THAT same afternoon, there being a full moon on the previous day, the spring tide was at its highest at about six o'clock. The conditions being favourable, R 81 was moved into the covered-in slip, while the shell of R 67 was placed in the berth vacated by her practically intact sister.
When employed as active units under the white ensign, these boats had a surface displacement of 420 tons; submerged, this displacement was increased to the extent of 80 tons. Their speed when on the surface was 15 knots; while submerged, this was reduced to nine. The propelling machinery consisted of semi-Diesel engines for surface work, 13 tons of oil being carried for that purpose. In diving-trim this class relied upon electric motors, the "juice" being kept in numbers of storage batteries that had frequently to be recharged.
In her present state, R 81 retained her engines. To get these tuned up was not a difficult matter. The batteries had deteriorated to such an extent as to be useless.
Trevorrick decided to scrap them. He had nointention of driving R 81 under the water. In the event of danger he could submerge and "lie doggo" until he deemed it prudent to break surface. Thus, he cut out an important item in the running costs.
Meanwhile, the roar of the oxygen-acetylene plant had given place to the rattle of riveting-hammers and drilling-machines. All hands worked with a zest, prompted by the hope that they were participators in a profit-sharing scheme. To guard against intruders, watchmen were posted by night, while a boom of timber was stretched across the mouth of Polkyll Creek, to which a noticeboard was affixed with the intimation that "This Creek is temporarily closed to Navigation. Dangerous. By Order."
By whose order it was not stated. Few craft other than pleasure skiffs ever penetrated the secluded backwater, and the season was too late for picnic parties. Some of the local fishermen were "up against" the infringement of their rights, but a judicious expenditure on beer quickly removed their opposition to the temporary closing of the creek.
Quickly the task of disguising the submarine as a tramp steamer progressed. Vertical girders bolted to her bulging sides formed the framework for the side-plating. She was given a raised fo'c'sle and poop; while amidships, by an ingenious arrangement, was a raised structure that could with little trouble be moved fore and aft. On the structure was the dummy charthouse with a funnel in its wake. Thus, by altering the position of the midship structure, the submarine would present the appearance of a "three island vessel" or one of the coasting type with the funnel well aft. In addition, she was given a pair of stumpy masts with derricks, so arranged to be lowered should occasion arise. Ventilating cowls were fixed to various positions on deck, each with a duplicate base, in order to alter the general appearance. Two boats were carried in davits, each constructed of sheet metal and fitted with valves that enabled them to be easily filled and emptied when the submarine dived or came to the surface as the case might be.
In two months from the time the work was first put in hand, R 81, rechristenedAlerteof London, was floated out and moored in the centre of Polkyll Creek. If necessary, her presence could be explained by saying that she was about to take a cargo of scrap metal round to Cardiff.
Even at close distance it would be almost impossible for the most practised eye to discover the fake, unless the observer actually went on board. With her black sides streaked with iron rust, her stumpy masts and buff funnel with a black top, she was like many a hundred tramps that nosed their way coastwise from Thurso to Penzance and from Wick to Falmouth.
To complete the deception, Pengelly, who was a skilful penman, made a fictitious "Certificate of Registry" and other necessary ship's papers. Nor was he content with one of each. Six different sets, each in a different name, were prepared and placed on board.
At an early stage in the proceedings, Pengelly had gone over to Penzance in order to interview and enlist the services of that tough old salt Silas Porthoustoc. At the merest hint that he proposed to run a cargo, the skipper of the lugger's eyes gleamed.
"What be't, maaster?" he inquired. "Spirits, lace, or what not?"
"Neither at present," was the reply. "But something highly contraband."
"So much the better, say I," grunted Silas. "Where be to?"
"What's the size of your hold?" asked Pengelly, without answering Porthoustoc's question.
"Say twelve feet by six an' you'll not be far adrift."
"That's the hatch?"
"Ay, of course," replied Silas. "Reckon as 'ow I could stow a twenty-five feet spar if I wur put to it."
"Good enough," agreed Pengelly. "Here are your orders: Three miles S.S.E. of the North Hinder Light, between midnight and dawn on the 17th."
"Good," chuckled the old man. "Then ut be Schnapps after all?"
"Sort of," admitted Pengelly. "You'll find a motor cargo-boat waiting for you. She'll show three long and three short flashes every half-hour, till you answer her by the prearranged signal. It's all set down on this paper. Our rendezvous——"
"What'll that be, maaster?" interrupted Silas.
"Meeting-place," explained the other. "Willbe ten miles sou' by west of St. Alban's Head. Recognition signals the same. Payment fifty pounds down and five per cent. on all subsequent consignments—and we'll keep you pretty busy. Not much risk, either, if you know your job."
