Читать книгу The Secret of the Desert - Coutts Brisbane - Страница 4

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"A SKIPPER'S job is never done," he said. "I'll see what it's all about. Carry on, Tommy." He stepped out on deck, taking his night-glasses from the rack by the door. "Whereabouts is she, Kettle?"

The mate pointed, and presently he picked up a dark object that moved slowly towards the ship.

"Cutter away! Fetch her alongside," ordered Girvan. "This is no place for a boat with a broken-down engine!"

The Rockabelle's crew were well trained. The cutter was swung out and into the water in quick time. Captain Girvan watched her slide over the smooth water, her lantern gleaming, saw her stop beside the now motionless blur, heard a murmur of excited voices. Then she came slowly back, towing what turned out to be a small, yawl-rigged boat which looked altogether unequal to navigation along that often stormy coast.

As she came alongside, Billy Kettle hailed softly.

"There's a man in her, sir, but us reckon he's dead!" he called. "Looks to have been shot, sir. He ain't been dead long. He's still warm."

"Eh? What's that?" Tommy Paston and Jim had come silently from the cabin.

Leaning over the rail, Girvan had caught a glimpse of the still form huddled in the stern of the boat, one limp hand still on the tiller. "Get him aboard, Kettle. Gently! There may be life in him still."

They hoisted him carefully in and laid him on the deck, but a brief examination showed that life was extinct. He was a man of about forty years of age, bearded, dressed in a sort of compromise between a sailor's and a hunter's rig, with heavy boots, puttees, a loose shirt, and a battered sun-hat. A bandolier with a good supply of ammunition hung about his shoulders. There was a repeating rifle in the stern of the boat.

"Two bullets at least through the body. I should say he was shot hours ago—perhaps this morning. He tried to bandage himself. Poor chap! He had plenty of pluck and amazing vitality to live so long. Look over the boat, Jim!"

Captain Girvan finished his examination by clearing the dead man's pockets. A handful of mixed silver and copper, a sovereign, several keys, a pocket-book containing forty-seven pounds in notes, a small notebook, three letters, and a photograph-case, made up the contents. These Girvan carried to the cabin and stowed in a locker, then hastened out again.

Paston was kneeling by the dead man, examining his face closely by the light of a lantern.

"I've a sort of notion I've seen this chap before somewhere," he said softly. "Look at his hands I They're not the hands of a man who has spent his life knocking about the coast, or prospecting, or anything of that sort. They're well-kept hands—or, at least, have been well kept till lately. And I don't think somehow he has had that beard long. There's something very queer about this. Do you think that odd-looking craft we saw has anything to do with it?"

"I don't see how she can have. This poor fellow's wounds were almost certainly received hours before that vessel came into the inlet."

"Then who shot him? Why? Is there anything up here that would bring scallywags?"

"Nothing that I know of," answered Girvan. "I believe there was a rumour of a bed of pearl shell, some time ago. It's possible that that may have brought some gang of toughs along to look for it, and possible that this poor chap may have run into them. There are always poachers on the look-out for pearl shell, you know, and they're very hard bitten. They might start shooting. I don't know. We'll put him on the hatch. Lift!"

Gently they carried the dead man forward, laid him on the hatch-top, and covered him with a canvas awning. Then they joined Jim, who, with Kettle, was aboard the boat.

"He must have run into a bunch of pirates," said Jim. "Look here! There are a score or two of bullet-holes in the top strakes. The petrol tank is holed in two or three places. The holes have been plugged with bits of wood. The engine has suffered, too. A couple of sparking-plugs are out of action. No wonder she chugged along in that broken-winded way. It's awonder he kept her going at all. Must have been pumping the feed all the time till he gave out—and then the motor died along with him."

"Two pair of horns, sir! Buffler horns," observed Kettle from the tiny cabin which he had been rummaging. "Fresh, sir. Took mebbe three or four days ago. And a lot of boxes, sir, with butterflies and bugs."

"Hum!" Girvan investigated. "Yes, and a regular collecting outfit. An entomologist, eh?" He turned his torch to and fro. "Yes; hundreds of specimens here!" He had opened a large, flat case, and the light fell upon rows of insects all neatly fastened upon sheets of cork by slips of paper and pins. "This should make it easy to identify him, even if we don't find particulars among his papers."

"Hold on! I've got him!" exclaimed Paston. "I remember now. I thought I knew him, in spite of the beard, He was clean-shaven when I saw him last. His name is Lancing. I met him at Surabayo about a year ago. He was collecting insects there. I gathered that he was doing it for the fun of the thing. Plenty of cash. He talked about the British Museum, I remember, and said he proposed to give his spoils to it. Poor blighter! Well, what are we going to do now?"

"Go look-see!" replied Girvan. "In the morning we'll move up to the head of the inlet, and it'll be queer if we don't find out something. Hallo! What do you want, Ah Sin?"

