by Sapper
He had not dared to send a longer message, and, of necessity, it had left a good deal to Ted’s imagination. But of all the men who had followed him unhesitatingly in the past, Ted Jerningham had been always the quickest on the uptake, and he soon saw that his confidence had not been misplaced. Ted had evidently realised that to follow steadily would arouse suspicion, and was laying his plans accordingly. He overhauled them like an express train, passed forty yards to starboard, circled across their bow, and came dashing back. Then away at a tangent for half a mile or so, only to shoot back and stop apparently with engine trouble.
The sea was like a millpond, and as the Gadfly passed the now silent motor-boat the sounds of a gramophone were plainly audible from it. Obviously someone with a racing motor-boat joyriding with a girl, reflected the skipper as he paced the bridge; and forthwith dismissed the matter from his mind. He had other more important things to think of, and the first was the exact object of this trip. That the benevolent Mr Robinson had hired the Gadfly from its owner to take two invalids to Madeira he knew, but he wasn’t quite satisfied. The method of bringing the invalids on board had seemed so unnecessarily secretive. However, as is the way of men who go down to the sea in ships, his nature was not curious. He was there to carry out orders, and mind his own business – not other people’s. Still, he couldn’t help wondering. And had he seen the occupation of one of those invalids at the moment he would have wondered still more. For Drummond, having found a cake of soap on the basin beside his bunk, was carefully cutting it into small cubes with the blade of a safety-razor. Though perhaps that is what one would expect from a madman.
A sudden hoarse scream of fear some five minutes later made the Captain jump to the side of the bridge. Two sailors were rushing along the deck as if pursued by the devil, and he roared an order at them. But they took no notice of him, and dashed below. For a moment the worthy skipper stood there dumbfounded; then, cursing fluently, he dashed after them, only to stop with a strange pricking feeling in his scalp as a huge and ghastly figure confronted him. A great mass of foam was round its mouth, and it was brandishing a marline spike and bellowing. A terrifying spectacle in the half-light of dusk – a spectacle to put the fear of God into any man. And then as suddenly as it appeared it was gone.
Terror is an infectious thing, and the infection spread in the good ship Gadfly. Within two minutes men were running in all directions, shouting that a homicidal maniac was loose on board. Below an appalling crash of breaking crockery and the sudden appearance on deck of a terrified steward told its own tale. The Captain was powerless; things had gone beyond him. He roared a futile order or two: no one paid the slightest attention to him. And then, quite suddenly, the pandemonium ceased – and men held their breath. How he had got there no one could say – but they all saw him outlined against the darkening sky.
The madman was in the stern, and in his arms he held the body of a man.
“At last,” they heard him shout, “at last I’ve got you, Peterson. We die together – you devil…”
“Stop them,” howled Mr Robinson, who had just dashed on deck, holding a limp right arm; but no man moved. Only a loud splash broke the silence, and the stern was empty.
“Man overboard. Lower a boat. Stop the yacht, you cursed fool,” snarled Mr Robinson to the Captain, and then he rushed to the stern. Dimly in the failing light he thought he could see two heads in the water, but it was a couple of minutes before a boat was lowered, and in that couple of minutes he heard the roar of an engine coming nearer. Then the engine ceased, and he saw the outline of a motor-boat.
“That boat may have picked ’em up, sir,” said the Captain, as Mr Robinson ran down the gangway into the waiting cutter.
“Give way all,” came the second officer’s curt order. “With a will, boys.”
The motor-boat, still motionless, loomed rapidly up, and Mr Robinson stood up.
“Ahoy there! Did you pick up those two men who fell overboard?”
“Two!” Ted Jerningham, a conspicuous figure in white flannels, stood up also. “I heard the most infernal shindy on board your yacht and then a splash. Do you mean to say two men have fallen overboard?”
The yacht’s boat was close to, the sailors resting on their oars.
“Yes. Have you seen ’em?” asked the second officer.
“Not a sign. And the water’s like a duck-pond too.”
The girl with him shuddered.
