21 Greatest Spy Thrillers in One Premium Edition (Mystery & Espionage Series)

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

  “What is going to happen to me?” the young man enquired.

  “Probably nothing extreme. You were philosophical enough to accept the situation. If,” Crawshay went on more slowly, “you had falsified a single word of those messages, your end would have been somewhat abrupt and your destination according to your past life. As it is, you can go where you choose now and report to the captain later on in the morning, after I have had a talk with him.”

  “My kit is all in here.”

  Crawshay laid his hand upon the operator’s shoulder in peremptory fashion.

  “Then you will have to do without it for the present,” he replied coolly. “Outside.”

  The young man turned on his heel and disappeared without a word. Crawshay glanced once more at the dismantled instrument, then followed Robins on to the deck, carefully locking the door behind him. A grey, stormy morning was just breaking, with piles of angry clouds creeping up, and showers of spray breaking over the ship on the weather side. He chose a sheltered spot and stood for a few moments breathing in the strong salt air. Notwithstanding his success, he was unaccountably depressed. As far as he could see across the grey waste of waters, there was no sign of any passing ship, but the eastern horizon was blurred by a low-hanging bank of sinister-looking clouds. Suddenly a voice rang out, hailing him. It was the captain descending from the bridge.

  “Come and have a cup of coffee with me in my room, Mr. Crawshay,” he invited.

  Crawshay felt himself suddenly back again in the world of real happenings. His depression passed as though by magic. After all, he had won the first trick, and the next move was already forming up in his mind.

  CHAPTER X

  Table of Contents

  The captain sank into his easy-chair a little wearily. It had been a long and rather trying vigil. His steward filled two cups with coffee and at a sign from his master withdrew.

  “Any news?”

  “I have been compelled,” Crawshay announced, stirring his coffee, “to dismantle your wireless.”

  “The devil you have!”

  “Also, to speak words of wisdom to young Robins. I detected him signalling our location to the Blucher.”

  The captain set down his coffee cup.

  “Mr. Crawshay,” he said, “this is a very serious accusation.”

  “It isn’t an accusation at all—it’s a fact,” Crawshay replied. “Luckily, he hadn’t picked her up when I got there. He signalled our exact location and our course a dozen times or more, without response. Then I took a hand in the game.”

  “Exactly what happened?” the captain enquired.

  “Well, I borrowed a key from Mr. Dix, and whilst the young man was down at his supper I concealed myself in his bunk. I listened to him for a short time, and then I intervened.”

  “Did he make any trouble?”

  “He had no chance,” Crawshay explained, a little grimly. “I was first off the mark. On this piece of paper,” he added, smoothing it out, “you will find Robins’ calculations as to our whereabouts, which I took as being correct. These, you understand, were not picked up. Lower down you will see the message which he sent under my superintendence later on—”

  “Superintendence?” the captain interrupted.

  “At the point of my revolver,” Crawshay explained. “This message was picked up by the Blucher.”

  The captain scanned the calculations eagerly.

  “Wish you’d given us a little more room,” he muttered. “However, it will be all right unless we get fog. We might blunder into one another then.”

  “This little incident,” Crawshay continued, crossing his legs, “confirms certain impressions with which I came on board. I think that the scheme was to get the documents on board this steamer, and then, in order to avoid the inevitable search at Liverpool, I fancy it was arranged that the Blucher should be on the lookout for us and take over the messenger, whoever he may be, and the documents. It’s a straightforward, simple little scheme, which we have now to look at from our own point of view. In the first place, the Blucher is now very much less likely to capture us. In the second place, I would suggest that in case the Blucher should happen to blunder across us, we make the search at once instead of in Liverpool.”

  “What, search every one on board?” the captain asked.

  “Suspected persons only.”

  “Exactly who are they?” “First and foremost, Mr. Jocelyn Thew.”

  “And afterwards?”

  Crawshay hesitated.

