* * * * *
* * * * *
"Jack, old thing!" shouted Beverley, throwing back his blankets and jumping from his cot. "What's the time? Why, it's eight bells! Who's turn is it to light the stove this morning?"
Receiving no reply from the adjoining cabin, Bobby laid hold of a sponge, dipped it in the water-jug, and made his way softly to Villiers' berth. He opened the door and looked in.
"What's he doing?" he thought in wonderment, for the cot had not been slept in. The lamp was still alight, but on the point of burning itself out. It was an oil-lamp, for the electric-lighting arrangements were not yet in working order. The table was littered with books, two of them open, while a pipe, with a small heap of white ash, lay upon the open page of theNautical Almanac.
"I believe he's been swotting all night, the mouldy old book-worm," thought Beverley. "Now he's gone to the bathroom to shove his heated brow in cold water."
But the bathroom was empty. A hurried search brought no sign of his chum—nor of the dog.
Fearful of his own surmises, Bobby looked over the side. Almost the first thing he noticed was the dead body of Tommy left stranded on the mud by the falling tide, but of Villiers not a trace.
Even as he looked at the unfortunate Aberdeen, a swell threshed sullenly against the evil-smelling mud and lifted the dog's body a couple of feet or so nearer the weed-covered piles. A steamer had just passed—a tramp, outward bound, with the nameZug—Malmo, on her stumpy counter.
Filled with the deepest apprehensions concerning the fate of his chum, Bobby Beverley was not content to think. He acted.
As it was yet early in the morning, and a Sunday, there were no signs of activity in the yacht-yard. The night watchman, his duties over with the rising of the sun, had taken himself home; the watchkeepers on board the various craft were still sleeping soundly in the knowledge that there was no pressing need for them to turn out.
Slipping over the side, Beverley gained the wharf. There were no signs of a struggle, and the hoar-frost that covered the tarred planking was destitute of human or canine foot-prints. Only a number of triangular marks on the white covering showed that sea-birds had been waddling about the jetty.
Suddenly Beverley caught sight of a crumpled paper that had wedged in a projection of a heap of rusty iron. It was the telegraph-form that Villiers had gone ashore to receive when he was struck down by a cowardly blow. On it were the words:—
"Harborough, yachtTitania. Cannot keep appointment Monday. Will Tuesday same time suit?"Heatherington."
"Heatherington."
"H'm; no postmark," commented Bobby. "Looks like a plant. Wonder if this has anything to do with Villiers' absence?"
Folding the crumpled paper, Beverley placed it carefully in his pocket-book. Then, making his way across the encumbered yard, he stopped outside the manager's office. As he expected, the door was locked securely, but Beverley was not going to stick at trifles.
With a piece of iron-bar he deliberately smashed a pane of glass. Then inserting his hand through the jagged pane he shot back the window-catch. It was then an easy matter to gain admittance.
He lifted the receiver of the telephone, and in less than a minute and a half he had secured a trunk-call to Thalassa Towers.
"Hallo!" exclaimed a faint and indistinct voice.
"That Harborough?" inquired Bobby. "Beverley speaking."
"No, I'm Claverhouse, old bean," was the reply. "Why this activity on the Sabbath morn? Anything wrong?"
"Yes," replied Beverley. "Jack's missing—Jack Villiers. Eh? what's that? No, I didn't say—Oh! Dash it all, they've cut me off."
He replaced the receiver and again rang up the exchange, demanding peremptorily why the interruption had occurred.
"You must have cut yourself off," replied the operator. "Stand by."
Bobby "stood by" for another five minutes—minutes that passed with leaden feet.
"There's no reply," came the matter-of-fact voice of the exchange operator. "This is Andover speaking."
"I say!" exclaimed Beverley in desperation. "Can you send an expressmessenger to Thalassa Towers?"
"Sorry," was the calm reply. "You must try a post office. It opens at nine on Sundays."
Beverley replaced the receiver with a vicious bang. Then he rang up again, this time obtaining a call to the yard-manager's private house.
That functionary's temper was far from amiable when he found himself called from his bed, in the early hours of a chilly late-autumn morning, to receive a bald announcement from the intruder's own lips that the latter had deliberately broken a window in the office and had temporarily installed himself.
"There's no need to bring a policeman along with you," added Beverley reassuringly, "but come as soon as possible. No, I've disturbed nothing. There's no cause for alarm as far as you are concerned."
