CHAPTER III
THE SPY AND THE DEAD BOATSWAIN
Three steps at a time I took the matted stairway, which was recklessspeed, for the shell-paned windows were shut, and the awnings pulled downto keep out the heat of the blinding sun, making it quite dark. But I wasbound to capture the little red-headed man, thrash him soundly, make himtell his motive in trailing me, and turn him over to the police.
I caught the indistinct figure of a man in white coming up, and threwmyself to one side to avoid him, but he stumbled in front of me, and wewent sprawling into the corridor below. It was a nasty spill, and I shotout on the matting at full length with my hands thrown before me. Thepolished teak-wood floor and the loose matting saved me from injury.
"My dear sir!" exclaimed the man who fell with me, and I found the Rev.Luther Meeker sitting on a crumpled mat and propped up with his armsbehind him, while his pith helmet went dancing away on its rim to settlecrazily upon its crown a dozen feet from us.
For an instant I was tempted to attack him, when I realized that hispresence on the stairs and his interruption of my pursuit of theredheaded man were significant of more than an accident, and that Meekerand the other were spying upon me. I bridled my ire, and decided to playthe game out with them and fathom the mystery of their espionage.
"My dear sir, I am almost certain that I have sprained my back--I am sureI have injured my back!"
"I am sorry for your back," I said, getting to my feet. "For my part, Iam satisfied to escape without a broken neck."
"My immortal soul, if it isn't Mr. Trenholm!" said he, blinking at me,his goggles bobbing on a rubber string made fast to a jacket-button. "Ofall persons, Mr. Trenholm! Bless my soul!"
My mental remark was somewhat similar and with equal fervour, if notcomplimentary to him and his soul. Brushing my soiled ducks, I started tomove away, for it would never do to assume an excess of friendship toosuddenly.
"Just one moment, Mr. Trenholm--" he called after me, shaking a bonyforefinger--"just one moment, I beg of you, sir! I have some informationwhich I desire to impart, and, strangely enough, I was seeking you whenthis unfortunate tumble came about, partly through my infirmities, I amsure. One moment, sir. It is to your advantage to wait, I assure you."
"What is it?" I asked, hesitating. The little beggar had undoubtedlyescaped, and I knew that in Meeker I had bigger game if I handled himcautiously.
"The _Kut Sang_!" he said, arising with difficulty and holding his backwith one hand while he hobbled after his helmet.
I was convinced that his injury and decrepit bearing were clever bits ofacting.
"I desire to correct you regarding the _Kut Sang_" he cackled, caressingthe recovered helmet.
"What about it? My dear Mr. Meeker, I am in a hurry and cannot waste theday waiting for you to talk. I am sorry for what has happened here, but Itrust that you are not incapacitated. Anyway, I do not think there isanything you can tell me about the _Kut Sang_ that I do not alreadyknow."
"Oh, but there is," he protested, holding up his hand and eyeing mecraftily. "I was seeking you to tell you when we fell upon each other sounceremoniously. It is quite--"
"I suppose you want to tell me that the sailing has been delayed. I knowall about that--she sails in the morning."
"Sails in the morning!" he exclaimed, pretending surprise, but beingpuzzled about something. "Does she?"
There was guile in that last question, and when he asked it I knew it washe or some one acting for him who had attempted to mislead me about thetime of the vessel's departure. I saw a chance to trap him, and asked:
"Was that what you wanted to tell me?"
He parried it, and while he fumbled in his pockets for something, a trickto gain time, he was thinking hard and fast.
I had him against the ropes, so to speak, and he knew it, for what he didwant to find out was whether I knew the telephone message to befraudulent. If I did, he wanted to take credit for setting me right; andif I didn't, he wanted me to miss the _Kut Sang_. So, knowing his game, Icame to the conclusion that I must not press him too hard and so make himsuspicious that I knew his true character--his character, that is, as adecidedly suspicious person.
"I was told that she sails in the morning, but it was some mistake," Itold him, as if I had not found anything peculiar in the error and wasnot the least disturbed about it.
"Oh, no! Nothing in that!" he cried, unable to conceal his delight overmy admission of how much I knew. "For a minute I thought there might besomething in the story, after all, when I heard you say she was delayed.That is just what I was going to tell you--there is no truth in thatreport. Some person, who I cannot say, also gave me misinformationregarding the _Kut Sang_. I feared that you might have had the sameexperience. That, however, is only a part of it--what I want to tell youis that it is now possible to buy a ticket in the _Kut Sang_."
