A footman interrupts in the dining room.“FOR GOD’S SAKE, COME! MY MASTER HAS BEEN STRANGLED TO DEATH.”
“FOR GOD’S SAKE, COME! MY MASTER HAS BEEN STRANGLED TO DEATH.”
A roomful of people are overcome with grief while a man gesticulates.“LADY ASHLEIGH, I WILL FIND AND BRING TO JUSTICE, THE CRIMINAL.”
“LADY ASHLEIGH, I WILL FIND AND BRING TO JUSTICE, THE CRIMINAL.”
He, too, approached the bed and reverently lifted the covering. Lord Ashleigh was lying there, his body a little doubled up, his arms wide outstretched. On his throat were two black marks.
“Where is the valet—Williams?” Quest asked, as he turned away.
The man came forward.
“Tell us at once what you know?” Quest demanded.
“I came in, as usual, to call his lordship before I called you,” the man replied. “He did not answer, but I thought, perhaps, that he was sleepy. I filled his bath, which, as you see, opens out of the room, and then came to attend on you. When you went down to breakfast, I returned to his lordship’s room expecting to find him dressed. Instead of that the room was silent, the bath still unused. I spoke to him—there was no answer. Then I lifted the sheet!”
They had led Lady Ashleigh from the room. The Professor and Quest stood face to face. The former’s expression, however, had lost all his amiable serenity. His face was white and pinched. He looked shrivelled up. It was as though some physical stroke had fallen upon him.
“Quest! Quest!” he almost sobbed. “My brother!—George, whom I loved like nobody else on earth! Is he really dead?”
“Absolutely!”
The Professor gripped the oak pillar of the bedstead. He seemed on the point of collapse.
“The mark of the Hands is upon his throat,” Quest pointed out.
“The Hands! Oh, my God!” the Professor groaned.
“We must not eat or drink or sleep,” Quest declared fiercely, “until we have brought this matter to an end. Craig must be found. This is the supreme horror of all. Pull yourself together, Mr. Ashleigh. We shall need every particle of intelligence we possess. I begin to think that we are fighting against something superhuman.”
The butler made an apologetic appearance. He spoke in a hushed whisper.
“You are wanted downstairs, gentlemen. Middleton, the head-keeper, is there.”
As though inspired with a common idea, both Quest and the Professor hurried out of the room and down the broad stairs. Their inspiration was a true one. The gamekeeper welcomed them with a smile of triumph. By his side, the picture of abject misery, his clothes torn and muddy, was Craig!
“I’ve managed this little job, sir,” Middleton announced, with a smile of slow triumph.
“How did you get him?” Quest demanded.
“Little idea of my own,” the gamekeeper continued. “I guessed pretty well what he’d be up to. He’d tumbled to it that the usual way off the moor was pretty well guarded, and he’d doubled back through the thin line of woods close to the house. I dug one of my poachers’ pits, sir, and covered it over with a lot of loose stuff. That got him all right. When I went to look this morning I saw where he’d fallen through, and there he was, walking round and round at the bottom like a caged animal. Your servants have telephoned for the police, Mr. Ashleigh,” he went on, turning to the Professor, “but I’d like you just to point out to the Scotland Yard gentleman—called us yokels, he did, when he first came down—that we’ve a few ideas of our own down here.”
Quest suddenly whispered to the Professor. Then he turned to the keeper.
“Bring him upstairs, Middleton, for a moment,” he directed. “Follow us, please.”
The Professor gripped Quest’s arm as they ascended the stairs.
“What is this?” he asked hoarsely. “What is it you wish to do?”
“It’s just an idea of my own,” Quest replied. “I rather believe in that sort of thing. I want to confront him with the result of his crime.”
The Professor stopped short. His eyes were half-closed.
“It is too horrible!” he muttered.
“Nothing could be too horrible for an inhuman being like this,” Quest answered tersely. “I want to see whether he’ll commit himself.”
They passed into the bedchamber. Quest signed to the keeper to bring Craig to the side of the four-poster. Then he drew down the sheet.
“Is that your work?” he asked sternly.
Craig, up till then, had spoken no word. He had shambled to the bedside, a broken, yet in a sense, a stolid figure. The sight of the dead man, however, seemed to galvanise him into sudden and awful vitality. He threw up his arms. His eyes were horrible as they glared at those small black marks. His lips moved, helplessly at first. Then at last he spoke.
“Strangled!” he cried. “One more!”
“That is your work,” the criminologist said firmly.
Craig collapsed. He would have fallen bodily to the ground if Middleton’s grip had not kept him up. Quest bent over him. It was clear that he had fainted. They led him from the room.
“We’d better lock him up until the police arrive,” Quest suggested. “I suppose there is a safe place somewhere?”
The Professor awoke from his stupor.
“Let me show you,” he begged. “I know the way. We’ve a subterranean hiding-place which no criminal on this earth could escape from.”
They led him down to the back part of the house, a miserable, dejected procession. Holding candles over their heads, they descended two sets of winding stone steps, passed along a gloomy corridor till they came to a heavy oak door, which Moreton, the butler, who carried the keys, opened with some difficulty. It led into a dry cellar which had the appearance of a prison cell. There was a single bench set against the wall. Quest looked around quickly.
“This place has been used before now, in the old days, for malefactors,” the Professor remarked. “He’ll be safe there. Craig,” he added, his voice trembling, “Craig—I—I can’t speak to you. How could you!”
There was no answer. Craig’s face was buried in his hands. They left him there and turned the key.
Quest stood, frowning, upon the pavement, gazing at the obviously empty house. He looked once more at the slip of paper which Lenora had given him. There was no possibility of any mistake:—
“Mrs. Willet,157 Elsmere Road,Hampstead.”
“Mrs. Willet,157 Elsmere Road,Hampstead.”
This was 157 and the house was empty. After a moment’s hesitation he rang the bell at the adjoining door. A woman who had been watching him from the front room, answered the summons at once.
“Can you tell me,” he enquired, “what has become of the lady who used to live at 157—Mrs. Willet?”
“She’s moved,” was the uncompromising reply.
“Do you know where to?” Quest asked eagerly.
“West Kensington—Number 17 Princes’ Court Road. There was a young lady here yesterday afternoon enquiring for her.”
Quest raised his hat. It was a relief, at any rate, to have news of Lenora.
“I am very much obliged to you, madam.”
“You’re welcome!” was the terse reply.
Quest gave the new address to the taxi-driver and was scarcely able to restrain his impatience during the long drive. They pulled up at last before a somewhat dingy-looking house. He rang the bell, which was answered by a trim-looking little maid-servant.
“Is Mrs. Willet in?” he enquired.
The maid-servant stood on one side to let him pass. Almost at the same moment, the door of the front room opened and a pleasant-looking elderly lady appeared.
“I am Mrs. Willet,” she announced.
“I am Mr. Quest,” the criminologist told her quickly. “You may have heard your niece, Lenora, speak of me.”