Bobby replaced the instrument and sat down in the padded-leather arm-chair, the while keeping a look-out upon theTitania.
In about twenty minutes the manager arrived, unkempt and unshorn. To him Beverley explained the situation, requesting that someone could be sent either in a car or on a motor-cycle to inform Sir Hugh Harborough of the grave news.
"Have you informed the police?" asked the manager, the while covertly glancing round the room to assure himself that nothing had been tampered with.
"I'd rather wait till I've seen Sir Hugh," replied Bobby. "Of course the whole thing may turn out to be a mare's nest; but the dog——"
"Where is the dog?" asked the manager.
"On the mud—dead."
"Wouldn't it be as well to recover the body," suggested the now interested man. "That might afford some information. I'll hang on here."
Beverley fell in with the idea. Procuring a boat-hook from the yacht, he succeeded in recovering the Aberdeen's body and laid it on the raft.
Just as he had completed the task there came the hoot of a car, and a minute later Harborough appeared accompanied by Claverhouse, O'Loghlin, Fontayne, Swaine, and Trevear.
Harborough had received a portion of Bobby's telephonic message, from which he concluded that something was amiss; and without delay the six men drove at record speed to Southampton.
"Something decidedly wrong," declared Harborough, as he descended to the raft and examined the body of his pet. The dog's mouth was inflamed and discoloured. Death had been caused not by drowning but by poison.
Beverley handed his chief the telegram.
"Fake," declared Harborough promptly. "I know no one of the name of Heatherington; still less have I an appointment with him. I'd like to meet the fellow who composed this," he added.
A thorough examination of theTitaniaresulted in nothing of a suspicious nature being discovered. Assuming on the strength of the faked telegram and the poisoned dog that there had been an attempt at murder, kidnapping, or sabotage, there was nothing on board to justify the assumption that an effort had been made to injure the vessel.
"I don't see why Villiers was singled out for rough treatment," observed Harborough. "He had no personal enemies, had he?"
Beverley shook his head.
"Not to my knowledge," he replied. "Jack is one of the best, absolutely."
"Perhaps you were the intended victim," suggested Claverhouse.
"Oh!" ejaculated Harborough. "I won't contradict your supposal; but on what grounds, might I ask, do you make your assumption?"
"The faked message was addressed to you," replied Alec.
"Perhaps you're right," replied Harborough thoughtfully. "But it doesn't say much for the other fellows' intelligence department—mistaking Villiers for me. However, we must inform the police."
"The police?" echoed Beverley, bearing in mind Sir Hugh's reluctance on a previous occasion to communicate with the law.
"Unfortunately, yes," replied the baronet. "It is regrettable from a professional point of view, but we owe it to Jack Villiers. Hallo! TheGeierhas gone."
The Swedish-owned tramp had vanished from her accustomed berth. In her place lay a vessel very similar, even to the funnel-markings.
"Suppose you didn't notice her go down stream, Beverley?" inquired Harborough.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Bobby. "A tramp like her went out this morning—theZugof Malmo."
"Possibly the same old hooker," commented Harborough. "Well, let's make for the police-station."
Three days passed. The mystery of Jack Villiers' disappearance remained unsolved. A police-inspector called upon Kristian Borgen in his office, but the Swede gave a complete explanation of his movements. It was true, he stated, that theGeierwas bought by his firm and that her name was changed toZug—a fact advertised beforehand in the press according to the requirements of the British Mercantile Shipping Act. TheZughad sailed for the Baltic and was due at Stockholm on the 30th inst. Her clearance-papers were quite in order.
The inspector, fully convinced that he had been put on a false trail, shook hands with Borgen, apologizing for having inconvenienced him, to which the amiable Swede replied that it was no inconvenience whatsoever, and that he was only too happy at all times to assist the law of the land that had offered him a temporary home.
Meanwhile there was no cessation of activity in the work of fitting out theTitania. Everyone on board realized that Villiers would have wished it so. But there was a feeling of depression that it was impossible to shake off. The uncertainty of Jack Villiers' fate, on the eve of what promised to be a successful enterprise, cast a shadow of gloom upon the proceedings.
The day of theTitania'sdeparture having been fixed, Harborough saw no insurmountable reason for postponing it, and the rest of the crew agreed with him.
"If Villiers does turn up," he explained, "he can join us anywhere between here and Singapore; and delay will only mean increasing risks on the score of bad weather, to say nothing of the possibility of our rivals turning up before us."
