by Mark Walker
Captain Smuggleguts took a big drink, the foam hanging on his mustache like snow on a roof, and let a great contented, “Ahhh…”
Little Jen walked right up to the Captain and asked very seriously, her big blue eyes wide with wonder, “Are you a real pirate?”
Captain Smuggleguts looked down at the little girl. Then he smiled a wicked, snaggle-toothed smile. “I’ll bet you’re a little stinker ain’t ye?”
“I am not! I had a bath this morning!”
The Captain laughed so heartily he nearly fell off his stool. Finally, he managed to hack out, “Well, I didn’t— I didn’t say you stunk young ‘un. I said yer a little stinker—you know, always causin’ trouble—just like me! Ain’t yer?” And he continued his hacking laugh.
“Little stinker! Little Stinker! Brraacck!” screeched the bird.
Jen stuck out her lower lip at the bird. She pouted, and stalked away from the Captain, hands on hips to Kendra Danes.
Mandy summoned up an extra ounce of courage and approached Cutty Shark. “I’ve never met anyone with that name before. How did you come by it please?”
Shoveling in his breakfast at the table, Mr. Shark flashed his golden smile, looked down and laughed. “Oh, Mon, can you believes it? Please! Ah, little Missy, now dat’s a good question. Ya see, hit’s a nickname, after da ship ya know.”
“The Cutty Sark, dear—the last of the great clipper ships from the previous century,” elucidated Mr. Potter. “It’s down in Falmouth Harbor, where you can actually visit the ship itself. Restored her they did, several years back, with all new rigging. And ‘Cutty Sark’ is a Scots nickname for that old witch Nannie Dee in the old Robbie Burns poem. She’s the one chases after Tam O’Shanter.”
“Well, Mr. Know-it-all-Potter,” said Smuggleguts regarding Dinky, the turning back to Mandy, “Yer certainly do ask a lot o’ questions, little Mandy-Amander,” growled Smuggleguts. “I’ll tell yer like it was. See, Mr. Shark ain’t really Mr. Shark. What was yer ole name afore, anyways?”
Cutty Shark replied through a mouthful of food, “Mon, ya know hit’s been so long, ah cans’t remember dat far back.” Then he laughed, and growled hugely, lunging effectively toward the children, who shrank back in terror, which amused him greatly, and he laughed and laughed.
“Sees, he wrastled a shark once, got the better of it and killed it, yes he did!” said the Captain. “An’ he only lost two fingers a fightin’ it!” Cutty Shark grinned his golden grin and held up his left hand from which the topmost portions of the last two fingers were missing. “After that we went and give ‘em his name sorta out o’ respect an’ such, and after the famous ship ol’ Dinky ‘ere was speakin’ of. But my lands, young ‘un, you do ask the questions!”
He drained his cut-glass pint mug and called for more ale, received it, blew the foam off into Maynard Gee’s face, and looked wildly up and down the room.
“And where is our Mr. Artiste, this Aye-Em? Mr. f–f–f–ffuh–ffellows? F–f–f–f–f–f–f...” All the pirates joined in “F–f–f–f–f–f–f–f!!!” They sniggered and snorted, Maynard Gee hopping from foot to foot.
“Gentlemen, please!” said Dinky Potter, taking charge as if he was presiding over unruly children. “Mr. ffellows is in the turret, painting. And it happens to be noon, Captain. Really, gentlemen!” Maynard Gee continued to snicker.
“Gentle–men!” Mr. Gee’s snickers stuttered to a halt. “We’ve got other guests to consider. Now, pipe down, Mateys!” Fauna and Flora Phipps continued knitting, their noses held high. Mr. Melville puffed on his meerschaum pipe and gave the pirates a stern look of patriarchal disapproval.
The old Captain grumbled and growled, pulling a plug of nasty looking chewing tobacco that he bit off and proceeded to chew, spitting accurately into a dirty brass spittoon with a “ping.” Michael asked Dinky Potter for ale to be just like the Captain but was pacified with some ginger ale. The Captain however was very flattered by this and asked “Master Micky” if he’d like to engage in a game of darts, which Michael accepted.