“Then perhaps you can tell me what has become of her?” Mrs. Willet observed.
“Isn’t she here?”
Mrs. Willet shook her head.
“I had a telegram from her from New York to say that she was coming, but I’ve seen nothing of her as yet.”
“You’ve changed your address, you know,” Quest reminded her, after a moment’s reflection.
“I wrote and told her,” Mrs. Willet began. “After all, though,” she went on thoughtfully, “I am not sure whether she could have had the letter. But if she went up to Hampstead, any one would tell her where I had moved to. There’s no secret about me.”
“Lenora did go up to 157 Elsmere Road yesterday,” Quest told her. “They gave her your address here, as they have just given it to me.”
“Then what’s become of the child?” Mrs. Willet demanded.
Quest, whose brain was working quickly, scribbled upon one of his cards the address of the hotel where he had taken rooms, and passed it over.
“Why Lenora didn’t come on to you here I can’t imagine,” he said. “However, I’ll go back to the hotel where she was to spend the night after she arrived. She may have gone back there. That’s my address, Mrs. Willet. If you hear anything, I wish you’d let me know. Lenora’s quite a particular friend of mine and I am a little anxious.”
Mrs. Willet smiled knowingly.
“I’ll let you know certainly, sir,” she promised, “and glad I shall be to hear of Lenora’s being comfortably settled, after that first unfortunate affair of hers. You’ll excuse me a moment. I’m a little slower in my wits than you. Did you say that Lenora was at Hampstead yesterday afternoon and they told her my address?”
“That’s so,” Quest admitted.
The woman’s face grew troubled.
“I don’t like it,” she said simply.
“Neither do I,” Quest agreed.
“London’s no place, nowadays,” Mrs. Willet continued, “for girls as pretty as Lenora to be wandering about in. Such tales as there have been lately in the Sunday papers as makes one’s blood run cold if one can believe them all.”
“You don’t have any—what we call the White Slave Traffic—over here, do you?” Quest asked quickly.
“I can’t say that I’ve ever come across any case of it myself, sir,” the old lady replied. “I was housekeeper to the Duke of Merioneth for fifty years, and where we lived we didn’t hear much about London and London ways. You see, I never came to the town house. But since I retired and came up here, and took to reading the Sunday papers, I begin to be thankful that my ways have been country ways all my life.”
“No need to alarm ourselves, I’m sure,” Quest intervened, making his way towards the door. “Lenora is a particularly capable young lady. I feel sure she’d look after herself. I am going right back to the hotel, Mrs. Willet, and I’ll let you know directly I hear anything.”
“I shall be very anxious, Mr. Quest,” she reminded him, earnestly, “very anxious indeed. Lenora was my sister’s favourite child, and my sister—”
Quest had already opened the front door for himself and passed out. He sprang into the taxi which he had kept waiting.
“Clifford’s Hotel in Payne Street,” he told the man sharply.
He lit a cigar and smoked furiously all the way, throwing it on to the pavement as he hurried into the quiet private hotel which a fellow-passenger on the steamer had recommended as being suitable for Lenora’s one night alone in town.
“Can you tell me if Miss Lenora Macdougal is staying here?” he asked at the office.
The woman shook her head.
“Miss Macdougal stayed here the night before last,” she said, “and her luggage is waiting for orders. She left here yesterday afternoon to go to her aunt’s, and promised to send for her things later on during the day. There they stand, all ready for her.”
Quest followed the direction of the woman’s finger. Lenora’s familiar little belongings were there, standing in a corner of the hall.
“You haven’t heard from her, then, since she went out yesterday afternoon?” he asked, with sinking heart.
“No, sir!”
“What time did she go?”
“Directly after an early lunch. It must have been about two o’clock.”
Quest hurried away. So after all there was some foundation for this queer sense of depression which had been hovering about him for the last few days!
“Scotland Yard,” he told the taxi-driver.
He thrust another cigar between his teeth but forgot to light it. He was amazed at his own sensations, conscious of fears and emotions of which he would never have believed himself capable. He gave in his card, and after a few moments’ delay he was shown into the presence of one of the chiefs of the Detective Department, who greeted him warmly.
“My name is Hardaway,” the latter announced. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Quest. We’ve heard of you over here. Take a chair.”
“To tell you the truth,” Quest replied, “my business is a little urgent.”
“Glad to hear you’ve got that fellow Craig,” Mr. Hardaway continued. “Ridiculous the way he managed to slip through our fingers. I understand you’ve got him all right now, though?”
“He is safe enough,” Quest declared, “but to tell you the truth, I’m worried about another little affair.”
“Go on,” the other invited.
“My assistant, a young lady, Miss Lenora Macdougal, has disappeared! She and I and Professor Ashleigh left the steamer at Plymouth and travelled up in the boat train. It was stopped at Hamblin Road for the Professor and myself, and Miss Macdougal came on to London. She was staying at Clifford’s Hotel in Payne Street for the night, and then going on to an aunt. Well, I’ve found that aunt. She was expecting the girl but the girl never appeared. I have been to the hotel where she spent the night before last, and I find that she left there at two o’clock and left word that she would send for her luggage. She didn’t arrive at her aunt’s, and the luggage is still uncalled for.”
A man lies on the floor, women are fluttering about, and Quest stands looking angry.QUEST FIGHTS HIS WAY TO THE GIRL HE LOVES.
QUEST FIGHTS HIS WAY TO THE GIRL HE LOVES.
A group of men congregate on stone stairs, while a man desperately grasps a secret door in the stone wall.AS THE PROFESSOR EXPLAINED THE CELLAR’S HISTORY TO QUEST, THE STONE CROSS CLOSED ON THE FRIGHTENED SERVANT.
AS THE PROFESSOR EXPLAINED THE CELLAR’S HISTORY TO QUEST, THE STONE CROSS CLOSED ON THE FRIGHTENED SERVANT.
The Inspector was at first only politely interested. It probably occurred to him that young ladies have been known before now to disappear from their guardians for a few hours without serious results.
“Where did this aunt live?” he enquired.
“Number 17, Princes’ Court Road, West Kensington,” Quest replied. “She had just moved there from Elsmere Road, Hampstead. I went first to Hampstead. Lenora had been there and learnt her aunt’s correct address in West Kensington. I followed on to West Kensington and found that her aunt was still awaiting her.”
A new interest seemed suddenly to have crept into Hardaway’s manner.
“Let me see,” he said, “if she left Clifford’s Hotel about two, she would have been at Hampstead about half-past two. She would waste a few minutes in making enquiries, then she probably left Hampstead for West Kensington, say, at a quarter to three.”
“Somewhere between those two points,” Quest pointed out, “she has disappeared.”
“Give me at once a description of the young lady,” Mr. Hardaway demanded.
Quest drew a photograph from his pocket and passed it silently over. The official glanced at it and down at some papers which lay before him. Then he looked at the clock.