So at 9 a.m., early in the month of November, the yachtTitania, Hugh Harborough, Master, slipped her moorings, and at a modest six knots dropped down Southampton Water on her long voyage to the Pacific. There were two absentees from her full complement, Jack Villiers was one, the other was Dick Beverley. An epidemic of mumps was raging in the school, and a swollen face intervened between Dick and a visit to the enchanting South Seas.
Jack Villiers opened his eyes slowly, only to shut them again. During the first moments of returning consciousness he was aware of a dull throbbing pain in the region of the nape of his neck—a pain that became almost excruciating when he made an effort to rise.
It was some moments before he attempted to reopen his eyes. With his brain working slowly, he tried to account for his present state of discomfort. Something was wrong—what? Had he been playing Rugger, and been carried off the field? No; it couldn't be that. He hadn't played footer for months. Strafed by Huns? Wrong again: he realized that he had been "demobbed" and that there was no longer a war on. Yet he was on board ship. He could feel the steady pulsations of the engines and the thud of the propeller-shaft not so very far beneath him. Odours of an unmistakably "shippy" nature assailed his nostrils. Yes, he was at sea. TheTitaniawas under way.
Yet that theory puzzled him. She wasn't ready for sea. Beverley and he were sleeping on board, and——
With an effort he raised himself on one elbow and tried to shout his chum's name. But not a sound came from his parched throat. His tongue, feeling as if it had swollen to abnormal dimensions, seemed to press, hot and dry, against the roof of his mouth.
"Dash it all!" he ejaculated mentally. "Haven't I got a fat head? Where am I?"
By degrees he became more rational. He lay still, not daring to move. Even then every roll of the ship sent thrills of acute pain over his body.
At first when he opened his eyes everything appeared to be of a dull-reddish tinge, but presently the lurid mist cleared away and he found himself watching an oval-shaped patch of light that, penetrating a solitary scuttle, danced up and down the opposite bulkhead with every movement of the vessel.
"What cabin is this?" he thought. "It's not mine; proper sort of a dog-box this. Who put me in here?"
It was indeed a sorry sort of place. The walls and ceiling were covered with cork-cement that was dripping with moisture. At one time the composition had been painted white. It was now a sickly yellow streaked with iron-rust. On the floor was a ragged piece of oak linoleum. Underneath the scuttle, which was closed and secured by a tarnished brass butterfly nut, was a bunk on which a piece of old canvas had been placed to form a rough and ready mattress. And on the bunk, with his head supported by a folded coat—his own, lay Jack Villiers.
Further investigation showed that he was dressed in his own trousers, socks, pants, and vest—and nothing more. His boots, shirt, and waistcoat had gone.
"Good heavens!" he thought, as the full significance of his position came home to him like a flash. "I've been shanghaied. Yes, I remember, a fellow called me about a telegram."
Slowly he raised his arm and, bringing his hand back, very gingerly rubbed his skull. There was a raised bruise that felt as large as a duck's egg.
"Sandbagged!" he decided. "The rival crowd is one up. Well, I suppose I'll be able to find out now who the fellows are. Wonder why they singled me out for their unwelcome attentions."
As a matter of fact it was a case of mistaken identity. On that momentous Saturday night one of the crew of theZug—ex.Geier—who was a past master in the art of speaking colloquial English, hailed from the wharf-wall, fully expecting that Sir Hugh Harborough was one of the two persons on board theTitania. The pseudo messenger was not alone. Skulking behind a rusty and condemned ship's boiler were three powerful men, one armed with a length of rubber pipe filled with sand, and the others holding ropes and a gag in readiness should the persuasive methods of the loaded india-rubber pipe fail.
Unsuspecting and quite unprepared for foul play, Villiers was struck down from behind. There was no need to gag and bind him. Quickly and silently the four men carried their victim to a slipway, where a boat lay in readiness. It was quite a simple matter and almost devoid of risk. The night was dark, and even had there been any of the crews of the neighbouring vessels about, the statement that it was only a drunken man being taken off to his ship would have allayed suspicion. But, unseen and unchallenged, the emissaries of Kristian Borgen conveyed their senseless victim on board theZug.
