The Man From Hell

by Barrie Roberts

  He paused and glared around again. ‘So, all you know about this boy is that he’s my son Jim and by the time the searchers come aboard tomorrow he’s going to be mighty sick of something mysterious. Understand?’

  ‘Aye, captain,’ a few voices replied and the skipper clapped his braided cap on his head and turned on his heel, leading Mrs Winthrop and me below.

  Once in the cabin I asked, ‘Will it work, captain?’

  He chuckled grimly and his wife laughed outright. ‘Bless you,’ she said, ‘most of the boys on this ship would follow my husband to the Eternal Fire if he told them, and them as wouldn’t would rather fetch up in your Port Arthur than look him in the eye when his blood’s up.’

  ‘That’s very true, Jim,’ said the mate, who had followed us below, and my heart began to lift again.

  Next morning the last of our cargo was stowed and Captain Winthrop went ashore a final time to report his intention of sailing. In his absence Mrs Winthrop had me back into a bunk, my still-swollen face wrapped in flannel, my eyes rubbed red with my own knuckles and tobacco ash rubbed below my eyes to deepen the sockets.

  ‘Now keep your eyes shut and say nothing,’ she instructed me as we heard the captain’s boat returning and with it the search boat. Soon there were boots sounding outside the cabin and I knew them to be the soldiers with their convict police and I could not help but be chilled by the thought.

  The captain led the two redcoats into the day cabin, next to where I lay, and I heard him tell them, ‘Come in for a glass, and tell your gang to keep their smoke away from us. I’ve a sick boy in the cabin here. He’s poorly enough without a dose of British sulphur.’

  ‘A sick boy?’ said an English voice. ‘What has he got?’

  ‘I wish we knew,’ replied the captain. ‘He’s been too ill to go ashore since we anchored and he gets no better.’

  ‘Did you report him sick when you first landed?’ asked the Englishman.

  The skipper laughed. ‘And me with a cargo to sell? Here, take your glass,’ and amid the chink of glasses I thought I heard the different clink of coins.

  ‘We’d best just take a look at him,’ said the English voice and I shut my eyes as the cabin door opened. My heart was beating so loudly I would have thought they could hear it through the blankets but I lay still, praying that my eyelids would not flutter.

  It seemed an age before the door closed and a voice beyond it said, ‘He doesn’t look well and that’s a fact. Well, we shan’t keep you long.’

  Nor did they. Soon I heard their boat leaving and a moment later the rattle of the anchor-chain. In a little while the ship was moving, far too slowly for me, out of the harbour.

  I stayed in my bunk until Mrs Winthrop came to me, her plump face all aglow with pleasure. ‘We’re out of the harbour,’ she said. ‘You can come up on deck now.’

  I was quickly on deck and stood at the rail to watch the coast of Van Diemen’s Land falling away. I stood, in fact, until long after the land had dropped below the horizon. Then Captain Winthrop came up to my side.

  ‘It’s gone, Jim,’ he said, ‘and we’re long out of British waters. You’re a free man now.’

  I worked my passage across the Pacific, though the skipper did not ask it of me, and I will swear that, as the Sarah Jane went from island to island, I grew three inches taller and put on flesh and muscle so that I was no longer even recognisable as the skinny child that had fled from Port Arthur.

  At Yerba Bueno in California I took a reluctant farewell of the Winthrops. The captain urged me to stay aboard, but I knew that I dared not venture back into British territory and I could not circumscribe his trading with my fears. So we parted and I have never forgotten their courage and kindliness.

  Much of the rest of my tale you already know. I worked as a sailor in American vessels for a while and fought with the Californians against the Spanish. Then, when gold was found in California, I had enough saved to take a quarter share in a claim. It paid enough to finance bigger and yet bigger adventures, until I had more wealth than I could ever spend.

  Then I came home to England, intent on using my great wealth to a purpose. That purpose was to prevent, wherever I might, any British child from being dragged into the System and sent abroad. I despaired of politicians, most of whom seemed well-satisfied with the System and ignored any evidence of its inhumanity, vice and corruption, though I financed those few who opposed it. In the main I dispensed my money where I thought it would do the most good for the children of the poor, taking boys and girls from the streets and the poorhouses into education and employment.

