The Arthur Morrison Mystery

by Arthur Morrison

  “Just so,” Hewitt answered. “But let me fully understand, Captain Mackrie. You say that Mr. Brasyer had charge of the bullion-room, but that he was trying keys on it from the carpenter’s stores. Where were the legitimate keys then?”

  “In my cabin. They were only handed out when I knew what they were wanted for. There was a Chubb’s lock between the two padlocks, but a duplicate wouldn’t have been hard for Brasyer to get. He could easily have taken a wax impression of my key when he used it at the port where we took the bullion aboard.”

  “Well, and suppose he had taken these boxes, where do you think he would keep them?”

  Mackrie shrugged his shoulders and smiled. “Impossible to say,” he replied. “He might have hidden ’em somewhere on board, though I don’t think that’s likely. He’d have had a deuce of a job to land them at Plymouth, and would have had to leave them somewhere while he came on to London. Bullion is always landed at Plymouth, you know, and if any were found to be missing, then the ship would be overhauled at once, every inch of her; so that he’d have to get his plunder ashore somehow before the rest of the gold was unloaded—almost impossible. Of course, if he’s done that it’s somewhere below there now, but that isn’t likely. He’d be much more likely to have ‘dumped’ it—dropped it overboard at some well-known spot in a foreign port, where he could go later on and get it. So that you’ve a deal of scope for search, you see. Anywhere under water from here to Yokohama;” and Captain Mackrie laughed.

  Soon afterward he left, and as he was leaving a man knocked at the cabin door and looked in to say that Mr. Brasyer was on board. “You’ll be able to have a go at him now,” said the captain. “Good-day.”

  “There’s the steward of the Nicobar there too, sir,” said the man after the captain had gone, “and the carpenter.”

  “Very well, we’ll see Mr. Brasyer first,” said Merrick, and the man vanished. “It seems to have got about a bit,” Merrick went on to Hewitt. “I only sent for Brasyer, but as these others have come, perhaps they’ve got something to tell us.”

  Brasyer made his appearance, overflowing with information. He required little assurance to encourage him to speak openly before Hewitt, and he said again all he had so often said before on board the Nicobar. The bullion-room was a mere tin box, the whole thing was as easy to get at as anything could be, he didn’t wonder in the least at the loss—he had prophesied it all along.

  The men whose movements should be carefully watched, he said, were the captain and the steward. “Nobody ever heard of a captain and a steward being so thick together before,” he said. “The steward’s pantry was next against the bullion-room, you know, with nothing but that wretched bit of three-eighths boiler plate between. You wouldn’t often expect to find the captain down in the steward’s pantry, would you, thick as they might be. Well, that’s where I used to find him, time and again. And the steward kept boiler-makers’ tools there! That I can swear to. And he’s been a boiler-maker, so that, likely as not, he could open a joint somewhere and patch it up again neatly so that it wouldn’t be noticed. He was always messing about down there in his pantry, and once I distinctly heard knocking there, and when I went down to see, whom should I meet? Why, the skipper, coming away from the place himself, and he bullyragged me for being there and sent me on deck. But before that he bullyragged me because I had found out that there were other keys knocking about the place that fitted the padlocks on the bullion-room door. Why should he slang and threaten me for looking after these things and keeping my eye on the bullion-room, as was my duty? But that was the very thing that he didn’t like. It was enough for him to see me anxious about the gold to make him furious. Of course his character for meanness and greed is known all through the company’s service—he’ll do anything to make a bit.”

  “But have you any positive idea as to what has become of the gold?”

  “Well,” Brasyer replied, with a rather knowing air, “I don’t think they’ve dumped it.”

  “Do you mean you think it’s still in the vessel—hidden somewhere?”

  “No, I don’t. I believe the captain and the steward took it ashore, one case each, when we came off in the boats.”

  “But wouldn’t that be noticed?”