  “Mr. Phillips and his entourage.”

  “What, the man who is supposed to be dying?”

  “I will admit,” Crawshay said, “that this is more or less guesswork, but I suspect every one with whom Jocelyn speaks.”

  “Great heavens, you are not thinking of Miss Beverley!” the captain exclaimed.

  “I fail utterly to understand her acquaintance with Jocelyn Thew,” Crawshay confided. “I do not propose, however, that you interfere with these people for the moment. What I do ask is that Jocelyn Thew’s effects are searched, and at once.”

  “It’s a thing that’s never happened before on any steamer I’ve commanded,” the captain said reluctantly, “but if it has to be done, I will do it myself.”

  “What chance of fog is there?” his companion enquired.

  “We shall get some within twenty-four hours, for certain. It’s coming up from the west now.”

  “Then the sooner you make a start with Mr. Jocelyn Thew, the better,” Crawshay suggested. “I don’t think there’s one chance in a hundred that he’d have those documents in any place where we should be likely to find them by any ordinary search, but you can never tell. The cleverest men often adopt the most obvious methods.”

  The captain yawned.

  “I’ll have two hours’ sleep,” he decided, “then Dix and I will tackle the job. I don’t suppose you want to be in it?” “I should prefer not,” Crawshay replied. “I’ll follow your example,” he added, rising to his feet.

  The habits of Mr. Jocelyn Thew on shore were doubtless most regular, but on board ship he had developed a proclivity for sleeping until long after the first breakfast gong. About half-past eight that morning, he was awakened from a sound sleep by a tap on his door, and instead of the steward with his hot water, no less a person entered than the captain, followed by the purser. Jocelyn sat up in his bunk and rubbed his eyes.

  “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said. “Anything wrong?”

  The captain undid the catch of the door and closed it behind him.

  “Are you sufficiently awake to listen to a few words from me on a subject of importance, Mr. Thew?” he asked.

  “Certainly,” was the prompt reply.

  “Very well, then,” the captain proceeded, “I shall commence by taking you into my confidence. There is an impression on the part of the British and American Secret Services that an attempt is being made to convey documents of great importance, and containing treasonable matter, to Europe by some one on board this ship.”

  Jocelyn Thew, who was attired in silk pyjamas of very excellent quality, swung himself out of the bunk and sat upon the side of it. The captain was an observant man and of somewhat luxuriant tastes himself, and he fully appreciated the texture and quality of the suspected man’s night apparel. “This sounds remarkably interesting,” Jocelyn said. “Very kind of you, Captain, I am sure, to come and tell me about it.”

  “My visit,” the captain continued, a little drily, “had a more definite object. It is my duty to explain to you that the circumstances of this voyage are unprecedented. We are going to take liberties with our passengers which in normal times would not be dreamed of.”

  Jocelyn Thew pushed the knob with his left hand and let some cold water run into his basin. Then he dabbed his eyes for several moments with his fingers.

  “Yes, I seem to be awake,” he remarked. “Tell me about these liberties, Captain?”

  “To begin with, I am going to search your stateroom
and baggage—or rather they are going to be searched under my supervision. Your trunk from the hold has already been brought up and is in the gangway.”

  “It seems to me,” Jocelyn said, sitting, as Mr. Dix expressed it afterwards, like a tiger about to spring, “that you’ve been listening to that crazy loon, Crawshay.”

  “I am not at liberty,” the captain rejoined, “to divulge the source from which my information came. I am only able to acquaint you with my intentions, and to trust that you will offer no obstruction.”

  “The obstruction which I could offer against the captain of a ship and his crew would be a waste of energy,” Jocelyn observed, with fine sarcasm. “At the same time, I protest most bitterly against my things being touched. Any search you deemed necessary could be undertaken at Liverpool by the Customs officers in the usual way. I consider that this entrance into my stateroom on the high seas, and this arbitrary resolve of yours to acquaint yourself with the nature of my belongings is indefensible and a gross insult.”