  When I knelt before Her Majesty and felt her sword touch my shoulder I smiled within myself at the secret thought that she was honouring an orphan convict. At every reverse of the System I have cheered silently. Even the Fenians’ escape from Fremantle gladdened me, for no matter what their crimes they had made a joke of the System in the eyes of the world.

  I thank the Lord that I have lived to see the System end and even the name of that cursed island vanish. I pray that the black mischief wrought by the System for so many years will soon pass.

  As I said in beginning this, I hope that I shall be able to tell you my story myself, but if I am not spared then you must make what you will of this account. Only once have I ever told it all, to your blessed mother before we wed, for I could not marry her in dishonesty. That wonderful lady advised me to tell no other and gave me her hand. I hope that you will be able to receive the truth as gracefully, and I leave to your discretion how much of the contents of this letter you reveal to your sister.

  Be that as it may, I enjoin you again to deal with that specified account as I have said, for it belongs to another and those are his wishes. Who he is I am bound not to tell, but he will tell you in good time and when he does he will identify himself to you as “The Man from the Gates of Hell”.

  Until then you are his trustee. I do not doubt that you will acquit yourself well in that office.

  ___

  Author's notes on this chapter

  Fourteen

  THE RING STRIKES

  The little solicitor laid down the last sheet of the manuscript and looked around the table.

  ‘There is no more,’ he said, ‘apart from an affectionate farewell to Lord Patrick.’

  I do not believe that any of us had moved a muscle during the long recitation, apart from Holmes whom I had seen smile to himself now and then, as though at the confirmation of some prediction.

  ‘What an extraordinary narrative!’ I exclaimed as I reached for my pipe.

  ‘Quite right, Doctor,’ said Lord Patrick, ‘and what is just as extraordinary is the extent to which Mr Holmes seems to have divined the content of that document, even to my father’s real name.’

  Holmes lit his own pipe with slow deliberation. ‘Not divined, Lord Backwater, not divined. Were I a reader of tea-leaves or an interpreter of the stars I do not think you would have consulted me.’

  ‘I meant no professional disrespect, I assure you, Mr Holmes,’ said the young Lord. ‘I was merely expressing my astonishment at the accuracy of your predictions.’

  ‘Oh come now, Holmes,’ I said. ‘Even I, who have more than a little experience of your methods, cannot see how you knew so much of Lord Backwater’s past. Why, before we left Baker Street you were pondering on an Antipodean connection as you called it!’

  ‘And you did not understand the reference,’ said Holmes. ‘Yet you will recall that I asked Lord Backwater if his father had had any Welsh connections. Both he and Mr Predge said not. That made the Australian interpretation the only reasonable one,’ and he applied himself again to his pipe.

  The rest of us shared bewildered glances. ‘I fear we are all as much in the dark as Mr Watson,’ said Lord Backwater.

  ‘When you showed me the note,’ said Holmes, ‘it referred to the Gates of Hell. There are, I believe two places known by that name. One is a group of rocks in Cardigan Bay, but they are usually named in Welsh. S
ince it did not seem to be them I inferred that it was the entrance to Port Arthur.’

  We all smiled at the simplicity of his explanation and he went on, ‘Port Arthur inevitably suggested convicts. When Watson and I came to examine Lord Backwater’s body we saw the plainest evidence that Lord Backwater as a young man had been savagely beaten about the back in a way suggestive of the System’s punishments. In addition, his forearms revealed those unusual tattoos. Watson will tell you that I have made something of a study of tattoos and Lord Backwater’s were instantly recognisable to me as the distinguishing marks of the Ring, whose nature you have heard explained. I confess that I had believed the Ring to be based at Norfolk Island and infered that Lord Backwater had been there as well as at Port Arthur, but we now know that he was spared the ultimate hell of the System.’

  ‘Wonderful!’ exclaimed Lord Backwater, while Mr Predge shook his head slowly. ‘Mr Holmes, I entirely withdraw any criticisms I have made of your methods. You have been far ahead in this matter from the first. We barely needed my poor father’s narrative.’