  “It needn’t be, on a black night like that. You see, the parcels are not so big—look at them, a foot by a foot and a half by six inches or so, roughly. Easily slipped under a big coat or covered up with anything. Of course they’re a bit heavy—eighty or ninety pounds apiece altogether—but that’s not much for a strong man to carry—especially in such a handy parcel, on a black night, with no end of confusion on. Now you just look here—I’ll tell you something. The skipper went ashore last in a boat that was sent out by the coasting steamer that ran into us. That ship’s put into dock for repairs and her crew are mostly having an easy time ashore. Now I haven’t been asleep this last day or two, and I had a sort of notion there might be some game of this sort on, because when I left the ship that night I thought we might save a little at least of the stuff, but the skipper wouldn’t let me go near the bullion-room, and that seemed odd. So I got hold of one of the boat’s crew that fetched the skipper ashore, and questioned him quietly—pumped him, you know—and he assures me that the skipper did have a rather small, heavy sort of parcel with him. What do you think of that? Of course, in the circumstances, the man couldn’t remember any very distinct particulars, but he thought it was a sort of square wooden case about the size I’ve mentioned. But there’s something more.” Brasyer lifted his fore-finger and then brought it down on the table before him—“something more. I’ve made inquiries at the railway station and I find that two heavy parcels were sent off yesterday to London—deal boxes wrapped in brown paper, of just about the right size. And the paper got torn before the things were sent off, and the clerk could see that the boxes inside were fastened with hoop-iron—like those!” and the second officer pointed triumphantly to the boxes piled at one side of the cabin.

  “Well done!” said Hewitt. “You’re quite a smart detective. Did you find out who brought the parcels, and who they were addressed to?”

  “No, I couldn’t get quite as far as that. Of course the clerk didn’t know the names of the senders, and not knowing me, wouldn’t tell me exactly where the parcels were going. But I got quite chummy with him after a bit, and I’m going to meet him presently—he has the afternoon off, and we’re going for a stroll. I’ll find something more, I’ll bet you!”

  “Certainly,” replied Hewitt, “find all you can—it may be very important. If you get any valuable information you’ll let us know at once, of course. Anything else, now?”

  “No, I don’t think so; but I think what I’ve told you is pretty well enough for the present, eh? I’ll let you know some more soon.”

  Brasyer went, and Norton, the steward of the old ship, was brought into the cabin. He was a sharp-eyed, rather cadaverous-looking man, and he spoke with sepulchral hollowness. He had heard, he said, that there was something wrong with the chests of bullion, and came on board to give any information he could. It wasn’t much, he went on to say, but the smallest thing might help. If he might speak strictly confidentially he would suggest that observation be kept on Wickens, the carpenter. He (Norton) didn’t want to be uncharitable, but his pantry happened to be next the bullion-room, and he had heard Wickens at work for a very long time just below—on the under side of the floor of the bullion-room, it seemed to him, although, of course, he might have been mistaken. Still, it was very odd that the carpenter always seemed to have a job just at that spot. More, it had been said—and he (Norton) believed it to be true—that Wickens, the carpenter, had in his possession, and kept among his stores, keys that fitted the padlocks on the bullion-room door. That, it seemed to him, was a very suspicious circumstance. He didn’t know anything more definite, but offered his ideas for what they were worth, and if his suspicions proved unfounded nobody would be more pl
eased than himself. But—but—and the steward shook his head doubtfully.

  “Thank you, Mr. Norton,” said Merrick, with a twinkle in his eye; “we won’t forget what you say. Of course, if the stuff is found in consequence of any of your information, you won’t lose by it.”

  The steward said he hoped not, and he wouldn’t fail to keep his eye on the carpenter. He had noticed Wickens was in the tug, and he trusted that if they were going to question him they would do it cautiously, so as not to put him on his guard. Merrick promised they would.

  “By the bye, Mr. Norton,” asked Hewitt, “supposing your suspicions to be justified, what do you suppose the carpenter would do with the bullion?”

  “Well, sir,” replied Norton, “I don’t think he’d keep it on the ship. He’d probably dump it somewhere.”