"I already have my ticket," I said. "So we will be fellow-passengers, andI hope you will pardon my throwing you down the stairs; but I was runningafter a beggar or a thief."
"Indeed! Do you know the rascal, or did you see him so that you can givea comprehensive description of him to the police?"
"A little red-headed man," I said, watching him closely. "Did you see himbefore you started up the stairs?"
He burst out in a dry, mirthless cackle of laughter, and slapped hisknees, much as if he had heard a good joke.
"If you will come in to tiffin with me, Mr. Trenholm, I will tell youabout him."
Assuming affability, I accepted his invitation, and we went into thedining-room together and found a table to ourselves in the corner. I wasrather pleased at having an opportunity to study him, especially at hisown suggestion, and I made up my mind that before the lunch was over Iwould have solved the mystery of who or what the missionary was, and whyhe had the little red-headed man at my heels since I had arrived inManila that morning, and why he had attempted to keep me out of the_Kut Sang_.
"And who is this little red-headed man?" I asked as we took our chairs.
He bowed his head and mumbled a grace before replying, and I had a senseof mental conflict between us, and knew that I would have to guardagainst chicane, or the suave old fellow would talk me out of mysuspicions.
"It must have been Dago Red you saw," he began, grinning, and wagging hishead. "I hope he did not actually steal anything, my dear Mr. Trenholm. Iam quite sure you must be mistaken about his being a thief; but it isquite possible, he has deceived me."
"I found him sneaking near my door in the hall," I said. "Who is thisDago Red?"
"A worthy man," he replied getting serious. "I am afraid you have donehim an injustice, for I sent him up to see if you were in your room, andafter I had given him the errand the clerk informed me that you were in,and I started up myself."
"He didn't appear anxious to talk with me when he saw me open the door."
"You probably startled him by--"
"But who is he?"
"Petrak, I think his name is, although I am not sure, and my poor oldmemory cannot hold names long. He is a sailor who has been shipwrecked,and he became a vagrant here and was sent to Bilibid Prison. Much of mywork is in prisons, and I took charge of him when he got out and sent himto the Sailors' Home, sure that he would be able to get a ship again.That was a couple of months ago, and when I arrived to-day he met me andtold me that he had left the Home because the keeper was prejudicedagainst him, owing to his term in prison.
"He was on the verge of starvation, and I gave him some money from mycharity fund, which he promptly spent on drink, for he is quitedissolute. But he took charge of my luggage and attended to some errandsfor me, but he fears the police and cannot get out of his habit ofskulking about, and, as the detectives have hounded him, he is suspiciousof everybody, and ready to go into a panic when a stranger approacheshim. It is a pity that he cannot get back to sea, but he has had thefever, and no master seems to want him, and he has been forced intovagabondage."
He gave me this history of the little r
ed-headed man in disconnectedsentences while we were at the soup, and I let him run on. As he talkedhis eyes were roaming over the room, and he scanned every person thatentered, and peered at me from under his brows when he thought I was notobserving him.
It was plausible enough, but I could not forget that Meeker and thelittle sailor were together a great deal, and whenever I had seen themthey were acting suspiciously, and both of them had kept close watch uponme. Neither had he explained away the fact that he had told me I couldnot buy a ticket in the _Kut Sang_, which I did; nor the fact that he hadhis own ticket when he told me that, nor the false telephone message forthe obvious purpose of making me miss the steamer, and then his gettingin my way when I was in pursuit of Petrak, or "Dago Red," as he calledhim.
It seemed beyond reason that this chain of events could be nothing but acombination of coincidences, and, when I analyzed the situation, I framedwhat I considered a good theory regarding Petrak's presence outside mydoor. It occurred to me that Meeker was the author of the false message,and that he was really on his way to visit me to learn if I haddiscovered the falsity of it when he met me rushing down the stairs. Buthe had sent Petrak ahead of him to listen at the door in case Itelephoned the company to verify the first message; Petrak had heardme ask the company for the sailing time and was about to report to Meekerwhen I opened the door upon him.
Meeker was probably at the foot of the stairs and covered the retreat ofhis henchman. Petrak may not have been able to stop and report what hehad heard, so Meeker fished for the information from me, ready to confirmthe report that the sailing of the vessel was delayed, or pretend that hewas about to set me right.