  Holmes acknowledged the apology. ‘Oh, but we did,’ he said, ‘if for no other reason than the fact that it clearly identifies the Man from the Gates of Hell.’

  ‘But he is not named in the document,’ I objected.

  ‘Precisely, Watson, and therein lies the identification.’

  I was about to protest further when a knock sounded at the door. It was Arnold, Lord Backwater’s butler, and his face was grave.

  ‘I beg your pardon for the interruption, My Lord, but I thought you should know that Lady Patricia has not returned from her ride.’

  ‘Not returned?’ exclaimed Lord Patrick. ‘But it has been hours!’ He drew out his watch. ‘Good Lord! Where did she go, Arnold?’

  ‘Her Ladyship took her maid Catherine and Tommy the groom with the pony trap, sir,’ said Arnold. ‘They were going to ride around the lakes for the afternoon, but it is well up to dinner-time and there is no sign of them.’

  ‘Then she has evidently met with some accident or delay,’ said Lord Backwater. ‘Arnold, we must search the park at once while there is light. Call the ground staff and the grooms. I shall go with them. Mr Holmes, Doctor, I am sorry to involve you in a domestic matter but I would value your assistance.’

  ‘Gladly,’ said Holmes, ‘and I hope you are right that this is only a domestic matter.’

  ‘What do you mean, Mr Holmes?’ demanded Lord Patrick.

  ‘Only that this mishap to Lady Patricia follows too closely upon other events. I have told you, Lord Backwater, coincidences are rarely what they seem.’

  On foot and on horseback, until it grew dark and after dark by lantern-light, the sprawling grounds of Backwater Hall were searched minutely that evening, but no trace could be found of the missing trio or their vehicle.

  It was nearly midnight before Lord Backwater called off the search. We were making our way wearily through the yard of the Hall when a groom dashed up to us.

  ‘Lord Backwater!’ he called. ‘The trap’s been found.’

  ‘Where?’ demanded Lord Patrick.

  ‘It was tied up to a tree by the North Pool,’ said the groom. ‘There was no damage nor nothing but there wasn’t any trace of Her Ladyship neither.’

  ‘But we went out past the North Pool while it was still light. It was not there then. What can this mean, Mr Holmes?’ asked Lord Backwater.

  ‘I fear that it confirms my foreboding,’ said Holmes. ‘The conveyance has been left as a message. Still, there is nothing that can be done now, except perhaps to send word to Inspector Scott to attend you in the morning now that we are sure we are dealing with another crime.’

  ‘My poor sister!’ exclaimed the young nobleman. ‘Are these the same fiends that slew my father? What will they do with Patricia?’

  Holmes touched Lord Patrick’s arm. ‘Do not disturb yourself unnecessarily, My Lord. Lady Patricia will come to no harm. Our villains require something of you and will have taken her as a hostage. There is no purpose in doing her harm. You must possess yourself in patience until we can learn more of their intentions.’

  Even after that exhausting and eventful day I doubt if any of us at Backwater Hall slept easily that night. Certainly I found my slumbers delayed by reflections on the day’s occurrences and when I did sleep it was restlessly.

  When we gathered in the breakfast room next morning I saw that Inspector Scott had been summoned on Holmes’ advice. Once we had taken our food from the sideboard and sat down, Lord Backwater addressed the table.

  ‘There has been a letter,’ he said. ‘It arrived during the night.’

  ‘May I see it?’ asked Holmes, and Lord Patrick passed it across.

  Holmes held it up to the morning sunlight. ‘A single sheet of cheap quarto, written in decent roundhand with a fair pen,’ he said. ‘It tells us very little.’

  ‘And the message?’ I asked.

  He read it aloud. ‘“Lord Backwater, the Black Queen belonged to us by right and by oath and we shall have our compensation. Be assured that your sister is safe and will remain so if we have what is ours, no more. You shall hear from us again.”’

  He handed the paper back to Lord Backwater. ‘At the bottom are the unmistakable mottoes of the Ring – “On the square Ever” and “On the cross Never”.’

  ‘What on earth is the Black Queen?’ I asked.

