The Mystery of the Mud Flats

by Maurice Drake

  ‘That’ll keep,’ said he. ‘Have you brought the passengers?’

  ‘Yes. I reported to Antwerp, as you told me.’

  ‘I haven’t been there since. Where are they?’

  ‘In the fo’castle.’

  ‘Send ’em aft, will you? They can go ashore here—in that boat alongside. But I want a word with ’em first. How’ve they been?’

  ‘Seasick,’ I told him.

  ‘All three?’

  ‘No. Sellick’s been useful.’

  ‘Who’s Sellick?’

  ‘The chap who shipped as mate. That’s what he chooses to call himself—Dick Sellick. I notice the others call him Frank.’

  ‘What odds? “A rose by any other name …” You say he’s useful. Let him call himself what he likes. That you, ’Kiah?’

  ‘Ah!’ said ’Kiah, very pleased. ‘Yu got away from they Dutch coppers, then, Mr Vute?’

  ‘A sure thing I did, my son. I’ll do as much for you next time. Just turn out those two seasick coves and send ’em aft to the cabin, will you?’

  We went below together, and a moment or two later the others joined us. They were in a bad way, both of them, for seasickness is no joke; but they were evidently glad to see Voogdt again.

  ‘Hello, cockies,’ said he, shaking hands. ‘You’ve had a bit of a doing, the skipper tells me. Cheer up! You’re going ashore right now. Take the train for Antwerp. When you get there call at the George Hotel—it’s near the docks, an English house—and fetch a letter addressed to me in the name of V. Austin. That’s right?’ he asked me.

  ‘Quite right.’

  ‘Then across the river to the Waesland station, go to Terneuzen, and put up at the hotel by the locks. We shall be there before you, but remember you don’t know us, and you never saw this Luck and Charity before in your lives. Get that firmly fixed in your heads. And you never saw me, or West, or any of us before. You’d better be English tourists—or artists—or any old thing you like. But you take no interest whatever in shipping. Savvy that? All you do is to loaf about there and wait instructions. And now be off. You’ve time to get some grub ashore—I expect you’re beginning to feel peckish, eh?—and catch the boat train at midnight. Roosendaal’s the junction for Antwerp. Don’t forget to call for my letter.’

  ‘What are we to do with it?’

  ‘Anything in it beyond the report?’ Voogdt asked me.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then burn it. It’s of no importance; but we mustn’t leave things lying about, no matter how harmless they are.’

  The two were overside with their belongings inside of ten minutes, Voogdt chatting with Sellick in the meanwhile. When the boat had disappeared in the darkness, heading for the pierheads, he came below with me again, and sat himself down, warming his hands. Opening the top of the stove he stared into the glowing fire.

  ‘It’s a good thing to be home again, and warm,’ said he. ‘I’ve been in some cold shops.’

  ‘Out with it,’ said I. ‘Tell us all about it. What have you discovered?’

  ‘Precious little, when you come to reckon it all up. And yet—I’ve got two or three facts. Facts that certainly don’t fit in with my theories about Secret Service, though.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Not so fast. I think the best thing to do will be to tell you the whole yarn from the start—from the time ’Kiah put me ashore.’

  ‘At Hoogplaat.’

  ‘Was that the name of the crib? I’d forgotten. I didn’t stay there. When he left me—did you know he wanted to lend me a couple of quid when I landed? … No? He did, then. Good old ’Kiah! … Well, having refused the loan, much to his disgust, I got away from the waterside as fast as I could. There was a road leading southwards, the usual pattern, straight as a line with interminable rows of poplars and dykes on either side, and I followed that. In about two hours I found myself at a village—Iisendyk I think was the name—whence there was a light railway to Eecloo. For a wonder there was a late train, at nine p.m., which I caught, and reached Eecloo just before ten. Stayed the night there and got to Ghent early next morning. What I was after was to trace those German powder barges, if possible. Cheyne said they had all gone up river, but I don’t put a lot of reliance on that gentleman, and thought I’d make a few inquiries on my own. However, none had come to Ghent. Three hours’ hanging about the dock offices convinced me of that. They understand how to manage shipping over here: ’tisn’t the anyhow scramble you find in our ports. With a little palm oil and a few inquiries I was very soon able to trace the record of every boat that had entered the port since the German sheds were opened, and they’ve sent nothing that way.

