21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)
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“This thing will get on all our nerves before we are over,” Brand, a breezy newspaper man from the West, observed. “What with boat drill three times a day, and lifebelt parade going on all the time on the deck, one doesn’t get a chance to forget that we are liable to get a torpedo in our side at any moment.”
“Oh, these little gnats of Uncle Sam’s will look after us!” a more cheerful confrère observed. “Come into the smoking room and I’ll buy you a drink.”
A good deal of courage seemed to be sought in that direction, and presently, although the afterglow of the sunset was still brilliant, the decks were almost deserted. On the starboard side, only a man and a woman remained, and gradually, as though with a certain unwillingness, they drifted closer together. The woman, who wore a black and white check coat over her blue serge steamer dress, and a small black hat from which she had pushed back the veil, was leaning over the side of the steamer, her head supported by her hand, looking steadily into the mass of red and orange clouds. The man, who was smoking a cigar, with both hands in his ulster pockets, seemed as though he would have passed her, but without turning her head she held out her hand and beckoned him to her side.
“I was beginning to wonder whether you were an absentee,” Katharine remarked.
“I have been making friends with the captain,” Jocelyn Thew replied.
“Please arrange my chair,” she begged. “I should like to sit down.”
He did as he was asked, arranging her rugs with the care of an old traveler. All his movements were very deliberate, even the searching way in which his eyes swept the long row of empty chairs on either side of them, and the care with which he fastened two open portholes above their heads. Finally he accepted her invitation and sat by her side.
“I have seen you once before,” she observed, “just before we started.”
“Yes?” he murmured.
“You were standing on the upper deck,” she continued, “a little away from the others. You had your glasses glued to your eyes and you watched the dock. You had the air of one looking for a late arrival. Do you know of any one who has missed the boat?”
“I think so.”
“A friend?”
“No, an enemy,” he answered equably.
She turned her head a little. It was obvious that he was speaking the truth.
“So you have enemies?”
“A great many,” he acknowledged, “one in particular just now. Perhaps,” he went on, “I should say an opponent.”
“If that is so,” she remarked, after a moment’s pause, “you should be glad that he missed the boat.”
Jocelyn Thew smiled.
“I am,” he admitted. “It was part of my plan that he should miss it.”
She moved uneasily in her chair.
“So you haven’t finished with adventures yet?”
“Not just yet.”
There was a brief silence. Then she turned her head a little, leaning it still on the back of the chair but watching him as she spoke.
“I have seen my patient,” she told him. “I have also had some conversation with the doctor.”
“Well?”
“I am beginning to think,” she continued, “that you must be a philanthropist.”
“Why?”
“You hinted,” she went on, “that your friend was in poor circumstances. You did not tell me, though, that you were paying the whole expenses of this trip, just so that the man should see his home and his family before he died.”
“I told you that the care of him was a charge upon me,” Jocelyn Thew reminded her. “That amounts to the same thing, doesn’t it? I was clever enough, anyhow, to get a good nurse at a small fee.”
“I am not at all sure,” she replied, “that I shall not charge you something outrageous. You are probably a millionaire.”
“Whatever you charge me,” he promised, “I shall try to pay.”
The two journalists, refreshed and encouraged by their libation, strolled past arm in arm.
“Queer sort of voyage, this, for a man on the point of death,” the Westerner observed. “They brought a chap on here, an hour before we sailed, in an ambulance, with a doctor and a hospital nurse. Had to be carried every foot of the way.”
“What’s wrong with him?” the other enquired.
“He was only operated upon for appendicitis a fortnight ago, and they say that he has angina pectoris amongst other complications. They brought him straight from the hospital. Seems he’s crazy to get back to England to die.”
The two men passed out of hearing. Jocelyn flicked the ash from the cigarette which he had lighted.
“Sounds a queer sort of story, the way they tell it,” he observed, glancing at his companion.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied. “Men have done this sort of thing before—but it isn’t often,” she went on, “that a man has done it for the sake of another man.”
He smiled.
“You have the old-fashioned idea of man’s devotion to woman. Can’t you believe that there may be ties between two men stronger even than between a man and the woman he loves?”
“I can believe that,” she assented, “but the men must have something in common. I should find it hard to believe, for instance, that they existed between you and the man downstairs.”
He shrugged his shoulders very slightly.
“You forget,” he observed, “that a man does not look at his best after such an illness as Phillips has had. You find him, perhaps, a little insignificant. You are probably aware of his vocation and station in life.”
“I am.”
“And these things,” he went on, “make it difficult for you to believe that there is any great tie between us two. Yet it is the exception which proves the rule, you know. I will not say that your patient has ever saved my life or performed any immortal action, yet believe me he has courage and a grit you would scarcely believe in, and I am speaking seriously when I tell you that not only I but others are under deep obligations to him.”
He rose to his feet with the air of one who has closed the subject. Katharine also threw off her rugs.
