Читать книгу The Beautiful Derelict - Carolyn Wells - Страница 4

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Back came the lifeboat from the Nokomis, bringing the Assistant Purser, Flint, and a prominent medical man who was one of the passengers.

Jamison, too; and he reported that Captain Gregg had thought over and decided upon his own procedure.

“Discovered anything?” he said to Stone, and his snappish tone disclosed his resentment of this unwelcome intrusion which was so upsetting to his own plans.

“Nothing very definite or important,” Stone said, and Doctor Harmer, who had come to assist, at once went to the huddled figure on the deck and began to examine it. He soon came to a conclusion, which he announced.

“There is no visible wound on this man,” he said, positively. “I see no reason to suggest murder. An autopsy must be made if we want to learn why he died, but except for poison, no means of death are, as yet, indicated.”

“Do you see any indication of poison?” Fleming Stone asked.

“Not precisely. Symptoms often disappear after death. A slight occlusion of the glottis is indicated, but until a post-mortem can be held I prefer to make no statement. Where is the other dead man?”

Doctor Harmer went down the hatchway, followed by Flint. The horrified exclamation of the latter proved that his peaceful job as Purser of a steamer had not inured him to the sights he was seeing now.

When they returned, the Doctor reported that the young man had obviously been felled by a terrific blow on the back of his head. He had fallen forward, not, however, scarring his face badly, and it was the Doctor’s opinion that death had ensued instantly.

“Why is there no blood or cut evident?” asked Jamison.

“The blow,” explained the Doctor, “was swift and strong. The skull was instantly fractured. In two places. You know a blow on the occiput, that is, on the back of the head, may fracture the frontal bone. In this case it fractured both, and there was internal hemorrhage, but none outside. This, of course, will be disclosed at the autopsy, and it explains all conditions.”

“Then I think,” Flint declared, “we’d better go back to the Captain at once and tell him what we have learned.”

Leaving Jamison on the yacht, Stone accompanied the Purser and the Doctor back to the Nokomis.

Captain Gregg listened to their story, attentively, and asked few but pointed questions, to which he demanded exact answers.

“I am confronted,” he said, at last, “by a grave situation. A condition of things, a shocking and terrible emergency, of a sort with which I am entirely unfamiliar, but which I must meet with my best available efforts. I deeply regret the inconvenience to which I shall have to put my passengers, but my duty is clear. Having found this yacht, derelict, on the high seas, I am obliged to report to the Federal authorities as soon as may be. I must also report to the Line and the Owners of the Nokomis, and ask their orders for my personal procedure. The first step is to communicate with the nearest Coast Guard Station, which is New London.” And then, more brightly;

“If the Coast Guard take over entirely, I can go on my way and reach New York not so very much behind time. I wish we hadn’t sighted the thing. We saved no lives, the yacht will get back to her owner anyway, or to his estate.”

“Well, of course—” Jamison began.

“Yes, I know what you mean,” the Captain grinned, “salvage. And a swanky little piece of property like that would divvy up some coin. Not like the days of old, when a salvor would receive half value of a craft he towed in. But a purse, all the same. That, my Owners may insist upon. But I’d rather make port on time than . . .”

“Now, now,” said Stone, quizzically, “are we to believe that?”

“Yes,” Gregg asserted, gravely, “personally, it’s true. But the Yarmouth line, a corporation and therefore considered soulless, might feel differently about it. The salvage award would be a goodly sum.”

“And you’d get a goodly slice of it,” observed Jamison.

“Most likely,” agreed the Captain. “But action other than this I propose might involve hostile public criticism. Than which there is no more fearful wildfowl.”

“Right you are,” declared Jamison; “go to it.”

Captain Gregg sighed as he went away to telephone.

“Salvage varies, I suppose,” Stone said, “with the value of the saved craft.”

“More than that,” Flint told him; “all the circumstances must be considered. Hazard, time involved, effort expended, value of equipment used, and in this case the possibility of a Federal crime having been committed. But Captain Gregg’s the man to do it all up proper. He’s quick-witted and intelligent, more’n most, and he’ll follow the rules.”

“All interesting to me,” Stone said; “I’ve never had just this experience before, and I’d like to take up the case, though no one knows as yet whose case it is.”

Captain Gregg at once got in touch with the Coast Guard base at New London, that being the nearest. He was advised to proceed to that port, taking in the yacht, and keeping the vessel, her equipment, fitting and the bodies, as nearly as possible in the condition found. He was informed that the Department of Justice representative would be notified and would take action.

The U. S. Attorney would coöperate with the Coast Guard, and would have investigators board the yacht, perhaps before it reached the port of delivery, via a Coast Guard craft. This, in order to get all the evidence available as soon as possible.