"Guess I knows my job, all right," chuckled Porthoustoc.
"Good!" ejaculated Pengelly. "If there's much of a lop on outside you'd best run up the West Scheldt. You'll find your cargo waiting for you off Neuzen. Know it?"
"Find my way in blindfold," declared Silas. "I'd like to have a quid for every lil' keg I've brought out o' they parts. TheFairy'll be on the spot to time, blow high, blow low, maaster."
Having secured an ally, although Silas Porthoustoc was in ignorance of the real project of his employer, Pengelly returned to Polkyll Creek and reported progress.
"We'll slip our moorings on Saturday," declared Trevorrick. "She's practically ready. We took in the last few tons of oil this morning. Men are full of beans and slogging in like buck niggers. Pengelly, old son, it's going to be simply IT and no mistake."
In this optimistic state of mind, Trevorrick perched himself on the edge of a desk and lit a cigarette. From where he sat he could command two views: one over the creek on which theAlerterode sedately at her moorings; the other along the narrow drive leading to the one and only entrance to the works from the landward side. Half-way down the drive lay a lorry laden withbroken metal. It had been there for the last month—by design—to prevent would-be dealers and other callers from driving straight up to the office.
Suddenly Trevorrick rapped out an oath.
Pengelly started to his feet; not because his partner was not addicted to strong language, but because the vehemence of the other's spontaneous delivery, following a phrase of self-satisfaction, warned him that something unusual had occurred.
"That fool!" hissed Trevorrick.
Pengelly hurried to the window. A car had stopped by the obstructing lorry, and from it walked a man whom Pengelly instantly recognised as Chamfer.
The Admiralty inspector had arrived three weeks before he was due.
"Confound the fellow!" ejaculated Pengelly. "What's to be done now?"
The spasm of rage evident in Trevorrick's face had passed. He was smiling grimly.
"Make yourself scarce," he ordered. "I'll deal with him."
Pengelly knew that tone. He went.
"Stand by when I call you," called out his partner.
Left alone, Trevorrick preened himself and stood up to wait the uninvited visitor.
Briskly the little man came into the office. The two shook hands—Trevorrick cool and collected, towering a good seven inches over the self-important little Chamfer. A hawk confronting a cock-sparrow would have been an apt simile.
"This is an unexpected visit, Mr. Trevorrick," began the inspector. "We officials like to have our little jokes, eh, what? Take you on the hop, eh? Ha, ha, ha! Not my fault, though. Another Admiralty minute—confound 'em. I've got to send in a report upon the condition of R 81's Diesel engines. If disposed of, I must have the name and address of the purchaser."
Trevorrick realised that he was in a fix. He could neither produce the machinery (unless he gave the show away by taking Chamfer on board theAlerte) nor could he offer his sales book for inspection, since there was no record of the engines being sold.
"Rather unusual, isn't it?" he remarked, playing for time. Already a scheme was hatching in his ready brain. "We've bought R 81, lock, stock and barrel."
"But you must bear in mind that the Admiralty has an undisputed right to supervise the breaking up of these craft until the clearing certificate has been granted."
"The engines have been removed," announced Trevorrick. "One minute: I'll turn up the name of the purchaser."
He went to a safe behind his desk. Mr. Chamfer went to the window overlooking the creek.
"You haven't wasted much time over her," he remarked, noting as he thought the meagre remains of R 81.
After that, things were decidedly hazy as far as the Admiralty inspector was concerned. He was conscious of a powerful hand thrust over his faceand a sickly, smelly object pressed tightly over his nose and mouth; a desperate attempt to breathe, a sort of wild resentment at being thrown off his balance. Then, oblivion.
"Pengelly!" shouted his partner.
"Good heavens, man!" exclaimed Pengelly, when he entered the room and stood aghast at Trevorrick's temerity; "what have you done now! You've spoilt everything."
"Spoilt nothing, except the train of this fellow's thoughts," retorted Trevorrick coolly. "He's our first haul. Thirty thousand you said—or was it fifty? We'll get a tidy slice of that, Pengelly. We'll take him on board. It will interfere with previous arrangements, I fear."
"How about the chauffeur? He'll be suspicious."
"Leave him to me," replied Trevorrick, picking up his hat. "Stand by in case Chamfer wants to sit up and take nourishment. If he does, give him some more of this."
He pointed to a bottle containing chloroform and ether.
Pengelly nodded. He was on the point of inquiring how his partner could explain Chamfer's presence to the crew, but thought better of it.
Presently, Trevorrick returned humming one of the latest music-hall ditties.