“Mr. Quest,” he said, “it is just possible that your visit here has been an exceedingly opportune one.”
He snatched his hat from a rack and took Quest by the arm.
“Come along with me,” he continued. “We’ll talk as we go.”
They entered a taxi and drove off westwards.
“Mr. Quest,” he went on, “for two months we have been on the track of a man and a woman whom we strongly suspect of having decoyed half a dozen perfectly respectable young women, and shipped them out to South America.”
“The White Slave Traffic!” Quest gasped.
“Something of the sort,” Hardaway admitted. “Well, we’ve been closing the net around this interesting couple, and last night I had information brought to me upon which we are acting this afternoon. We’ve had them watched and it seems that they were sitting in a tea place about three o’clock yesterday afternoon, when a young woman entered who was obviously a stranger to London. You see, the time fits in exactly, if your assistant decided to stop on her way to Kensington and get some tea. She asked the woman at the desk the best means of getting to West Kensington without taking a taxi-cab. Her description tallies exactly with the photograph you have shown me. The woman whom my men were watching addressed her and offered to show her the way. They left the place together. My men followed them. The house has been watched ever since and we are raiding it this afternoon. You and I will just be in time.”
“You’ve left her there since yesterday afternoon? You’ve left her there all night?” Quest exclaimed. “My God!”
Hardaway touched his arm soothingly.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Quest,” he said. “We don’t want the woman alone; we want the man, too. Now the man was away. He only visits the house occasionally, and I am given to understand that he is a member of several West End clubs. When the two women entered that house yesterday afternoon, there wasn’t a soul in it except servants. The woman telephoned for the man. He never turned up last night nor this morning. He arrived at that house twenty minutes ago.”
Quest drew a little breath.
“It gave me a turn,” he admitted. “Say, this is a slow taxi!”
The Inspector glanced out of the window.
“If this is the young lady you’re looking for,” he said, “you’ll be in plenty of time, never fear. What I am hoping is that we may be able to catch my fellows before they try to rush the place. You understand, with your experience, Mr. Quest, that there are two things we’ve got to think of. We not only want to put our hand upon the guilty persons, but we want to bring the crime home to them.”
“I see that,” Quest assented. “How much farther is this place?”
“We’re there,” Hardaway told him.
He stopped the cab and they got out. A man who seemed to be strolling aimlessly along, reading a newspaper, suddenly joined them.
“Well, Dixon?” his chief exclaimed.
The man glanced around.
“I’ve got three men round at the back, Mr. Hardaway,” he said. “It’s impossible for any one to leave the place.”
“Anything fresh to tell me?”
“There are two men in the place besides the governor—butler and footman, dressed in livery. They sleep out, and only come after lunch.”
Hardaway paused to consider for a moment.
“Look here,” Quest suggested, “they know all you, of course, and they’ll never let you in until they’re forced to. I’m a stranger. Let me go. I’ll get in all right.”
Hardaway peered around the corner of the street.
“All right,” he assented. “We shall follow you up pretty closely, though.”
Quest stepped back into the taxi and gave the driver a direction. When he emerged in front of the handsome grey stone house he seemed to have become completely transformed. There was a fatuous smile upon his lips. He crossed the pavement with difficulty, stumbled up the steps, and held on to the knocker with one hand while he consulted a slip of paper. He had scarcely rung the bell before a slightly parted curtain in the front room fell together, and a moment later the door was opened by a man in the livery of a butler, but with the face and physique of a prize-fighter.
“Lady of the house,” Quest demanded. “Want to see the lady of the house.”
Almost immediately he was conscious of a woman standing in the hall before him. She was quietly but handsomely dressed; her hair was grey; her smile, although a little peculiar, was benevolent.
“You had better come in,” she invited. “Please do not stand in the doorway.”
Quest, however, who heard the footsteps of the others behind him, loitered there for a moment.
“You’re the lady whose name is on this piece of paper?” he demanded. “This place is all right, eh?”
“I really do not know what you mean,” the woman replied coldly, “but if you will come inside, I will talk to you in the drawing-room.”
Quest, as though stumbling against the front-door, had it now wide open, and in a moment the hall seemed full. The woman shrieked. The butler suddenly sprang upon the last man to enter, and sent him spinning down the steps. Almost at that instant there was a scream from upstairs. Quest took a running jump and went up the stairs four at a time. The butler suddenly snatched the revolver from Hardaway’s hand and fired blindly in front of him, missing Quest only by an inch or two.
“Don’t be a fool, Karl!” the woman called out. “The game’s up. Take it quietly.”
Once more the shriek rang through the house. Quest rushed to the door of the room from whence it came, tried the handle and found it locked. He ran back a little way and charged it. From inside he could hear a turmoil of voices. White with rage and passion, he pushed and kicked madly. There was the sound of a shot from inside, a bullet came through the door within an inch of his head, then the crash of broken crockery and a man’s groan. With a final effort Quest dashed the door in and staggered into the room. Lenora was standing in the far corner, the front of her dress torn and blood upon her lip. She held a revolver in her hand and was covering a man whose head and hands were bleeding. Around him were the debris of a broken jug.
“Mr. Quest!” she screamed. “Don’t go near him—I’ve got him covered. I’m all right.”
Quest drew a long breath. The man who stood glaring at him was well-dressed and still young. He was unarmed, however, and Quest secured him in a moment.
“The girl’s mad!” he said sullenly. “No one wanted to do her any harm.”
Hardaway and his men came trooping up the stairs. Quest relinquished his prisoner and went over to Lenora.
“I’ve been so frightened,” she sobbed. “They got me in here—they told me that this was the street in which my aunt lived—and they wouldn’t let me go. The woman was horrible. And this afternoon this man came. The brute!”
“He hasn’t hurt you?” Quest demanded fiercely, as he passed his arm around her.
She shook her head.
“He would never have done that,” she murmured. “I had my hatpin in my gown and I should have killed myself first.”
Quest turned to Hardaway.
“I’ll take the young lady away,” he said. “You know where to find us.”
Hardaway nodded and Quest supported Lenora down the stairs and into the taxi-cab, which was still waiting. She leaned back and he passed his arm around her.
“Are you faint?” he asked anxiously, as they drove towards the hotel.
“A little,” she admitted, “not very. But oh! I am so thankful—so thankful!”
He leaned a little nearer towards her. She looked at him wonderingly. Suddenly the colour flushed into her cheeks.
“I couldn’t have done without you, Lenora,” he whispered, as he kissed her.
Lenora had almost recovered when they reached the hotel. Walking up and down they found the Professor. His face, as he came towards them, was almost pitiful. He scarcely noticed Lenora’s deshabille, which was in a measure concealed by the cloak which Quest had thrown around her.
“My friend!” he exclaimed—“Mr. Quest! It is the devil incarnate against whom we fight!”
“What do you mean?” Quest demanded.