Kristian Borgen was waiting to receive them in the tramp's dingy state-room. Save for his own assertion and the fact that he spoke Swedish fluently and possessed credentials (forged, no doubt) from Stockholm, there was nothing Swedish about him. He was a Hun, and a Prussian at that. His real name was Kaspar von Giespert, and he had been an Unter-Leutnant of the German light cruiserDresden. He knew the story of theFusi Yama'ssunken gold, having heard it from a brother-officer serving on board theNürnburg, but he was not at all sure of the actual position of the wreck. TheDresdenescaped the fate that overtook her consorts in the engagement with Sturdee off the Falkland Islands, but afterwards met with an ignominious end by being sunk by her own crew at Juan Fernandez—Alexander Selkirk's famous island. On the approach of a British cruiser, von Giespert was interned by the Peruvian Government until the end of the war, and upon being released promptly returned to Germany with the object of fitting out an expedition to search for the lost gold.
There were serious difficulties in his path. The partial surrender of Germany's mercantile fleet had made it an impossible matter to procure a ship in any German port. As a Hun, von Giespert knew that "his name was mud" in almost every important seaport on the Atlantic and Pacific shores. A nation cannot "run amok" and institute a policy of "sink everything without trace" and then expect to be treated on a pre-war footing by the States whose flags she has wantonly flouted and insulted. So von Giespert, quick to realize that as a German he was "down and out", had no qualms about renouncing, temporarily at all events, his nationality and becoming Kristian Borgen, a Swede. And as such he found little difficulty in taking up his abode in Southampton, whence he could control his latest mercantile enterprise with comparative ease.
He had succeeded in getting a picked crew of twenty-two German seamen—men who in pre-war days had served in the British Mercantile Marine, where frequently 75 per cent of a crew sailing under the Red Ensign were either "Dagoes" or "Dutchies". And these men could all speak English as spoken on shipboard, and most of them, with the Hun's versatility in learning languages, were equally at home with Swedish.
Von Giespert had a firm hold upon his band of desperadoes. For one thing he paid them well and made fair promises of a substantial share of the treasure, if and when it were recovered. Anyone possessing capital could do that, but von Giespert, being a Hun, went further. The men he picked carefully from the crews of certain U-boats whose record of piracy was of the blackest—men who had carried out infamous orders with alacrity when they thought Germany was winning, and who had not hesitated to mutiny and assault their officers when they discovered the long-hidden truth that all was lost.
Von Giespert knew how to trade upon their fears. He told them that they were "wanted" by the British Government for their past crimes, and that the only safe course for them was to take the bull by the horns, become Swedish subjects, and accept employment in the country that was their former enemy, where, by their audacity, they would fling dust into the eyes of the hated English. TheZug'screw accepted the statement and acted with corresponding discretion.
For the present he had no intention of sailing on the s.s.Zugfor the Pacific. He was content to allow the vessel to proceed in the charge of Siegfried Strauss, who had been a quarter-master in the North German Lloyd Line before serving in the Imperial navy. Strauss was under orders to navigate theZugby a circuitous route round the Cape of Good Hope and pick up his employer at Batavia.
"Donnerwetter! Who is this?" inquired von Giespert angrily, as the unconscious Villiers was unceremoniously dumped at his feet. "This is not Harborough."
The kidnappers cowered before the wrath of their Prussian pay-master.
"This is the man who has been on board for the last four or five nights, Herr Kapitan," replied one.
"He seemed in authority."
"You've blundered," declared von Giespert, "and you cannot undo your mistake. Let us hope that his absence will throw that fellow Harborough's plans out of gear. Herr Strauss, are you all ready to proceed?"
"The pilot will not be on board before six tomorrow," replied Strauss. "Those were your instructions."
"Very good," rejoined von Giespert. "We must have a pilot, of course. Now when you drop him, steer eastwards to a point roughly ten miles beyond the Nab Lightship. Then you know the rest. Keep this fellow well out of sight. If he gives no trouble, carry him on to Las Palmas and land him there. If he kicks, then drop him overboard. In any case hoodwink him and try to find out our rivals' programme."
Forty-eight hours had elapsed since then, and Jack Villiers was recovering his scattered senses. In that respect he was not helped when the door of his cabin was opened and two men entered.
One—Strauss—was rigged out in a blue-serge suit with gilt buttons and a double line of gold braid round his cuffs. The other man was dressed in a pale-blue shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of canvas trousers.
"So you are recovering," observed Strauss in an almost faultless English accent.
Villiers tried to reply, but his parched throat gave no sound.
"Bring some brandy," ordered Strauss, turning to his subordinate.
The strong spirit had the effect of reviving Jack considerably. He found his tongue.