"That's that," he remarked. "The fellow went off like a lamb. Pitched him a yarn that his master was going down to Falmouth with us in the launch, and that he was to pick him up by telephonic orders to-morrow or possibly the day after atPenzance. Now, Pengelly, sit down and write. Make out a medical certificate to the effect that 'Mr. Jasper Chamfer is at present under my care, suffering from '—what shall we say?—' from influenza.' Put any old signature, with M.R.C.P. after it. We'll post it on to Devonport Dockyard. They won't worry to look up the doctor's name in the Medical Directory."
"How do we explain this to the men?" asked Pengelly, pointing to the motionless figure on the coco-matting.
"Send up Barnard," was Trevorrick's only rejoinder.
Presently the bo'sun—formerly foreman—came hurrying up. His eyes bulged as he caught sight of the unconscious representative of My Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty.
"Do you know this man, Barnard?" demanded Trevorrick.
"Ay, ay, sir; 'tis th' inspector. Chamfer's his name."
"Then forget it," returned Trevorrick. "In future and for as long as I think necessary his name's Jones. Got that?"
The bo'sun nodded.
"The skunk has let us down," continued the senior partner in unruffled tones. "You'll remember he agreed to let us recondition R 81 as a salvage craft. After all our trouble, he went back on his word because we would not comply with his demand for a quarter share. He threatened to report the matter. The fool didn't realise what he was up against. The question is,what's to be done with him? Any suggestion, Barnard?"
"Take him with us, sir."
"Smart idea that, Barnard; very smart. Don't you think so, Pengelly? We'll act on it. Cut off and tell the hands of what has occurred. Warn them that we must at all costs weigh and proceed at tide-time."
"Ay, ay, sir; we'll have to fill the fresh-water tank and ship the rest of the dry provisions. I'll tell off a party to swing back the boom."
"And a couple of hands to carry this fellow aboard," added Trevorrick.
"Now pack," he continued, addressing his partner. "We've none too much time. In a way it's as well. It will afford a good excuse to go up Channel instead of proceeding to the mythical wreck of the phantom shipPosidon. We needn't worry ourselves about the newly-christened Jones. The crew will deal with him."
"What are you going to do with him when we get him on board?" asked Pengelly. "Ditch him?"
"Against my principles," laughed the other. "'Sides, there's money to be made out of him. You wait."
Throughout the rest of the day the work of preparation proceeded. Amongst other things the wireless aerial was sent aloft. The installation was the original set belonging to R 81, but for good reasons Trevorrick cut out the transmission gear. Communication by wireless was apt to be a two-edged sword. By its use the position ofthe pirate shipAlertemight be located to within a mile. Receiving was a different matter. It would enable theAlerteto gain valuable information regarding the presence of shipping in her vicinity.
Jasper Chamfer was soon carried off to the ship. Trevorrick's invention of his cupidity and treachery was only too successful. At the thought that the enterprise which was to make them rich was in jeopardy through the action of the double-dealing Admiralty official, the crew were ready to go to any length to muzzle him most effectually.
At eight o'clock on a rising tide, and with the seven-day-old moon well down in the west, theAlerteslipped her moorings.
IN spite of her premature departure, theAlertewas well found for her work. Everything that Trevorrick and Pengelly could provide had been placed on board, or had been arranged for at the earliest possible opportunity. Yet Trevorrick smiled grimly when he reflected that here was a modern pirate vessel proceeding to sea absolutely unarmed with the exception of a service revolver and fifty rounds of ammunition.
Pengelly, whose acquaintance with Falmouth Harbour and the river Fal was extensive, conned the ship from the bows, transmitting his orders to the quartermaster at the above-water steering apparatus. Trevorrick, in peaked cap, bridge coat and rubber boots, tramped up and down the temporary structure amidships. He was feeling rather anxious, not on account of his recently adopted profession, but as to whether theAlertewould clear St. Anthony Point without either grounding or being challenged by the Falmouth Customs officials. He was one of those devil-may-care fellows who never hesitate to take risks and face the consequences provided they have had a run for their money. Ignominious captureat this early stage of the proceedings would be the limit of bitter disappointment.
Slowly theAlertesmelt her way down the intricate channel of Polkyll Creek. Once her rounded bilge scraped the mud, but without losing way she dragged over the slippery obstruction. Ahead lay the dark, tree-clad hills of the right bank of the Fal.
"Hard-a-starboard!" shouted Pengelly, supplementing these instructions by ordering the port engine to "go astern."
Even then, under the opposing action of the twin propellers theAlertedescribed a fairly wide turning circle. It was only by a hand's-breadth that she avoided running her nose against the opposite bank.
"Easy ahead both!" bawled the navigating officer.
