The Mystery of the Mud Flats

by Maurice Drake

  ‘Oh, you!’ she cried. ‘I thought you’d never come. Take this thing, for heaven’s sake!’

  I measured the distance to the cruiser with my eye, and saw it was a hopeless case. She couldn’t miss us, try as she would. That little fool of a girl had steered wide of the barges she should have followed, and either the cruiser must cut them down—and perhaps the tug, too—or sink us. It was no good their going astern; she had too much way on to stop. The thought of the girl under those whirling propellers made me sick, so I semaphored the cruiser frantically with my hands to stop her engines. When she was closer I shouted it, fit to burst my lungs. ‘Stop your engines,’ I roared; heard them stop, thank God! and then she was on us.

  Poor old Luck and Charity. Good old ship. She’d been my home through good times and through bad, and it was pitiful to see the end of her like that. Not that I had much time to waste on pity; there was that mischievous devil of a girl to look after. She clung to my arm, quiet now, as the cruel ram of that beastly cruiser slid under my poor old boat, lifted her and canted her over a little, and then sliced off her bows, cutting through hull and spar and rigging easily as a ploughshare cuts through grass roots in a field. It was over in a second; crash and slice; and the steep gray bulk was sliding past us, growing higher and higher as we sank.

  There was nothing gallant or picturesque about our rescue. Our navy doesn’t wave flags and shout; it just does its job and grumbles about it afterwards. Being all wood the Luck and Charity sank slowly, and we sat on the highest part of her stern until the cruiser’s boat took us off. We were then about waist-deep, sitting. The boat backed away just as the sinking hull turned; the black water rolled over her, and that was the last of my poor old boat. There was a quiet order, the men gave way at the oars, and we were off in pursuit of the receding cruiser’s searchlight.

  Drenched and muddled as I was, my wits all woolgathering with the sudden confusion of it all, I never thought of ’Kiah till then—and then with a sudden chill at heart.

  ‘Where’s ’Kiah?’ I cried to the whimpering, shivering girl. ‘You—where’s ’Kiah?’

  ‘Ashore.’ She was crying quietly, and I ought to have pitied her, but I was past that.

  ‘When did he get ashore?’

  ‘He never c-came on board. I met him and told him your orders were that he must sleep ashore tonight—and then I c-came in his place.’

  ‘What on earth did you do that for?’ I asked furiously, but she wouldn’t answer. The men rowing regarded us stolidly, but I could see the midshipman in charge was alive with curiosity, so I asked no more questions.

  When he got aboard the cruiser—two men had to help her up the gangway, for her sopped skirt clung about her so that she could scarcely walk—I asked her again what she meant by it. For the moment we were alone, the crew that had picked us up busy hoisting their boat aboard, and nobody was near us but a wooden-faced marine on sentry-go. Still she wouldn’t answer, but only stood there sniffing and shivering with her head down, like a naughty child being scolded.

  ‘Tell me,’ I said. ‘I will know what you meant by it.’

  ‘I wanted to go to sea with you alone.’ She looked up at me sideways, and there was a gleam of wickedness in her eye.

  ‘What on earth for?’ I demanded, raging.

  Her hair was coming down and hung across her face; her clothes dripped, clinging about her, and if ever she looked a child of the gutter she did then. But her tears had stopped and to all seeming she had composed herself, for confident impudence shone in her eyes behind their tangled veil of hair.

  ‘I—I thought I’d show you a woman was as good as a man,’ she said.

  ‘You’ve shown it by sinking ’Kiah’s boat.’

  ‘Y-yes. But I can give him a better one. There’s something else—’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I—I’ve been away with you alone. You’ve compromised my reputation. And now you can’t in decency refuse to marry me, can you? You will, won’t you?’ She came close to me, wheedling. ‘You will marry me, won’t you? And—and we’ll decide about that obedience business afterwards. I—I’ll promise to say “obey” in the marriage service if you like. It’s only a matter of form. Isn’t it?’

  THE END

  THE DETECTIVE STORY CLUB

  E. C. BENTLEY • TRENT’S LAST CASE

  E. C. BENTLEY • TRENT INTERVENES

  E. C. BENTLEY & H. WARNER ALLEN • TRENT’S OWN CASE

  ANTHONY BERKELEY • THE WYCHFORD POISONING CASE

  ANTHONY BERKELEY • THE SILK STOCKING MURDERS

  LYNN BROCK • NIGHTMARE

  BERNARD CAPES • THE MYSTERY OF THE SKELETON KEY

  AGATHA CHRISTIE • THE MURDER OF ROGER ACKROYD

  AGATHA CHRISTIE • THE BIG FOUR

  WILKIE COLLINS • THE MOONSTONE

  HUGH CONWAY • CALLED BACK

  HUGH CONWAY • DARK DAYS

  EDMUND CRISPIN • THE CASE OF THE GILDED FLY

  FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS • THE CASK

  FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS • THE PONSON CASE

  FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS • THE PIT-PROP SYNDICATE

  FREEMAN WILLS CROFTS • THE GROOTE PARK MURDER

  FRANCIS DURBRIDGE • BEWARE OF JOHNNY WASHINGTON

  J. JEFFERSON FARJEON • THE HOUSE OPPOSITE

  RUDOLPH FISHER • THE CONJURE-MAN DIES

  FRANK FROËST • THE GRELL MYSTERY

  FRANK FROËST & GEORGE DILNOT • THE CRIME CLUB

  ÉMILE GABORIAU • THE BLACKMAILERS

  ANNA K. GREEN • THE LEAVENWORTH CASE

  DONALD HENDERSON • MR BOWLING BUYS A NEWSPAPER

  VERNON LODER • THE MYSTERY AT STOWE

  PHILIP MACDONALD • THE RASP

  PHILIP MACDONALD • THE NOOSE

  PHILIP MACDONALD • THE RYNOX MYSTERY

  PHILIP MACDONALD • MURDER GONE MAD

  PHILIP MACDONALD • THE MAZE

  NGAIO MARSH • THE NURSING HOME MURDER

  G. ROY McRAE • THE PASSING OF MR QUINN

  R. A. V. MORRIS • THE LYTTLETON CASE

  ARTHUR B. REEVE • THE ADVENTURESS

  FRANK RICHARDSON • THE MAYFAIR MYSTERY

  R. L. STEVENSON • DR JEKYLL AND MR HYDE

  J. V. TURNER • BELOW THE CLOCK

  EDGAR WALLACE • THE TERROR

  ISRAEL ZANGWILL • THE PERFECT CRIME

  FURTHER TITLES IN PREPARATION

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