Obeying these unwelcome but imperative orders, the Nokomis towed the Hotspur to the port designated and gave the yacht over to the Federal authorities.

Meantime Fleming Stone made arrangements to leave the steamer, and stay by the mysterious craft which so absorbed his attention.

He had never before been brought into contact with the Coast Guard in action, and he was deeply interested in the proceedings. Efficiency and quick action seemed second nature to this Department, and its excellent communication system advised the proper authorities, and soon discovered the ownership and status of the derelict.

It was a private yacht, of great value, belonging to Barry Wayne, of the Nantucket Yacht Club.

Barry Wayne, thought Fleming Stone when he heard this. B. W. of course. Wonder who the other man is, Mr Elkins Van Zandt.

That was not so easily discovered, though his personality would doubtless soon become known. Probably a guest of the owner.

The final result was that the United States Attorney’s office communicated with the residence of Barry Wayne, at Nantucket, and talked with Mr Daniel Webster Wayne, father of the young man whose body was found in the hold of his yacht.

Mr Wayne, Senior, agreed to go to the Coast Guard Station at New London immediately, taking the most expeditious way possible.

He flew over and later joined the group who were still uncertain whether or not murder had been done.

Captain Gregg, after a conference, was allowed to take his ship on to New York. U. S. Attorney Demarest and Fleming Stone, with the Coast Guard authorities, were discussing the situation cautiously, for an entirely parallel case was not known to them.

Who could say whether these two men had been killed, if they were killed, outside the three-mile limit or not? True the yacht was found on the high seas, but the deaths may have occurred within the jurisdiction of a particular state.

“Could they have been killed elsewhere and carried to the yacht?” asked Demarest, who looked on Stone as a past grand master in a matter of this sort, he himself having had little experience with mysterious cases.

“Not likely,” Stone told him. “At least, not Mr Wayne. He was positively at work on the engine, and struck down by some terrific blow. As to the other man, I think it could be possible that he was brought there dead, but we have no definite evidence.”

“Perhaps Wayne brought the dead man there, or, perhaps he was only ill, and then perhaps Wayne went down to see about the motor, and . . . some one else came on board . . .”

“You’re getting in deep water, Mr Demarest. There is not a scrap of evidence of a third man on board.”

“Must there be—always?”

“I think so. Where was the yacht when the third man got on board?”

“Oh, he went on with the other two. At the Yacht Club, I’d say.”

“And then they started?”

Demarest looked up quickly, fearing a trap.

“Yes, started to sail.”

“And the wind gave out?”

“Yes, so Wayne concluded to start the motor.”

“And went down to do so.”

“And went down to do so. You see, Mr Stone, he was leaning over—”

“And your third man came down and whacked him over the head with some blunt instrument?”

“Looks like it.”

“Why didn’t he put up a fight? Why didn’t he see or hear him?”

“That’s what I can’t understand.”

“I can’t understand any of it. That’s why I want to take over the case. Do you think it could be managed? There’d be no charge.”

“It’s up to me, and I’ll say right now I’d be glad to have you help us. Are you at leisure?”

“I can make myself so. I want to work with you and with the police. It’s the strangeness of the affair that intrigues me. I don’t understand it, I can’t see how its conditions are possible. Yet they are right there.”

“Perhaps the father of the unfortunate young man can throw some light on conditions.”

“Let us hope so. Those two deaths seem to contradict each other. I can’t reconstruct the crime.”

“Always remembering that there may have been no crime.”

“That condition would be harder still to reconstruct. Young Wayne couldn’t have dealt himself that fatal blow.”

“He could have fallen, accidentally.”

“But he didn’t. He was attacked, and with force. His position shows that.”

“Then there must have been a third man. That lightweight Mr Van Zandt couldn’t have walked down the steps and smashed Wayne, and then calmly walked up again.”

“When do you think the thing happened?”

“This morning, didn’t it?”

“Not in my opinion. I think the murders, if they are murders, took place about twenty hours or so before the bodies were discovered.”

“Is that so! Why do you think that?”

“Principally because Mr Van Zandt had been reading yesterday’s paper; and there was no paper around of to-day’s date.”

“Well, we’ll know a lot more now, for here come the men from Nantucket.”

“Shall we go down?”

“No; let them come here. I like to talk behind closed doors.”

In a few moments more, Fleming Stone was looking at two men whose faces were drawn by distress and grief.

“I am Daniel Wayne,” said one, “and this is my brother, Patrick Wayne. Young Barry Wayne is—was my son. The yacht, Hotspur, was his property and what this dreadful news means I don’t know. Can you enlighten me?”