The dense wooded ground echoed and re-echoed to the explosions of the supposedly muffled exhausts. If this noise continued, Trevorrick realised that all attempt to disguise the means of propulsion of theAlertewas at an end. As far as he could judge, the distinctive sounds would be audible from Green Bank to St. Mawes.
Gradually the river opened out. Mylor Creek bore broad on the starboard beam. Now unchecked by the lofty and narrow banks the noise of the exhausts sensibly diminished, while the rising breeze, hitherto masked by the trees, served still further to stifle the oral evidence of the presence of the mysterious craft.
Then, like a galaxy of stars, the lights of theshipping and the town of Falmouth opened out. For the next three miles would be the critical part of the run. At any moment the tricoloured lamp of one of the Customs' launches might be seen bearing down upon the outgoing "tramp."
"Lugo Buoy on the port bow, sir!"
Now the gauntlet was all but run. Ahead loomed the rugged outlines of St. Anthony and Pendennis, with the narrow channel between them, still further contracted by the dangerous Black Rock.
"Ahoy! What ship is that?" hailed a voice out of the darkness. Unseen and unheard, a motor launch had swept alongside the pirate vessel's port quarter.
"Alerteof London!" shouted Trevorrick.
"Cargo?"
"Light."
"Where are you bound?"
"Truro for Plymouth."
"All right. Heave us a line. I'll see your papers."
"Ay, ay," replied Trevorrick.
His ready brain was working. If things came to the worst, the Customs' launch could be stove in by the simple expedient of dropping a pig of iron into her. He might even take the crew prisoners; but, he reflected, there was no likelihood of obtaining a ransom forthem. They would merely be useless mouths to feed.
"Ease down!" bawled the imperious voice.
"Ay, ay," responded Trevorrick, but made no move towards putting the order into execution.
"Stand-by!" he bawled, brandishing a coil of rope.
The bowman of the launch caught the flake of the coil and took a turn. Directly the rope tautened, Trevorrick cut it. The launch dropped astern, until under extra throttle she again ran alongside.
It was a gain of a couple of minutes. By this time theAlertewas lifting to the fairly heavy rollers coming in from the English Channel. With her additional top-hamper she was rolling pretty heavily.
But by this time the Customs' boatmen had thought better of it. Boarding an outward-bound vessel was not such an imperative duty as examining one "come foreign." It wasn't worth the risk of having their boat stove-in and finding themselves in the ditch on a cold November night. A breaking sea sweeping clean over the canopy decided the question.
Without a word, the motor-launch's helm was put hard over. Listing dangerously, she flung about and disappeared into the darkness.
Thoughtfully, Trevorrick put a stopper round a piece of pig-iron lying in the scuppers.
St. Anthony Light blinked knowingly away on theAlerte'sport quarter.
"Well?" inquired Pengelly, stamping aft. He had put Marchant on duty in the eyes of the ship, since there was now plenty of sea-room.
"We'll submerge off Helford," decided Trevorrick. "Wind's off the land. It'll give thecrew a chance to exercise. Get the hands to stand by with the mast-lowering tackles."
Twenty minutes later theAlerte, with masts and funnel lowered, slowed down a couple of miles due east of Mawnan Chair. A cast of the lead gave sufficient depth.
"Hands to diving stations!" roared Trevorrick, his words recalling incidents of long-past days when under better auspices he had held command of a submarine flying the white ensign.
Quickly the crew disappeared below. Giving a final glance round, Trevorrick followed Pengelly through the hatchway, which closed after them with a metallic clang.
The throb of the Diesel engines ceased. The silence was profound, broken only by the top of the wavelets against the outer plating of the hull.
The electric lights gleamed upon the grave faces of the crew. With two exceptions they were new to submarine work. They had excuse to feel jumpy, but the sight of their cool and composed skipper gave them a certain amount of confidence.
A gurgling noise announced that the buoyancy tanks were being flooded. Slowly the disc of the depth indicator began to move. Once it started it never faltered until it stopped at eleven fathoms.
TheAlertewas resting on the bed of Falmouth Bay.
"All shipshape and Bristol fashion, my lads!" exclaimed Trevorrick, turning away from the control station and drawing off his leather gauntlets. "No anchor watch to keep. We're as snug as fleas in a rug."
The men trooped for'ard for supper. Trevorrick and Pengelly retired to the diminutive wardroom amidships, where a repast was already spread upon the teak swing-table.
"To-morrow," remarked Trevorrick, in the course of the meal, "To-morrow, Tom Trevorrick ceases to exist as such. Henceforward I am Captain Cain—'every man's hand against mine,' you know."
"Then you're letting the hands know early?"
Trevorrick nodded.
"And what am I, then?" continued Pengelly. "Captain what?"