The Professor wrung his hands.
“I put him in our James the Second prison,” he declared. “Why should I think of the secret passage? No one has used it for a hundred years. He found it, learnt the trick—”
“You mean,” Quest cried—
“He has escaped!” the Professor broke in. “Craig has escaped again! They are searching for him high and low, but he has gone!”
Quest’s arm tightened for a moment in Lenora’s. It was curious how he seemed to have lost at that moment all sense of proportion. Lenora was safe—the relief of that one thought overshadowed everything else in the world.
“The fellow can’t get far,” he muttered.
“Who knows?” the Professor replied dolefully. “The passage—I’ll show it you some day and you’ll see how wonderful his escape has been—leads on to the first floor of the house. He must have got into my dressing-room, for his old clothes are there and he went away in a suit of mine. No one has seen him or knows anything about him. All that the local police can find out is that a man answering somewhat his description caught the morning train for Southampton from Hamblin Roads.”
They had been standing together in a little recess of the hall. Suddenly Lenora, whose face was turned towards the entrance doors, gave a little cry. She took a quick step forward.
“Laura!” she exclaimed, wonderingly. “Why, it’s Laura!”
They all turned around. A young woman had just entered the hotel, followed by a porter carrying some luggage. Her arm was in a sling and there was a bandage around her forehead. She walked, too, with the help of a stick. She recognized them at once and waved it gaily.
“Hullo, you people?” she cried. “Soon run you to earth, eh?”
They were for a moment dumbfounded; Lenora was the first to find words. “But when did you start, Laura?” she asked. “I thought you were too ill to move for weeks.”
The girl smiled contemptuously.
“I left three days after you, on theKaiser Frederic,” she replied. “There was some trouble at Plymouth, and we came into Southampton early this morning, and here I am. But, before we go any farther, tell me about Craig?”
“We’ve had him,” Quest confessed, “and lost him again. He escaped last night.”
“Where from?” Laura asked.
“Hamblin House.”
“Is that anywhere near the south coast?” the girl demanded excitedly.
“It’s not far away,” Quest replied quickly. “Why?”
“I’ll tell you why,” Laura explained. “I was as sure of it as any one could be. Craig passed me in Southampton Water this morning, being rowed out to a steamer. Not only that but he recognized me. I saw him draw back and hide his face, but somehow I couldn’t believe that it was really he. I was just coming down the gangway and I nearly fell into the sea, I was so surprised.”
Quest was already turning over the pages of a time-table.
“What was the steamer?” he demanded.
“I found out,” Laura told him. “I tell you, I was so sure of it’s being Craig that I made no end of enquiries. It was theBarton, bound for India, with first stop at Port Said.”
“When does she sail?” Quest asked.
“To-night—somewhere about seven,” Laura replied.
Quest glanced at the clock and threw down the time-table. He turned towards the door. They all followed him.
“I’m for Southampton,” he announced. “I’m going to try to get on board that steamer before she sails. Lenora, you’d better go upstairs and lie down. They’ll give you a room here. Don’t you stir out till I come back. Professor, what about you?”
“I shall accompany you,” the Professor declared. “The discomforts of travelling without luggage are nothing compared with the importance of discovering this human fiend.”
“Luggage—pshaw!” Laura exclaimed. “Who cares about that?”
“And nothing,” Lenora declared firmly, as she caught at Quest’s arm, “would keep me away.”
“I’ll telephone to Scotland Yard, in case they care to send a man down,” Quest decided. “We must remember, though,” he reminded them, “that it will very likely be a wild-goose chase.”
“It won’t be the first,” Laura observed grimly, “but Craig’s on board that ship all right.”…
They caught a train to Southampton, where they were joined by a man from Scotland Yard. The little party drove as quickly as possible to the docks.
“Where does theBartonstart from?” Quest asked the pier-master.
The man pointed a little way down the harbor.
“She’s not in dock, sir,” he said. “She’s lying out yonder. You’ll barely catch her, I’m afraid,” he added, glancing at the clock.
They hurried to the edge of the quay.
“Look here,” Quest cried, raising his voice, “I’ll give a ten pound note to any one who gets me out to theBartonbefore she sails.”
The little party were almost thrown into a tug, and in a few minutes they were skimming across the smooth water. Just as they reached the steamer, however, she began to move.
“Run up alongside,” Quest ordered.
“She won’t stop, sir,” the Captain of the tug replied doubtfully. “She is an hour late, as it is.”
“Do as I tell you,” Quest insisted.
They raced along by the side of the great steamer. An officer came to the rail and shouted down to them.
“What do you want?”
“The Captain,” Quest replied.
The Captain came down from the bridge, where he had been conferring with the pilot.
“Keep away from the side there,” he shouted. “Who are you?”
“We are in search of a desperate criminal whom we believe to be on board your steamer,” Quest explained. “Please take us on board.”
The Captain shook his head.
“Are you from Scotland Yard?” he asked. “Have you got your warrant?”
“We are from America,” Quest answered, “but we’ve got a Scotland Yard man with us, and a warrant, right enough.”
“Any extradition papers?”
“No time to get them yet,” Quest replied, “but the man’s wanted for murder.”
“Are you from the New York police?”
Quest shook his head.
“I am a private detective,” he announced. “I am working in conjunction with the New York Police.”
The Captain shook his head.
“I am over an hour late,” he said, “and it’s costing me fifty pounds a minute. If I take you on board, you’ll have to come right along with me, unless you find the fellow before we’ve left your tug behind.”
Quest turned around.
“Will you risk it?” he asked.
“Yes!” they all replied.
“We’re coming, Captain,” Quest decided.
A rope ladder was let down. The steamer began to slow.
“Can you girls manage it?” Quest asked doubtfully.
Laura smiled.
“I should say so,” she replied. “I can go up that with only one arm. You watch me!”
They cheered her on board the steamer as she hobbled up. The others followed. The tug, the crew of which had been already well paid, raced along by the side. The Captain spoke once more to the pilot and came down from the bridge.
“I’m forced to go full speed ahead to cross the bar,” he told Quest. “I’m sorry, but the tide’s just on the turn.”
They looked at one another a little blankly.
The Professor, however, beamed upon them all.
“I have always understood,” he said, “that Port Said is a most interesting place.”
Return to Table of Contents
Quest leaned a little forward and gazed down the line of steamer chairs. The Professor, in a borrowed overcoat and cap, was reclining at full length, studying a book on seagulls which he had found in the library. Laura and Lenora were both dozing tranquilly. Mr. Harris of Scotland Yard was deep in a volume of detective stories.
“As a pleasure cruise,” Quest remarked grimly, “this little excursion seems to be a complete success.”
Laura opened her eyes at once.
“Trying to get my goat again, eh?” she retorted. “I suppose that’s what you’re after. Going to tell me, I suppose, that it wasn’t Craig I saw board this steamer?”
