Towards the end of the evening the talk shifted round from coasting to deep-sea cruising; and of course the Brand girl must know all about where I’d been. When I told her, Cheyne wanted to know what boats I’d been in.
‘The D.W.I.,’ I said.
‘What D.W.I.?’
‘I only know one company of the name—the Deutsche-West-Indie Company.’
‘Oh! a German line. That’s a swell company though. What were you? Quartermaster?’
‘I was third officer on their Oldenburgh when I chucked the job at Kingston,’ I said.
That took Master Cheyne back a bit. I wondered whether he remembered about his blowing-off about having been in Warbeck’s. Ward and Miss Lavington looked at him with surprise—and again with that queer air of accusation. From their faces one would think he’d been remiss in something. But I hadn’t time to take much notice, for the interrogation lights were waking in the Brand girl’s eyes again, and she started another catechism. Where and why had I chucked the Oldenburg?
Of course that meant telling her all the yarn about Kingston and the earthquake, and when I’d done it was time to go. They were all very nice, shook hands all round, and Miss Lavington hoped I’d join them again when next in port if they were there, and so on, and so on; but even so there was something in their manner I couldn’t fathom, and I came away with the notion that I’d left Cheyne behind me to undergo a heckling about something he’d left undone.
It might have been a strange echo of my own thoughts that came from behind the curtains of Voogdt’s bunk when I got down into the cabin.
‘Well, have they pumped you dry?’ were his first words.
CHAPTER VII
CONCERNING A PENALTY FOR CURIOSITY
VOOGDT asked me the same question once or twice next day, but for once I had an answer ready for him. Each time ‘Somebody coming, Austin’ sent him down below like a trap-door spider, and though I had him that way over and over again, and though he knew I was fooling him and cursed me for it, yet he never hesitated an instant, but, even whilst he doubted me; dived into his hole again and again. It was very evident he was extra anxious to keep out of sight.
I resented his repeated question all the more because I felt there was some great reason for it. Worrying wouldn’t mend it, though, and so as usual I put the whole thing out of my mind and drove the work as hard as I could, in order to get Voogdt away from Terneuzen unobserved. Cheyne was down the day after the dinner-party, working as hard as ever, and a bit more civil to me—in consequence of the D.W.I. revelation, I suppose—and we took in a good thirty-two or three tons of ballast and got away to sea again early next morning without seeing any more of Ward and the womenfolk. When we got clear of the shore Voogdt was able to come up from his hole in the cabin. If ’Kiah or Rance came aft he could hide in his bunk, and with the skylight shut down the noises of the wind and water outside would keep our voices from the helmsman, provided we spoke low.
‘What a time you’ve been,’ Voogdt said, when he’d dragged up his mattress and blankets and replaced the trap-door. ‘I thought for certain you’d get away last night.’
‘We got in a bit of extra ballast.’
‘How much this trip?’
‘Thirty-three tons, I expect.’
His face showed unbounded astonishment, eyes and mouth open.
‘Why—why—? What on earth d’ye want that lot for? We used to reckon twenty a heavy load.’
‘We don’t want it. That is to say, it’s not necessary, of course. But, as you know, they want it cleared away.’
‘How much cargo last voyage?’
‘Thirty-five tons.’
‘And now you’re taking away thirty-three of ballast. It’s mad—sheer lunacy. And it pays.’
‘They say so, at all events.’
‘They tell the truth, then, for once. I know it pays—have spent my last summer’s savings and most of your loan just to find out that much.’
‘Where’ve you been?’ I asked.
‘In Birmingham and the surrounding district, poking my nose into other folks’ affairs. And bar that one fact, that Ward and Miss Lavington are making money, I haven’t got a penn’orth of information worth the having. How are they making it, Jem? That’s what beats me. Not at this trade. We know that, don’t we?’
‘They say it pays.’
‘How can it? I’ve been into the thing like an auditor. I’ve gone over every trip we did last summer; priced the cargoes, found out current freights, read up old market reports, and generally put the business through a sieve. And every voyage shows a loss—every single voyage. What d’ye make of that?’
‘You must have got hold of the wrong prices. They say it pays.’
