by Mark Walker
Kelly Riggs reflected the Captain’s histrionics reminded him a bit of the actor, John Barrymore, hamming it up in Twentieth Century.
He continued ranting, as Sergeant Bellows, who had been examining the dead parrot intensely for some minutes murmured, “My, my, me blinkin’ eye…” He turned frowning to Riggs, and pronounced solemnly and confidentially, “I can tell you this, sir, he didn’t die from natural causes, and he wasn’t strangled. See that fleck of foam on his beak? He was poisoned. Something in his feed or water I suspect.”
The air was thick with tension, but just then the burly bulk of a figure with policeman’s cap appeared at the front door. Dinky Potter came forward, grateful for a distraction. “Oh, Sergeant Akin, welcome to the Roundhouse!”
“Cheers, Mr. Potter, Mrs. Potter.” The mustachioed officer stamped his feet, removed his hat, and nodded greetings. Potter introduced him to Riggs and Bellows.
“We’ve had a spot of bother here, Sergeant,” announced Riggs who then filled him in on the most recent proceedings. He then admonished the pirates to quiet down and let the law take its course regarding the death of the bird but reminded them that the other serious matter of the gold had not been solved to his satisfaction. The others were set about their business. He and Bellows took Sergeant Akin aside and they conversed softly by the front window for some time. Then the detectives donned their hats and macs, bade a temporary goodbye and accompanied Sergeant Akin back into Eel’s Cove.
After all the excitement the children’s chief concern was whether there were to be a funeral for poor old Captain Blackjack.
The pirates did hold a funeral service of sorts, near the edge of the Black Rock, behind the Roundhouse Inn. They wrapped Captain Blackjack in an oilcloth shroud and tied it with heavy string. The children, along with a flock of gulls, watched in fascination at their strange rituals. Maynard Gee read a short and poorly worded eulogy, hopping back and forth from foot to foot. Then the Captain, with a choking goodbye, consigned him to the deep, and pitched the bundle of bird out to sea. Weighted with rocks, he disappeared quickly. Kendra Danes played the funeral dirge on her violin for which the Captain seemed very grateful. Tom Melville was especially solemn, observing the rites through the great bow window, puffing on his pipe. But the Phipps sisters paid little attention, nodding and twittering to each other about “other-worldly” matters. The Potters were busy inside with their own chores. But high above them all, Shayne ffellows watched omnipotently from the broad windows in the lookout, his pale face ghostly, and enigmatic behind the glass.
2
RIGGS AND BELLOWS SPENT A HALF HOUR at the Eel’s Cove police station conferring with their colleagues. They were full of questions about the incidents in Eel’s Cove and the Roundhouse; especially more details about the murders that had occurred there, about a month before.
The first victim had been an unidentified sailor, and a stranger in the village, only arriving some day’s previous to his passing. The killing had occurred in a small lane just past the waterfront, with no witnesses. COD appeared to be a single stab wound, with a long, sharp blade, approximately sixteen centimeters long, upward angle, in the back near the fifth rib. Riggs and Bellows exchanged glances, thinking of Maynard Gee’s dagger.
The man’s pockets had been emptied. A search of his tiny rented room and his meager possessions had turned up little—little except three gold doubloons—not unlike the ones Riggs had brought with him.
The second victim had been a local scoundrel, and sailor named Harry Mullet. Well known to the local constabulary, he was found strangled in his rooms near the waterfront. This man’s person and pockets yielded no clues. One doubloon was found on the premises, but that was all. Mullet was suspected to have ferried illicit cargo, and human traffic about the area for some time, but nothing could be proven, and other than minor offenses he had escaped any official reckoning, or otherwise—until now.
Riggs and Bellows also examined the other coins that had turned up in Eel’s Cove, and all appeared to be quite similar in nature. Riggs asked that calls be put through to London, asking for some specific information. Then he and Bellows paired off to make their inquiries, which included the city records hall, the home of the tiny one-sheet newsweekly, the chemist shop and a rooming house. They knocked on a door here, and saw a shopkeeper there, then on to the small waterfront cove and the couple of bars (or dives) that served the trade, the Neptune’s Belch and the Spyglass is Half Full.
