Читать книгу The Phantom Launch - Aidan de Brune - Страница 9

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A LONG, narrow wooden box, about two feet wide and four feet long, lay on the sands between the two men. So far as Lister could judge, it was a replica of the wooden box hidden in the sands at Myella Cove by the crew of the Phantom Launch.

If this conjecture was right, then there must be some definite connection between the box they had just unearthed and the Phantom Launch, now prisoner in Middle Harbour. Reasoning on, Lister had to conclude there was a connection between the Phantom Launch and the dead swaggie, Gideah Brading.

Lister sat back on the sands and tried to reconstruct the events of the past two days, as he knew them. First, the Phantom Launch had visited Myella Cove, and members of the crew had worked in some way on the box buried in the sands there. Constable Phelps had unearthed the box, and reburied it, intending to return and carry it to the police station. The Phantom Launch, on leaving Myella Cove, had proceeded up the harbour; but, almost immediately, had retraced its wake and gone out to sea. The next morning it had taken a passenger from the overseas mail boat, and had disappeared for about sixteen hours. That meant the Phantom Launch had some haven round the coast. Was that refuge at Yaney's Inlet? Had the speed boat landed its passenger at that lonely spot?

If the Phantom Launch had visited Yaney's Inlet, had that visit anything to do with the dead swaggie, Gideah Brading? Had the swaggie been dead when the Phantom Launch came to the inlet, or had the crew of the mystery boat some part in the death of the man?

The Phantom Launch had returned to Sydney waters about sixteen hours after it left the Harbour, and about fifteen hours previous to the discovery of the box at Yaney's Inlet. That made a total of thirty-one hours. Dr. Macdermott had stated the man had been dead about twenty-four hours. The Phantom Launch had been outside the Heads at the time the murder took place.

The journalist had been fumbling at the lock of the box while Lister had been trying to reconstruct the facts of the murder as he knew them. At length, he found one of his keys that turned the wards of the lock, and he threw back the lid.

"Jove!" The exclamation drew the expert's attention. He turned and looked into the box. It was empty, save that, fastened to the bottom of the box by drawing pins, were some bank-notes.

WESTON reached into the box for the notes. Suddenly Lister caught him by the shoulder and drew him back. The journalist lost his balance, and rolled over on the sands. He looked up at his chum with some surprise.

"What's the game, Syd?"

Lister did not reply. He drew from his pocket a pair of rubber gloves and donned them, meanwhile carefully scanning the interior of the box. It looked bare and safe, but he could not forget the queer burn on the palm of the dead man's hand.

With the protection of the rubber gloves, Lister reached into the box and loosened the drawing pins with his penknife. Once they lay loose on the floor of the box, he lifted them carelessly. There were five notes of a hundred pounds each. He tossed them out on the sands.

"Keep your hands from that box, old man." he warned the newspaper man. "There's something in this matter I can't understand, and until we do I suggest that we take every precaution. Remember the burn on the dead man's hand. This box may have had something to do with that, although it looks pretty innocent."

"The box is empty," protested the journalist. He was peering into it, taking particular care not to touch it with his hands or clothes.

"Remember the letter." Lister was examining the banknotes. "'The money has been placed where you know.' Looks as if this box was the place where Brading was to find the final payment."

"The notes, and the burn on the hand!" Weston whistled softly. "Jove, old man, we're going some. But what of the notes we found in the pocket-book?"

"Part of the last payment," answered Lister. "That would fit in with the theory that Brading and the Phantom Launch have some connection."

The newspaper man looked puzzled, and Lister briefly reconstructed the adventures of the Phantom Launch over the past thirty-odd hours, as he believed them to have happened.

"Then we're to take this box to Como?" asked Weston.

"Well bury it again," declared the expert. "I want to get at the meaning of these boxes, and I shan't do that with them in the hands of the police. These boxes have to do with the Phantom Launch, I'm certain of that. Now, the police know of the box at Myella Cove, but only you and I know of this box. The police may want to dig up the box at the Cove, and we've got to stop that, if possible. Fact is, old man, there's a lot in this matter we're only guessing at present. We've got to keep the Phantom Launch crew thinking their boxes are unknown to the authorities. We can watch them and get the police to watch the places where they are hidden, whether we tell of this box or not. Somehow, the Phantom Launch is mixed up in the murder of Gideah Brading. I didn't think much of the Phantom Launch affair until to-day. Evading the Customs is one thing, but murder's quite another."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm taking an interest in the murder of Gideah Brading and the adventures of the Phantom Launch. I'm going to find out what I can about both matters."

"A personal Interest?" Weston looked up, surprised.

"If you like to call it that, yes. Don't you see, Tony? The Phantom Launch is owned and run by men who have called to their aid the latest appliances of science. If we tell the police what we have discovered they will first fool round with the clues we give them. They will take months to realise that their methods cannot apply here. Then, with the crew fully aware that we're on their track, we may be allowed to try our hands. It's not good enough."

"No." Weston hesitated a moment. "I believe you're right, Syd. There's something out of the way here. It's your work. It's something electrical, and in that line you've got quite a big enough reputation and knowledge to handle it." He rose to his feet, and held out his hand. "I'm with you, old man. What's the next move?"