“How dreadful! You don’t mean the poor fellows are drowned?”
“Afraid it looks like it, miss,” said the officer, staring round the water. “Even in this light we’d see them with the sea as calm as it is.”
Mr Robinson whispered something in his ear, which he seemed to resent.
“Do what you’re told,” snarled his master, and with a shrug he gave an order.
“Give way.”
The oars dipped into the water, and they passed astern of the motor-boat. And had Mr Robinson been watching Ted Jerningham instead of the water he might have seen a sudden strained look appear on that young gentleman’s face, and his hand move instinctively towards the starting-switch. He might even have wondered why the girl, who had seemed so calm and unperturbed in the face of this dreadful tragedy, should suddenly give vent to a loud and hysterical outburst.
“It’s dreadful,” she sobbed – “too dreadful! To think of those two poor men being drowned like that.”
But Mr Robinson was not concerned with the dreadfulness of the situation; all that mattered to him was whether it was true or not. From the moment when Drummond, foaming at the mouth, had dashed into the dining-saloon, Mr Robinson’s brain had been working furiously. An attempt to intercept himself between Drummond and Professor Goodman had resulted in an appalling blow on his arm with a marline spike. And then, accustomed though he was to the rapidity of Drummond’s movements, even he for a few seconds had been nonplussed. There had been something so diabolical about this huge man, bellowing hoarsely, who had, after that first blow, paid no more attention to him, but had hurled himself straight on the dazed Professor. And even when the Professor, squealing like a rabbit, had dashed on deck with Drummond after him, for an appreciable time Mr Robinson had remained staring stupidly at the door. Drummond sane was dangerous; Drummond mad was nerve-shattering. And then he had pulled himself together just in time to dash on deck and see them both go overboard.
Thoughtfully his eyes searched the water again; there was no trace of either man. Of a suspicious nature, he had examined both sides of the motor-boat; moreover, he had seen inside the motor-boat. And now as the girl’s sobs died away he turned to the officer beside him.
“There can be no doubt about it, I fear,” he remarked with a suitable inflection of sorrow in his voice.
“None, sir, I’m afraid. Even if we couldn’t see them, we could hear them. I’m afraid the madman’s done the poor old gentleman in.”
“Sink in a brace of shakes with a holy terror like that ’anging round yer neck,” said one of the sailors, and a mutter of agreement came from the others.
“Yes, I’m afraid there can be no possibility of saving them now.” Ted Jerningham took out his cigarette-case, only to replace it hurriedly as he remembered the dreadful tragedy they had just witnessed. “Doubtless, however, their bodies will be washed ashore in time.”
“Er – doubtless,” murmured Mr Robinson. That aspect of the case had already struck him, and had not pleased him in the slightest degree. Had he been able to conform with his original plan, neither body would have ever been seen again. However, he had not been able to conform to that plan, so there was no more to be said about it. The main point was that both of them were drowned.
“Doubtless,” he repeated. “Poor fellows! – poor fellows! Two neurasthenic patients of mine, sir… How sad! – How terribly sad! However, I fear there is no good wasting any more time. I can on
ly thank you for your prompt assistance, and regret that, through no fault of yours, it was not more effective.”
Jerningham bowed.
“Don’t mention it, sir – don’t mention it,” he murmured. “But I think, as I can do no more, that I will now get back. The tragedy, as you will understand, has somewhat upset this lady.”
He put his finger on the starting-switch, and the quiet of the night was broken by the roar of the engine. And as the sailors dipped in their oars to row back to the yacht the motor-boat circled slowly round.
“Good night, sir.” Mr Robinson waved a courteous hand. “And again a thousand thanks.”
“And again don’t mention it,” returned Jerningham, sitting down by the tiller. “You can take your wrap off his hand now, Pat,” he whispered. “They can’t see.”
A vast hand grasping the gunwale was revealed as she did so, and an agonised whisper came from the water.
“Hurry, old man, for the love of Pete. Unless we can hold the old man upside-down soon to drain the water out of him, he’ll drown.”