“We are all liable to make mistakes,” Quest observed, “and I am inclined to believe that this is one of yours.”
Laura’s expression was a little dogged.
“If he’s too clever for you and Mr. Harris,” she said, “I can’t help that. I only know that he came on board. My eyes are the one thing in life I do believe.”
“If you’ll excuse my saying so, Miss Laura,” Harris ventured, leaning deferentially towards her, “there isn’t a passenger on board this ship, or a servant, or one of the crew, whom we haven’t seen. We’ve been into every stateroom, and we’ve even searched the hold. We’ve been over the ship, backwards and forwards. The Captain’s own steward has been our guide, and we’ve conducted an extra search on our own account. Personally, I must say I have come to the same conclusion as Mr. Quest. At the present moment there is no such person as the man we are looking for, on board this steamer.”
“Then he either changed on to another one,” Laura declared obstinately, “or else he jumped overboard.”
Harris, who was a very polite man, gazed thoughtfully seaward. Quest smiled.
“When Laura’s set on a thing,” he remarked, “she takes a little moving. What do you think about it, Professor?”
The Professor laid down his book, keeping his finger in the place. He had the air of a man perfectly content with himself and his surroundings.
“My friend,” he said, “I boarded this steamer with only one thought in my mind—Craig. At the present moment, I feel myself compelled to plead guilty to a complete change of outlook. The horrors of the last few months seem to have passed from my brain like a dream. I lie here, I watch these white-winged birds wheeling around us, I watch the sunshine make jewels of the spray, I breathe this wonderful air, I relax my body to the slow, soothing movements of the boat, and I feel a new life stealing through me. Is Craig really on board? Was it really he whom Miss Laura here saw? At the present moment, I really do not care. I learn from the steward, who arranged my bath this morning, that we are bound for India. I am very glad to hear it. It is some time since I saw Bombay, and the thought of these long days of complete peace fills me with a most indescribable satisfaction.”
Quest grunted a little as he knocked the ash from his cigar.
“Not much of the bloodhound about the Professor,” he remarked. “What about you, Lenora?”
She smiled at him.
“I agree entirely with the Professor,” she murmured, “except that I am not quite so sure that I appreciate the rhythmical movement of the boat as he seems to. For the rest, I have just that feeling that I would like to go on and on and forget all the horrible things that have happened, to live in a sort of dream, and wake up in a world from which Craig had vanished altogether.”
“Enervating effect this voyage seems to be having upon you all,” Quest grumbled. “Even Harris there looks far too well contented with life.”
The detective smiled. He was young and fresh-coloured, with a shrewd but pleasant face. He glanced involuntarily at Laura as he spoke.
“Well, Mr. Quest,” he said, “I didn’t bring you on the steamer so I don’t feel any responsibility about it, but I must confess that I am enjoying the trip. I haven’t had a holiday this year.”
Quest struggled to his feet and threw back the rug in his chair.
“If you all persist in turning this into a pleasure cruise,” he remarked, “I suppose I’ll have to alter my own point of view. Come on, Harris, you and I promised to report to the Captain this morning. I don’t suppose he’ll be any too pleased with us. Let’s get through with it.”
The two men walked down the deck together. They found the Captain alone in his room, with a chart spread out in front of him and a pair of compasses in his hand. He turned round and greeted them.
“Well?”
“No luck, sir,” Quest announced. “Your steward has given us every assistance possible and we have searched the ship thoroughly. Unless he has found a hiding place unknown to your steward, and not apparent to us, the man is not on board.”
The Captain frowned slightly.
“You are not suggesting that that is possible, I suppose?”
Quest did not at once reply. He was thinking of Laura’s obstinacy.
“Personally,” he admitted, “I should not have believed it possible. The young lady of our party, however, who declares that she saw Craig board the steamer, is quite immovable.”
The Captain rose to his feet. He was a man of medium height, strongly built, with short brown beard and keen blue eyes.
“This matter must be cleared up entirely,” he declared brusquely. “If you will excuse me for a moment, I will talk to the young lady myself.”
He walked firmly down the deck to where the two girls were seated, and paused in front of Laura.
“So you’re the young lady,” he remarked, touching his cap, “who thinks that I come to sea with criminals stowed away on my ship?”
“I don’t know what your habits are, Captain,” Laura replied, “but this particular criminal boarded your ship all right in Southampton Harbour.”
“Anything wrong with your eyesight?” the Captain enquired blandly.
“No,” Laura assured him. “I saw the man, saw him just as plainly as I see you now.”
“Do you know,” the Captain persisted, “that Mr. Quest and Mr. Harris have searched every nook and corner of the ship? They have had an absolutely free hand, and my own steward has been their guide. They have seen every man, boy, woman and animal amongst my crew or passengers.”
“They’ve been fooled somehow,” Laura muttered.
The Captain frowned. He was on the point of a sharp rejoinder when he met Laura’s eyes. She was smiling very faintly and there was something in her expression which changed his whole point of view.
“I’ll go and make a few enquiries myself,” he declared. “See you at dinner-time, I hope, young ladies.”
“If you keep her as steady as this,” Laura promised, “there are hopes.”
He disappeared along the deck, and presently re-entered his room, where Harris and Quest were waiting for him. He was followed by his steward, an under-sized man with pallid complexion and nervous manner. He closed the door behind him.
“Brown,” he said, turning to the steward, “I understand you to say that you have taken these gentlemen into every corner of the ship, that you have ransacked every possible hiding-place, that you have given them every possible opportunity of searching for themselves?”
“That is quite true, sir,” the man acknowledged.
“You agree with me that it is impossible for any one to remain hidden in this ship?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“You hear, gentlemen?” the Captain continued. “I really can do no more. It is perfectly clear to me that the man you are seeking is not on my ship. Your very charming young lady friend seems to think it impossible that she could have been mistaken, but as a matter of fact she was. If I might take the liberty, Mr. Quest, I would suggest that you ask her, at any rate, to keep her suspicions to herself.”
“I’ll see she doesn’t talk,” Quest promised. “Very sorry to have given you all this trouble, I’m sure.”
“It’s no trouble,” the Captain replied, “and apart from the disagreeable nature of your business, I am delighted to have you on board. If you can forget your suspicions about this fellow Craig, I shall do my best to make your trip a pleasant one as far as Port Said, or on to India if you decide to take the trip with me.”
“Very good of you, Captain, I’m sure,” Quest pronounced. “We shall go on keeping our eyes open, of course, but apart from that we’ll forget the fellow.”
The Captain nodded.
“I am coming down to dinner to-night,” he announced, “and shall hope to find you in your places. What the mischief are you hanging about for, Brown?” he asked, turning to the steward, who was standing by with a carpet-sweeper in his hand.
“Room wants cleaning out badly, sir.”
The Captain glanced distastefully at the carpet-sweeper.
“Do it when I am at dinner, then,” he ordered, “and take that damned thing away.”