  ‘So I took the evening train to Antwerp, and started the same search there. At first it looked like a long job, which is why I told you to write me there; but in the evening I met a chap in the George Hotel, water-clerk to a firm of brokers, who knew the place and business like the back of his hand. I made up to him, pretty mannered as you please, stood him a few drinks, and he introduced me to a man in the Customs. More drinks, more palm oil, and before one a.m. I’d checked every entry of imported explosives that had entered the port in the last twelve months. Not one of them was from Terneuzen.’

  I showed my surprise. ‘Did they go farther up river, then?’

  ‘That’s what I thought till I found cargoes entered for Mechlin. Antwerp’s the first port across the Belgian frontier, don’t you see, and every load of stuff coming into the country is checked there. The Terneuzen barges would have been entered if they’d only passed the place, no matter where they were going.’

  ‘Where else could they go?’

  ‘That’s what puzzled me. I got a map and pondered over it. Get out your North Sea chart and I’ll show you … Right. Here we are. Axel—Terneuzen. Now then, on up the river. See this little tidal gutter joining the West to the East Scheldt?’

  ‘But that’s embanked. The railway runs across it—the main line from Flushing to the Continent.’

  ‘A spidery bridge—not an embankment. It’s tidal—pretty hopeless-looking mud-flats, I grant you; but not barred altogether. Once you’re through there you’re in a maze of mud-flats and islands pierced here and there by the deep channel of a big river, and the islands cut up worse than ever by small canals. In fact, what with mud and what with tides I’m hanged if you can tell where water ends and land begins. Look what a muddle ’tis. Beveland, Duiveland, Tholen, Voorne, Schouwen, Goeree, Beijer Island; just a maze of ’em. A maze. There’s no other name for it.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, I took train to a place called Krabbendyk on Beveland, and on the way looked out of the window and saw this gutter full of water, it being high tide. I walked round the town, admired all there was to admire, which was mostly cows, and then went back to Bergenop-Zoom.’

  ‘I had your letter from there.’

  ‘When I wrote on Saturday I rather thought I should be staying at Bergen, and so told you to anchor here, thinking I could run down to Flushing and join you at the last moment. There didn’t seem any other course open. Unless the barges went to sea—which was almost impossible—they must pass into the East Scheldt, and I meant to do sentry-go at Bergen and watch out for the next to pass. However, that very Saturday night, having a taste for low company, I sat in a little waterside pothouse and made the acquaintance of a chap who was engineer of a pleasure launch belonging to some rich coffee merchant at Rotterdam. This coffee man had left the launch at Bergen and gone home by train, and his engineer was on the spree. I joined him, and so charmed him with my affable manners and conversation that he offered to give me a trip back to Rotterdam aboard the launch. I accepted, glad to get out of Bergen for the Sunday, and on our way through this precious maze, what should pass us but a barge flying the powder-flag. That was in this channel—the Keeten—between Duiveland and Tholen, and my engineer pal told me a good many barges from Antwerp took that road to Dordrecht.

  ‘That was enough for me. I left t
he launch, most ungratefully, at Rotterdam, and skipped for Dort by an afternoon train. Had a look at the docks, but saw no signs of any explosive depot, so went to a cheap hotel, and retired to my bedroom with my map. I fell asleep on the chair, and woke with a bump on the floor. So I chucked myself on the bed and slept for ten solid hours.’

  ‘Did you find any barge at Dort?’

  ‘Never looked to see. When I woke early Monday morning I picked up the map again and—it was an inspiration, no less, Jem—all the tangle of waterways seemed to fall into order before my eyes, just as a child’s puzzle maze becomes clear in a moment when a pencil line is drawn through its proper path to the centre. Nearly all the canals leading towards the frontier seemed to converge at Tiel, and to Tiel I went, first train. All as before: low pubs, free drinks, and the information I wanted, before ten a.m. A powder barge had passed through there on Saturday—bound for Arnhem, my informant thought, though he wasn’t sure about that. On to Arnhem; to find the barge had left that same morning, bound down the Iissed for Zwolle, on her way to Delfzyl. So off I went in chase, and actually saw her from the train, crawling along behind two stuggy Flemish tow-horses. It was at a lonely part of the canal, and not only was the chap at the wheel smoking, but her cabin stove-pipe was smoking too. And the red swallow-tail flying overhead all the time! How’s that?’