“Right-oh! Hugh. Can you hold on for a couple of hundred yards. I’ll go slow. But they may have a searchlight on the yacht, and we’re still very close to her.”
“All right, Ted. I leave it to you.”
“I’ll still keep broadside on, old man; though I don’t think he had any suspicions.”
He nosed the motor-boat through the water, and a few moments later the necessity of his precaution was justified. A blinding light flickered across the water, found them, and held steady: it was the Gadfly’s searchlight. Jerningham rose and waved his hand, and after a while the beam passed on searching the sea. One final attempt evidently to try to spot the victims of the tragedy, rewarded by empty water. And at last the light went out; all hope had been abandoned.
“Quick, Hugh,” cried Jerningham. “Get the old boy on board.”
With a heave the almost unconscious form of Professor Goodman was hoisted into the boat, to be followed immediately by Drummond himself.
“Lie down, old man – lie down in case they use that searchlight again.”
“The engine roared and spluttered, and two black mountains of water swirled past the bows.
“Forty-five on her head, Hugh,” shouted Ted. “Incidentally, what’s this particular brand of round game?”
“The largest drink in the shortest time, old son,” laughed the other. “And for the Professor – bed, quick.”
He turned to the girl.
“My dear soul,” he said, “you were magnificent. If you hadn’t had hysteria when I began to sneeze it was all up.”
“But what could he have done?” cried the girl. “And he looked such a nice old man.”
Drummond laughed grimly.
“Did you recognise him, Ted?” Once again he turned to the girl. “If he’d known that we were in the water, that nice old man would have had no more compunction in shooting you and Ted and dropping your bodies overboard than I shall have in drinking that drink. It’s been the biggest coup of his life, Ted – but it’s failed. But, by Jove, old man, it’s been touch and go, believe me.”
The roar of the engine made conversation difficult, and after covering the dripping form of the Professor with a dry rug they fell silent. Astern the lights of the Gadfly were growing fainter and fainter in the distance; ahead lay Cowes and safety. But Drummond’s mind, now that the immediate danger was over, had jumped ahead to the future. To restore the Professor to the bosom of his family was obviously the first thing to be done; but – after that?
The engine ceased abruptly, and he realised they had reached the yacht. Leaning over the side were some of the guests, and as he and Ted lifted the body of the Professor up the gangway a chorus of excited questioning broke out, a chorus which was interrupted by the amazed ejaculation of an elderly man.
“God bless my soul,” he cried incredulously, as the light fell on the Professor’s face, “it’s old Goodman’s double!”
“Not exactly,” answered Drummond. “It’s Professor Goodman himself.”
“Damme, sir,” spluttered the other, “I was at his funeral a week ago. He was blown up in his house in Hampstead doing some fool experiment.”
“So we all thought,” remarked Drummond quietly. “And as it happened we thought wrong. Get him below, Ted – and get him to bed, or we really shall be attending his funeral. He’s swallowed most of the English Channel as it is. Though I can assure you, sir,” he addressed the elderly man again, “that he possesses a vitality which turns Kruschen salts a pale pink. Within the last week he’s been blown up; his remains, consisting of one boot, have been buried; he’s been bounced on a white-hot electric furnace to keep his circulation going; he’s had his breakfast doped; and last, but not least, he’s gone backwards and forwards under Ted’s motor-boat. And now if someone will lead me to a whisky and soda of vast dimensions, I’ll – My God! what’s that?”
It was very faint, like the boom of a distant heavy gun, but he happened to be looking towards the Needles. And he had seen a sudden deep orange flash, in the water against the sky – the flash such as in old days an aeroplane bomb had made on bursting. The others swung round and stared seawards, but there was nothing more to be seen.
“It sounded like a shell,” said one of the men. “What did you think it was?”
He turned to Drummond, but he had disappeared, only to dash on deck a moment or two later with Ted behind him.
“Every ounce you can get out of her, Ted. Rip her to pieces if necessary – but get there. That infernal devil has blown up the yacht.”