The steward obeyed promptly. Quest and Harris followed him down the deck.
“Queer-looking fellow, that,” the latter remarked. “Doesn’t seem quite at his ease, does he?”
“Seemed a trifle over-anxious, I thought, when he was showing us round the ship,” Quest agreed.
“M-m,” Harris murmured softly, “as the gentleman who wrote the volume of detective stories I am reading puts it, we’d better keep our eye on Brown.”…
The Captain, who was down to dinner unusually early, rose to welcome Quest’s little party and himself arranged the seats.
“You, Miss Lenora,” he said, “will please sit on my left, and you, Miss Laura, on my right. Mr. Quest, will you sit on the other side of Miss Laura, and Mr. Harris two places down on my left. There is an old lady who expects to be at the table, but the steward tells me she hasn’t been in yet.”
They settled down into the places arranged for them. Harris was looking a little glum. Lenora and Quest exchanged a meaning glance.
“I’m not sure that I appreciate this arrangement,” Harris whispered to his neighbour.
“You may be candid,” Lenora replied, “but you aren’t very polite, are you?”
Harris almost blushed as he realized his slip.
“I am sorry,” he said, “but to tell you the truth,” he added, glancing towards Quest, “I fancied that you were feeling about the same.”
“We women are poor dissemblers,” Lenora murmured. “Do look how angry this old woman seems.”
An elderly lady, dressed in somewhat oppressive black, with a big cameo brooch at her throat and a black satin bag in her hand, was being shown by the steward to a seat by Quest’s side. She acknowledged the Captain’s greeting acidly.
“Good evening, Captain,” she said. “I understood from the second steward that the seat on your right hand would be reserved for me. I am Mrs. Foston Rowe.”
The Captain received the announcement calmly.
“Very pleased to have you at the table, madam,” he replied. “As to the seating, I leave that entirely to the steward. I never interfere myself.”
Laura pinched his arm, and Lenora glanced away to hide a smile. Mrs. Foston Rowe studied the menu disapprovingly.
“Hors d’oeuvres,” she declared, “I never touch. No one knows how long they’ve been opened. Bouillon—I will have some bouillon, steward.”
“In one moment, madam.”
The Professor just then came ambling along towards the table.
“I fear that I am a few moments late,” he remarked, as he took the chair next to Mrs. Foston Rowe. “I offer you my apologies, Captain. I congratulate you upon your library. I have discovered a most interesting book upon the habits of seagulls. It kept me engrossed until the very last moment.”
“Very disagreeable habits, those I’ve noticed,” Mrs. Foston Rowe sniffed.
“Madam,” the Professor assured her, “yours is but a superficial view. For myself, I must confess that the days upon which I learn something new in life are days of happiness for me. To-day is an example; I have learnt something new about seagulls, and I am hungry.”
“Well, you’ll have to stay hungry a long time at this table, then,” Mrs. Foston Rowe snapped. “Seems to me that the service is going to be abominable.”
The steward, who had just arrived, presented a cup of bouillon to Quest. The others had all been served. Quest stirred it thoughtfully.
“And as to the custom,” Mrs. Foston Rowe continued, “of serving gentlemen before ladies, it is, I suppose, peculiar to this steamer.”
Quest hastily laid down his spoon, raised the cup of bouillon and presented it with a little bow to his neighbour.
“Pray allow me, madam,” he begged. “The steward was to blame.”
Mrs. Foston Rowe did not hesitate for a moment. She broke up some toast in the bouillon and commenced to sip it.
“Your politeness will at least teach them a lesson,” she said. “I am used to travel by the P. & O. and from what I have seen of this steamer—”
The spoon suddenly went clattering from her fingers. She caught at the sides of the table, there was a strange look in her face. With scarcely a murmur she fell back in her seat. Quest leaned hurriedly forward.
“Captain!” he exclaimed. “Steward! Mrs. Foston Rowe is ill.”
There was a slight commotion. The Doctor came hurrying up from the other side of the salon. He bent over her and his face grew grave.
“What is it?” the Captain demanded.
The Doctor glanced at him meaningly.
“She had better be carried out,” he whispered.
It was all done in a moment. There was nothing but Mrs. Foston Rowe’s empty place at the table and the cup of bouillon, to remind them of what had happened.
“Was it a faint?” Lenora asked.
“We shall know directly,” the Captain replied. “Better keep our places, I think. Steward, serve the dinner as usual.”
The man held out his hand to withdraw the cup of bouillon, but Quest drew it towards him.
“Let it wait for a moment,” he ordered.
He glanced at the Captain, who nodded back. In a few moments the Doctor reappeared. He leaned down and whispered to the Captain.
“Dead!”
The Captain gave no sign.
“Better call it heart failure,” the Doctor continued. “I’ll let the people know quietly. I don’t in the least understand the symptoms, though.”
Quest turned around.
“Doctor,” he said, “I happen to have my chemical chest with me, and some special testing tubes. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to examine this cup of bouillon. You might come round, too, if you will.”
The Captain nodded.
“I’d better stay here for a time,” he decided. “I’ll follow you presently.”
The service of dinner was resumed. Laura, however, sent plate after plate away. The Captain watched her anxiously.
“I can’t help it,” she explained. “I don’t know whether you’ve had any talk with Mr. Quest, but we’ve been through some queer times lately. I guess this death business is getting on my nerves.”
The Captain was startled.
“You don’t for a moment connect Mrs. Foston Rowe’s death with the criminal you are in search of?” he exclaimed.
Laura sat quite still for a moment.
“The bouillon was offered first to Mr. Quest,” she murmured.
The Captain called his steward.
“Where did you get the bouillon you served—that last cup especially?” he asked.
“From the pantry just as usual, sir,” the man answered. “It was all served out from the same cauldron.”
“Any chance of any one getting at it?”
“Quite impossible, sir!”
Laura rose to her feet.
“Sorry,” she apologized, “I can’t eat anything. I’m off on deck.”
The Captain rose promptly.
“I’ll escort you, if I may,” he suggested.
Harris, too, rose from his place, after a final and regretful glance at the menu, and joined the others. The Captain, however, drew Laura’s arm through his as they reached the stairs, and Harris, with a little shrug of the shoulders, made his way to Quest’s stateroom. The Doctor, the Professor, Quest and Lenora were all gathered around two little tubes, which the criminologist was examining with an electric torch.
“No reaction at all,” the latter muttered. “This isn’t an ordinary poison, any way.”
The Professor, who had been standing on one side, suddenly gave vent to a soft exclamation.
“Wait!” he whispered. “Wait! I have an idea.”
He hurried off to his stateroom. The Doctor was poring over a volume of tabulated poisons. Quest was still watching his tubes. Lenora sat upon the couch. Suddenly the Professor reappeared. He was carrying a small notebook in his hand; his manner betrayed some excitement. He closed the door carefully behind him.
