SOLOMON FISH
It needed but one glance at Scarterfield's visitor to assure me that
he was a person who had used the sea. There was the suggestion of salt
water and strong winds all over him, from his grizzled hair and beard
to his big, brawny hands and square set build; he looked the sort of
man who all his life had been looking out across wide stretches of
ocean and battling with the forces of Nature in her roughest moods.
Just then there was questioning in his keen blue eyes--he was
obviously wondering, with all the native suspicion of a simple soul,
what Scarterfield might be after.
"You're asking for me?" said the detective.
The man glanced from one to the other of us; then jerked a big thumb
in the direction of some region beyond the open door behind his burly
figure.
"Mrs. Ormthwaite," he said, bending a little towards Scarterfield.
"She said as how there was a gentleman stopping in this here house as
was making inquiries, d'ye see, about Netherfield Baxter, as used to
live hereabouts. So I come along."
Scarterfield contrived to jog my elbow. Without a word, he turned
towards the door of the smoking room, motioning his visitor to follow.
We all went into the corner wherein, on the previous afternoon,
Scarterfield had told me of his investigations and discoveries at
Blyth. Evidently I was now to hear more. But Scarterfield asked for no
further information until he had provided our companion with
refreshment in the shape of a glass of rum and a cigar, and his first
question was of a personal sort.
"What's your name, then?" he inquired.
"Fish," replied the visitor, promptly. "Solomon. As everybody is
aware."
"Blyth man, no doubt," suggested Scarterfield.
"Born and bred, master," said Fish. "And lived here always--'cepting
when I been away, which, to be sure, has been considerable. But
whether north or south, east or west, always make for the old spot
when on dry land. That is to say--when in this here country."
"Then you'd know Netherfield Baxter?" asked Scarterfield.
Fish waved his cigar.
"As a baby--as a boy--as a young man," he declared. "Cut many a toy
boat for him at one stage, taught him to fish at another, went sailing
with him in a bit of a yawl that he had when he was growed up. Know
him? Did I know my own mother!"
"Just so," said Scarterfield, understandingly. "To be sure! You know
Baxter quite well, of course." He paused a moment, and then leant
across the table round which the three of us were sitting. "And when
did you see him last?" he asked.
Fish, to my surprise, laughed. It was a queer laugh. There was
incredulity, uncertainty, a sense of vagueness in it; it suggested
that he was puzzled.
"Aye, once?" said he. "That's just it, master. And I asks you--and
this other gent, which I takes him to be a friend o' yours, and
confidential--I asks you, can a man trust his own eyes and his own
ears? Can he now, solemn?"
"I've always trusted mine, Fish," answered Scarterfield.
"Same here, master, till awhile ago," replied Fish. "But now I ain't
so mortal sure o' that matter as I was! 'Cause, according to my eyes,
and according to my ears, I see Netherfield Baxter, and I hear
Netherfield Baxter, inside o' three weeks ago!"
He brought down his big hand on the table with a hearty smack as he
spoke the last word or two; the sound of it was followed by a dead
silence, in which Scarterfield and I exchanged quick glances. Fish
picked up his tumbler, took a gulp at its contents, and set it down
with emphasis.
"Gospel truth!" he exclaimed.
"That you did see him?" asked Scarterfield.
"Gospel truth, master, that if my eyes and ears is to be trusted I see
him and I hear him!" declared Fish. "Only," he continued, after a
pause, during which he stared fixedly, first at me, then at
Scarterfield. "Only--he said as how he wasn't he! D'ye understand?
Denied his-self!"
"What you mean is that the man you took for Baxter said you were
mistaken, and that he wasn't Baxter," suggested Scarterfield. "That
it?"
"You puts it very plain, master," assented Fish. "That is what did
happen. But if the man I refers to wasn't Netherfield Baxter, then
I've no more eyes than this here cigar, and no more ears than that
glass! Fact!"
"But you've never had reason to doubt either before, I suppose," said
Scarterfield. "And you're not inclined to doubt them now. Now then,
let's get to business. You really believe, Fish, that you met
Netherfield Baxter about three weeks ago? That's about it, isn't it?
Never mind what the man said--you took him to be Baxter. Now, where
was this?"