  “I am sorry that you take it this way, Mr. Thew,” the captain regretted. “Any complaints you feel it right to make can be addressed to the company’s agents in Liverpool. At present I must proceed with what I conceive to be my duty. Do you care to hand Mr. Dix your keys?”

  “I will see Mr. Dix damned first!” Jocelyn assured him.

  The captain shrugged his shoulders, called to the steward, who was waiting outside, and the search commenced. They opened drawers, they turned up the carpet. They invited Jocelyn Thew to sit upon the couch whilst they ripped open the bed, and they invited him to return to the bed whilst they ripped up the couch. His personal belongings, his dressing-case and his steamer trunk were gone through with painstaking care. His trunk, which was then dragged in, was ransacked from top to bottom. In due course the search was concluded, and except that his wearing apparel seemed chosen with extraordinary care and taste, nothing in any way suspicious was discovered. The captain made haste to acknowledge the fact.

  “Well, Mr. Thew,” he announced, “I have done my duty and you are out of it with a clean sheet. Have you any objection to answering a few questions?” “Every objection in the world,” Jocelyn Thew replied.

  The purser ventured to intervene.

  “Come, Mr. Thew,” he said, “you’re an Englishman, aren’t you?”

  A light flashed in Thew’s eyes.

  “I shall break the promise I made to the captain just now,” he declared, “and answer that one question, at any rate. I thank God I am not!”

  Both men were a little startled. Jocelyn’s cold, clear voice, his manner and bearing, were all so essentially Saxon. The captain, however, recovered himself quickly.

  “If the tone of your voice is any index to your feelings, Mr. Thew,” he said, “you appear to have some grudge against England. In that case you can scarcely wonder at the suspicions which have attached themselves to you.”

  “Suspicions!” Jocelyn repeated sarcastically. “Well, present my compliments to the wonderful Mr. Crawshay! I presume that I am at liberty now to take my bath?”

  “In one moment, Mr. Thew. Even though you do not choose to answer them, there are certain questions I intend to ask. The first is, are you prepared to produce the Marconigram which you received last evening?”

  “How do you know that I received one?”

  “The fact has come to my knowledge,” the captain said drily.

  “You had better ask the operator about it.”

  “The operator is at the present moment under arrest,” was the terse reply. If the news were a shock to Thew, he showed it in none of the ordinary ways. His face seemed to fall for a moment into harder lines. His mouth tightened and his eyes flashed.

  “Under arrest?” he repeated. “More of Crawshay’s tomfoolery, I suppose?”

  “More of Mr. Crawshay’s tomfoolery,” the captain acknowledged. “Robins is accused of having received a Marconigram of which he took no note, and which he handed to a passenger. He is also accused of attempting to communicate with an enemy raider.”

  A peculiar smile parted Jocelyn’s lips.

  “You seem to wish to make this steamer of yours the mise-en-sceneof a dime novel, Captain,” he observed. “I accept the part of villain with resignation—but I should like to have my bath.”

  “You don’t propose to tell me, then,” his questioner persisted, “the contents of that message?”

  “I have no recollection of having received one,” Jocelyn replied coolly. “You are making me very late for breakfast.”

  They left him with a brusque word of farewell, to which he did not reply. Jocelyn, in a dark-green silk dressing gown, with a huge sponge and various silver-topped bottles, departed for the bathroom. The captain and the purser strolled up on deck.

  “What do you make of that fellow, Dix?” the former asked.

  The purser coughed.

  “If you ask me, sir,” he replied, “I think that Mr. Crawshay has got hold of the wrong end of the stick.”

  CHAPTER XI

  Table of Contents

  Katharine came on deck that morning in a somewhat disturbed frame of mind. It was beginning to dawn upon her that her position as sick nurse to Mr. Phillips was meant to be a sinecure. She was allowed to sit by the sick man’s side sometimes whilst the doctor took a promenade or ate a meal in the saloon, but apart from that, the usual exercise of her duties was not required from her. She was forced to admit that there was something mysterious about the little stateroom, the suffering man, and the doctor who watched him speechlessly night and day.