“I want you all,” he begged, “to listen very carefully to me. You will discover the application of what I am going to read, when I am finished. Now, if you please.”
They looked at him wonderingly. It was evident that the Professor was very much in earnest. He held the book a little way away from him and read slowly and distinctly.
“This,” he began, “is the diary of a tour made by Craig and myself in Northern Egypt some fourteen years ago. Here is the first entry of import:—
“Monday. Twenty-nine miles south-east of Port Said. We have stayed for two days at a little Mongar village. I have to-day come to the definite conclusion that anthropoid apes were at one time denizens of this country.“Tuesday. Both Craig and I have been a little uneasy to-day. These Mongars into whose encampment we have found our way, are one of the strangest and fiercest of the nomad tribes. They are descended, without a doubt, from the ancient Mongolians, who invaded this country some seven hundred years before Christ. They have interbred with the Arabs to some extent, but have preserved in a marvellous way their individuality as a race. They have the narrow eyes and the thick nose base of the pure Oriental; also much of his cunning. One of their special weaknesses seems to be the invention of the most hideous forms of torture, which they apply remorselessly to their enemies.”
“Monday. Twenty-nine miles south-east of Port Said. We have stayed for two days at a little Mongar village. I have to-day come to the definite conclusion that anthropoid apes were at one time denizens of this country.
“Tuesday. Both Craig and I have been a little uneasy to-day. These Mongars into whose encampment we have found our way, are one of the strangest and fiercest of the nomad tribes. They are descended, without a doubt, from the ancient Mongolians, who invaded this country some seven hundred years before Christ. They have interbred with the Arabs to some extent, but have preserved in a marvellous way their individuality as a race. They have the narrow eyes and the thick nose base of the pure Oriental; also much of his cunning. One of their special weaknesses seems to be the invention of the most hideous forms of torture, which they apply remorselessly to their enemies.”
“Pleasant sort of people,” Quest muttered.
“We escaped with our lives,” the Professor explained earnestly, “from these people, only on account of an incident which you will find in this next paragraph:—”
“Wednesday. This has been a wonderful day for as, chiefly owing to what I must place on record as an act of great bravery by Craig, my servant. Early this morning, a man-eating lion found his way into the encampment. The Mongars behaved like arrant cowards. They fled right and left, leaving the Chief’s little daughter, Feerda, at the brute’s mercy. Craig, who is by no means an adept in the use of firearms, chased the animal as he was making off with the child, and, more by good luck than anything else, managed to wound it mortally. He brought the child back to the encampment just as the Chief and the warriors of the tribe returned from a hunting expedition. Our position here is now absolutely secure. We are treated like gods, and, appreciating my weakness for all matters of science, the Chief has to-day explained to me many of the secret mysteries of the tribe. Amongst other things, he has shown me a wonderful secret poison, known only to this tribe, which they call Veedemzoo. It brings almost instant death, and is exceedingly difficult to trace. The addition of sugar causes a curious condensation and resolves it almost to a white paste. The only antidote is a substance which they use here freely, and which is exactly equivalent to our camphor.”
“Wednesday. This has been a wonderful day for as, chiefly owing to what I must place on record as an act of great bravery by Craig, my servant. Early this morning, a man-eating lion found his way into the encampment. The Mongars behaved like arrant cowards. They fled right and left, leaving the Chief’s little daughter, Feerda, at the brute’s mercy. Craig, who is by no means an adept in the use of firearms, chased the animal as he was making off with the child, and, more by good luck than anything else, managed to wound it mortally. He brought the child back to the encampment just as the Chief and the warriors of the tribe returned from a hunting expedition. Our position here is now absolutely secure. We are treated like gods, and, appreciating my weakness for all matters of science, the Chief has to-day explained to me many of the secret mysteries of the tribe. Amongst other things, he has shown me a wonderful secret poison, known only to this tribe, which they call Veedemzoo. It brings almost instant death, and is exceedingly difficult to trace. The addition of sugar causes a curious condensation and resolves it almost to a white paste. The only antidote is a substance which they use here freely, and which is exactly equivalent to our camphor.”
The Professor closed his book. Quest promptly rang the bell.
“Some sugar,” he ordered, turning to the steward.
They waited in absolute silence. The suggestion which the Professor’s disclosure had brought to them was stupefying, even Quest’s fingers, as a moment or two later he rubbed two knobs of sugar together so that the particles should fall into the tubes of bouillon, shook. The result was magical. The bouillon turned to a strange shade of grey and began slowly to thicken.
“It is the Mongar poison!” the Professor cried, with breaking voice.
They all looked at one another.
“Craig must be here amongst us,” Quest muttered.
“And the bouillon,” Lenora cried, clasping Quest’s arm, “the bouillon was meant for you!”…
There seemed to be, somehow, amongst all of them, a curious indisposition to discuss this matter. Suddenly Lenora, who was sitting on the lounge underneath the porthole, put out her hand and picked up a card which was lying by her side. She glanced at it, at first curiously. Then she shrieked.
“A message!” she cried. “A message from the Hands! Look!”
They crowded around her. In that same familiar handwriting was scrawled across the face of the card these few words—
“To Sanford Quest.“You have escaped this time by a chance of fortune, not because your wits are keen, not because of your own shrewdness; simply because Fate willed it. It will not be for long.”
“To Sanford Quest.
“You have escaped this time by a chance of fortune, not because your wits are keen, not because of your own shrewdness; simply because Fate willed it. It will not be for long.”
Underneath was the drawing of the clenched hands.
“There is no longer any doubt,” Lenora said calmly. “Craig is on board. He must have been on deck a few minutes ago. It was his hand which placed this card in the porthole…. Listen! What’s that?”
There was a scream from the deck. They all recognised Laura’s voice. Harris was out of the stateroom first but they were all on deck within ten seconds. Laura was standing with one hand clasping the rail, her hand fiercely outstretched towards the lower part of the promenade deck. Through the darkness they heard the sound of angry voices.
“What is it, Laura?” Lenora cried.
She swung round upon them.
“Craig!” she cried. “Craig! I saw his face as I sat in my chair there, talking to the Captain. I saw a man’s white face—nothing else. He must have been leaning over the rail. He heard me call out and he disappeared.”
The Captain came slowly out of the shadows, limping a little and followed by his steward, who was murmuring profuse apologies.
“Did you find him?” Laura demanded eagerly.
“I did not,” the Captain replied, a little tersely. “I ran into Brown here and we both had a shake-up.”
“But he was there—a second ago!” Laura cried out.
“I beg your pardon, miss,” Brown ventured, “but the deck’s closed at the end, as you can see, with sail-cloth, and I was leaning over the rail myself when you shrieked. There wasn’t any one else near me, and no one can possibly have passed round the deck, as you can see plainly for yourself.”
Laura stood quite still.
“What doors are there on the side?” she asked.
“The doors of my room only,” the Captain replied, a little shortly. “It was Brown you saw, of course. He was standing exactly where you thought you saw Craig.”