Trevorrick laid down his knife and fork and looked fixedly at his companion.
"Captain Nothing," he replied. "There won't be two captains aboard this hooker. You can put that in your pipe and smoke it."
"But we're on equal terms?"
"From a financial point of view, yes," agreed Trevorrick. "But mark you, I'm in sole command. There's no getting away from that: not an earthly. You, Pengelly, are second in command; to be consulted as and when I think fit. You are to carry out my orders unquestioningly. Have you got that? Good; then don't forget it."
Then, having delivered his ultimatum, Trevorrick's mood changed. He went on with his interrupted repast, chatting on topics that had no bearing upon the subject of the great enterprise.
Presently he inquired casually:
"Has Chamfer recovered his senses yet?"
Pengelly shook his head.
"I haven't given him a thought," he replied.
The captain stretched out his hand and pressed a push. For'ard a bell tinkled shrilly. One of the crew, tapping upon the door, entered.
"See if Jones is stirring," ordered Trevorrick, glancing at the clock on the bulkhead, which showed that it was twenty minutes past one in the morning. "If he is, bring him along."
In less than a couple of minutes the man returned, followed by the luckless Jasper Chamfer. The Admiralty inspector looked and probably felt an utter wreck. The after-effects of the anaesthetic, coupled with the confined atmosphere of his cell, would have capsized many a man of tougher fibre.
"Stand there," ordered Trevorrick curtly, at the same time motioning to the seaman to make himself scarce. "Unaccustomed surroundings, eh?"
"Where am I?" inquired Chamfer tremulously.
"As near as I can say, you're between ten and eleven fathoms beneath the surface of Falmouth Bay," announced his captor grimly. "But I haven't brought you here to ask me questions. I want information from you and—I'm—going—to—get—it."
He paused to let his words sink in.
"You poked your nose into our affairs. I'm going to probe into yours," continued Trevorrick.
"It was my duty."
"That's your affair. Now, tell me. I understand you're worth about thirty thousand pounds. Is that so? Well, I won't inquire, I'll assume. They say 'silence means consent.' That thirtythousand is an encumbrance. Already you're self-supporting, drawing a fat salary and doing precious little to earn it—doing it mightily badly, I might add. You'll have to disgorge: some of it, at least. How is that sum invested?"
Chamfer shook his head.
"I won't tell you," he replied, with a faint show of spirit, which his quivering form belied.
"Disobliging blighter," commented the captain. "Very well, then. There's nothing more to be said at present. You'll go back to your cell. Tomorrow you will look upon the sun for the last time." Without giving the Admiralty official another look, Trevorrick touched the bell.
"Remove Jones," he ordered.
"By Jove, man!" ejaculated Pengelly, after Chamfer had been taken away; "he would have told. I could see it on his face."
"I didn't look," was the unconcerned response. "To-morrow he'll be as docile as a dove. And while I'm about it," he added, "in future you will drop that tone of familiarity you've been in the habit of using. Remember, as your captain I am entitled to the word 'sir.'... You'd better turn in now, Pengelly."
Pengelly got up and went out without a word. The door had hardly closed when the captain recalled him.
"Good-night, Pengelly."
"Good-night, sir!"
"Nothing like putting it across the prevaricating blighter," soliloquised Trevorrick. "Without proper respect all discipline goes by the board."
Pengelly, in his cabin, was indulging in different views.
"If the swine thinks he's going to ride the high horse with me, he's mistaken," he muttered. "I'll do him properly when I get the chance."
The night passed uneventfully. At four bells the hands were roused and breakfast served out, every one being given a liberal tot of rum. The meal over and the "traps" cleared away and the mess-deck being cleaned up (Trevorrick was "dead nuts" on routine), the men were mustered in the fore-compartment that previously served as the bow torpedo-room and air-flask chamber. To them came Trevorrick, rigged out in pea-jacket, gold braided cap, muffler, flannel trousers, and sea-boots. At his right hip was a holster, the flap of which was unfastened to display the butt of a revolver.
"Men!" he began. "Circumstances are against us; luck isn't! That swine of an Admiralty inspector has to be held responsible. He has 'blown the gaff.' Taking advantage of the confidence I placed in him, he has betrayed the secret of thePosidon'scargo to the Admiralty. I understand a dockyard lighter with a diving party is already over the position of the ingots. That being so, our original plans are a wash-out. But little difficulties of that description, annoying though they be, don't daunt me. Since Jones has caused the trouble, Jones must pay.
