“As I expected, the reports of the experts to whom I submitted the scheme were favourable, but not nearly so favourable as were Bristow’s figures. I considered the matter carefully, and had almost decided not to touch it, when a further idea occurred to me, and one which I thought would ensure its success. Here I intended to make new enquiries and get out fresh figures, but an unfortunate incident of which you are all aware forced my hand, and I had to buy before my investigations were complete. However, they have now been finished, and I may say that the result is wholly satisfactory. I am now convinced that, as modified, the venture is likely to prove highly profitable. I may also point out that the Hellenic is now my property and that I have a right to use her as I think fit. Further, I think we all know that no other ship of similar type is likely to be on the market for some years.”
Stott spoke rather grimly and both words and tone added to Morrison’s surprise and apprehension. However, before he could analyse his impressions, Stott resumed: “This new idea will involve certain departures from the original plans. Bristow intended the cruise for the man in the street: the man who could pay a moderate fare for perhaps a week, or two. I have changed that. The appeal will now be to the wealthy and they will pay through the nose for their cabins. The Hellenic was built to carry four thousand passengers, but I am restricting her to eighteen hundred, all first class, so that there may be ample room for everyone to be comfortable. Every cabin will now have a bathroom, and at least half will have private sitting rooms also. That is my first alteration. I may say also that I do not expect her ever to be quite full up.
“The second alteration is that instead of running for the six summer months, she will cruise during the entire year. This will practically double our profits. In winter she will give up calls to outlying islands or exposed portions of the coast and confine herself to the Irish Sea, the Channel and other sheltered areas. She may, moreover, anchor in these areas for long spells, still further lowering her running costs.”
Morrison was now listening with stupefaction. Had it not been for Stott’s quiet, businesslike manner, he would have supposed the man had gone off his head. His statement sounded completely mad. Would anyone who could afford to go round the world be bothered to steam round the British coast, even if he had a private bath and sitting room? The small people who might have done it would now be debarred by the cost. And would anyone who could stay at home cruise in the Irish Sea in winter? Maddest of all, would anyone who could get ashore remain on a ship anchored off the coast, in cold weather certainly, and perhaps in wind or rain or fog as well? It was inexplicable.
A glance at his companions showed that their thoughts were travelling in the same direction as his own, all except Whitaker’s, who simply looked amused. But Bristow and Gillow were obviously as puzzled as he was, and Gladstone’s lips had gone into a thin line which suggested that if he disapproved the explanation, he would make the fact clear beyond possibility of error. It was Gladstone who spoke first.
“I don’t think, sir,” he said politely but with firmness, “that you can stop there. I think you must tell us the reason of these changes.”
Stott nodded. “I am about to do so. It’s for that purpose that we are met. I propose, or rather I am arranging, that the Hellenic will be a floating casino: a gambling ship.”
All four of his hearers stared at him, but before any of them could speak, Stott continued.
“I have already entered into a provisional agreement with the Casino authorities at Monte Plage. The ship will be altered to provide the required gaming rooms, and the Casino will supply the necessary manager and croupiers, as well as giving general help. The gambling will be carried out with scrupulous care – in fact, as impeccably as at Monte Plage itself. It’s a sport that English people have long wanted to have at home, and now they’re going to get it.”
For some moments there was silence and then the reactions of the little audience became vocal. In spite of his own participation, Morrison was interested in their variety.
Bristow’s face was glowing. “Magnificent!” he cried enthusiastically. “A stroke of genius! That’s the finishing touch that was needed to turn the thing into an absolute gold mine! Congratulations, Mr Stott!”
Stott seemed pleased. “Then you’re with me, Bristow?” he enquired, rather unnecessarily, Morrison thought.
“With you? Can you ask it?” His face changed suddenly. “But what about the law, sir? I’m afraid they’d stop us.”
“Meaker has got round that for us,” Stott answered. “We’ll come to it in turn.”
“Then I’m with you up to the hilt.”
“Good,” Stott returned. “And you, Gillow?”
“To the hilt also, sir,” the advertising manager protested, though with less enthusiasm.
“Good,” Stott repeated. “And what about you. Captain? Or,” he went on after a glance at Gladstone’s face, “perhaps you don’t care to express an opinion? It won’t affect your side of the affair, you know.”
The captain was frowning and his mouth had become an even narrower line. “It won’t affect the navigation, I agree. Mr Stott,” he answered in a low but rather sharp voice, “but I’ll take the liberty of answering your question all the same. To be candid, I don’t like your idea and I’ll have nothing to do with it. Further, I think you owe me an apology for assuming that I would captain your gambling hell, and I’ll wait to hear it before wishing you ‘Good morning’.”
Morrison held his breath, expecting an outburst. But Stott merely smiled sardonically. “You have it, captain,” he answered in a slightly mocking tone, with a wide gesture as if to make the apology inclusive. “You have it now. If you don’t like my idea, I can assure you the loss is mine.”