  ‘I’m glad I wasn’t aboard her.’

  ‘So I thought, at the time. Not that I ever imagined it was powder they were carrying, all the same. Well, this was just before reaching Zutphen. I whipped out my map, left the train at Zutphen, and took another for the frontier. I was going by guesswork, I grant you, but it happened to be right.’

  ‘What had you guessed, then?’

  ‘Shut up. Let me tell my yarn in my own way. This barge was for Zwolle, which is near the mouth of the Vecht. The quickest way from there over the frontier is up that river to Gramsbergen. On the German side the river skirts a God-forsaken morass called the Bourthanger Moor—miles and miles of it, through which is cut a canal, strategic, I suppose—parallel with the frontier. This canal enters the Ems a few miles above Leer, close to the mouth of the river. If anything funny was going to happen that was the place for it—in that watery deserted bog. So I took train to Salzbergen, and stayed there the night, registering at the hotel as a sailor on the way to Emden to join my ship. Next morning I went to Ihrhove, the junction for the West Friesland line, and thence to Weener, where the railway crosses the Ems below its junction with the Bourthanger Canal. This was Tuesday morning, and I hadn’t been there six hours before a barge passed under the railway bridge, red swallow-tail and all, bound for—where d’ye think?’

  ‘Delfzyl?’

  ‘Wrong again. Emden.’ He looked triumphant. ‘She’d changed her mind about her port of destination whilst passing through those morasses. What d’ye think of that?’

  ‘I don’t see anything in it.’

  ‘I do, then. This company, with alleged headquarters at Delfzyl in Holland, is sending a steady stream of barges by devious routes into Germany, loaded with wolframite. Think of the tons and tons they’re sending. They whack our primitive methods, hands down. Here are we, messing about Channel, with long voyages and short voyages, delayed by all sorts of weather, whilst they’re sending a steady procession—forty tons at a time—by safe and certain routes. Explosives be blowed! But isn’t it a noble notion? Not a soul dares to tamper with their tarboys, or retorts, or whatever they are. We must do the same business, Jem. I’ll put it before Ward next trip, and we must lay in rope-screens and all the rest of the stage properties. A grand idea! Why, we can go on for years. I see myself a millionaire yet.’

  ‘Then you haven’t been to Terneuzen at all?’

  ‘What need, man? I’ve found out the essentials of the business. We know they’re on the same lay as we are, and we know where they’re shipping their goods. What more do you want?’

  ‘Look here,’ I said. ‘I grant that your head’s worth ten of mine, but I’d like to point out one thing to you. You haven’t discovered what you set out to do, and that’s the meaning of that road-making at midnight.’

  ‘True,’ said he. ‘But that can soon be done, now we know what they’re at. My conjectures were all wrong—about the German Secret Service business, I mean. They’re just the same sort of thieves as we are.’

  We got up anchor just after midnight, and had a quick journey up the narrow channels, anchoring again off Terneuzen at three o’clock on Friday morning. There was a light in the office, and in answer to our hail Cheyne came out and called to us to send a boat ashore. ’Kiah and Sellick had just turned in for a few hours’ sleep, so I took the dinghy ashore myself, and he came sliding and squattering down over the mud-banks to meet it.

  ‘Have you heard the news?’ he asked, when he got down into the cabin, muddied half-way down to his knees.

  ‘What news?’

  ‘Leonard Ward’s dead.’

  ‘Never!’ we chorused in astonishment. ‘What did he die of?’

  ‘Cab accident in Duncannon Street—by Charing Cross. I haven’t had any particulars yet, but I’ve had a newspaper and a letter from Miss Brand. They’re scared to death, those girls.’

  ‘And what’s to do now?’ I asked. ‘Who’s to take over his work?’

  ‘Ah! Well you may ask. I can’t do it and be here too, can I? I don’t suppose either of you two can be spared—even if you knew the business—and I don’t know what to think, but I don’t fancy trusting Carwithen altogether. Eh?’