“Let me talk, Dan,” said his brother, with a kindly note in his voice. “We live over at Sand Hill, Nantucket Island on a rather large estate. My brother and his son Barry and myself comprise the family. We frequently have house guests; just now several people are with us for the Races. Yesterday morning we planned to go over to Newport to lunch with some friends. Some of us went on a friend’s yacht, some in a motor launch, and Barry proposed to go in his yacht, Hotspur, taking with him his fiancée, Miss Holt.

“But at the last minute, Miss Holt’s father refused to let his daughter go with Barry alone, and decreed that she should go with him, and meet Barry at the Newport party. Both the young people were terribly put out, but Mr Holt was inexorable, and they had to submit. With an idea of throwing himself into the breach, Mr Van Zandt, another guest, said he would go with Barry. The boy, angered at the situation, said he didn’t care who went with him, and he and Mr Van Zandt started off for the Club, where the yacht is kept. From that point we know absolutely nothing of the two men, or of the yacht. They didn’t show up at the Newport house for luncheon, and there was no word from them through the day or night. There’s a wireless set on board, and we couldn’t understand why Barry didn’t call for assistance, if needed.”

“What did you finally assume had happened?” Demarest asked, gently.

“We had various theories. My brother and I rather inclined to the idea of kidnapping, by a bold and ruthless gang, who would demand ransom. Or who, perhaps, were merely bent on stealing the yacht and stranding the two men somewhere.”

“There were no hard feelings between Mr Barry Wayne and his father?”

“Oh, Lord, no! We three led a most harmonious life. Business men during the winter, and long summer vacations in our Nantucket home.”

“You endorse all your brother has said, Mr Wayne?” and Demarest turned to Barry’s father.

“Yes, indeed. He was as fond of the lad as I, myself. Barry’s mother died when he was a child, and we have brought him up as nearly as possible as she would have done. Please tell me what happened? I know only that he is dead.”

Demarest told him the facts as known, and, suppressing his emotion, he said, calmly, “And now what must happen next?”

“You or your brother must identify the bodies,” Demarest told him, “and an autopsy must be made. As you must recognize, it is an unusual case, and I trust you will not resent the fact that I must pursue my duty.”

“We want that, Mr Demarest,” said Pat Wayne; “all we ask is the administration of justice. Do I understand Mr Stone is investigating the affair?”

“Yes,” Stone answered. “I expressed a desire to do so, and I am to be allowed. With, of course, your sanction and approval. I shall ask no fee.”

“We most certainly give our approval,” Daniel Wayne said, “the fees will be discussed at some other time. Now, may I see my boy? I am holding myself together for these preliminaries, but my heart is breaking, and, so far as possible, I shall shift any routine work to the shoulders of my brother—who will stand by me.”

No word was necessary from Pat, who in a brief glance promised all the assistance and devotion of which he was capable.

Friends of these brothers often declared they could not say which was the finer man. A patriotic mother had named them Daniel Webster and Patrick Henry, and except for a sense of humor, which Pat possessed in abundance and Dan had but scant store of, they showed similar traits and tastes.

Dan was five years the older, and though Barry loved his father better, he was deeply devoted to his Uncle Pat.

And now, Barry, who was always foremost in the thought of the two brothers, was no more, and they saw ahead the great emptiness that life without the boy would mean.

But neither evinced this feeling of bereavement in the presence of these strange men.

Ahead of them lay the routine of investigation, and they met this condition bravely as they did any emergency that came to them.

Hoping to spare his brother at least one pang of grief, Pat went to the morgue to identify the two bodies.

Knowing them at once for Barry Wayne and Elkins Van Zandt, he further explained that the latter was a guest at the Wayne home, and that his wife was still there awaiting news of her husband.

“A terrible matter, all round,” Pat said to Fleming Stone; “Mr Van Zandt was a frail man, physically, but he was a big gun in his profession. A New York lawyer, of the highest reputation. His wife is a fine and spirited woman. She will take this bravely, but I shouldn’t want to be the one to tell her.”

“Hysterical?” asked Stone.

“No; say rather, dramatic. She’ll rave around like a madwoman. Sincere enough, you understand, but expressed blatantly. Then there’s Jane Holt, my nephew’s fiancée. And her father. I’m not shirking, but perhaps you or Demarest could tell some of them.”

“Or your brother.”

“No, I’ll do it before I’ll foist it on poor Dan. After the excitement is over and things are settled down, that chap will collapse. I know him, and he’s as brave as they come, but he won’t realize how his life is broken up until his duties are done and he has time to think.”

“Will he be very keen to discover the killer?” Stone asked.

“Yes, but he’ll have to be prodded a little. I’m sure he’ll just settle down to his sorrow and loss, unless he is urged to be active in the investigation. After all, is there much he can do?”