"Hull!" replied Fish. "Three weeks ago come Friday."
"Under what circumstances?" asked Scarterfield. "Tell us about it."
"Ain't such a long story, neither," remarked Fish. "And seeing as how,
according to Widow Ormthwaite, you're making some inquiries about
Baxter, I don't mind telling, 'cause I been mighty puzzled ever since
I see this chap. Well, you see, I landed at Hull from my last
voyage--been out East'ard and back with a trading vessel what belongs
to Hull owners. And before coming home here to Blyth, knocked about a
day or two in that port with an old messmate o' mine that I chanced to
meet there. Now then one morning--as I say, three weeks ago it is,
come this Friday--me and my mate, which his name is Jim Shanks, of
Hartlepool, and can corrob'rate, as they call it, what I says--we
turns into a certain old-fashioned place there is there in Hull, in a
bit of an alley off High Street--you'll know Hull, no doubt, you
gentlemen?"
"Never been there," replied Scarterfield.
"I have," said I. "I know it well--especially the High Street."
"Then you'll know, guv'nor, that all round about that High Street
there's still a lot o' queer old places as ancient as what it is,"
continued Fish. "Me and my mate, Shanks, knew one, what we'd oft used
in times past--the Goose and Crane, as snug a spot as you'll find in
any shipping-town in this here country. Maybe you'll know it?"
"I've seen it from outside, Fish," I answered. "A fine old front--half
timber."
"That's it, guv'nor--and as pleasant inside as it's remarkable
outside," he said. "Well, my mate and me we goes in there for a
morning glass, and into a room where you'll find some interesting folk
about that time o' day. There's a sign on the door o' that room,
gentlemen, what reads 'For Master Mariners Only,' but it's an old
piece of work, and you don't want to take no heed of it--me and Shanks
we ain't master mariners, though we may look it in our shore rig-out,
and we've used that room whenever we've been in Hull. Well, now we
gets our glasses, and our cigars, and we sits down in a quiet corner
to enjoy ourselves and observe what company drops in. Some queer old
birds there is comes in to that place, I do assure you, gentlemen, and
some strange tales o' seafaring life you can hear. Howsomever, there
wasn't nothing partic'lar struck me that morning until it was getting
on to dinner-time, and me an Shanks was thinking o' laying a course
for our lodgings, where we'd ordered a special bit o' dinner to
celebrate our happy meeting, like, when in comes the man I'm a talking
about. And if he wasn't Netherfield Baxter, what I'd known ever since
he was the heighth o' six-pennorth o' copper, then, says I, a man's
eyes and a man's ears isn't to be trusted!"
"Fish!" said Scarterfield, who was listening intently. "It'll be best
if you give us a description of this man. Tell us, as near as you can,
what he's like--I mean, of course the man you saw at the Goose and
Crane."
Our visitor seemed to pull his mental faculties together. He took
another pull at his glass and several at his cigar.
"Well," he said, "t'aint much in my line, that, me not being a
scholar, but I can give a general idea, d'ye see, master. A tallish,
good-looking chap, as the women 'ud call handsome, sort of rakish
fellow, you understand. Dressed very smart. Blue serge suit--good
stuff, new. Straw hat--black band. Brown boots--polished and shining.
Quite the swell--as Netherfield always was, even when he'd got through
his money. The gentleman! Lord bless your souls, I knew him, for all
that I hadn't seen him for several years, and that he'd grown a
beard!"
"A beard, eh--" interrupted Scarterfield.
"Beard and moustache," assented Fish.
"What colour?" asked Scarterfield.
"What you might call a golden-brown," replied Fish. "Cut--the beard
was--to a point. Suited him."
Scarterfield drew out his pocket-book and produced a slightly-faded
photograph--that of a certain good-looking, rather nattish young man,
taken in company with a fox-terrier. He handed it to Fish.
"Is that Baxter?" he asked.
"Aye!--as he was, years ago," said Fish. "I know that well
enough--used to be one o' them in the phottygrapher's window down the
street, outside here. But now, d'ye see, he's grown a beard.
Otherwise--the same!"
"Well?" said Scarterfield, "What happened? This man came in. Was he
alone?"