Upon my admission that I knew the report was false, he grasped at thelatter alternative, and, seeing that it was impossible to prevent megoing in the _Kut Sang_, determined to make friends with me and disarmwhatever suspicions I might have regarding him. It seemed a tenabletheory, but I could not account for all this bother on his part becauseJames Augustus Trenholm, of the Amalgamated Press, took passage in the_Kut Sang_.
It seemed absurd to me that Meeker or anybody else would be concernedbecause I was leaving Manila for Hong-Kong. It was plain enough thathe, or somebody, had done their best to keep me from sailing in the_Kut Sang_. That it was the Rev. Luther Meeker there could be littledoubt, but the mystery lay in what his motives could be, or who hewas acting for, and it was beyond me to say why there should be anyobjection to my sailing in the steamer _Kut Sang_ that afternoon.
While I was thinking these things over he was keeping up a runningconversation about trivial matters, and we were well into the curriedlamb and getting along famously when he asked a question which put me onmy guard at once, and set me groping mentally for a solution of thepuzzle.
"Did you deliver your letter?" he asked, casually, but I saw in aninstant that he had been paving the conversational way all along for thatvery question.
"What letter?" I asked, although I knew the one he meant.
He looked at me craftily, with what I took for a bit of surprise that Idid not know the letter he referred to, or that he expected me to deceivehim.
"Perhaps I shouldn't mention it, for it may recall our littleunpleasantness this morning," he sent back. "Perhaps it was my fault, mydear sir, in speaking to you when I picked it up, and I certainlywant to assure you that I was not put out by your disinclination to beginan acquaintance with a stranger."
"Haven't the slightest idea of what you are talking about," I saidlightly, and professing ignorance in my puzzled expression.
"The letter you dropped in the bus." He fairly hurled the sentence at me,although his voice was low and he was pretending to have trouble with thesaltcellar.
"Oh! To be sure, the letter I dropped in the bus, and which you so kindlypicked up for me. I have an idea that I was rather gruff at the time, andnot at all inclined to appreciate the service you performed. I might havelost it entirely but for you, so I'll thank you now, with an apology."
"Don't mention it--don't mention it, I assure you. I trust you deliveredit safely."
He had given me the key to the mystery. The letter for the Russian consulwas the cause of Meeker's attentions to me! And, instead of being anewspaper correspondent, to Meeker I was a Russian agent, probably a spy!It was all I could do to restrain myself from laughing in his face.
"Delivered it safely," I repeated inanely. "It was only an errand for afriend of mine, and I left it at the--"
He waited for me to finish the sentence. He forgot himself and failed toconceal his assumed nonchalance regarding the letter, for, as I cut offwhat I was saying, he held his fork poised over his lamb, so intent washe on learning where I had delivered the letter for the Russian consul.
I seized a glass of water and struggled with an imaginary obstruction inmy throat, and mentally cursing my stupidity in telling my friend'sprivate business to a stranger who had already betrayed an inordinateinterest in the letter.
"Where did you leave it?" purred Meeker.
"At the post-office," I finished, amazed at his boldness in pursuing thedestination of the letter, and having no qualms of conscience abouttelling him a falsehood. I did not regard it as any of his affair where Ihad delivered the letter, and did not intend to inform him I had left thebulky envelope at the Hong-Kong-Shanghai Bank.
The image of the bank-front which crossed my mind gave me another clue toMeeker's solicitude about me and the letter. I remembered seeing a signover the teller's window, which stated that the bank was a branch of aRussian financial house. What could be more natural for a Russian spythan to cash his drafts in a place which dealt with Vladivostok and PortArthur, or even St. Petersburg and Moscow?
And, if he took me for a spy in the Russian service, it followed thathe must be watching me for the Japanese, and it was probable that thecable-agent in Saigon was in the service of the Czar and found itconvenient to deliver an important document with my assistance.
At that time Manila was the headquarters for blockade-runners bound forPort Arthur, and Russian and Japanese spies, from coolies to bankers,were watching every ship and every stranger. So it was not strange thatI, coming from French Indo-China, with a dispatch for the Russian consul,should be mistaken for a spy by Meeker the instant he read the address onthe envelope and saw the wax seals.