  The steward left, and Merrick lay back in his chair and guffawed aloud. “This grows farcical,” he said, “simply farcical. What a happy family they must have been aboard the Nicobar! And now here’s the captain watching the second officer, and the second officer watching the captain and the steward, and the steward watching the carpenter! It’s immense. And now we’re going to see the carpenter. Wonder whom he suspects?”

  Hewitt said nothing, but his eyes twinkled with intense merriment, and presently the carpenter was brought into the cabin.

  “Good-day to you, gentlemen,” said the carpenter in a soft and deferential voice, looking from one to the other. “Might I ’ave the honour of addressin’ the salvage gentlemen?”

  “That’s right,” Merrick answered, motioning him to a seat. “This is the salvage shop, Mr. Wickens. What can we do for you?”

  The carpenter coughed gently behind his hand. “I took the liberty of comin’, gentlemen, consekins o’ ’earin’ as there was some bullion missin’. P’raps I’m wrong.”

  “Not at all. We haven’t found as much as we expected, and I suppose by this time nearly everybody knows it. There are two cases wanting. You can’t tell us where they are, I suppose?”

  “Well, sir, as to that—no. I fear I can’t exactly go as far as that. But if I am able to give vallable information as may lead to recovery of same, I presoom I may without offence look for some reasonable small recognition of my services?”

  “Oh, yes,” answered Merrick, “that’ll be all right, I promise you. The company will do the handsome thing, of course, and no doubt so will the underwriters.”

  “Presoomin’ I may take that as a promise—among gentlemen”—this with an emphasis—“I’m willing to tell something.”

  “It’s a promise, at any rate as far as the company’s concerned,” returned Merrick. “I’ll see it’s made worth your while—of course, providing it leads to anything.”

  “Purvidin’ that, sir, o’ course. Well, gentlemen, my story ain’t a long one. All I’ve to say was what I ’eard on board, just before she went down. The passengers was off, and the crew was gettin’ into the other boats when the skipper turns to the steward an’ speaks to him quiet-like, not observin’, gentlemen, as I was agin ’is elbow, so for to say. ‘’Ere, Norton,’ ’e sez, or words to that effeck, ‘why shouldn’t we try gettin’ them things ashore with us—you know, the cases—eh? I’ve a notion we’re pretty close inshore,’ ’e sez, ‘and there’s nothink of a sea now. You take one, anyway, and I’ll try the other,’ ’e says, ‘but don’t make a flourish.’ Then he sez, louder, ’cos o’ the steward goin’ off, ‘They’re the likeliest stuff, and at worst we can but drop ’em. But look sharp,’ ’e says. So then I gets into the nearest boat, and that’s all I ’eard.”

  “That was all?” asked Hewitt, watching the man’s face sharply.

  “All?” the carpenter answered with some surprise. “Yes, that was all; but I think it’s pretty well enough, don’t you? It’s plain enough what was meant—him and the steward was to take two cases, one apiece, on the quiet, and they was the likeliest stuff aboard, as he said himself. And now there’s two cases o’ bullion missin’. Ain’t that enough?”

  The carpenter was not satisfied till an exact note had been made of the captain’s words. Then after Merrick’s promise on behalf of the company had been renewed, Wickens took himself off.

  “Well,” said Merrick, grinning across the table at Hewitt, “this is a queer go, isn’t it? What that man says makes the skipper’s case look pretty fishy, doesn’t it? What he says, and what Brasyer says, taken together, makes a pretty strong case—I should say makes the thing a certainty. But what a business! It’s likely to be a bit serious for some one, but it’s a rare joke in a way. Wonder if Brasyer will find out anything more? Pity the skipper and steward didn’t agree as to whom they should pretend to suspect. That’s a mistake on their part.”

  “Not at all,” Hewitt replied. “If they are conspiring, and know what they’re about, they will avoid seeming to be both in a tale. The bullion is in bars, I understand?”

  “Yes, five bars in each case; weight, I believe, sixteen pounds to a bar.”

  “Let me see,” Hewitt went on, as he looked at his watch; “it is now nearly two o’clock. I must think over these things if I am to do anything in the case. In the meantime, if it could be managed, I should like enormously to have a turn under water in a diving-dress. I have always had a curiosity to see under the sea. Could it be managed now?”