"Where am I?" he demanded.
"On the s.s.Zug," was the reply. "We picked you up seven miles south of St. Catherine's."
"Oh!" ejaculated Villiers, taken aback by this astonishing intelligence. "How——"
"Don't talk," protested Strauss, with mock sympathy. "You're very weak. I'll tell you. It was two days ago. We are bound from Malmo to Monte Video, and this is a Swedish ship. Two days ago, I say, we were standing down Channel when we sighted a ship's lifeboat drifting. We altered our course, and on approaching we found you lying unconscious on the stern-gratings. We did not touch at an English port, nor did we sight any vessel bound up-Channel; so it seems as if you must enjoy our hospitality until we reach Las Palmas."
"Haven't you wireless?" inquired Villiers.
The acting skipper of theZugshook his head.
"Otherwise we would be able to oblige you," he added. "But I will see that you are made comfortable. Do you wish for anything to eat?"
Villiers felt far from wanting food. His throat was still painful, and his head ached fearfully.
"I'm thirsty," he replied.
The two men went out, returning in a few minutes with a hair mattress and pillow and a basin of hot soup.
"Take this and go to sleep," said Strauss, when the fresh bedding had been substituted for the canvas sacking. "I will look in again in half an hour or so."
Villiers managed to finish the soup, although every spoonful required an effort to swallow. Then he lay back, wondering and pondering over the brief story that theZug'smaster had just told him.
"Boats cost money, especially nowadays," he soliloquised. "Wonder why I was cast adrift in a lifeboat when they might have dumped me into the ditch? That would have saved them a lot of expense and would have covered their tracks. Well, here I am, able to sit up and take nourishment, but beyond that—— And Beverley, how's he taking it? I suppose they didn't sandbag him, too?"
Still puzzling his tired brain over his strange predicament, Villiers dropped into a fitful slumber.
Siegfried Strauss did his level best to carry out his employer's instructions to hoodwink the abducted Villiers. For the first two days following Jack's return to consciousness the Englishman was treated with every possible consideration. At least that was how it struck Villiers.
Hourly his strength returned and with it his reasoning powers. He was well supplied with food—of the average quality to be found on tramps—and was allowed to sit on deck.
Then one or two things began to strike him as being somewhat peculiar. Strauss evinced a decided tendency to prevent Villiers from strolling for'ard. On the face of it there could be no satisfactory reason why he should not do so; but Jack, always obliging, fell in with the supposed Swedish skipper's wish.
Then he made another discovery. One of the men left a newspaper wedged in the falls of one of the davits. A gust of wind displaced it and carried it across the deck almost to Villier's feet.
Jack's first impulse was to return it to its owner. A Swedish newspaper would be useless to anyone not possessing a knowledge of that language. But somewhat to his surprise he saw that it was English. His astonishment increased when he found that it was a Southampton paper and dated the Saturday on which he had been foully struck down.
Obviously, Villiers reflected, there was a flaw in Captain Strauss' carefully-pitched yarn. If theZughad proceeded down-Channel without putting in anywhere and without holding communication with any other craft, how could that paper have found its way on board?
"I'm up against something here," thought Villiers, and proceeded with his investigations. He acted warily, for he was not sure of his ground.
In quite a casual way he refolded the paper and replaced it in the falls; then he made his way for'ard, carrying his chair, until he reached the engine-room's fidley.
Here he sat down and listened through the open gratings. Before long he overheard the engineer shout something to one of his assistants. The voice was plainly audible above the pulsations of the engines, and the words were unmistakably German; so was the reply.
"We're getting on," decided Villiers. "I wonder if this is theZug. I have my doubts."
He glanced to and fro along the deck. On the fo'c'sle two men were engaged in coiling down a rope. Their backs were turned towards him. Those were the only members of the crew within sight. The helmsman was invisible from the spot where Villiers had taken up his position, owing to the height of the bridge and to the fact that the wheel-house was set well back from the canvas screen running round the bridge stanchion-rails.
Having satisfied himself on this point, Villiers peered through the open fidley into the engine-room. He saw what he expected, for right in the centre of the for'ard engine-room bulkhead was a brass plate setting forth the information that the steamshipGeierhad been engined in 1904 by the firm of Hopper and Heinz of Stettin.
That ought to have been conclusive, but Villiers did not rest there. After a while he made his way right aft and leant over the stumpy counter. There were the words "Zug—Malmo" written plain for anyone to read, but the letters were freshly painted, and there were signs that a longer word had been somewhat carelessly obliterated.