Gladstone got up. “Then the matter is satisfactorily closed between us. Good morning, Mr Stott. I’m – I’m” – he hesitated, then his good manners triumphed – “sorry that our association has ended in this way.” He bowed to the company and disappeared.
Stott smiled at the closed door. “A good man, but crotchety. We’re well rid of him. Ring up the second on the list, Whitaker. Captain Hardwick, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.” The Secretary made a note.
Stott turned to Morrison. “Now, Morrison, we’ve had two opinions in this matter. What’s yours? Do you wish to stay or leave us?”
For a moment Morrison hesitated. He made no pretence to stricter morals than other people, yet he didn’t like the idea that he would be helping to carry on a gambling hell. What would he feel like, he thought, if he learnt that his livelihood had brought someone else to suicide?
Then he told himself that such ideas were morbid. If there were suicides, it would not be his fault. Besides, not only had he no other job, but nowhere else could he get another like this. He mustn’t be a sentimental fool.
The others had noticed his doubt, and now he hastened to assure Stott of his loyalty. He thought Stott’s expression slightly mocking as he nodded, while Bristow’s glare, which had been fixed on him in surprise and indignation, relaxed. Morrison saw he had had a narrow escape. A little more delay and he might have antagonised both men and perhaps permanently damaged his prospects.
“A nuisance about Gladstone,” Stott observed, passing from the subject. “We’ll be held up now till we can get Hardwick, unless,” he added with scorn, “his old maid’s conscience or his damned stuck-up pride prevents his – er – acceptances” – he stressed the word – “of the job. But you, Morrison, can begin work. You’ll have to check your results with the new captain, but, still, you can do a good deal yourself.”
“I’d be glad to get busy, sir.”
“Very well. I’ll take you first, and then you can get away. Your job will be to arrange transport between the passengers’ homes and the ship. I’ll tell you briefly what I have in mind, though it won’t work as I’m stating it. You’ll have to devise modifications to make it work. You follow?”
“I follow, sir.”
“Good. Then I want the ship during the summer – it’ll be the summer before we can put her on – to cruise to all the best bits of coast from the scenic or general interest points of view: and you’ll have to find out what those are. If possible, I’d like to include the Orkneys and Shetlands, the Hebrides and the west coast of Ireland. But, I want also a frequent connection to and from London, a daily connection, if possible. It would be ideal, for instance, if there was a good train leaving London about ten in the morning which would reach the ship that day, and a train back from the ship arriving in Town about six in the evening.”
“You think day travel best, do you, sir? What about travelling by sleeper and saving two days?”
“I’m open to consider any properly worked out suggestions. This, again, would be ideal: and again perhaps impracticable. Suppose the ship is going south. Your tender leaves her some time in the morning and catches, for argument’s sake, a good train at Holyhead. It then hurries to Fishguard and meets the contingent which has left London in the morning. It puts them on board. It follows the ship and the next morning puts a party ashore to get the London train at Penzance, steams on to Plymouth and takes aboard those who have come from London that day. You see the idea?”
“I see it, sir. I think it’s splendid. But it would scarcely work for the Orkneys or the Hebrides.”
“I agree. But that’s where you come in. Your first job will be to make a scheme for the whole coast. You will first make a list of convenient ports with good rail connections, then you’d better go and see them all, so as to be sure that they’re suitable from the transshipment point of view. You follow me?”
“Yes, sir. Clearly.”
“You will get your expenses from Whitaker. Note that, Whitaker. Then make a provisional timetable for all ports at which the Hellenic might happen to call.”
“Am I limited to one tender?”
“No, you’re not limited to anything, though naturally I want to keep expenses down. But I want to run practically in all weathers. Therefore your tender must be a good size. There you’ll have to consult the captain. Don’t forget it may be too big for some of the smaller ports. Remember also that the Hellenic will come to the most convenient places to meet the tender, and can fill up time by making circuits.”
“Yes, sir, I think I’ve got all that clear. I’ll get on with it at once.”
“Then when that’s done you may consider stores. They’ll have to go out by the tender, and enough time will have to be allowed for transferring them to the ship.”
“What about coaling?”
“She uses oil fuel and you’ll have to arrange times for fuelling. The oil tanker and the tender might lie alongside at the same time, one forward and one aft. Or, if the weather permitted, at opposite sides. Something of that kind: think it out. You’ll have to discuss that also with the captain. Any other questions?”
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“Good. Then there’s the point Bristow raised, which may affect your arrangements. In order to avoid a gaming prosecution under the British law, we shall have to adopt certain precautions. Tell them, Meaker, will you?”
“Eh? Yes.” The solicitor woke up to life. “Formalities, you know.” He nodded, twinkling his little eyes. “Can’t risk being run in, eh? There are only three; all very simple. First, the ship must be foreign owned. Next, she must keep outside British territorial waters: means more than three miles from the coast. Third, if she should want to come into a British port, the gaming rooms must be sealed before she enters the three-mile limit, and kept sealed till she leaves it again. That clear, eh?”