“That remains to be seen. Let us go back now. That Demarest is a capable chap. He says there’ll be an inquest.”

“Held by whom?”

“The county coroner. You see, the yacht was delivered here, and it would be simply a routine duty for him to hold an inquest, because two dead bodies are now within his bailiwick. His action, of course, would not be binding on the Federal Authorities, but the coroner will doubtless do his duty. And it may help matters along.”

“And in the meantime, the bodies—”

“Must be left in the morgue. The yacht, with all its equipments and fittings, is in the custody of the Coast Guard until its final disposition. It will be returned eventually to Barry Wayne’s estate, but there will be delay.”

“And when will the bodies be given over to us?”

“After the inquest. Then the real investigation will begin. I shall be on the case, but it will be in the hands of the Department of Justice. I trust I may be of help, for while the Coast Guard enforces more laws on the water now than formerly, it does not maintain any highly organized criminal investigative agency. It is more like a patrol element on the water for the enforcement of Federal laws. So my long experience in detective work may be of use. And, too, now that we learn the home port of the yacht is Nantucket, that may mean changes in procedure.”

The two men went back to the office of the United States Attorney, to find the inquest was just being opened.

The coroner was a brisk, busy little man, who seemed to think this case unimportant and of little interest. How mistaken his opinion was, became, later, a source of deep regret to him.

He first questioned Flint, who gave a succinct account of his seeing the derelict, investigating it, and notifying the Captain.

Fleming Stone was called next, as one of the first at the scene of the tragedy.

Stone told all the facts he knew, expressing no opinions though urged to do so. Instead, he inquired what the reports from the autopsy had been?

Doctor Blaine, who had conducted the post-mortem, replied to this.

“Regarding the death of Mr Wayne,” he began, “there is no doubt that he was hit a fatal blow by some one desiring his death. There is no effect of an accident and he could not possibly have struck the blow himself. A heavy instrument was used, which, I understand, has not been found.

“As to the other dead man, Mr Van Zandt, I found no indication of anything but a natural death. The man had a bad case of ulcers of the stomach, a dread disease. It had reached a stage where death must ensue soon, and he could not have lived another twenty-four hours.”

“And there was no sign of poisoning?” the coroner inquired.

“None other than the poison of the disease itself. It is a terrible malady.”

“How long had these men been dead?”

“That question is always difficult to answer, and especially so in this case, as the bodies had been exposed to the weather for many hours. If obliged to express an opinion, I should say anywhere from fifteen to twenty hours. But this is mere surmise. I do not state it as a fact, even approximately. Mr Wayne tells us they left the Nantucket Yacht Club sometime after nine o’clock, yesterday morning. I should say their deaths occurred pretty soon after starting; but I cannot be positive. Also, I have no reason to think that they died at the same time, nor yet no reason to think otherwise. The unprecedented character of the situation when they were found is not to be judged as a more usual case might be. Now, I have told you all I can. As to the presence of a third person on the yacht, I am not qualified to say. But, so far as I can see, Mr Wayne was most surely killed, and Mr Van Zandt as surely died of the disease known as ulcers of the stomach.”

“Now, Mr Stone,” said the coroner, urgently, “having heard the autopsy report, will you state your opinion as to the possibilities of the case?”

“In view of the report we have just heard there seems to be but a small range of possibilities. We must take the Doctor’s findings as truth, and that leaves us with pretty fair proof that Mr Wayne was murdered and Mr Van Zandt died what is called a natural death, that is, death from a recognized disease. Granting this, we are faced with the problem of who committed the murder. This, doubtless, will necessitate strict and technical investigation. As I am employed on the case, I shall of course use all my energies to solve the problem, but at the present speaking I have no idea as to who is the criminal, nor can I have until I am more conversant with the evidence. There is much to be learned, and until I have found out some of it, I can give no opinion whatever.”

Daniel Wayne was called and, though he preserved his poise, he looked badly shaken and talked with difficulty. He said nothing evidential, nor did his brother.

Despairing of any further real information, the coroner gave the case over to his small but intelligent jury, who promptly returned the verdict that in their opinion Barry Wayne was murdered by a person or persons unknown, and Elkins Van Zandt died of a severe attack of stomach ulcers.

The coroner gathered up his papers, and with a few conventional words of leave-taking, hurried away.

“It is understood,” Demarest said, “that this inquest was purely routine, but is useful as a record. And now shall we all go over to Nantucket? I don’t want to be intrusive, but the work must go on, and I trust it can do so, unimpeded.”

“Yes,” declared Dan Wayne, “we will all go. My brother and I will undertake to tell the guests who are there, and I hope they need not be troubled with harrowing questions to-day, at least.”

Demarest promised him that should not happen if he could help it.