CHAPTER XIIII POSSESS MYSELF OF THE SECRET OF JAMES BAKEWELL GREEN
When I look back upon that moment I find myself wondering at the singular effect which the discovery of the dead man’s identity had upon my nerves. It turned them in a second’s space from quivering and twitching strings to cords of iron. It acted upon the brain as a cold douche acts upon the body. It was as if a man had staggered heavy with drink to a pump, and after once dipping his head under the tap had come up perfectly sober. And the mental effect was equally curious. I do not think I am in the general way unsympathetic, or indifferent to the misfortunes of others, but on this occasion I found myself as coldly calculating the possible advantages and disadvantages to myself of Green’s untimely end as if I had been a housewife reckoning up what she had made or lost by the sale of eggs.
My first procedure was to secure the piece of paper which I had found in the bottle. “I may want Captain Shannon’s autograph one of these days,” I said to myself, “and even were it not so I should be unwise to leave this document upon the scene. If, when the body is found, it is believed that Green was drowned by misadventure there is less chance of awkward questions being asked and inconvenient inquiries made. Such inquiries might bring to light the fact that he was engaged, by my directions, in investigating Mullen’s antecedents, and the matter might come to the ears of Mullen himself.
“And now another thing. I’m afraid Green’s papers have been taken by the murderer, otherwise I ought to secure them. They might contain a clue to the secret to which the poor man attached such importance. Ah! I thought so; they’ve gone, for the pocket-book which I know he carried is missing, although his watch, chain, money, and other belongings are left. But stop a minute. When I gave Green my address I remember he took out his cigar-case, removed the cigars, and showed me that the case had a secret pocket for papers. He said that he nevercarried important papers in a pocket-book, which is the first thing a thief or a rogue who wishes to abstract a document goes for, and that he had had his taken from him twice—once by force and once by a cunning theft.
“But Mullen would not know that Green kept documents in his cigar-case, and probably wouldn’t trouble to take it. Let me see. Yes, here it is, in the breast pocket, and IthinkI can feel papers inside the silk lining. We’ll look at them by-and-bye. Anything else in his pockets that I might require? No. Then I’ll slide the body back into the water. He’s evidently been dead many hours, and it can make no difference to him, poor fellow. That’s it. He’s just as he was when I found him. Now I’ll be off. Good night, Mr. James Bakewell Green. I won’t press you for thatI O U.”
Still wondering at my heartlessness, I turned and walked in the direction of Yarby. But I had more important matters than my own mental attitude to consider, for the first thing which I had to ask myself was, “By whose hand did Green meet his end?” It was, of course, possibleeither that he had committed suicide, or that the paper bearing the signature of “Captain Shannon” had been placed where I found it by some one who, for reasons of his own, had taken Green’s life, and hoped by attributing the crime to Captain Shannon to divert suspicion from himself. But I soon decided that neither of these alternatives was worth consideration. For the motive of the crime one had not far to look. Green had, on his own showing, discovered something which might lead to Captain Shannon’s arrest, and there could be no doubt that, should the fugitive get wind of this, his first step would be to rid himself of so dangerous an enemy.
From the circumstance under which I discovered the body of my unfortunate agent, I came to the conclusion that he was on board a yacht when the crime was effected.
Having often yachted off Yarby I was tolerably familiar with the coast, and knew that the place where I found the body was the very spot towards which, with every incoming tide, a strong current sets. And as matters stood it looked as if the corpse had been carried thither from the open sea. That it had not been placedwhere it was by any one on the shore—at all events since the outgoing tide—was evident from the fact that my own were the only footmarks on the soft smooth stretch of sandy mud which led down to the water’s edge. But what struck me as especially strange was that, though Green was otherwise fully dressed, he was wearing no boots. It was very unlikely that he had walked two miles along a rocky beach with unprotected feet. But if he had, for any reason, been persuaded to go upon a yacht, it was quite possible that he might take his boots off—firstly, because no yacht owner who prides himself upon the trimness of his craft and the whiteness of her decks cares to have a visitor tramping about in heavy and perhaps muddy boots; and secondly, because a landsman who is so shod would find it difficult to get a safe foothold upon the slippery decks of a small vessel. My theory was that Green had been decoyed upon a yacht under some pretext, or that he had been foolhardy enough to go on board of his own accord, perhaps in the hope of obtaining further and final evidence of Mullen’s identity, or, it may be, with the idea of achieving the fugitive’s arrest. Once on board,he had in all probability been the victim of foul play. Very likely he had been rendered insensible by a blow on the head given from behind, after which he had been carried out to sea, where he could be despatched at leisure, and without any risk of his cries being heard or the act witnessed, as might be the case on land. After that the bottle containing the paper inscribed “By order.—Captain Shannon,” had been fastened to his wrist and the body cast adrift, to serve as a warning to others like him who might elect to enter the lists against the arch-assassin. But apart from the question of how Green met his end, I had to recognise that if the body were found while I was in the neighbourhood, and foul play were suspected, I, as a stranger, might be called on to give an account of myself, and might even be arrested on suspicion. Hence I decided to return to town at once, but as the crime might at any moment be discovered and an alarm raised, I thought it highly inadvisable to carry about with me anything which could be identified as the dead man’s property, and that I should do well to investigate the cigar-case at once and get it out of my possession.
Two neatly-folded sheets of paper—a diagram and a letter—were concealed in the secret pocket, and one glance at them satisfied me that they were the documents of which I was in search.