Читать книгу The Complete Detective Sgt. Elk Series (6 Novels in One Edition) - Edgar Wallace - Страница 30

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Poltavo had escaped. There was pother enough — eight of the Nine Bears had melted into nothingness. No official feather came to T.B.’s cap for that, whatever praise the mistaken public might award. Worst of all, and most shocking outrage of all, the Record Office at Scotland Yard had been burgled and important documents had been stolen. But Elk had not been killed, so the incident did not come before the public.

The contents of the documents were not lost to the police, for Scotland Yard does not put all its eggs into one basket, even when the basket is as secure a one as the Record Office. There were photographs innumerable of the scrap of paper, and one of these was on T.B. Smith’s desk the morning after the robbery.

The memorandum, for such it was, was contained in less than a hundred words. Literally, and with all its erasures written out, it ran:

“Idea [crossed out]. Ideas [written again]. Suppose we separated; where to meet; allowing for accidental partings; must be some spot; yet that would be dangerous; otherwise, must be figures easily remembered; especially as none of these people have knowledge [crossed out and rewritten]; especially as difficult for nontechnical [word undecipherable] to fix in mind, and one cipher makes all difference. LOLO be good, accessible, unfrequented. Suggest on first Ju every year we rendezvous at Lolo.

“(Mem. — Lolo would indeed be nowhere!)

“So far have only explained to Zillier.”

That was all, and T.B. read and reread the memorandum. Zillier was the only man who knew. By the oddest of chances, Baggin had confided his plans to the one man who might have found them useful if Providence had given him one chance of escape. But the French Government had him safe enough on Devil’s Island.

For the rest, the “note” needed much more explanation than he could give it.

He took a pen and began to group the sentences he could not understand.

“Must be some spot; yet that would be dangerous; otherwise, must be figures easily remembered.”

A spot would be dangerous? He was perplexed and showed it. What was meant by “spot”?

“On the 1st of Ju we rendezvous at Lolo — nowhere!”

“This is absolute nonsense!” The detective threw down his pen and jumped up. He called in the Chief Commissioner’s office and was received cordially.

“Any news, T.B.; what do you make of your puzzle?”

T.B. made a little grimace.

“Nothing,” he said, “and if the original had not been stolen I should not have troubled to study it.”

He gained the Strand by a short cut.

A contents bill attracted his attention, and he stopped to buy an evening newspaper.

LOSS OF A WARSHIP

He turned the paper before he discovered the small paragraph that justified so large a bill.

“The Brazilian Government has sent another cruiser to search for the Brazilian man-of-war, Maria Braganza, which is a month overdue. It is feared that the warship foundered in the recent cyclone in the South Atlantic.”

“Maria Braganza?” thought T.B., and remembered where he had seen the vessel.

The ship and her fate passed out of his mind soon afterward, for he had a great deal of routine work requiring his attention, but the name cropped up again in the course of the day and in a curious manner.

*

A drunken sailor, obviously of foreign extraction, was ejected, fighting, from a small public-house in the Edgware Road. He rose from the ground slowly, and stood apparently debating in his mind whether he should go away quietly or whether he should return to the attack. It is not too much to say that had he decided upon the pacific course, the mystery of the whereabouts of the Nine Bears might never have been elucidated. In that two seconds of deliberation hung the fates of Baggin and his confederates, and the reputation of Scotland Yard.

The foreign sailor made up his mind. Back to the swing-doors of the tavern he staggered, pushed them open, and entered.

A few minutes later a police-whistle blew, and a commonplace constable strolled leisurely to the scene of the disturbance and took into custody the pugnacious foreigner on a charge of “drunk and disorderly.”

This was the beginning of the final fight with the “Bears,” a fight which cost Europe over a million of money and many lives, but which closed forever the account of the Nine Bears of Cadiz.

“Here is a case that will amuse you, T.B.,” said the Chief, strolling into his bureau; “ — a man, giving the name of Silva, who has been taken to the police-station on the prosaic charge of ‘D. and D.,’ is found to be a walking cash deposit. Twelve hundred pounds in Bank of England notes and 26,000 francs in French money was found in his possession. He speaks little or no English, has the appearance of being a sailor — will you go down and see what you can make of him?”

In a quarter of an hour the Assistant-Commissioner was at the police-station.

“Yes, sir,” said the station sergeant, “he’s quiet now. I don’t think he’s so very drunk, only pugilistically so.”

“What do you make of him?”

“He’s a sailor; a deserter from some foreign navy, I should say. He has underclothes of a uniform type, and there’s a sort of device on his singlet — three stars and a number.”

“Brazilian Navy,” said T.B. with promptness.

“Talkative?”