"I'm going to take strong measures. I haven't the faintest doubt that they will attain the desired end. To be brief, I intend to squeeze him to theextent of £20,000. Of that sum, Mr. Pengelly and myself each take £5,000. The remainder—£10,000—will be divided between the hands in proportion to the wages you were receiving while in the employ of Trevorrick, Pengelly, and Co. I have not yet worked out each man's share, but on a rough calculation it varies between £300 and £400 apiece, which is considerably in excess of the sum originally offered in connection with the proposed, but now abandoned, salvage operations. Later on, I have other attractive propositions to bring forward, but for the present I'll say no more."
It might be owing to the strong spirit, it might be the vision of sudden and easily gotten wealth. Be that as it may, the captain's speech roused the men to boisterous enthusiasm.
Trevorrick left them to discuss matters.
"I said they'd eat out of my hand, Pengelly," he remarked. "One word from me and they'd cut the throats of the first crew of foreigners we came across. Not that that is my intention," he added.
As dawn was breaking, theAlertewas brought to the surface. Masts and funnel were set up, the motors started ahead at a modest five knots, a course was shaped to the S.S.E. which would take her well clear of the Cornish coast.
When twenty miles out in the Channel, Trevorrick swept the horizon with his binoculars. Save for a large oil tanker well away beyond the Lizard, there was nothing in sight—which was precisely what Trevorrick had wanted.
"Clear lower deck!" was the order.
Up tumbled the hands. Under the captain's directions a plank was brought out and placed with his heel resting on the deck amidships, and its outer end projecting five feet beyond the low bulwarks.
"Fall in on your respective sides—port and starboard watch," shouted Trevorrick. "When Jones comes on deck howl at him. Put the wind up him for all you're worth. I'm not going to carry my threat into execution. It won't be necessary, and he's not worth it.... Bring up the prisoner."
A combined yell like the howling of a pack of wolves greeted the trembling Jasper Chamfer. With quivering steps he was led to the foot of the slightly inclined plank. Here his eyes were bandaged and his arms lashed behind his back.
Trevorrick held up his hand for silence.
The uproar ceased immediately.
"Now," began the captain in clear, measured tones, addressing the captive. "I will state our terms whereby you may gain your life and, under certain restrictions, your liberty. If within thirty seconds from the termination of my proposal you still refuse a perfectly reasonable demand—there's the plank. You will sign an order on your bankers, authorising them to pay the person named in your letter of advice the sum of £20,000. Having done that, you will be placed on board a vessel bound foreign, you giving the undertaking that you will not reveal your identity nor attempt to cancel your bond within the period of fourmonths. Remember that, if you do, your life will not be worth a red cent. We belong to a powerful and widely scattered society, having agents in the principal ports all over the world. Conform to the conditions and you will be free to return at the expiration of the time limit mentioned. Refuse and your fate rests with you."
In dead silence, Trevorrick pulled out his watch. The blindfolded man could hear the deliberate ticking of the timepiece.
"Ten seconds," announced Trevorrick.... "Twenty seconds, ten more to go. Stand by, you men...."
"I agree!" almost shrieked the tortured man, and with a groan he pitched forward. Trevorrick caught him as he fell.
"The twenty thousand's ours, lads!" he announced. "Pipe down. Take him below."
The assembled crew broke ranks and were about to disperse, when Trevorrick swung round on his heel.
"Stand fast!" he ordered.
Months, nay years, cannot destroy the deeply-rooted sense of discipline of the ex-naval man. Smartly the ununiformed crew pulled themselves together and waited immovable, while two of their number "struck" the unconscious Chamfer down below, lowering him through what was originally the fore torpedo hatch.
"Men!" exclaimed Trevorrick. "We may just as well understand each other. Already you have seen how I deal with those who thwart mypurpose, especially when that purpose is to the advantage of those in my employ and under my command. You all know, only too well, what it is to be up against Fate. So do I. Since the chance of earning an honest living is denied us—honest according to the ideas of a certain class of society that has never to study the question of existence from our standpoint—there remains another alternative. You know the saying: 'Heaven helps those who help themselves.' I mean to act upon that, on the firm belief that Providence will see us through. We've made an excellent start. You will naturally feel inclined to ask: How shall we help ourselves on future occasions? Already we have broken the law and incurred severe penalties by kidnapping a citizen of the realm and a government official to boot. All of us, remember."
He paused in order to let his words sink in.
"May as well be 'ung for a sheep as a lamb, sir," exclaimed one of the men.
Several of his companions uttered expressions of assent.
"That's the spirit," said Trevorrick. "Exactly what I expected. Well, my lads, it's my intention to arm this old hooker. Already arrangements have been completed to that end. Then we'll stop the first likely Dago or Hun ship we fall in with and see what we can do to ease their pockets. Mind you, I'm not going to run needless risks. I have your interests as well as my own at stake. It's going to be a short cruise but a busy one. When we pay off there will beno doubt that each of you will have sufficient money to buy a comfortable pub and live the rest of your lives in simple luxury and ease. Think what you can do with, say, three thousand of the best to play with—probably more. Now then: any questions?"