Morrison nodded, but before he could speak Stott chimed in. “Naturally I don’t want the nuisance of sealing the rooms unnecessarily, so she must be kept as much as possible out of ports. That’s why you must use a tender and have stores and oil transferred at sea. Any questions about that?”
“No sir; it seems quite clear.”
Stott nodded. “Then we needn’t keep you, Morrison. Get ahead with your enquiries, and if you get up against any snags, let me know.”
Morrison would have liked to hear what was still to be discussed, but after so pointed a dismissal he dared not remain. He was disappointed at being left out of the inner counsels, but he felt he could later get any information he wanted from Bristow.
There now began one of the most delightful periods of his life. He was his own master, free from the routine of the office and able to plan without let or hindrance his comings and goings. His new job was at the same time his fascinating hobby. He enjoyed the planning and the travelling and the continual interviews with interesting people. In fact, he was as happy as the day was long.
The second applicant on Stott’s list, Captain Hardwick, had jumped at the chance of taking over the Hellenic, and had been duly appointed Master. Unlike Gladstone, he had no scruples about commanding a gambling ship. “I don’t do it myself,” he said; “can’t afford it. And my officers won’t do it, either. I’ll see to that. But the passengers can bankrupt themselves to their hearts’ content for all I care.”
Morrison met him to discuss his report, and liked what he saw of him. In appearance, Hardwick was not unlike Gladstone: the same tall figure and strong face, and with the same air of personality and command. But this man was younger and more approachable. He had been, recently promoted captain of one of the smaller P & O ships, and as his prospects with his own company were good, Morrison wondered why he had applied for the Hellenic. However, he had done so, and Morrison was glad he had got her, believing he would prove a pleasant man to work with. His first job had been to take the Hellenic round to the Clyde, where her alterations were already in progress.
Bristow, Morrison found, was growing slightly aloof. He was putting in a vast amount of legal work, principally with Meaker. Usually he was too busy to see Morrison when the latter called, and when they did meet he would only discuss details of Morrison’s job. Morrison was disappointed at this want of confidence. However, he reminded himself that the venture was Bristow’s and Stott’s, and that he was lucky to be in it even on these terms.
To his own immense satisfaction, he had solved the problem of transport to and from the ship when she was too far from London to be reached by rail. Stott had vetoed a longer journey than six hours – five in the train and one on a tender, which ruled out everywhere outside England. Morrison had suggested flying boats. Flying boats, he pointed out, could reach in three or four hours the furthest point to which the Hellenic would ever penetrate. The morning outward plane could make the return journey in the afternoon. Moreover, such a service would be popular. It would be considered up to date and incidentally would be the best advertisement that could be devised.
Captain Hardwick had next added his quota. He believed that he could design a floating pier which could be lowered from the Hellenic, and to which the flying boat could come alongside. This would enable passengers to walk direct from plane to ship, without using a launch.
Only on the question of cost was the flying boat idea doubtful. “It couldn’t be done with Bristow’s original scheme,” Stott declared, “but I think it could with mine. We’ll get out figures and see.”
After a report from his experts, he approved the suggestion. Indeed, he went further, deciding that the boats should be used irrespective of the position of the ship. Every morning, Sundays included, one or more would start from the nearest possible point to London, visit the ship wherever she lay, leave in the afternoon and arrive back at the starting point before dinner time.
After these thrilling experiences there came to Morrison a period of monotony. He and all concerned settled down to work. Time began to slip by. Weeks drew out into months, while the launching of the scheme drew nearer. By January Morrison’s plans and timetables were complete, and arrangements had been made for the hire and staffing of the flying boats. The bogus French company had been formed and had “bought” the Hellenic. Details of her French registration and certificate had been f
ixed up. The alterations to the ship were well in hand and she would shortly be ready for service. A large number of the officers and crew had been engaged, and more were being selected daily. Then towards the middle of March the first advertisement appeared.
This took the form of a short news paragraph saying that an enterprising French company were proposing to provide the British public with a double attraction: a chance of luxurious cruising to the beauty spots of their own islands, and an up-to-date and well-run casino, where those who wished might indulge in harmless gaming.
The paragraph appeared in all the principal papers and was followed by a flood of letters to the editor from persons all over the country. (Each received from two to five guineas for allowing his or her name and address to be attached to Gillow’s effort.) Most of the letters were complimentary, congratulating the French firm on its determination to confer this double benefit on the British, and arguing that if we in this country had not groaned under the most grandmotherly legislation known to history, we would long since have had our own casinos. A few – enough to dispel the suspicion of inspiration – took a rabid view of the evils of gambling, and asked what the Churches were doing to allow such a blatant misuse of the sea.
In reply to these letters, several other people wrote from genuine conviction, with the nett result that by the time the correspondence ceased, interest in the venture was both general and keen. This was kept alive by judiciously worded advertisements until at last, a month before the time, Tuesday, May 24th, was named as the opening date.
Fatal Venture Page 6