  ‘What do you suggest?’ Voogdt said quietly. ‘Haven’t you got a proposal ready?’

  ‘Well—look here, you two, what I say goes no farther, does it? Well, then, I don’t mind owning that Van Noppen has made me an offer on the quiet to buy us out.’

  ‘What’s the figure?’

  ‘I bluffed him, as I thought. Said we wouldn’t sell out under a hundred thousand. And if you’ll believe me, he rose to it. Thirty-three thousand quid apiece for the three of us. Isn’t that very near enough?’

  ‘What about the other partners?’ said Voogdt doubtfully.

  ‘Well—what about ’em? They won’t make trouble. They’re too badly scared over Leonard’s death. Besides, what do women know of business? And they’ve got enough already—more than enough.’

  It was Voogdt’s promptness saved the beast. Voogdt leant over between us and took him by the button hole.

  ‘This is talking,’ he said, in tones of admiration. ‘This is straight talk. Now you go on deck, Cheyne, just for ten minutes, and we’ll give you your answer.’

  The sweep went like a lamb, and Voogdt turned to me.

  ‘Put your hands in your pockets and keep ’em there,’ he said. You clumsy ass, you’ll muck the show. I’m going to get him down again, and arrange details. You sit tight there, and don’t open your mouth, except to say yes or no.’

  He called Cheyne down again. ‘Look here,’ he said. ‘As man to man, is that hundred thousand the outside figure?’

  ‘On my honour it is.’ Of all things, he chose to swear by his honour!

  ‘How much are you to get as bonus if you bring off the deal?’

  ‘I was to have ten per cent. commission—ten thousand quid.’

  ‘We want half that, just to make even money. Thirty-five thousand apiece for us, and forty thousand for you. Will that do?’

  Cheyne was evidently very relieved at our moderation.

  ‘That isn’t out of the way,’ he said.

  ‘Then tell Van Noppen we’ll meet him to discuss the matter in our office this evening at half-past nine. Don’t say we accept. We may screw a little more out of him. Agreed? Good enough. We shall be alongside emptying our hold before eight.’

  ‘Is it business to rob women?’

  ‘’Taint business to stay on deck cursing early of a cold morning, when you might be down below scheming to get to windward of the swine. Don’t you see we’re in a fix? If we don’t keep in with Cheyne, he busts the show
. Our only chance is to get him on our side and stick out for a higher price than Van Noppen’ll pay. Come below and I’ll persuade you.’

  ‘I won’t come below, and I won’t be persuaded,’ I said. ‘I feel as if I’d been rolling in muck and I’ll stay up here in fresh air for a bit.’

  ‘All right. Be a fool,’ said he shortly, and went below. As for me, I stayed on deck till daylight, disgusted with everything.

  CHAPTER XX

  OF A DISSOLUTION OF PARTNERSHIP

  THE night was over already, really. There was the waking feeling in the air that comes before the dawn. I walked up and down, and the more I walked the more my anger grew. When the clean sky and the first fresh wind of morning told me again what I knew very well before, that Pamela Brand was the only girl in the world for me, I had only to glance ashore to be reminded that Cheyne had once dared to think she was his for the asking. That was the sting of it all; that was what made my anger venomous. Love and hate warred in me: putting the love in the background of my mind, I promised the rising sun that I would square accounts with Cheyne before it set again.

  It came up round and clear, turning marshes and river to gold, and then hid again behind a bank of cloud to make its toilet for a fine bright day. Sellick was first on deck, looking about him curiously, and I told him to rouse ’Kiah out whilst I waked Voogdt to help get alongside the wharf. Voogdt and Sellick in the dinghy towed the Luck and Charity a couple of hundred yards, and then took the ends of our warps ashore, so that we were tied up within half an hour, and then all hands knocked off to breakfast.

  Voogdt gave me a sharp talking-to over the table; but I was tired and sulky, and wouldn’t promise anything, until from slanging me he got to asking as a favour that I would give him a fortnight to prepare the business for a shock.

  ‘We’ve been good pals, Jem,’ he said. ‘Don’t go and spoil my plans now. For heaven’s sake keep your hands off Cheyne for the present, and I promise you, as soon as we can possibly manage it, I’ll give you the word to go for him?’