‘Oh, dry up,’ he cut in. ‘You make me tired, you poll-parrot. I tell you I’ve been into the thing to the uttermost farthing. I’ve assumed them buying and selling in the best markets. I’ve allowed for the fact that they’ve no competition.’
‘But they have.’ It was my turn to interrupt this time.
‘What competition have they got?’ Voogdt asked scornfully
‘This German firm. Didn’t you see their sheds about a mile below us?’
‘How could I see anything when I left Terneuzen by night, and haven’t put my nose outside this hole since? What sort of crowd are they? Tell me all about them.’
I told him all I knew, and when I’d done he beat his forehead on the cabin table and groaned.
‘That finishes it,’ he said. ‘I’m gone in—dead—done for. There’s something in it, now, for certain, and I’ve spent hard money looking for it and can’t find out what it is. Never call me a pressman again. Call me a—you’re a sailor, aren’t you, you lump?—call me a sailor, for the future.’
‘I’ll call you a sailor when I’ve done with you,’ I said. ‘You’ve something more to learn first, though. You haven’t tried this winter cruising, deserter.’
‘And I’m not so sure I will, either,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Where are you for this time? Newhaven? I’ve good mind to borrow more money from you there, and jump the ship again.’
‘Don’t do that,’ I said. ‘I’m sick of this lonesome cruising, and it’s even a sort of pleasure to see your ugly mug again. Stay on. We’ll keep Rance to help do the heavy work.’
His eyes twinkled. ‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘But I may have to go, Jem, all the same. I must get to the bottom of this business, or I shall die of complicated interrogation marks in my innards. This German firm settles it. They must be getting something out of the trade somehow; but for the life of me I cannot see how it’s done. Get that into your head.’
‘How do you know they’re making money then?’ I asked.
‘Two years ago Ward had a job at Mason College worth three hundred a year. He lived in diggings and lived small. Miss Lavington was a bit better off, but not much. She and Miss Brand were both students at the same college. Her income—Miss L’s, I mean—was derived from two steamers her father left her. The Brand girl had some small property as well, I believe, and they lived together, also in digs. Little Brand was then under age, and your lovely Lavington was one of her trustees.’
‘Miss Brand was a student, was she? What was her line?’
‘She was a student. Now she’s a B.Sc.’
‘That little guttersnipe a Bachelor of Science?’
‘Where was I? Oh, about the money. Well, Ward’s thrown up his paid professorship, and now holds a sort of honorary visiting appointment, and Miss Lavington’s sold her steamers.’
‘That doesn’t sound like making money.’
‘That’s the funny part of it. On the face of it that’s what any casual observer would say. But they’re just dripping with money, Jem. I’ve got behind the scenes, which used to be my business, and there I learn that Ward and his girl are investing money—big money—in dozens of concerns. To give you only one instance, they took up ten thousand quid of that Japanese municipal loan only last November. And the all
otments in that loan were twenty-five per cent. of the applications. Those two between ’em had applied for forty thousand quid’s worth of scrip! It’s unbelievable, isn’t it?’
‘What other business concerns have they?’
‘Not a thing—except as shareholders. And every investment they hold has been taken up since the opening of these tin sheds at Terneuzen. You take my tip, there’s something devilish fishy in it. Big smuggling think? We should surely have spotted that, shouldn’t we? And now this German firm are on their track. It beats me! It beats me!’ And he slammed his hand down on the table with a bang.
‘Don’t make such a row. D’you want Rance to come down to see what’s the matter? Tell me more. Are they living in a big way?’
‘No. In diggings, just the same; but they seem to make holiday all the time, as you see. Ward does his correspondence from the Birmingham office of the company, a shabby hole near Snow Hill, giving on the railway goods shed at the back. There seems to be very little business done there; but I didn’t bother about the place much. Only one queer thing about it; and that’s the clerk in charge.’
‘What about him?’