"Bury the box."

Weston immediately started to scoop out the sand that had trickled into the hole. Then they lifted the box back to its former position. Weston managed to lock it, and they shovelled the sand back, and made some attempt to destroy all evidences of their presence and discoveries. The newspaper man picked up the swag, and led the way to the motor car.

"Give the police a hint to watch the bluff, but to keep hidden in the bush," advised Lister as Weston stopped the car before the door of the Como police station.

The journalist nodded. He was absent for about ten minutes, and then returned to the car. A constable came with him to the gate, talking quickly. Weston swung the car round, and drove to the post-office.

"Want a word with our bird at Sutherland," he explained. "He's got quite a lot to get off his chest."

A quarter of an hour later Weston returned to the car. He looked very worried.

"Matthews has disappeared," he announced, without preliminary. "He received our telegram this morning, and went out. Said he was going to the police station, but would return soon. Had his car ready to come here. His wife says she thought he was with me; had met me in the town, and had driven off in my car. His car's still standing in the street, in front of his home."

"What does that mean?" asked Lister.

"Damned if I know." Weston sat silent at the wheel of the car for some time; then he started the engine, and turned back in the direction of the police station. "We'd better see Constable Williams, here. He can get me information from Sutherland they might refuse to me direct."

At the police station Lister entered the building with the journalist. Williams, a slight, capable-looking young fellow, heard Weston's story, and immediately telephoned Sutherland police station. For a few minutes he talked with the officer at the other end of the line. When he turned to face Weston he placed his hand over the mouthpiece of the instrument.

"They say Mr. Matthews came to the police station early this morning, and handed your telegram to the officer on duty. He waited until Inspector Mack came in, and they had a long conversation. Matthews offered to drive the police to the Inlet in his car, but Mack thought best to take the police car. Matthews left the station to get his own car, promising to meet Mack at the Inlet. He never turned up."

"Never turned up?" Weston looked at the officer, amazedly.

"Inspector Mack's at the telephone," said Williams. "Would you like to speak to him, Mr. Weston?"

The journalist took the receiver, and called the Inspector. Mack confirmed the statements he had made to the constable.

"Worried about Matthews?" he asked at the conclusion.

"A bit." Weston's voice showed that he was worrying greatly over the man's disappearance. "Say, Mack. Put out a bit of a search for him. He should have been at the Inlet to meet me. Shall I come to Sutherland? No need? I want to get back to my office as soon as possible, so I'll leave it to you. Give me a ring there if you hear anything."

The General Post Office clock was chiming the quarter past six when Weston drew up the car before the Pictorial's offices.

"Coming in, Syd?"

"Think not. S'pose you'll be an hour or two getting your story through? Thought so. No. I'll get some dinner in town, and then do a show, perhaps."

Lister turned into Hunter Street, and walked down to Pitt Street. Outside the Evening Moon offices he ran into Ysobel Weston.

"Mr. Lister!"

"Sorry, Miss Weston. Afraid I was not looking where I was going."

"You were walking fast. I am going to the Pictorial offices."

"For Tony? I have just left him. We had a busy day down at George's River."

Lister turned and walked up to the office with the girl. Although Tony Weston and he had been great chums through his newspaper days, he had not met Ysobel Weston before the previous day, and had been greatly attracted to her. At the office Tony came out to them.

"Dinner, my dear child!" The journalist laughed grimly. "A formal dinner and I are not on speaking terms to-day. I have some sandwiches and a billy of tea in my room. You are welcome to a share if that will serve."

"Perhaps Miss Weston will let me deputise for you, Tony." Lister looked, almost pleadingly at the girl. "You can bear me out that I was on my way to dinner when I met her."

"Good." Weston joined their hands, mockingly. "Just the ticket. I can recommend Syd as a dinner partner, Ysobel. Not only is he at home in the haunts of the plutocrats of Australia, but he has a true knowledge of how to dine. Fact. I recommended him once for the cookery column of the Pictorial. He knows all there is to know of 'how to dine.'"

Lister found Ysobel a charming companion. The girl could talk well, and her experiences in Sydney business had given her a clear insight of the questions that interest men. At first their conversation was formal, but presently Lister found himself describing some of the items of their day's adventure in and around Como.

"What do you know of the Phantom Launch, Mr. Lister?" Ysobel asked the question suddenly.

"The Phantom Launch?" Lister looked startled. "Why, Miss Weston; why should you think I know more of the mystery boat than has been published in the newspapers?"

"You were on Middle Head the other night with Constable Phelps. You were with Tony to-day. More, Mr. Lister, you show, in the reserve with which you discuss the subject, that you have some hidden knowledge."

"Why not ask Tony?" countered the expert, his face flushing slightly. "He knows what happened today, and I believe he pumped Phelps and Miller of all knowledge possessed by the police of what happened last night."

"Because Tony was not in your wireless room last night, Mr. Lister." The girl laughed softly at the surprised look on the man's face.

Lister started. Again Ysobel reminded him of the sweet, low laugh that had come over the air but a few hours before.