  ‘There I am as much in the dark as you, Watson. We know that it is the name of the account at Barings which the late Lord Backwater left in trust to Lord Patrick on someone else’s behalf. I had speculated that it might be the name of a mine somewhere, but that is pure guesswork.’

  ‘What will you do now, Mr Holmes?’ asked Inspector Scott.

  ‘I fear that yesterday’s events make it imperative that I leave as soon as possible. Perhaps Lord Backwater will be good enough to arrange for me to catch the mid-morning train.’

  His reply fell like a thunderbolt on the table. ‘Leave as soon as possible?’ exclaimed Lord Backwater and I with one voice.

  ‘You cannot leave us now,’ said Lord Patrick. ‘Now that we know that my sister is in the hands of this villainous secret society. I am relying upon you to guide me, Mr Holmes.’

  ‘I apologise for surprising you, Lord Backwater,’ said my friend, ‘but I reached certain conclusions during the night and the confirmation that your sister is a prisoner of the Ring merely makes my actions more urgent. I must be in London as rapidly as possible.’

  An appalled silence reigned around the breakfast table as each of us struggled to absorb this new turn of events. Holmes downed his coffee and rose from the table.

  ‘I shall leave Watson here to assist you,’ he said. ‘As to forthcoming events, it is easy to deduce that you will soon hear from the Ring again, specifying what it is that they want of you and offering terms of exchange for your sister. It is not for me to command you, Lord Backwater, but I urge you most solemnly to enter into no exchange for Lady Patricia until I return.’

  ‘But when will that be?’ I asked.

  ‘What I have in mind should only take a day or two,’ he replied. ‘I am sure you will hold the fort for me that little time,’ and he smiled and walked out of the room.

  The little group at the table broke up and we followed Lord Backwater disconsolately into the library. There we discussed every aspect of the case but without gaining any further insight into events. Inspector Scott remained at the Hall as the day wore on, lest another message should arrive, but none had come by evening. I was taking a farewell of him in the hall when Arnold approached.

  ‘Excuse me, Doctor,’ he said, ‘but while you were out searching last night there was a message for Mr Holmes, and I’m afraid that with all the worry over Her Ladyship it went clear out of my mind.’

  ‘Perhaps you had better let me have the message,’ I said.

  ‘It was Williams, sir – the strange old man who plays the fiddle at the Backwater Arms. He came up to the Hall during the se
arch and said he wanted a word with Mr Holmes. When he was told Mr Holmes was out with the search parties he left no word but just took himself off.’

  I thanked Arnold and lost no time in conveying this information to Lord Backwater.

  ‘Perhaps the old scoundrel’s conscience has finally struck him,’ said Inspector Scott, ‘and he wants to assist us.’

  ‘Maybe he is merely the Ring’s messenger,’ I hazarded. ‘After all, he guided the murderers to the beech glade and I have seen the Ring’s marks upon him with my own eyes.’

  ‘What will you do?’ asked Lord Patrick.

  ‘I shall go and see Williams,’ I said, ‘and see what he wishes to say.’

  ‘I should not go to tonight, if I were you,’ said the Inspector. ‘This may be merely an excuse for an ambush. If you will wait till morning I shall join you and we can go together.’

  We agreed on this manoeuvre and Inspector Scott left to report to Colonel Caddage, while Lord Backwater and I passed the evening with a game of billiards that both of us were too distracted to play well.

  Fifteen

  THE SCARLET “J”

  Even the brightness of a summer morning could not pierce the gloom of the track to Tin-Fiddle Williams’ shack, and my previous experience along that way led me to step cautiously, probing any clump of leaves with my stick and keeping one hand on the pistol in my coat pocket. Inspector Scott walked behind me with his policeman’s eyes alert for any sign of an ambush but we reached the clearing by the pool with no trouble.

  No smoke was drifting from the makeshift chimney of the hut as we made towards it.

  ‘That’s queer!’ said the Inspector suddenly. ‘The door’s not shut. That’s not like old Williams.’

  I could see that the door of the shack had been left slightly ajar.

  ‘We should go a bit careful, Doctor,’ said Scott.

  I drew my pistol and, as softly as we could walk on the carpet of dried leaves, we crept up on the door.