“You are going to walk?” she asked. “Please take me with you. I don’t know why, but I feel restless this evening.”
They paced side by side up and down the deck, pausing now and then to watch the destroyers and indulging in a very spasmodic conversation. At their fourth promenade, as they reached the stern extremity of their deck, the woman paused, and, holding to the railing with one hand, looked steadily back towards New York. The colour was fading slowly from the sky now, but it was still marvellously clear.
“Are you homesick for what lies beneath those clouds?” he enquired lightly.
She took no immediate account of his words. Her eyes were fixed upon one spot in that distant curtain of sky. Suddenly she pointed with her finger.
“What’s that?” she asked. “No, the mast’s dipping now—you can’t see. There—the other side.”
He followed her outstretched finger, and slowly his fine black eyebrows grew closer and closer together. Far away, at a certain spot in the clear evening sky, was a little speck of black, hidden every now and then by the mast of the ship as she rolled, but distinctly there all the time, a little smudge in an amber setting, too small for a cloud, yet a visible and tangible object. Katharine felt her companion’s arm tighten upon hers, and she saw his face grow like a piece of marble.
“It’s a seaplane,” he muttered, “coming from the New Jersey coast.”
Through that mysterious agency by means of which news travels on board ship as though supernaturally conveyed, the deck was crowded in a very few moments by practically every passenger and most of the officers. Every form of telescope and field-glass was directed towards the now clearly visible seaplane. Speculations were everywhere to be heard.
“Come to warn us of a submarine,” was the first suggestion.
“They’d use the wireless,” was the prompt reminder.
&
nbsp; “But seaplanes can spot the submarines under the sea,” one of the journalists reminded the bystanders. “They’re a better escort than any destroyer.”
“She can’t come all the way across the Atlantic, though,” Brand observed.
“It’s some new device of Uncle Sam’s they are testing, perhaps,” his friend suggested. “Gee! You can hear her now quite plainly. There are two of them in the car—a pilot and an observer. Wonder what the captain thinks about it.”
The captain on the bridge was talking to his chief officer. Fragments of their conversation were apparently overheard, for it was soon rumoured around that the captain had expressed his opinion that this was simply part of some maneuvres they were carrying out from the New Jersey Aviation Station. Jocelyn Thew watched the blue fire about the mast.
“I wonder whether that’s she talking to us,” he observed. “One would have to be pretty nippy with one’s fingers to work aboard on one of those small things.”
“Do you suppose she is bringing us a message?” Katharine asked.
He shook his head.
“They could do that by wireless from the shore,” he replied. “Hullo, we’re slowing down!”
The little crowd was now bubbling over with excitement. The speed of the steamer had, without a doubt, been slackened, and a boat was being lowered. Brand and his companion, immensely happy, were already dotting down their notes for the wireless. The seaplane was gently skimming the water almost alongside, and barely fifty yards away. The pilot and his companion were clearly visible. The passengers lined the whole length of the steamer, leaning over to watch the dénouement of this strange scene.
“It’s a newspaper scoop,” one man suggested.
The idea was not favourably entertained.
“No newspaper would be allowed to make use of a Government seaplane,” Brand pointed out. “Apart from that, they wouldn’t dare to stop a steamer out here.”
“There’s the boat!” some one else exclaimed, pointing to one of the ship’s lifeboats which had shot out towards the plane. “She must be going to pick one of the men up!”
The steamer was merely drifting now, and its strange visitor had alighted upon the water, rushing along a little way in front and leaving two long, milky paths of white foam behind. Both the pilot and the passenger were drenched by every wave. They watched the latter as he was taken off, and their eyes followed the return of the lifeboat. Almost immediately afterwards the plane, increasing its speed, rushed across the surface of the water and rose again.
“Prettiest sight I ever saw in my life,” Brand declared enthusiastically.
“We live in wonderful times,” his friend agreed, looking longingly at the wireless office. “I guess we must get a look at this chap, anyway,” he added. “He’s the first man who has overtaken an American liner so far from land like this before.”
The man who clambered a few minutes later up the ladder of the steamer had not the appearance of one who has performed a heroic action. His clothes had shrunk upon his body, and the sea water was oozing from him in all directions. His face was blue with cold and almost unrecognisable. Nevertheless, Jocelyn Thew, who was one of the most eager of the sightseers, attained a certain measure of conviction as he shut up his glasses with a snap and turned to his companion.
“An Englishman,” he observed.
“Do you know him?” she asked curiously.
“I can’t go so far as that,” he admitted, “but—”
“But he was the man for whom you were looking before the steamer started,” she declared confidently.
“Seems a little rough luck to be caught up like this out in the ocean,” he grumbled. “I don’t know that the man’s likely to do me any particular harm,” he added, “but I’d just as soon he wasn’t on board.”
Meanwhile, the captain had hurried his belated passenger into his room, and the ship saw no more of him that night. By degrees the excitement simmered down. Jocelyn escorted his companion to the gangway and bade her good night.