  She was conscious presently that Crawshay, who had been walking up and down the deck, had stopped before the chair on which she lay extended. She greeted him without enthusiasm.

  “Are you taking one of your health constitutionals, Mr. Crawshay?” she enquired.

  “Not altogether,” he replied. “May I sit down for a moment?”

  “Of course! I don’t think any one sits in that chair.”

  He took his place by her side, deliberately removed his muffler and unfastened his overcoat. It struck her, from the first moment she heard his voice, that his manner was somehow altered. She was altogether unprepared, however, for the almost stern directness of his first question. “Miss Beverley,” he began, “will you allow me to ask you how long you have known Mr. Jocelyn Thew?”

  She turned her head towards him and remained speechless for a moment. It seemed to her that she was looking into the face of a stranger. The little droop of the mouth had gone. The half-vacuous, half-bored expression had given place to something altogether new. The lines of his face had all tightened up, his eyes were hard and bright. She found herself quite unable to answer him in the manner she had intended.

  “Are you asking me that question seriously, Mr. Crawshay?”

  “I am,” he assured her. “I have grave reasons for asking it.”

  “I am afraid that I do not understand you,” she replied stiffly.

  “You must change your attitude, if you please, Miss Beverley,” Crawshay persisted. “Believe me, I am not trying to be impertinent. I am asking a question the necessity for which I am in a position to justify.”

  “You bewilder me!” she exclaimed.

  “That is simply because you looked upon me as a different sort of person. To tell you the truth, I should very much have preferred that you continued to look upon me as a different sort of person during this voyage, but I cannot see my way clear to keep silence on this one point. I wish to inform you, if you do not know it already, that Mr. Jocelyn Thew is a dangerous person for you to know, or for you to be associated with in any shape or form.” She would have risen to her feet but he stopped her.

  “Please look at me,” he begged.

  She obeyed, half against her will.

  “I want you to ask yourself,” he went on, “whether you do not believe that I am your well-wisher. What I am saying to you, I am saying to save you from a position which later on you might bitterly regret.”<
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  She was conscious of a quality in his tone and manner entirely strange to her, and she found any form of answer exceedingly difficult. The anger which she would have preferred to have affected seemed, in the face of his earnestness, out of place.

  “It seems to me,” she said, “that you are assuming something which does not exist. I am not on specially intimate terms with Mr. Jocelyn Thew. I have not talked to him any more than to any other casual passenger.”

  “Is that quite honest?” he asked quietly. “Isn’t it true that Jocelyn Thew is interested in your mysterious patient?”

  She started.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I say,” he replied. “I happen also to have very grave suspicions concerning the presence on this ship of Mr. Phillips and his doctor.”

  Her fingers gripped the side of her deck chair. She leaned a little towards him.

  “What concern is all this of yours?” she demanded.

  “Never mind,” he answered. “I am risking more than I should like to say in telling you as much as I have told you. I cannot believe that you would consciously associate yourself with a disgraceful and unpatriotic conspiracy. That is why I have chosen to risk a great deal in speaking to you in this way. Tell me what possible consideration was brought to bear upon you to induce you to accept your present situation?”

  Katharine sat quite still. The thoughts were chasing one another through her brain. Then she was conscious of a strange thing. Her companion’s whole expression seemed suddenly to have changed. Without her noticing any movement, his monocle was in his left eye, his lip had fallen a little. He was looking querulously out seaward.

  “I don’t believe,” he declared, “that the captain has any idea about the weather prospects. Look at those clouds coming up. I don’t know how you are feeling, Miss Beverley, but I am conscious of a distinct chill.”

  Jocelyn Thew had come to a standstill before them. He was wearing no overcoat and was bare-headed.