The sergeant smiled.

“In his own language, very,” he said drily.

“When I searched him, he said a great number of things which were probably very rude.”

T.B. nodded.

“I’ll see him,” he said.

A gaoler led him down a long corridor. On either side were long stone-painted doors, each with a little steel wicket.

Stopping before one door, he inserted his bright key in the lock, snapped back a polished bolt, and the door swung open.

A man who was sitting on a wooden bench with his head in his hands, jumped to his feet as the Assistant-Commissioner entered, and poured forth a volume of language.

“Softly, softly,” said T.B. “You speak French, my friend.”

“Oui, monsieur,” said the man. “Though I am Spanish.”

“You are a deserter from a Brazilian warship,” said T.B.

The man stared at him defiantly.

“Is not that so, friend?”

The prisoner shrugged his shoulders.

“I should like to smoke,” was all that he said. T.B. took his gold case from an inside pocket and opened it.

“Many thanks,” said the sailor, and took the lighted match the gaoler had struck. If he had known the ways of the English police, he would have grown suspicious. Elsewhere, a man might be bullied, browbeaten, frightened into a confession. In France, Juge d’Instruction and detective would combine to wring from his reluctant lips a damaging admission. In America, the Third Degree, most despicable of police methods, would have been similarly employed.

But the English police do most things by kindness, and do them very well.

The sailor puffed at his cigarette, from time to time looking up from the bench on which he sat at the detective’s smiling face.

T.B. asked no questions; he had none to ask; he did not demand how the man came by his wealth; he would not be guilty of such a crudity. He waited for the sailor to talk. At last he spoke.

“Monsieur,” he said, “you wish to know where I got my money?”

T.B. said nothing.

“Honestly,” said the sailor loudly, and with emphatic gesture; “honestly, monsieur;” and he went on earnestly, “By my way of reckoning, a man has a price.”

“Undoubtedly,” agreed T.B.

“A price for body and soul.” The sailor blew a ring of smoke and watched it rising to the vaulted roof of the cell.

“Some men,” continued the man, “in their calm moments set their value at twenty million dollars — only to sell themselves in the heat of a foolish moment for—” He snapped his fingers.

“I have never,” thought T.B., “come into contact with so many philosophical criminals in my life.”

“Yet I would beg you to believe,” said the sailor, “it is a question of opportunity and need. There are moments when I would not risk my liberty for a million pesetas — there have been days when I would have sold my soul for ten milreis.” He paused again, for he had all the Latin’s appreciation of an audience; all the Latin’s desire for dramatic effect.

“Sixty thousand pesetas is a large sum, monsieur; it amounts to more than £2,000 in your money — that was my price!”

“For what?”

“I will set you a riddle: on the Maria Braganza we had one hundred officers and men—”

T.B. saw light.

“You are a deserter from the Maria Braganza,” he said — but the man shook his head smilingly.

“On the contrary I have my discharge from the navy, properly attested and signed by my good captain. You will find it at my lodgings, in a tin trunk under a picture of the blessed Saint Teresa of Avila, or, as some say, Sergovia. No, monsieur officer, I am discharged honourably. Listen.”

His cigarette was nearly finished, and T.B. opened his case again, and the man, with a grateful inclination of his head, helped himself. Slowly, he began his story, a story which, before all others, helps the mind to grasp the magnitude of a combination which made the events he described possible.

“I was a sub-officer on the Maria Braganza,” he began, and went on to narrate the history of the voyage of that remarkable battleship from the day it left Rio until it steamed into the roadstead off Cadiz.

“We stayed at Cadiz much longer than we expected, and the men were grumbling — because our next port was to have been Rio. But for some reason our Captain Lombrosa did not wish to sail. Then one day he came on board — he spent most of his time ashore — looking extremely happy. Previous to this he had lived and walked in gloom, as though some matter were preying on his mind. But this was all changed now. Whatever troubles he had were evaporated. He walked about the deck, smiling and cracking jokes, and we naturally concluded that he had received his orders to sail back to Brazil at once.

“That same day we were ordered to take on board stores which the Government had purchased. Whatever stores these were, they were extremely heavy. They were packed in little square boxes, strongly made and clamped with steel. Of these boxes we took two hundred and fifty, and the business of transporting them occupied the greater part of a whole day.”

“What was the weight of them?” asked T.B.

“About fifty kilos,” said the man, “and,” he added with an assumption of carelessness, “they each contained gold.”

T.B. did a little sum in his head.

“In fact a million and a half of English pounds,” he said half to himself.

“As to that I do not know,” said the other, “but it was enormous; I discovered the gold by accident, for I and another officer had been chosen to store the boxes in one of the ammunition flats, and, owing to the breaking of a box, I saw — what I saw.