The Chinaman had appeared silently at the schooner's rail.

"You want piecee more coffee?" he inquired. "Wantee clear away."

"Clear away, then! We've finished. We'd better be turning in, Tommy. You'll take the first watch, Jim."

"Right you are—but wherefore? We're snug enough here, cap'n mine," responded Jim. "I should have thought I could have a beauty sleep for once."

"Those bullet holes are reason enough," Captain Girvan grunted. "And keep a bright look-out for that craft. She may go out in the night."

"And cows may fly! Why should she? Anyhow, rest easy, my captain. Your faithful mate will watch over your balmy slumbers," said Jim. "By the way, where did you put the poor chap's things?"

"In a locker. I'll stow them in my safe for to-night and look at them in the morning. There's nothing more we can do. C'mon, Tommy. It's our watch below, and if you're going after the merry buffalo you'll have to turn out early. All fast, young 'un? Fetch that rifle!"

A few minutes later the yawl had been streamed astern, and Captain Girvan, having retrieved the scanty contents of the dead man's pockets from the locker, had stowed them in his cabin safe. Then he turned in.

Tommy Paston took a last turn about the deck with Jim Girvan. They halted before the still shape on the hatch-top.

"Queer—uncommonly queer!" murmured Tommy. "He was a quiet, inoffensive sort of chap, as I remember him. He had qualms about taking the lives of the insects he collected. A fellow like that isn't likely to go stirring up trouble, is he?"

"No; but I think this puts the hat on our shore-going trip to-morrow. I had a look at this poor fellow's rifle. It hasn't been fired since it was cleaned. That means that he didn't fire a shot to-day, I guess. And that, again, means that the boat was ambushed, it looks to me. This gang saw him cruising along off the shore, maybe, and let loose at him. I don't know how you feel about it, but I'm not keen about being treated the same way."

"Neither am I. We'll see to-morrow. I'll turn in now. Good-night!"

Tommy disappeared. Jim went forward, found the Kanaka boy who was on watch crouched against the windlass, placidly smoking, told him to keep eyes and ears open, and returned aft. Half an hour passed, then Ah Sin, who had been busy washing up, emerged from his galley.

"Velly hot piecee night, sir," he observed, trotting first to port, then to starboard to look at the side lights.

They were burning brightly, even though the little vessel was at anchor. It wasn't necessary, of course, for a riding light was burning aloft, but with a native crew it is never wise to depart from regular routine, so the side lights had been trimmed and set in place as usual at sunset.

Ah Sin lingered for a minute by the green starboard light. He seemed dissatisfied with its trim. He fiddled with the wick thumbscrews and polished the glass with a loose sleeve. Finally he came aft and halted before Jim's chair.

"What kill poo' man?" he asked. "What for shootee? C'lectah man. Piecee bug not worth heap muchee money."

"We don't know. We'll go up to the head of the inlet in the morning. Perhaps we'll find out then. Perhaps we'll do a little shooting, too," replied Jim. "Most likely a gang of toughs looking for shell did it. I don't know."

"Velly sad," murmured Ah Sin. "I go makee sew shlirt. Good-night, sir!"

He trotted noiselessly forward, dived into his galley, opened a shutter on the starboard side which allowed a stream of bright light to pour out. Then a regular movement began, a swaying shadow which broke the level beam. Jim noted it lazily, and told himself that Ah Sin had settled to his sewing.

To and fro swung the shadow, with little pauses every few moments as the Chinaman shifted his hold.

"Industrious beggar," thought Jim, and fell to thinking of what Tommy Paston had been saying about the yellow races.

There was something in it, certainly. He hadn't been in Japan, but he had encountered a good many Japanese. He liked them. They were very polite, very industrious, very efficient. His brother, who had seen something of them during the war, had a high opinion of their fighting qualities.

They hammered the Russians, but, of course, the Russians were hampered by inefficiency and corruption. And they were a long way from home, with only the Trans-Siberian Railway to serve their armies. And their navy was a poor thing at the best—badly trained, with poor ammunition. Supposing Japan were to try anything against us, they'd risk having their communications cut at once. If they were to land a force anywhere in Northern Australia, what could it do? The big centres, Sydney and Melbourne, are away down in the South. They couldn't get at 'em. No, they wouldn't be fools enough to try anything unless they had command of the sea—and that would need a lot of getting. And, anyhow, it won't be in our time, concluded Jim comfortably, and refilled his pipe.

Ah Sin presently concluded his labours. The lamp was extinguished. He had gone below. Jim took a turn round the deck, then climbed aloft and looked up the inlet. From that elevation he should have seen the masthead light of the strange craft that had gone up that afternoon, but he could see nothing. Probably, less methodical than the skipper of the Rockabelle, her captain had not troubled to light up.