"No," replied Fish. "He'd two other men with him. One was a chap about
his own age, just as smart as what he was, and dressed similar.
T'other was an older man, in his shirt sleeves and without a
hat--seemed to me he'd brought Baxter and his friend across from some
shop or other to stand 'em a drink. Anyways, he did call for
drinks--whisky and soda--and the three on 'em stood together talking.
And as soon as I heard Baxter's voice, I was dead sure about him--he'd
always a highish voice, talked as gentlemen talks, d'ye see, for, of
course, he was brought up that way--high eddicated, you understand?"
"What were these three talking about?" asked Scarterfield.
"Far as I could make out about ship's fittings," answered Fish.
"Something 'o that sort, anyway, but I didn't take much notice o'
their talk; I was too much taken up watching Baxter, and growing more
certain every minute, d'ye see, that it was him. And 'cepting that a
few o' years does make a bit o' difference, and that he's grown a
beard, I didn't see no great alteration in him. Yet I see one thing."
"Aye?" asked Scarterfield. "What, now?"
"A scar on his left cheek," replied Fish. "What begun underneath his
beard, as covered most of it, and went up to his cheek-bone. Just an
inch or so showing, d'ye understand? 'That's been knife's work!'
thinks I to myself. 'You've had your cheek laid open with a knife, my
lad, somewhere and somehow!' Struck me, then, he'd grown a beard to
hide it."
"Very likely," assented Scarterfield. "Well, and what happened? You
spoke to this man?"
"I waited and watched," continued Fish. "I'm one as has been trained
to use his eyes. Now, I see two or three little things about this man
as I remembered about Baxter. There was a way he had of chucking up
his chin--there it was! Another of playing with his watch-chain when
he talked--it was there! And of slapping his leg with his
walking-stick--that was there, too! 'Jim!' I says to my mate, 'if that
ain't a man I used to know, I'm a Dutchman!' Which, of course, I
ain't. And so, when the three of 'em sets down their glasses and turns
to the door, I jumps up and makes for my man, holding out a hand to
him, friendly. And then, of course, come all the surprise!"
"Didn't know you, I suppose?" suggested Scarterfield.
"I tell 'ee what happened," answered Fish.
"'Morning, Mr. Baxter!' says I. 'It's a long time since I had the
pleasure o' seeing you, sir!'--and as I say, shoves my hand out,
hearty. He turns and gives me a hard, keen look--not taken aback, mind
you, but searching-like. 'You're mistaken, my friend,' he says, quiet,
but pleasant. 'You're taking me for somebody else.' 'What!' says I,
all of a heap. 'Ain't you Mr. Netherfield Baxter, what I used to know
at Blyth, away up North?' 'That I'm certainly not,' says he, as cool
as the North Pole. 'Then I ax your pardon, sir,' says I, 'and all I
can say is that I never see two gentlemen so much alike in all my born
days, and hoping no offence.' 'None at all!' says he, as pleasant as
might be. 'They say everybody has a double.' And at that he gives me a
polite nod, and out he goes with his pals, and I turns back to Shanks.
'Jim!' says I. 'Don't let me ever trust my eyes and ears no more,
Jim!' I says. 'I'm a breaking-up, Jim!--that's what it is. Thinking I
sees things when I don't.' 'Stow all that!' says Jim, what's a
practical sort o' man. 'You was only mistook' says he. 'I've been in
that case more than once,' he says. 'Wherever there's a man, there's
another somewheres that's as like him as two peas is like each other;
let's go home to dinner,' he says. So we went off to the lodgings, and
at first I was sure I'd been mistaken. But later, and now--well, I
ain't. That there man was Netherfield Baxter!"
"You feel sure of it?" suggested Scarterfield.
"Aye, certain, master!" declared Fish. "I've had time to think it
over, and to reckon it all up, and now I'm sure it was him--only he
wasn't going to let out that it was. Now, if I'd only chanced on him
when he was by himself, what?"
"You'd have got just the same answer," said the detective laconically.
"He didn't want to be known. You saw no more of him in Hull, of
course--"
"Yes, I did," answered Fish. "I saw him again that night. And--as
regards one of 'em at any rate, in queerish company."