I had a mind to tell the old fellow the joke on him, but that wouldrequire explaining where the letter to the consul came from, which wouldhardly be playing fair with my friend in Saigon. If he knew the truth hemight abandon his trip to Hong-Kong in the _Kut Sang_, and I would be ridof him, for I knew he was going with me in the steamer for the purpose ofattempting to learn what my business would be in the British port.
If I was to remain in Manila I would have disillusioned him, and so put astop to his trailing me about, but, as I was leaving in a few hours, Ianticipated but little more trouble from him or the redheaded man.Besides, I saw an opportunity to make game of him by telling him hismistake after we were well to sea and leading him on a fool's voyage.
"I am sure that we will have a pleasant passage in the _Kut Sang_," hesaid. "I am something of a literary man myself, Mr. Trenholm--anexhaustive life of the saints, a shilling in paper covers, four shillingsin cloth, with gilt title and frontispiece of me. It is recommended bythe Bishop of Salisbury, and in its class quite a standard work.
"Then I did some poems, chiefly on sacred subjects. Not much as poetry,perhaps, judged by severe standards, but I am told they are regarded asmarvels of piety and sweetness. I may have a copy in my luggage, which Iwill show you after we are settled aboard the steamer."
I let him ramble on like that, turning over in my mind the while all theschemes I intended to put into play to convince him I was really a spy,and when a boy brought a paper I fell upon the war news.
"Another Russian defeat," I half moaned, and made out that I wasdreadfully upset because the Japanese were winning battles.
He said he deplored war, and had a prejudice against the Japanese, andhoped t
hey would lose, and praised the Russians as brave and pious. WhenI expressed satisfaction at his views in order to prove my character as aRussian agent, we might have been mistaken by an observer for a couple ofold friends.
He wearied me, however, with his chatter and efforts to make himselfagreeable, and after the meal I escaped from him on the plea of businesswhich must be attended to before the steamer sailed.
Leaving the walled city, I crossed the Bridge of Spain to the Escolta andtook a stroll in Calle Rosario, where the Chinese merchants keepthemselves in grateful shade with miles of awning. After an hour ofsight-seeing, I found myself in a square near the San Miguel Bridge.
There was a crowd gathered before a building, which I remember on accountof the picture of a frigate painted upon the stucco wall and the greatred letters spelling out:
THE FLAGSHIP BAR
There had evidently been a fight; and coolies and natives, and Europeansin white, clustered at the door. I joined the knot of people and pressedforward to see what was holding their attention, and saw the body of abig, foreign-looking man, half inside the door and half on the pavement,with his head outside.
His mouth was open, and from his upper lips drooped long, blackmoustaches, looking all the blacker for the ghastly pallor of his cheeks.He had been stabbed in the back, and the spectators in the front of thegroup edged away to avoid the growing pool of blood on the sidewalk.
"Does anybody know who he is?" demanded a khaki-clad policeman, takingout a note-book.
"A sailor," said an American in a white apron, who leaned out of thedoor. "Drank whiskey and vermouth and talked like a squarehead."
"Greek he was," said a man with the appearance of a mariner.
"Here's his cap in here," said the bartender, and he turned and picked upa watch-cap, and held it so we could see letters wrought in it with giltcord, and I made out "Kut Sang," which excited my interest in the case.
"Boatswain he was in the _Kut Sang_, bound out to-day for Hong-Kong,"said the mariner.
"Jolly long road to Hong-Kong for him now," said another.
"Who cut him?" demanded the policeman. "Didn't you see how this happened?Are you all deaf and dumb? You, there in the apron! Who did this?"
"You can search me," said the bartender. "He had a couple of drinks andwas going out when somebody slipped a knife in him. I was at the otherend of the bar--never saw a thing until this one here lets out a yell andgoes down. Somebody cut and run through the door."
"I see him! I see him!" cried a boy in kilts who had a hoop, and we allturned, expecting the murderer to be pointed out to us; but the boy meantthat he had seen the man running away and all that he knew was that hehad worn a "funny hat," and he could tell nothing else.
"A little chap it was," volunteered a cockney.
"What's that?" asked the policeman. "Speak up--nobody here going to biteyou, my man! Did you see him? What did he look like?"
"I didn't see him do no cuttin', if that's what you mean, officer. Ididn't see no knife-play, and ye couldn't hang a man on what I see,and--"
"What did you see?" said the policeman, with a show of asperity. "Nevermind what we can do with it. What did you see?"
"Small chap, in a white navy-cap, and 'air red as the sun in the Gulf ofH'annam."
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