Questions came; slowly at first, then rapidly. Trevorrick dealt with each at length, replying so suavely and convincingly, that his listeners were metaphorically lifted off their feet. They were not inquiries respecting the proposed methods by which they were to acquire wealth, nor did the questioners seem to trouble themselves over the possible consequences of their lawlessness. The subject that weighed most heavily on their minds was: how were they to obtain guarantees that their shares would actually reach them?
"Exactly the sort of question I should expect from an intelligent body of men," replied Trevorrick. "Naturally you look ahead. Your horizon isn't six inches from your eyes. But you can see perfectly well that it would be impracticable to run ashore a cargo of booty valued, say, at fifteen thousand and divide it up like a sirloin of beef. We have to employ an agent—a middleman. One is already engaged—a thoroughly trustworthy Penzance man—and you know the word of a Penzance man is his bond. He will take off our loot and dispose of it. The profits of each transaction will be immediately apportioned. Each of you can either have his share posted to any address he cares to give, or it can remain with the agenttill called for in person. In the case of cash and jewellery, we will, if thought necessary, make the division on board."
"S'posin' some of us loses the number of our mess, sir?" asked a burly ex-stoker, "wot 'appens?"
"You lose it, I suppose," replied Trevorrick. "We will all do sooner or later. It will be all the same a hundred years hence."
Several of the hands laughed at their skipper's feeble joke.
"But I know what you mean," he continued. "In bygone days, pirates used to regard the death of one of their number as a sort of windfall. It enhanced the value of the survivors' shares. I have no intention of following that precedent. Every member of the crew can nominate a next-of-kin in the event of his losing his life—which I am anxious to avoid."
"You mentioned pirates, sir," remarked the bo'sun. "I take it we're to sail under the skull and crossbones?"
There was an ominous silence. The sinister significance of the term had struck home.
"Now you come to mention it, Mr. Barnard, I really think we are," replied Trevorrick lightly. "But there's still time if there's any white-livered blighter who wants to back out. Now, my lads!" he continued in ringing tones, "all those who do not wish to carry on on my terms—two paces step forward—March!"
Not a man moved as directed. Two or three shuffled and lowered their eyes under the stern gazeof the self-declared pirate captain. Possibly they would have taken advantage of the offer had it not been that the fear of ridicule was stronger than their inclination to keep within the law.
Trevorrick's smile had given place to a look of grim determination. His shaggy eyebrows met in a continuous straight line; his aggressive jaw shot forward.
"That's settled, my lads!" he exclaimed. "Now, there's something more to remember. I am the captain of this craft. My orders you'll carry out smartly, at the double, and unquestioningly. If they're not, there'll be trouble—but there won't. In the future, you—and others—will know me as Captain Cain. Mr. Pengelly here is second in command; Mr. Barnard is bos'un, and Mr. Marchant, gunner. These, under me, are your officers and must be treated with respect due to their rank. I insist upon perfect discipline, which alone will enable us to win through. If any man has a grievance against another, there must be no quarrelling. He must report the circumstances to me and abide by my decision.... Mr. Marchant, before the men are piped down, serve out a tot of rum apiece and drink success to theAlerteand all who sail in her."
For the last hour the motors had been stopped. There was no immediate hurry to reach the rendezvous, and Captain Cain was too prudent a man to use up oil in aimlessly cruising up-Channel. Unless another craft came within sight theAlertecould drift; but the pirate skipper realised the risk of his vessel wallowing in the long swell withoutcarrying way. That would be in itself sufficient to excite the curiosity of any passing shipping.
Presently, after a prolonged examination of the horizon, Captain Cain went below to his cabin, leaving Pengelly in charge of the deck. For certain reasons, the skipper did not desire the presence of his lieutenant.
He touched the bell and, on a man entering to inquire his pleasure, ordered Jones to be brought to him.
The wretched Jasper Chamfer, looking ill and horribly scared, was brusquely shown into Captain Cain's cabin.
"Good-morning," was the captain's greeting, as genial as if he were dealing with Chamfer in his capacity of Admiralty inspector.
"Good-morning," replied Chamfer, almost automatically. He was too bewildered to grasp the significance of his captor's irony.
"Sorry to trouble you," continued Captain Cain, "but there are a few formalities to be observed in the carrying out of our agreement. That twenty thousand: is it in shares?"
"Government Four per Cents., redeemable in 1931," replied Chamfer. "Also Six per Cents. Royal Mail."