Meanwhile, little Jen joined in the spirit by becoming a pirate herself, going about the room growling in her tiny voice, “Arh, arh, arh!” to everyone, Mandy blushing in embarrassment. Michael, meanwhile, was quite adept at throwing darts, and a beaten Captain Smuggleguts finally gave up after three straight losses. He gave over Captain Blackjack momentarily to keep the boy occupied, and Michael had the thrill of a pirate’s bird sitting briefly on his shoulder.
The girls wanted him to sit on their shoulders as well but were discouraged by the Captain. “Captain Blackjack don’t take too kindly to womens. He muster ‘ad a mistress once that mistreated ‘im, so now if’n yer gets too close he might bite, er take to pullin’ yer hair.”
But Mandy was not to be put off, and brought up the subject on all of there minds: “Do you know anything about the ghost? We heard sounds last night!”
“That’s right,” said Michael. “Was it was the ghost? Have you ever seen him?”
“Crack my bones! The Ghost! The Ghost!” squawked Capt. Blackjack, and Captain Smuggleguts burst out laughing at Michael’s astonished reaction. “Whoo! You see? I knew it!” he exclaimed excitedly, “tell us a ghost story, please, Captain?”
Mrs. Potter interrupted: “Now, Captain, we don’t want you frightening the children with stories of ghosts.”
With a sly look, Captain Smuggleguts had just begun, “Well…”
8
THE INN’S FRONT DOOR OPENED, followed by hearty, booming laughter, Kelly Riggs, and the bulk of Sergeant Bellows. “So, Dinky, old boy, what’s with the figurehead on top of the Roundhouse?” asked Riggs as they doffed their coats and hats.
“Oh! The figurehead! I see you’ve noticed our fair lady,” chuckled Dinky, “For some reason the sculptor left one of her breasts uncovered, so we decided on a bit of piratical-inspired dignity for the fair lass. After all, we are a family establishment.” For indeed, the “fair lass’s” left breast was covered with a black eye patch wrapped over the shoulder, and under the right arm. “She must have gotten awfully cold sailing like that all those years, and it’s a fair wonder she made it through the wreck at all. But a new job of paint on ‘er during the refurbishment and the patch set the old girl right again.”
The children had to go see, having not noticed it the night before, so Kendra and Delia grabbed up their coats from the coatrack by the front door and went to have a look.
Riggs and Bellows headed straight to the fireplace to warm themselves, but their policemen’s instincts kicked in directly they took in the four dark figures, two at the bar drinking, and other two frozen in a game of darts. Riggs decided to enjoin himself into the proceedings.
“Well, I see our feathered friend is up and about,” said Kelly Riggs in hale and hearty fashion, crossing to the birdcage to admire Captain Blackjack. Bellows followed, smiling at Digger Graves and Cutty Shark, who sat at the bar, frowning back in consternation.
“What a fine-looking bird!” complemented Riggs, looking about, “To whom does he belong?”
Captain Smuggleguts, with Maynard Gee in tow, had left the dart game and crossed over to Riggs and Bellows, a deep frown on his ruddy cavernous face. His dark eyes bright, “And who might ye be?”
“Dinky, old boy, perhaps you’d introduce us,” said Riggs, smiling.
Dinky Potter gave the introductions and the pirates were now twice surprised first thing in the A.M. At the mere mention of Scotland Yard all eight of the pirates’ eyes narrowed, and although it would have been imperceptible to anyone else in the room, Riggs secretly smiled to himself as he saw them all shrink just a bit.
“Now if I may arsk whaderye be doin’ here, Mr. Inspector?” asked the Captain suspiciously.
“Mistahr Detective, Mon,” corrected Cutty Shark.
“Mr. Chief—whatever ye are! Hee, hee, hee!” from Maynard Gee.
“That’s Detective Chief Inspector, Mr. Gee,” said Kelly Riggs smilingly to the other pirate. �
�You see we are on the trail of some very nasty scoundrels who may be smuggling gold—amongst other things. You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who might be up to no good around these parts would you? You wouldn’t happen to know who’s been handing round old coins—” he reached over and grabbed a gold coin off the bar and held it up amongst them, “—like these for instance. We’re looking for people who’ve been passing out gold coins like these. Paying for four shilling’s worth of ale with a gold piece? Perhaps you’d like to tell me about it?”
“Oh, uh, yes, sir, Mr. Detective Chief Inspector, sir, heh, heh, heh!” sniggered Digger. “But yer see, sir, you got no hold over me, my mate, uh, sir. See—I’m a Citizen of the World.”