‘Well, he used to be a solicitor, and was reckoned one of the smartest men in the city, until he came a purler—gambling on ’Change. That put his light out. He was struck off the rolls and hung about at a loose end for months. Then Ward took him on, and he sits in that office all day, doing nothing, apparently. I tried to make his acquaintance, and, building on his past record, was a sporty, devil-may-care, boon companion. But it was the wrong prescription. He was as close as an oyster and cut me dead a dozen times before he could shake me off. The Birmingham office itself isn’t any size, and I thought the profits, if they really came from this trading, would be more easily detected at the Terneuzen end of the business. In fact I still think the Snow Hill office is only a blind.’
‘Are the other two boats making the money?’
He shook his head. ‘I had one look at the Olive Leaf and, as far as I could make out, she’s on the same lay as we are.’
‘How did you find out where she was?’
‘That was an accident, I admit. Fact is, I—er’—he stammered and got rather red over it—’I may as well own up that I was shadowing Ward. He was constantly leaving Birmingham, and I thought I’d find out where he went. A nice long chase he let me in for, too—all the way to Bo’ness, on the Firth of Forth, a bitter Scotch port, all granite and coal dust. And the first call he paid was aboard the Olive Leaf.’
‘What was she doing there?’
‘Fetching coal to Terneuzen. The same old tale, half cargoes at high freights. At least I suppose they’re high, for the boat’s well found, and the men seem content enough with her. I couldn’t find out what the freights actually were, for the skipper’s a dour Scotsman, with a fine notion of minding his own business.’
‘And Ward? What did he do aboard?’
‘That’s more than I can say. I wasn’t in the cabin with him and the skipper. But I hung about till the boat cleared the port, and then came back to Brum. She had nothing aboard but coals, though, I’ll swear—unless the lumps were hollow and filled with saccharine or opium or such dutiable goods of value. Besides, that’s nonsense. If there’s smuggling going on, it must be into England, not out of it. No, it beats me. Here’s the situation in a nutshell: they lose money on every voyage, and put away money all the time. How’s it done? Tell me that.’
‘I don’t explain it at all, and I don’t want to. I’m like your Scotch skipper—have a fine notion of minding my own business. We’re doing well, they’re doing well, and everything in the garden’s lovely. Why bother about it?’
‘Because I was made that way, I suppose. I can’t rest in the face of puzzles like this. And I will get to the bottom of it before I’m done—I will, mark you, or I shall bust. And now, sailor, hand me down Ramuntcho from that shelf and then go on deck and ’tend to your business. I’m a passenger for once, and don’t you forget it.’
I hung in the doorway a minute. ‘Is the Brand girl making money, too?’ I asked.
‘Dunno. I daresay—it looks like a family party. But the lovely Lavington’s the Catch of the Season. When next I go to Terneuzen I shall clip my beard and go ashore and make goo-goo eyes at her. Now go away. Loti’s better company than you are.’
We made a short voyage of it, and the first night in port, ’Kiah and Rance being ashore, Voogdt went on deck, and on their return greeted ’Kiah and announced his return to duty.
’Kiah grinned all over his face.
‘Glad t’ see ’ee agen, Mr Vute,’ he said. ‘’E—that there Rance—’e id’n no comp’ny fer a man.’
‘You’ll find me comp’ny enough,’ Voogdt announced. ‘I’ve a-learnt a braave lot o’ new naames t’ caal ’ee by ’Kiah. As for ’e’—he jerked his head Devonshire fashion towards the forecastle where Rance was retiring—’us’ll talk to ’e proper, in’s own lingo.’
He had a passage of arms with the islander before twenty-four hours had elapsed, much to ’Kiah’s gratification. I wasn’t present officially, but some of the echoes of the strife reached the cabin and ’Kiah afterwards retailed to me as much of it as he could understand.
‘I d’no what they was a-sayin’ of,’ he said. ‘Frenchy talk, ’twas. But Mr Vute, ’e went for Rance, proper. Rance, ’e ’adn’ nothin’ t’ say tu un, after five minutes of it.’
‘So you’ve been upsetting the peace of the ship,’ I said at tea-time.
‘That little beast. He’s a pig—sneering at ’Kiah and his ways. ’Kiah’s worth twenty of him.’
‘Was that it?’ I asked. ‘What did you say?’