"Deposited with whom?"
"My bankers, Trevannion Brothers, Plymouth."
"Manager a friend of yours?"
"I know him fairly well."
"Good," commented Captain Cain. "Here are paper, pen and ink. First write out an order transferring twenty thousand pounds to my account—Thomas Trevorrick—payable to my bankers, Messrs. Grabaul, Yewgett and Co., Truro."
For some minutes there was silence in the cabin. Somewhere for'ard a gramophone was blaring out that popular ditty: "Then he knew he'd parted."
Without a word, Chamfer handed over the order. The captain read it carefully.
"Ever heard that story about the Harley Street specialist, Mr. Chamfer?" he inquired. "Two of the brigands met in Oxford Street. Said one, 'How much did you charge So-and-so for that operation?' 'Seventy-eight pounds fifteen and sixpence,' was the reply. 'Extraordinary amount,' commented the other. 'Whatever made you fix that sum?' The specialist laughed. 'I made him show me his pass-book,' he replied. Well, I'm not asking to see yours, Mr. Chamfer, nor am I lifting all your little pile. At the same time, I want to make sure of what I have got, so just write a friendly little covering letter to the manager of your bank."
"What shall I say?" asked the victim wearily.
"Gracious, man! Haven't you any imagination? Perhaps that qualification isn't required of Admiralty Civil Servants. Tell him you've been unexpectedly ordered a sea voyage by your medical adviser, and that before you go you must make certain adjustments in your finances.... That's right. I presume you won't require a receipt?"
"What are you going to do with me now?" asked Jasper Chamfer, tremulously.
"What I told you before," replied the pirate, witha grin. "A voyage to Jamaica or Pernambuco will do you a world of good. Broaden your outlook on life, Chamfer; enlarge your mental horizon. But, remember, for the next four months your name's Jones. One hint to the contrary and, by Jove! your number's up. 'Nough said!"
Placing both documents in his pocket-book, Captain Cain turned to go on deck.
"You can amuse yourself as you like," he remarked. "You've got the run of the ship. There's nothing to be afraid of provided you hold your tongue."
It was blowing freshly from the west'ard when Captain Cain rejoined his lieutenant. TheAlerte, with a trysail bent to keep her steady, was steering S.E. by S. making about one knot. Well away to the east'ard a beaten-down trail of smoke betokened the presence of some sort of steam vessel. To the south'ard half a dozen tanned sails indicated the position of one of the Cornish fishing fleets making for home.
"Got it, sir?" inquired Pengelly. By this time the "sir" came with no noticeable hesitation, though the utterance caused the man to curse inwardly every time he had occasion to address his self-constituted superior officer.
"Yes," replied Captain Cain. "He parted like a lamb. I've an order for the twenty thousand. I'll have that transferred to Saldanha at Bahia. Useful man, Saldanha."
Late that afternoon, and after the sun had set beneath the misty waters of the English Channel, theAlerte, with smoke pouring from her funnel,rolled and lurched past Rame Head, rounded Penlee Point and brought up in the sheltered waters of Cawsand Bay. There was no attempt made to conceal her presence. An anchor-lamp shone brightly from the forestay. To all appearances she was just an ordinary tramp that had brought up outside Plymouth Breakwater while awaiting orders, and thus saving harbour dues which she would have incurred had she entered the Catwater.
"I'm going on the beach, Mr. Pengelly," announced the skipper, loud enough for the watch on deck to hear. "Send a boat for me at ten-thirty."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the second in command, following up by ordering one of the boats to be lowered.
Ten minutes later Captain Cain, in shore-going rig, landed on the sandy beach at Cawsand. A few fishermen were lolling about in the narrow streets of the village. A member of the Coast Preventive Force was talking to the village policeman. Both glanced at the stranger, merely by force of habit. It was not unusual for people to come ashore at Cawsand.
"Can you tell me the nearest way to Plymouth?" asked Captain Cain of the modern substitute of the old coastguardman, not because he did not know, but to give the man an opportunity of questioning him.
Captain Cain was a good walker. In quick time he covered the distance between Cawsand and Cremyll, crossed by means of the ferry toDevonport, and hastened along Union Street. Here he posted two missives: one in Chamfer's handwriting, addressed to the local bank (that would bear the Plymouth postmark, which was no small advantage); the other to his own bankers, instructing them that on the receipt of securities to the extent of twenty thousand pounds they were to sell out and transfer the proceeds to the firm of Señor Paquita, Calle Rancagua, Copuapo, Chile.
"Guess that fool Pengelly would look a bit sick if he knew," soliloquised Captain Cain, as he turned to retrace his steps. "It's all in the game. If I don't look after Number One, who else will?"