It was going on noon when, as they were returning along the road, they spotted Shayne ffellows off in the moor on the seaward side near the cliffs. One of the motorcycles, a fairly new BSA 348 with sidecar stood nearby, and he was working in front of an easel. The painting was a fairly large rectangle of canvas-board, and roughly depicted in a loose, sketchy way what lay before him: Delia and Kendra Danes perched upon a granite rock, bedecked in shawls and fancy hats, similar to that Delia had worn in her portrait. Already the faces had been formed and the girls were easily recognizable.
The detectives approached and Riggs gave a “Hallo!” in salutation, which was returned by the girls. But this drew an unexpected reaction from Shayne ffellows. He glared at them from under his slouch cap, and the color rose in his pale cheeks. When they spoke, he ignored them, but continued to work as the detectives observed him from some several paces off. The painting was still in its infancy, yet it was a very admirable rendition of the girls in their costumes, but soon his strokes became more vigorous and agitated—furious slashing strokes of paint, until finally he threw down his brush and lamented, “I’ve had it! I just can’t work like this! All these blasted pirates, and ghosts, and coppers!”
He hurled his palette across the moor and viciously kicked shut his paint box, then stormed off toward the cliffs, his back to the others.
A cloud passed over the scene.
“Shayne!” cried Delia. She turned, flushed with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry, it’s just all this excitement, and he’s so sensitive.” Riggs and Bellows looked at each other in mild astonishment, the Sergeant fingering his tie nervously in Oliver Hardy-like fashion. Kendra Danes ducked her head in embarrassment but looked rather impish when she looked up. Delia, greatly distressed, wrung her hands, trying not to allow her fears to show. She stammered bravely and desperately trying to fill the empty space. “He’s been working so hard off and on for the past few weeks you see, so… I suppose it’s… just nerves…” she trailed off indefinitely.
“I’m sure it will be a lovely painting,” commented Riggs.
“First rate museum work it looks to me, miss,” added Bellows helpfully.
Shayne ffellows walked over and picked up his art supplies from where he’d flung them and began strapping them onto the carrier of the motorbike. “Come on along, Delia! Now!” he ordered, and a sheepish Delia complied, gathering her long skirts. The motor growled to life and before she was completely settled in the sidecar, he gunned the machine and they tore off back in the direction of Eel’s Cove. Riggs looked after them, his eyes narrow. But then he smiled his lopsided smile.
“Perhaps it’s just a lover’s quarrel,” said Kendra Danes, rising from the rock. Sergeant Bellows piped in, “Surely, sir, that’s it. Just a bit of a tiff!” He chuckled nervously, and Kelly Riggs began to laugh as well. “The day’s starting to clear off—the calm before the storm, I wonder? Well, let’s get on back shall we. Miss Danes, would you care to join us on a stroll back to the Roundhouse?”
“That would be lovely,” she replied as the wind caught her hat that she snatched to hold down, “and perhaps I can change back to something a bit more sensible!”
As they approached across the bridge, they saw Dinky Potter, raking the gravel in front of the Roundhouse and hailed him. He explained, “It’s to keep the gravel from blowing away when the storm hits. I had them put in these troughs—see here, by the edge of the rock—that we rake the loose gravel into and then set the heavier rocks on top of it until the storm blows over,” he explai
ned. Once more Riggs marveled at the strange structure on the rock. Kendra excused herself and went inside, whilst Dinky Potter, on Riggs’s request, gave him and Bellows a tour of the exterior of the Roundhouse Inn and the Black Rock.
“It’s surprising,” began Dinky, “how flat and smooth most of the top of the rock is. It’s as though the seawater has filed and sanded it down.” And indeed, he was correct and although the top of the rock was mostly smooth, there were some rocky protrusions around the edge where there the stone was rougher, with bits of lichen and scrub creeping up the sides. The area of the rock surrounding the inn ranged from about five to seven meters wide, with the inn’s footprint as irregular as its makeup.