  “Well,” Merrick responded, “there’s not much fun in it, I can assure you; and it’s none the pleasanter in this weather. You’d better have a try later in the year if you really want to—unless you think you can learn anything about this business by smelling about on the Nicobar down below?”

  Hewitt raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips.

  “I might spot something,” he said; “one never knows. And if I do anything in a case I always make it a rule to see and hear everything that can possibly be seen or heard, important or not. Clues lie where least expected. But beyond that, probably I may never have another chance of a little experience in a diving-dress. So if it can be managed I’d be glad.”

  “Very well, you shall go, if you say so. And since it’s your first venture, I’ll come down with you myself. The men are all ashore, I think, or most of them. Come along.”

  Hewitt was put in woollens and then in india-rubbers. A leaden-soled boot of twenty pounds’ weight was strapped on each foot, and weights were hung on his back and chest.

  “That’s the dress that Gullen usually has,” Merrick remarked. “He’s a very smart fellow; we usually send him first to make measurements and so on. An excellent man, but a bit too fond of the diver’s lotion.”

  “What’s that?” asked Hewitt.

  “Oh, you shall try some if you like, afterwards. It’s a bit too heavy for me; rum and gin mixed, I think.”

  A red nightcap was placed on Martin Hewitt’s head, and after that a copper helmet, secured by a short turn in the segmental screw joint at the neck. In the end he felt a vast difficulty in moving at all. Merrick had been meantime invested with a similar rig-out, and then each was provided with a communication cord and an incandescent electric lamp. Finally, the front window was screwed on each helmet, and all was ready.

  Merrick went first over the ladder at the side, and Hewitt with much difficulty followed. As the water closed over his head, his sensations altered considerably. There was less weight to carry; his arms in particular felt light, though slow in motion. Down, down they went slowly, and all round about it was fairly light, but once on the sunken vessel and among the lower decks, the electric lamps were necessary enough. Once or twice Merrick spoke, laying his helmet against Hewitt’s for the purpose, and instructing him to keep his air-pipe, life-line, and lamp connection from fouling something at every step. Here and there shadowy swimming shapes came out of the gloom, attracted by their lamps, to dart into obscurity again with a twist of the tail. The fishes were exploring the Nicobar. The hatchway of the lower deck was open, and down this the
y passed to the orlop deck. A little way along this they came to a door standing open, with a broken lock hanging to it. It was the door of the bullion-room, which had been forced by the divers in the morning.

  Merrick indicated by signs how the cases had been found piled on the floor. One of the sides of the room of thin steel was torn and thrust in the length of its whole upper half, and when they backed out of the room and passed the open door they stood in the great breach made by the bow of the strange coasting vessel. Steel, iron, wood, and everything stood in rents and splinters, and through the great gap they looked out into the immeasurable ocean. Hewitt put up his hand and felt the edge of the bullion-room partition where it had been torn. It was just such a tear as might have been made in cardboard.

  They regained the upper deck, and Hewitt, placing his helmet against his companion’s, told him that he meant to have a short walk on the ocean bed. He took to the ladder again, where it lay over the side, and Merrick followed him.

  The bottom was of that tough, slimy sort of clay-rock that is found in many places about our coasts, and was dotted here and there with lumps of harder rock and clumps of curious weed. The two divers turned at the bottom of the ladder, walked a few steps, and looked up at the great hole in the Nicobar’s side. Seen from here it was a fearful chasm, laying open hold, orlop, and lower deck.

  Hewitt turned away, and began walking about. Once or twice he stood and looked thoughtfully at the ground he stood on, which was fairly flat. He turned over with his foot a whitish, clean-looking stone about as large as a loaf. Then he wandered on slowly, once or twice stopping to examine the rock beneath him, and presently stooped to look at another stone nearly as large as the other, weedy on one side only, standing on the edge of a cavity in the claystone. He pushed the stone into the hole, which it filled, and then he stood up.