“I am not at all sure,” she protested, “that I am ready to go down yet.”
“You must show a little interest in your patient,” he insisted.
“But the doctor has already as good as told me to keep away.”
“Gant is a peculiar fellow,” he told her. “By this time he has probably changed his mind and needs your help. Besides, I am anxious to hear what they say in the smoking room concerning this extraordinary visitor.”
She looked around. They were absolutely alone.
“Who is he,” she asked, “and what does his coming mean to you?”
“His name is Crawshay,” Jocelyn replied. “He is an ex-Scotland Yard man who came over here to work for the English Secret Service.”
“What does he want here?” she whispered, a little hoarsely.
Jocelyn raised his cap as he turned away.
“Me,” he answered. “He’ll probably be disappointed, though.”
CHAPTER V
Table of Contents
Crawshay found himself a popular hero when at a few minutes before eleven o’clock the next morning he made his appearance on deck. With little regard to the weather, which was fine and warm, he was clad in a thick grey suit and a voluminous overcoat. The fact that his borrowed hat was several sizes too large for him detracted a little from the dignity of his appearance, a misfortune for which he endeavoured to atone by a distinct aloofness of manner. The newspaper men, however, were not to be denied.
“Say, Mr. Crawshay,” Brand began, stopping him as soon as he had emerged from the companionway, “I’d like to shake hands with you. My name’s Brand. I’m a newspaper man.”
Crawshay shook hands, although he showed no particular enthusiasm about the proceeding.
“And I am Clark, of the Minneapolis Record“ the small, dark man, who was generally by Brand’s side, added. “Put it there, sir.”
Crawshay put it there with an incipient reluctance which the two men were not slow to note.
“Kind of shock to you yesterday, no doubt,” Brand began. “It was a fine, plucky thing to do, sir. Ever flown before?”
“Never,” Crawshay confessed. “The sensation was—er—entirely new to me. I found the descent upon the water most uncomfortable.” “Soaked your shore clothes, eh?” Brand observed.
“I was not attired for the proceeding,” Crawshay admitted. “I was, in fact, very inappropriately dressed. I was wearing a thin flannel suit, which was completely ruined, and I do not think that I shall ever be warm again.”
Mr. Brand glanced longingly at his wrist watch and sighed.
“I make it a rule, sir,” he said, “never to drink before twelve o’clock, but there is no rule without an exception. If you think that a double jigger of gin, with a little lemon and—”
“Stop!” Crawshay begged. “I have no sympathy with the weird compounds produced by your bartenders. As a matter of fact, I take nothing at all except with my meals. I am going to sit in this sunshine and try and recover my normal temperature.”
“There are a few of the boys on board,” Brand continued insinuatingly, “who would like to join in our little chat, if you wouldn’t mind their stepping round.”
“I have no desire for a chat with any one,” Crawshay objected. “I came up on deck to rest. Kindly ask me what you want to know and leave me alone for a time.”
“Then what in thunder sent you here after an American liner on a seaplane?” Brand demanded. “That’s about the long and short of what we’re aching to know, I think.”
“You’ve hit it, Ned, as usual,” Mr. Clark, of the Minneapolis Record, acquiesced. Crawshay drew his rug about him a little peevishly.
“My name,” he said, “is Charles Reginald Crawshay.”
“We got that from the captain,” Brand replied. “Very nice name, too.”
“I have been attached,” Crawshay went on, “to the British Embassy at Washington.”
“You don’t say!” Brand murmured.
“In time to save the British Army, eh?” Brand observed.
“In time to take my rightful place amongst the defenders of my country,” was the dignified rebuke. “Incidentally, I have won a hundred pounds.”
“Would you do it again for the same money?” Clark asked guilefully.
The Englishman coughed.
“I must confess,” he said, “that it is not an experience I am anxious to repeat.”
Brand rose to his feet.
“Well, sir,” he concluded, “I offer you my congratulations on your trip. We shall just dot a few words together concerning it for the New York newspapers. Anything you’d like to add?”
Crawshay stroked his upper lip.
“You can say,” he pronounced with dignity, “that I found the trip most enjoyable. And by-the-by, you had better put a word in about the skill of the pilot—Lieutenant T. Johnson, I believe his name was. I have no experience in such matters, and I found him once or twice a little unsympathetic when I complained of bumps, but the young man did his best—of that I am convinced.”
Mr. Brand’s tongue slowly crept round the outside of his mouth. He met the eye of his friend Mr. Clark and indulged in a wink. He had the air of a man who felt relieved by the operation.
“We are very much obliged to you, Mr. Crawshay,” he declared. “You have done something to brighten this trip, anyway.”
“A little later,” Crawshay announced, “either just before your luncheon or dinner hour, if you and your friends would meet me in the smoking room, I should be delighted to remember in the customary fashion that I have won a rather considerable wager.”