“The rock is granite isn’t?” asked Riggs.
“It is indeed, but that’s about all I know,” replied Dinky Potter, “I’m not much of a geologist.” Riggs was surprised to notice the differing variations in the tone of the rock, colors from an almost iridescent jet-black, blending into deep purple, that then became rust, and maroon. In places it was flecked, as though a paintbrush had slung a spatter of all the colors on top of each other.
Riggs gazed up at the incredible structure. “That’s the original forward anchor chain and anchor,” explained Dinky, “and you can see where it imbedded itself in the rock. Then they reinforced the anchor with rock and concrete.” The heavy chain ran straight from the rock all the way to top of the structure. They were rounding the side and Riggs could see the chimneystack with a trail of lazy smoke rising from it, and along those lines, the visible side of the ship itself, the bowsprit and sprit topmast, and profile of the figurehead. One could actually see the areas of shattered hull, and it was fascinating to see the pieces of the ship so skillfully meshed with the frame that had been constructed by the pirates. Bits of mortar, planks, and rock formed the jumble of façade to the front, thickening at the base.
“You can see the joists, just there, where the building comes up and supports the hull. The pirate’s must have had an engineer, or an architect to design and draw this up somehow. But if they did, we’ve never found the plans. It seems as though the mast was driven through the hull and they used that as the centerpiece of the structure. Parts of the outside walls are a meter to a meter and half thick.”
“How many floors are there, again?” asked Fred Bellows.
“Almost five and half stories, including the turret,” replied Dinky Potter. “The ground floor comprises the Great Room, the kitchen, storage room and Tom Melville’s room. We’ve got our rooms on the first floor and the rest of the rooms and other floors are for the guests, with the shared baths. Amazingly, we have thirty rooms all together—though I’m sad to say we’ve never had more than a dozen guests at a time—oh—until now! Although I have to say the third floor has rather shorter ceilings and fourth floor is the turret. Then, of course there’s the cellar down below.
“And come and look over here,” said Dinky, leading them to the far edge of the rock, “this is the old fishing pier—Tom still uses it today to set some of his traps and lines.” There was a rail leading down over the edge, and as they drew closer, could see a steep set of stairs that zigzagged almost straight down onto four finger-like stubs of rock rising from the sea, on which a small platform or dock rested, some three or four meters above the surface of the water. There were several ropes lashed to the moorings of the platform along with a couple of nets.
“We think this was part of the original, here, where the pirates fished from, though we’re not sure. All I know is it certainly took a lot of work to get it back shipshape as it were—it was almost completely rotted out. We had a local crew working on this place almost nine months before we could move in—cost a bloody packet—I only hope I can repay the loan to the bank.”
They turned back to the inn, where on the seaward side, even more of the original ship’s structure and foredeck was visible, with windows and portholes cut in here and there, from the turret on down to and the base the big bow window in the Great Room that looked out to sea.
“You’ll notice the shutters on most of the windows,” said Dinky, “They’re reinforced, and we have them on the inside of the large windows as well.”
About halfway up the remains of ships deck, a balcony lead to a door on the second floor, and stairway curved away from them around the side of the building. Directly below the balcony were the backdoors to the Great Room and kitchen. The doors were mismatched, with the one to the Great Room mighty and heavy, the one to the kitchen smaller and almost cottage-like, with a Judas gate and small diamond-paned window set into the top half.
Below the stairs were barrels and some fishing crates, and past the final landing there was a similar repetition of the opposite side of the building sans the chimney, where a large flap revealed a porthole.
“That’s where they had one of the cannons,” explained Dinky. “We hope to get one to go there to make it more authentic, but that will have to wait until we get some more guests to pay for it!”
They came to another door that led to Tom’s room Dinky explained, and the service entrance to the cellar. As they rounded the last bend to the front of the inn and the big bow window, the front door opened, and Doris Potter stuck her head out.