The pirates all giggled at this, Mr. Gee laughing beyond the others until they aimed withering looks his way.
Riggs strolled over and leaned against the bar. “Oh, ‘a citizen of the world’ are you? And what about the rest of you?”
“Aye, Chief Inspector, that we all are,” answered Captain Smuggleguts smugly.
“Well, unfortunately for you it doesn’t matter what your citizenship is. Right now, you’re residing here, at the Roundhouse Inn, which happens to be in England. So, happily you’re in my jurisdiction after all.” He smiled engagingly at them, which caused some consternation amongst the pirates who mumbled back and forth, exchanging cowed looks. “That ale looks good. Dinky, old boy would you be so good as to draw a pint for Sergeant Bellows and myself.” The ale was drawn, and Riggs took a hearty swig.
“And what is your business here, Captain? You are a ship’s captain, am I right? What would your ship be called?”
“Aye, I’m the captain a’right. An’ me ship, she’s called the Amanda Lee. ”
“Is your ship about?”
“It’s down the coast, in Mousehole, bein’ repaired. We’re here a’waitin’.”
“So, you’re here ‘a’waiting’ are you? Waiting for what, pray tell?”
Now a look of deviousness crossed over the face Captain Liam Smuggleguts, and he answered with a renewed show of bravado:
“Waitin’? Why, waitin’ for me ship and me other mates. It’s bein’ repaired y’see. Besides, what’s the worry?” He slapped the bar. “We’re paying our room and board! Ain’t that right Mr. Potter? We’re paying customers, by Davy Jones, we are!”
But Dinky Potter only shuffled his feet and frowned at the floor, but Riggs continued: “Oh, so you’re paying customers? But you’re not working, have no jobs on now and yet you’re able to pay. And I must say we at Scotland Yard are quite interested with what you’ve been paying with, Captain. This is a gold doubloon is it not? And now I ask you—where did you obtain it?
“Where did we obtain it?” The Captain laughed harshly.
“Captain Smuggleguts, if you’ve been collecting large sums of money without declaring it to the Inland Revenue and paying any relevant taxes on it that’s a crime. And though you, or even I might feel that law is unfair, until the law is changed, you’d be committing a very serious crime. Also, if you’ve done anything illegal in obtaining this money then you’ll have to stand for that as well. Right. Now I only have one question that I expect you to answer:
“Where did you obtain the coin with which you paid just now?”
The Captain, cowed by this lecture, behaved like a naughty schoolboy caught in the act. His lower lip pooched out, spreading his huge bristling moustache further from his face. His head was sunk between his hunched shoulders. Then replied sullenly, “I er, found it. On the beach.”
“Perhaps you can show us where, sir?” queried Sergeant Bellows.
“Maybe I can at that,” said the Captain with a queer look in his eye. “‘Twas up there… up at Land’s End…”
“Land’s End, eh? Well, that will require some further investigation. A lovely chance to explore the countryside,” said Riggs, “And, now, out of further curiosity, I’d like all of you gentlemen to empty your pockets and let’s see if you have any more coins. Right here. On the bar, please.” His voice was smooth, but with just a hint of menace behind, which produced the desired effect, and the pirates acquiesced with grumbled protests.
The pockets were emptied, but with little result. Only one other doubloon turned up, and the rest consisted of one ten-pound note, three fivers, and twenty-four shillings, four pence. Otherwise, there were three penknives, a couple of soiled handkerchiefs, a packet of Players cigarettes, the Captain’s snuffbox, and the assorted flotsam of buttons, a small charm and some twine.
As they were emptying out their pockets, Kelly Riggs noticed a rather long dagger in a scabbard at the waist of Maynard Gee that had previously been covered by his coat. “Ah, Mr. Gee, is it?” When the other acknowledged with a widening of his curious eyes, he continued, “That’s quite a fine-looking knife you have there. Do you mind if I see it for just a moment?”
Being in no position to decline and already off his guard, Maynard Gee pulled the dagger slowly from the scabbard and held it out hilt-first to the inspector. Riggs took the weapon and balanced it appreciatively in his hand. It was quite old, and elegantly tooled, with a curved guard, and hilt that had small jewels inset along with areas that looked to be of gold. The blade was fine and extremely sharp—at least seventeen or eighteen centimeters of deadly sticker—with a small heart engraved at its base.