Laura walked to the end of the deck and back.
“Very well, then,” she said, “you people had better get a strait-waistcoat ready for me. If I didn’t see Craig there, I’m going off my head.”
Quest had disappeared some seconds ago. He came thoughtfully back, a little later.
“Captain,” he asked, “what shall you say if I tell you that I have proof that Craig is on board?”
The Captain glanced at Laura and restrained himself.
“I should probably say a great many things which I should regret afterwards,” he replied grimly.
“Sit down and we’ll tell you what has happened in my room,” Quest continued.
He told the story, calmly and without remark. The Captain held his head.
“Of course, I’m convinced that I am a sane man,” he said, “but this sounds more like a Munchausen story than anything I’ve ever heard. I suppose you people are all real? You are in earnest about this, aren’t you? It isn’t a gigantic joke?”
“We are in deadly earnest,” the Professor pronounced gravely.
“I have been down to the pantry,” Quest went on. “The porthole has been open all day. It was just possible for a man to have reached the cups of bouillon as they were prepared. That isn’t the point, however. Craig is cunning and clever enough for any devilish scheme on earth, and that card proves that he is on board.”
“The ship shall be searched,” the Captain declared, “once more. We’ll look into every crack and every cupboard.”
Lenora turned away with a little shiver. It was one of her rare moments of weakness.
“You won’t find him! You won’t ever find him!” she murmured. “And I am afraid!”
Lenora grasped the rails of the steamer and glanced downwards at the great barge full of Arab sailors and merchandise. In the near background were the docks of Port Said. It was their first glimpse of Eastern atmosphere and colour.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am,” she declared to Quest, “to think that this voyage is over. Every night I have gone to bed terrified.”
He smiled grimly.
“Things have been quiet enough the last few days,” he said. “There’s Harris on this barge. Look at Laura waving to him!”
The Scotland Yard man only glanced up at them. He was occupied in leaning over towards Laura, who was on the deck below.
“If you said the word,” he called out, “I wouldn’t be going back, Miss Laura. I’d stick to the ship fast enough.”
She laughed at him gaily.
“Not you! You’re longing for your smoky old London already. You cut it out, my friend. You’re a good sort, and I hope we’ll meet again some day. But—”
She shook her head at him good-humouredly. He turned away, disappointed, and waved his hand to Lenora and Quest on the upper deck.
“Coming on shore, any of you?” he enquired.
“We may when the boat moves up,” Quest replied. “The Professor went off on the first barge. Here he is, coming back.”
A little boat had shot out from the docks, manned by a couple of Arabs. They could see the Professor seated in the stern. He was poring over a small document which he held in his hand. He waved to them excitedly.
“He’s got news!” Quest muttered.
With much shouting the boat was brought to the side of the barge. The Professor was hauled up. He stumbled blindly across towards the gangway and came up the steps with amazing speed. He came straight to Quest and Lenora and gripped the former by the arm.
“Look!” he cried. “Look!”
He held out a card. Quest read it aloud:—
“There is not one amongst you with the wit of a Mongar child. Good-bye!”“The Hands!”
“There is not one amongst you with the wit of a Mongar child. Good-bye!”
“The Hands!”
“Where did you get it?” Quest demanded.
“That’s the point—the whole point!” the Professor exclaimed excitedly. “He’s done us! He’s landed! That paper was pushed into my hand by a tall Arab, who mumbled something and hurried off across the docks. On the landing-stage, mind!”
The Captain came and put his head out of the door.
“Mr. Quest,” he said, “can you spare me a moment? You can all come, if you like.”
They moved up towards him. The Captain closed the door of his cabin. He pointed to a carpet-sweeper which lay against the wall.
“Look at that,” he invited.
They lifted the top. Inside were several sandwiches and a small can of tea.
“What on earth is this?” Quest demanded.
The Captain, without a word, led them into his inner room. A huge lounge stood in one corner. He lifted the valance. Underneath were some crumbs.
“You see,” he pointed out, “there’s room there for a man to have hidden, especially if he could crawl out on deck at night. I couldn’t make out why the dickens Brown was always sweeping out my room, and I took up this thing a little time ago and looked at it. This is what I found.”
“Where’s Brown?” Quest asked quickly.
“I rang down for the chief steward,” the Captain continued, “and ordered Brown to be sent up at once. The chief steward came himself instead. It seems Brown went off without his wages but with a huge parcel of bedding, on the first barge this morning, before any one was about.”
Quest groaned as he turned away.
“Captain,” he declared, “I am ashamed. He has been here all the time and we’ve let him slip through our fingers. Girls,” he went on briskly, turning towards Laura, who had just come up, “India’s off. We’ll catch this barge, if there’s time. Our luggage can be put on shore when the boat docks.”
The Captain walked gloomily with them to the gangway.
“I shall miss you all,” he told Laura.
She laughed in his face.
“If you ask me, I think you’ll be glad to be rid of us.”
“Not of you, Miss Laura,” he insisted.
She made a little grimace.
“You’re as bad as Mr. Harris,” she declared. “We’ll come for another trip with you some day.”
They left him leaning disconsolately over the rails. The Professor and Quest sat side by side on one of the trunks which was piled up on the barge.
“Professor,” Quest asked, “how long would it take us to get to this Mongar village you spoke about?”
“Two or three days, if we can get camels,” the other replied. “I see you agree with me, then, as to Craig’s probable destination?”
Quest nodded.
“What sort of fellows are they, any way?” he asked. “Will it be safe for us to push on alone?”
“With me,” the Professor assured him, “you will be safe anywhere. I speak a little of their language. I have lived with them. They are far more civilized than some of the interior tribes.”
“We’ll find a comfortable hotel where we can leave the girls—” Quest began.
“You can cut that out,” Laura interrupted. “I don’t know about the kid here, but if you think I’m going to miss a camel ride across the desert, you’re dead wrong, so that’s all there is to it.”
Quest glanced towards Lenora. She leaned over and took his arm.
“I simply couldn’t be left behind,” she pleaded. “I’ve had quite enough of that.”
“The journey will not be an unpleasant one,” the Professor declared amiably, “and the riding of a camel is an accomplishment easily acquired. So far as I am aware, too, the district which we shall have to traverse is entirely peaceable.”
They disembarked and were driven to the hotel, still discussing their project. Afterwards they all wandered into the bazaars, along the narrow streets, where dusky children pulled at their clothes and ran by their side, where every now and then a brown-skinned Arab, on a slow-moving camel, made his way through the throngs of veiled Turkish women, Syrians, Arabs, and Egyptians. Laura and Lenora, at any rate, attracted by the curious novelty of the scene, forgot the heat, the street smells, and the filthy clothes of the mendicants and loafers who pressed against them. They bought strange jewellery, shawls, beads and perfumes. The Professor had disappeared for some time but rejoined them later.