“However, to get back to the captain. In the evening he came aboard, having first given orders for steam to be ready and every preparation made for slipping.

“Then it was I told him that I had seen the contents of one of the boxes, and he was distressed.

“‘Who else has seen this?’ he asked, and I informed him of the sub-officer who had been with me.

“‘Do not speak of this matter, as you value your soul,’ he said, ‘for this is a high Government secret — send sub-officer Alverez to me ‘ — that was the name of my companion. I obeyed and sent Alverez aft. He too received similar injunctions, and was dismissed.

“At ten o’clock that night, the quartermasters went to their stations, and all stood ready for dropping our mooring.

“As the hours wore on, the captain began to show signs of impatience. I was on the bridge with the officer of the watch, and the captain was pacing up and down, now looking at his watch and swearing, now training his binocular on a portion of the land to the north of the town.

“I had forgotten to say that at 8.30 the ship’s steam pinnace had been sent away, and that it had not returned.

“It was for the coming of the pinnace, and whoever was coming with it, that our captain displayed so much anxiety.

“It was eleven o’clock before the boat came alongside. We heard it racing across the water — for the night was very still. Then it drew alongside, and a number of gentlemen came on board. They were all talking excitedly, and seemed as though they had walked a long distance, for, by the light of the branch lamp that lit the gangway, I saw that their boots and trousers were white with dust, such as I believe lies on the road outside Cadiz. One was in a state of great fear; he was very stout. Another, and he was the leader, spoke to our captain, and soon after I heard the order given—’Quartermaster, stand by for going out of harbour,’ and the captain gave the navigating officer his course. We went out at full speed, steering a course due west.

“It was a perfectly calm night, with stars, but no moon. When (as near as I can guess) we were twenty miles from the coast, the captain sent for me and Alverez to his cabin.

“‘My friends,’ he said, ‘I have a proposition to make to you, but first let me ask you if you are good patriots.’

“We said that we were.

“‘What,’ said the captain, addressing himself to me, ‘do you value your patriotism at?’

“I was silent.

“Monsieur,” said the prisoner earnestly, “I assure you I was not considering the insult offered to me, because we had got to a point outside of abstract morality. In my mind was a dilemma — if I ask too much I might lose an opportunity, if I ask too little I should assuredly lose money. Such was also the consideration in Alverez’s mind. ‘Senor Capitan,’ I said, ‘as an honest man—’

“‘We will leave that out of the question,’ said the captain. ‘Name a price.’

“And so, at random, I suggested a sum equal to £3,000, and Alverez, not a man of any originality, repeated ‘£3,000.’

“The captain nodded; ‘This sum I will pay you,’ he said. ‘Moreover, I will give you your discharge from the Navy of Brazil, and you may leave the ship tonight.’

“I did not ask him why. I realised he had some high scheme which it was not proper I should know, besides which I had not been ashore for a month — and there was the £3,000.

“‘Before you go,’ said the captain, ‘I will explain to you, that my honour and my reputation may not suffer. In a few days’ time, when we are at sea, the comrades you leave behind will be offered a new service, a service under a new and wealthier government, a government that will offer large and generous rewards for faithful service and obedience.’”

The prisoner chuckled softly, as at some thought which amused him.

“We went ashore in the steam pinnace; the captain himself superintending our landing. It was a remarkable journey, senor.

“You may imagine us in the open sea, with nothing but the ‘chica clucka, clucka!’ of the engine of our little boat! Alverez and myself sat at the bow with our hands on the butts of our revolvers — we knew our captain — and he himself steered us for the lights that soon came up over the horizon. We landed at Cadiz, and were provided with papers to the Brazilian consul, should our return be noticed. But none saw us, or if they did, thought nothing of the spectacle of two Brazilian seamen walking through the streets at that hour of the night; remember that none but the port authorities were aware that the Maria Braganza had sailed. The next morning we procured some civilian clothing, and left by the afternoon train for Seville. By easy stages we came first to Madrid, then to Paris. Here we stayed some time.”

He chuckled again.

“Alverez,” he resumed, “is a man of spirit, but, as I have said, of no great originality. In Paris a man of spirit may go far, a man of money farther, always providing that behind the spirit and the wealth there is intelligence. My poor Alverez went his own way in Paris. He made friends.”

Again he smiled thoughtfully.

“Alverez I left,” he explained; “his ways are not my ways. I came to England. I do not like this country,” he said frankly. “Your lower classes are gross people, and very quarrelsome.”

A few more questions were asked, and answered, and ten minutes later T.B. was flying back to Scotland Yard with the story of the stolen battleship.