“Would any of you lads like a grilled cheese sandwich?”
3
AFTER JOCKYING TO SEE who got through the door first, Riggs and Bellows hurried upstairs to wash up for lunch, whilst Dinky Potter went to tend to his chores in the kitchen. When Riggs and Bellows returned, they found only the children and the Phipps sisters at the table, already tucking in to what turned out to be another wonderful meal by Doris Potter. The detectives’ mouths were watering when their sandwiches arrived, and Dinky and Doris joined them with their own.
“What’s happened to our resident scoundrels?” asked Fred Bellows, looking thoughtfully at the empty shrouded birdcage that hung at the end of the bar like a bad omen.
“I’m afraid the shock of Captain Blackjack’s passing has left them a bit rattled,” said Dinky Potter. He turned to his wife, “Seen anything of them, dear?”
“Not a peep,” replied Doris.
“And more’s the better, I say, because I must say!” added Flora Phipps.
“I’m afraid the poor parrot’s death didn’t do much for me, either, dear,” replied Fauna, “It’s disturbing the vibrations!”
“Besides,” said Flora confidentially, her large eyes concerned, fingering her crystal pendant, “we believe the parrot knew something about this business; that he had a secret he was trying to tell us—”
“But for the life of us, we can’t quite see what it may be. He spoke of gold—”
“And a map, and the bones. Something to do with the bones.”
It was Michael who spoke up quoting parrot-style, “He said, ‘the map, you fool! The map! Shayne! The gold’s worth digging!’ I remember!”
“He’s right, Inspector, I remember too!” exclaimed Mandy.
“Those were his words all right,” confirmed Flora, “but it’s as though we have to read between the lines…”
“Like reading a mystic cypher,” completed Fauna.
“Well, I’m sure whatever it is, we’ll get it sorted,” said Kelly Riggs looking about, “What’s happened to Miss Danes?”
“Oh, she said she wanted to get away for a bit,” replied Doris Potter, “and was going for a stroll up by Land’s End, to do some practicing. Didn’t even pause to eat.”
“Well, she’s certainly missed something,” put in Riggs, finishing the last crumb of Doris Potter’s tasty homemade bread and gooey cheese, licking his fingers appreciatively. “Umm!”
As they were taking their second pot of tea, they all became aware a strange light that had gradually filtered into the room. It was almost imperceptible at first, but then grew stronger. Shafts of light began to filter through the front bow window and portholes catching the dust motes in the air. The children took in their breath and gasp.
“Why what is
that strange light? Look—look everyone!”
Could it be?
It was!
The sun had finally broken through the overcast. Through the back window they could see it glinting off the waves, and bits of azure sky showing through the disbursing clouds. It seemed to lift some of the tension from the room, and also to revive the Phipps sisters, who began to twitter between themselves. The children asked permission to leave the table, which was granted, and they gathered their coats and ran outside to play on the rock and marvel at the Roundhouse Inn.
Riggs wanted to get a better lay of the land with his limited local knowledge, and inquired of it to the Potters, and the Phipps sisters: “Even though I just flew down the coast day before yesterday, I still didn’t get a proper look as it was getting dark.”
Dinky Potter began explaining using his teacup and various bits of cutlery as a rough map, “Where we are here, on the Black Rock, is actually almost as far a point west as the more famous Land’s End. You follow the road up there along the cliffs about a kilometer, and you’ll see the smokestack of the old tin mine. It’s abandoned, and probably has been for fifty or sixty years. Land’s End is less than another half a kilometer on beyond it. The entire coast is dotted with small coves and caves and there are all sorts of ancient tunnels about.”
“We’ve been to Land’s End, Inspector, but that’s about all that’s around here. It’s just along the road he’s told you about,” said Flora Phipps, “roughly following the coast—Sennen’s Cove, past Gribba Point, and just north of there, splits off to Cape Cornwall to the west, and St. Just to the east. Then there are the standing stones, but they’re north of St. Just, and inland quite a way.”