamity nodded.
"Well, I know a man in Sumatra who'll negotiate this little lot, though
he'll charge 5 per cent. for doing it. How does that strike you?"
"Excellent. Will you see to it, Abott?"
"I will, and you shall hear directly the job's through. I reckon you'll
have done the right thing by everybody; the Government's got a new
island, a German war-boat, thirty or forty prisoners, and about a
thousand pounds' worth of merchandise stacked away on board the _Hawk_."
"Likewise a traitor in the person of the late respected Solomon, and a
ship called the _Ann_," added Calamity.
"The _Ann_?" queried the other. "I heard of a packet named the _Ann_
having been collared by a British cruiser and taken into Penang; would
that be the hooker?"
"Without a doubt, but I haven't time to tell you the story now, Abott.
If ever you happen to meet Solomon--which isn't likely--ask him about
it."
The pilot rose, kicked aside the beaker on which he had been sitting,
and picked up the lantern. Calamity also got up, and, going outside,
waited while the other extinguished the light and locked the door. They
returned to Paku and stopped outside the house where Calamity lodged,
the pilot having refused to go in as he wanted to get back to Singapore
as quickly as possible.
"I shall see you again before I leave," said Calamity as they shook
hands.
On reaching his own room, he took from his pocket the letter which Vayne
had given him earlier in the day. It was addressed to "Captain Calamity"
in a large, bold handwriting. Tearing open the envelope Calamity took
out a sheet of notepaper and read:
"This is to say 'Good-bye' and to explain why, when you asked me to
marry you, I refused. During your illness I chanced to learn who
you really were, and then I realised why it was that you once said
to me 'Our paths lie wide apart.' As the wife of Captain Calamity I
might have made you happy, but as the wife of Viscount Redhurst I
believe I should fail utterly and bring unhappiness to us both. I
am going to California as you suggested, where, should you ever
have a desire to see me again, I shall be found."
The note was signed "Dora Fletcher," and Calamity, before folding it up,
read the last sentence twice--the second time with a faint smile playing
about his lips. Then he took out his leather wallet which contained the
confession of Fritz Siemann and placed the note in it.