“Well, this as beautiful and nasty a piece of work as I’ve ever seen,” he passed it over to Fred Bellows, “D’you mind, Mr. Gee? You’ll get it back. By the way, where on earth did you get it?”
Maynard Gee’s eyes were evasive, but he stuttered out, “Oh, er, ‘t, ‘twas in T-Tenerife, what, t-two years ago, weren’t it, Captain?”
“Yeah, yeah,” agreed Smuggleguts, “’bout two year ago.”
Bellows handed the weapon back to Gee with an admonishing, “You’ll want to take care, sir, a mighty sharp blade that is. And remember, always cut away from you.”
Riggs turned back to the bar and briefly surveyed the items there doing some fast metal arithmetic. “Thank you, gentlemen, for your patient assistance. You may return these to your various pockets. However…” Riggs said, taking up the doubloon, “I’ll need to take this for now, for comparison purposes. But between you, you’ve enough jack here to take care of your medicinal and other wants and needs.” He smiled at them, though his eyes were steely, and this caused the Captain and his mates to hurriedly finish their drinks and slink off to their rooms for an afternoon nappy.
9
RIGGS AND BELLOWS WATCHED THEM GO, and Riggs winked at his old partner, who said, “Well, sir, you really gave them something to think about!”
Dinky Potter wiped his brow, “Good show, Blackie, old fellow, that’s what’s been needed around here. Afraid I haven’t the gumption to take ‘em all on, what, Tom?”
Tom Melville spoke up, “He’s so right, why the two of us can barely handle ‘em.”
“Oh, and we’re most grateful!” said the Phipps sisters in unison.
Riggs smiled his lopsided smile. “Well, let’s see what we have here,” he said, pulling out the pouch Superintendent Makepeace had given him and opening it up. He placed the three coins on top of the pouch. Next, he and Bellows took strong magnifying lenses, and began looking at the gold doubloons from Captain Smuggleguts, comparing them to the ones on top of the pouch.
“They look much the same, but then they all pretty much look alike,” remarked Bellows, “but I’d be willing to bet they’ve come from the same hoard.”
“And we know what that may mean,” replied Kelly Riggs confidentially. Then he and Bellows retired to their rooms to go over the day’s developments.
The door of the inn opened with a whoosh. Kendra, Delia and the children returned from their venture out, and glad to come in they were, for a cold wind had risen from the west. They headed straight for the fireplace, the children’s cheeks rosy as they chattered away. Jen was gushing to the Phipps sisters over her observations of the Roundhouse’s exterior and Mandy ex
plained, “She wants to go all the way to the top, so she can be next to the ship-lady, with black eye-patch and a tri-corn hat, and watch for pirates with her long spyglass.” Both sets of sisters enjoyed each other’s company by the fire, whilst Kendra and Delia repaired to the kitchen.
Michael went to join Tom Melville, where he sat at his table with the wireless, by the big back bow window. There were heavy clouds closing in, and although it was only a little after sixteen hundred hours, or four o’clock, and being winter, it was beginning to get dark. Tom was tuning the set in for the Met. Report, which as a sailor he checked regularly.
“These AG Days are mighty strange I tells ye, but it sure makes for a mighty fine catch,” he said taking out his pipe and pouch of tobacco.
“How is that?” inquired Michael.
“Oh, because the fish swim and float higher near the surface, sometimes at the surface, yes indeed; why, it almost triples the catch, so, if like they’re sayin’ that these AG days are a comin’ in the next couple o’ days, I may be able to bring in a haul that’ll last months.”
Just then, the wireless hummed to life with a crackle, and the chimes of the half hour sounded. The Meteorological Service had its own broadcast station, and Tom lit his pipe, listening carefully as this was a localized service covering the southwest. The announcer crisply went down the lists, until he came to the Cornish coast:
“The areas of the central coast, especially those forward points of the peninsula, such as Land’s End, Cape Cornwall, Gribba Point, Maen Dower, Sennen’s Cove, Eel’s Cove, and all inland towns from St. Just south should be feeling the first brunt of this storm by approximately seventeen hundred hours on Friday, and the AG events should commence approximately twenty-four to thirty-six hours before the storm hits. We will be reporting with the very latest updates again in…”