‘Oh, just told him what I thought of him, and gave him a breezy sketch of his family and forbears. We shan’t have any more trouble with him in the future, I fancy.’
However, when we got back to Terneuzen we found ourselves let in for a mild row. The man had made no complaint to me of Voogdt’s behaviour, but the day after we landed Cheyne came down to the Luck and Charity and said Rance had told him he would leave the ship.
‘Let him,’ I said. ‘I don’t want him.’
‘We don’t like sacking men,’ Cheyne explained. ‘Besides, this Cockney hand of yours seems unreliable. He jumps the ship and rejoins at his own sweet will, whilst Rance is steady and sticks to his job.’
‘I can’t allow any dictation as to the management of my crew,’ I said.
‘No dictation at all, my dear chap. Only, you see we want to have a name for fair dealing with our men, and both Mr Ward and Miss Lavington dislike change. I don’t even want you to sack your Cockney, but Rance says he’ll leave unless he has an apology from him, and—well, I don’t want Rance to leave.’
‘I don’t want four men to work this boat,’ I said. ‘I admit Rance had been with me through the worst of the winter and I’ve no wish to sack him, but if he wants to go, let him go, and welcome.’
‘I’d rather he didn’t go, I tell you,’ Cheyne repeated. ‘Of course you can run the boat with three hands. I know that. But four can make things easier, and—and we’re prepared to make you an allowance towards the pay of a fourth hand, if you’ll keep him on.’
‘All right,’ I said, trying not to look surprised. ‘If you wish it I’ll tell Voogdt to apologise.’
‘Thanks. I shall be much obliged,’ said Cheyne, and departed.
Voogdt heard what I had to say in silence. ‘Rum game, isn’t it?’ he remarked when I’d done. ‘But of course I’ll apologise—I don’t take my dignity seriously like that little animal. Call him down now and I’ll get it over. And see here, Jem; when I’ve grovelled, do the friendly and produce a drink. I’d like to know what hold the little swab has over Cheyne.’
He apologised in due form—a genial, pleasant apology that any decent man would have accepted at once. Rance, like the ill-bred little beast he was, looked down over his nose and was stiff as starch, and Voogdt went all over it again, smiling. His repetition
and my whisky made the peace in the end, and they left the cabin like brothers. In the afternoon I heard Austin arranging to stand the little brute a dinner at Terneuzen in the evening.
He got back at midnight in a vile temper.
‘My head,’ he complained. ‘Like a kettle. And I’ve got the hiccups. That vermin insisted on my drinking level pegs with him, and I’m half screwed. “To bed, to bed, quo’ sleepy-head.” … And all to no purpose. I’ve spent good money feeding a pig, and I shall have a ghastly head in the morning—and I don’t believe he’s got any hold over Cheyne after all. I’m sure he hasn’t. And yet Cheyne requests me to apologise to him and salve his wounded feelings, and offers to pay part of his wages if he’s kept on. All of a piece, Jem—all mazed, crazed, dazed. All of it. Sleep, blessed sleep. “Hush me, O sorrow.”’
All next day he was like a bear with a sore head, but I didn’t trouble much about him, because the two girls came down to the wharf and paid me a visit, and I was put about to make them reasonably comfortable. Being cold on deck, they had tea in the cabin, which, with the stove alight and the skylight open, was bearable, if draughty. Both of them were as nice as could be, and their chatter and furs and scents made the bare cabin seem a very pleasant place for once. Ballasting had started, but it was flood tide and the men were ashore, Voogdt having gone for a stroll and ’Kiah and Rance to Terneuzen marketing, so everything was quiet.
It was a still, cold winter’s afternoon without a breath of air, and as we sat at tea the only sound audible outside was the lip-lip of the tide against our wooden walls. Then we heard music—a big liner going up-river to Antwerp, a string band playing in her saloon. Whilst we were listening three or four gunshots sounded in rapid succession somewhere down the river and the girls wanted to know what they were.
‘Somebody shooting duck or seagulls,’ I suggested.
‘If it’s duck, I’ve nothing to say. If it’s seagulls, it’s a shame. They’re no good, dead,’ said Miss Brand, in her downright way.
The Mystery of the Mud Flats Page 9