The motor-boat spun round, and like a living beast gathered speed. The bow waves rose higher and higher, till they stood four feet above the gun-wales, to fall away astern into a mass of seething white.
“I’ll never forgive myself,” shouted Drummond in Ted’s ear. “I knew he was going to blow her up, but I never thought he’d do it so soon.”
Quivering like a thing possessed, the boat rushed towards the scene of the explosion. The speedometer needle touched – went back – touched again – and then remained steady at fifty.
“Go to the bows,” howled Ted. “Wreckage.”
With a nod Drummond scrambled forward, and lying between the two black walls of water, he slowly swung the headlight backwards and forwards over the sea in front. To hit a piece of floating wreckage at the speed they were travelling would have ripped them open from stem to stern. Other craft attracted to the spot loomed up and dropped back as if stationary, and then suddenly Drummond held up his hand. In front was a large dark object with two or three men clinging to it, and as he focused the headlight on them he could see them waving. The roar of the engine died away, and timing it perfectly Jerningham went full speed astern.
The thing in the water was one of the large wooden lockers used for storing life-belts, and they drew alongside just in time. It was water-logged, and the weight of the men clinging to it was more than it could stand. Even as the last of them stepped into the boat, with a sullen splash the locker turned over and drifted away only just awash.
“Yer’d better mind out,” said one of the men. “There’s a lot of that about.”
“Go slow, Ted,” cried Drummond. Then he turned to the men. “What happened?”
“Strike me pink, governor, I’m damned if I know. We’ve had a wonderful trip, we ’ave – you can take my word. Fust a ruddy madman jumps overboard with another bloke – and they both drowns. Then half an hour later there comes the devil of an explosion from below; the ’ole deck goes sky ’igh, and the skipper he yells, ‘ We’re sinking.’ It didn’t require for ’im to say that; we all knew we was. We ’eeled right over, and in ’alf a minute she sank.”
“Anybody else saved?” asked Drummond.
“I dunno, governor,” answered the man. “There wasn’t
no women and children on board, so I reckons it was everyone for himself.”
“Any idea what caused the explosion?”
“I ’aven’t, governor – that’s strite. But I knew as no good was a-going to come of this trip, as soon as that there madman went and drowned hisself.”
Drummond stared silently ahead. In the dim light he had no fear of being recognised, even if any of the three men they had saved had seen him. And his mind was busy. He had not the slightest doubt that Peterson had caused the explosion; he had even less doubt that Peterson, at any rate, was not drowned. But why had he taken the appalling risk of doing such a thing in so populous a waterway?
He went back to the stern and sat down beside Ted, who was nosing the boat gently through the water. Masses of debris surrounded them, and it was necessary to move with the utmost caution.
“What made him risk it here, Ted?” he whispered.
“Obvious, old man,” returned the other in a low voice. “He thought your bodies would be washed ashore; he had no means of telling when. He knew they would be identified; he further knew that I would at once say what had happened. From that moment he would be in deadly danger; wireless would put every ship at sea wise. And to do a little stunt of this sort, if he was to escape, it was imperative he should be near land. So, as Peterson would do, he didn’t hesitate for a moment, but put the job through at once.”
Drummond nodded thoughtfully.
“You’re right, Ted – perfectly right.”
“And unless I’m very much surprised, our friend at the present moment is stepping out of his life-belt somewhere on the beach in Colwell Bay. Tomorrow, I should imagine, he will cross to Lymington – and after that you possibly know what his moves will be. I certainly don’t – for I’m completely in the dark over the whole stunt.”
“It’s too long a story to tell you now, old man,” said Drummond. “But one thing I do know. Whoever else may be picked up, our friend will not be amongst the survivors. He’s run unheard-of risks to pull this thing off, including a cold-blooded murder. And now officially he’s going to die himself in order to throw everyone off the scent.” He laughed grimly. “Moreover, he’d have done what he set out to do if you hadn’t been leaning over the side of your governor’s yacht.”