"What was that?" asked Scarterfield.
"Well," replied Fish, "me and Jim Shanks, we went home to
dinner--couple o' roast chickens, and a nice bit o' sirloin to follow.
And after that we had a nice comfortable sleep for the rest of the
afternoon, and then, after a wash-up and a drop o' tea, we went out to
look round the town a bit for an evening's diversion, d'ye see. Not to
any partic'lar place, but just strolling round, like, as sailor-men
will, being ashore and stretching their legs. And it so came about
that lateish in the evening we turned into the smoking-room of the
Cross Keys, in the Market Place--maybe this here friend o' yours,
seeing as he's been in Hull, knows that!"
"I know it, Fish," said I.
"Then you'll know that you goes in at an archway, turns in at your
right, and there you are," he said. "Well, Shanks and me, we goes in,
casual like, not expecting anything that you wouldn't expect. But we'd
no sooner sat us down in that smoking-room and taken an observation
that I sees the very man that I'd seen at the Goose and Crane, him
that I'd taken for Baxter. There he was, in a corner of the room, and
the other smart-dressed man with him, their glasses in front of 'em,
and their cigars in their mouths. And with 'em there was something
else that I certainly didn't go for to expect to see in that place."
"What?" asked Scarterfield.
"What I seen plenty of, time and again, in various parts o' this here
world, and ain't so mighty fond o' seeing," answered Fish, with a
scowl. "A chink!"
"A--what?" demanded the detective. "A--chink?"
"He means a Chinaman," I said. "That's it, isn't it, Fish?"
"That's it, guv'nor," assented Fish. "A yellow-skinned, slit-eyed,
thin-fingered Chinee, with a face like a image and a voice like
silk--which," he added, scowling more than ever, "is pison that I
can't abide, nohow, having seen more than enough of."
I looked at Scarterfield. He had been attentive enough all through the
course of our visitor's story, but I saw that his attention had
redoubled since the last few words.
"A Chinaman!" he said in a low voice. "With--him!"
"As I say, master, a Chinee, and with that there man, what, when all's
said and done, I'm certain was and is Netherfield Baxter," reiterated
Fish. "But mind you, and here's the queer part of it, he wasn't no
common Chinaman. Not the sort that you'll see by the score down in
Limehouse way, or in Liverpool, or in Cardiff--not at all. Lord bless
you, this here chap was smarter dressed than t'other two! Swell-made
dark clothes, gold-handled umbrella, kid gloves on his blooming hands,
and a silk top-hat--a reg'lar dude! But--a chink!"
"Well?" said Scarterfield, after a pause, during which he seemed to be
thinking a good deal. "Anything happen?"
"Nothing happened, master--what should happen?" replied Fish. "Them
here were in their corner, and Jim Shanks and me, we was in ours. They
were busied talking amongst themselves--of course, we heard nothing.
And at last all three went out."
"Did the man you take to be Baxter look at you?" asked Scarterfield.
"Never showed a sign of it!" declared Fish. "Him and t'other passed us
on their way to the door, but he took no notice."
"See him again anywhere?" inquired Scarterfield.
"No, I didn't" replied Fish. "I left Hull early next morning, and went
to see relatives o' mine at South Shields. Only came home a day or two
since, and happening to pass the time o' day with widow Ormthwaite
this morning, I told her what I've told you. Then she told me that you
was inquiring about Baxter, guv'nor--so I comes along here to see you.
What might you be wanting with my gentleman, now?"
Scarterfield told Fish enough to satisfy and quieten him; and
presently the man went away, having first told us that he would be at
home for another month. When he had gone Scarterfield turned to me.
"There!" he said. "What d'you think of that, Mr. Middlebrook?"
"What do you think of it?" I suggested.
"I think that Netherfield Baxter is alive and active and up to
something," he answered. "And I'd give a good deal to know who that
Chinaman is who was with him. But there's ways of finding out a lot
now that I've heard all this, Mr. Middlebrook!--I'm off to Hull. Come
with me!"
Until that instant such an idea had never entered my head. But I made
up my mind there and then.
"I will!" said I. "We'll see this through, Scarterfield. Get a
time-table."