"Feeling better, Mr. Villiers?" asked Strauss, who happened to come on deck at that moment. "I wouldn't look down if I were you; it won't do your head any good."
Villiers, caught out, made no reply.
"Come and have tea in my cabin," continued the skipper of theZug, as a preliminary to his ordered task of "pumping" his involuntary guest.
Jack acquiesced.
"What land is that?" he inquired casually, indicating a rugged range of hills about four miles on the port beam.
"Portuguese coast," replied Strauss. "Thinking of swimming there?"
"About a hundred yards is my limit," said Jack. "So I don't think I'll take it on."
Both men descended the companion and entered the cabin, which opened aft out of the saloon, for in her earlier days the s.s.Geierhad passenger accommodation in addition to carrying cargo.
Siegfried Strauss waited until tea was served, and, ordering the steward to clear out, prepared to subject his guest to a carefully manipulated cross-examination.
But before he could get in his first question he was totally taken aback when Villiers looked him straight in the face and demanded bluntly.
"Isn't your name Kristian Borgen?"
It was wide of the mark, nevertheless Strauss knew now that Villiers had his suspicions.
"No, it is not," he replied. "I am ready to swear to that."
"What's in a name?" quoted Jack. "I suppose you are equally prepared to swear that you are not a German, and that this vessel isn't theGeierunder an assumed name?"
Strauss was on the point of blustering when he bethought himself that it would be advisable to assume a conciliatory and non-committal attitude.
"You are quite under a misapprehension, my friend," he said smilingly. "I don't know why you have adopted this truculent attitude. I suppose you are still feeling the effect of your rough usage. To allay your unfounded suspicions I will show you the ship's papers."
The skipper got up from the table and went to a locker above one of the settees. This he opened and removed a packet of papers. As he did so Jack caught a glimpse of a yellow-leather case boldly stamped with the initials H. H.
It was the identical attaché-case that Sir Hugh Harborough lost from the car at Southampton. Even Villiers was taken aback by the discovery, but, controlling himself, he decided to ignore the facts for the present.
"H'm," he remarked, after he had examined the "Certificate of Registry" and other documents appertaining to the ownership and nationality of the s.s.Zug. "I'll swear those are forgeries. But we'll let that pass. How can you account for the fact that the nameGeieris in the engine-room. Beastly careless of you, you know."
Villiers had certainly scored.
Although the change in the ship's name had been publicly advertised,Strauss had triedto conceal the fact from his unwilling guest. Now he had to admit it.
"And you left Southampton early on Sunday morning last," continued Villiers. "I know that, and you can deny it if you like—you did before, you remember—but that won't alter the fact. That's a Hun all over. You couldn't enter into a rivalry with Sir Hugh Harborough on this treasure-hunting stunt without descending to low-down tricks such as waylaying him and sand-bagging me. That's enough to land you in the dock, my festive."
Siegfried Strauss realized that the cat was out of the bag. Unmasked, he was no longer an amiable Swede but an unspeakable Hun.
With a sudden rush he bounded out of the cabin and up the companion-ladder. At the head he paused to reassure himself that Villiers was not in pursuit.
"You've done for yourself, you swine!" he shouted. "Since you have made yourself dangerous there is but one thing to be done—get rid of you."
Jack could hear him bawling for the hands to come aft. He was in a tight corner, but he had no intention of quietly giving in to a swarm of Huns.
Strauss had threatened "to do him in". No doubt he, Villiers, had asked for it when he tackled the fellow. Perhaps it would have been better to have pretended to humour him, and then Strauss might have set him ashore at Las Palmas. But it was too late now. There was no averting the crisis.
For a brief instant Villiers considered the possibility of gaining the bridge and holding it against all corners, but the futility of that plan at once became apparent. He was unarmed; the crew of theZugwere not. Every man carried a sheath-knife, and possibly several had firearms as well.
Acting upon an inspiration, although he hardly knew why, Villiers dragged the missing attaché-case from the locker and ran on deck.
Captain Strauss was still shouting to the crew. He hardly expected Jack would dare to come out of the cabin. When he saw him he attempted to close.
With a pleasurable feeling that he was getting his own back for the sand-bagging affair, Villiers saw the burly German measure his length on the deck as the result of a straight left with the Englishman's fist. For the present Siegfried Strauss ceased to count in the unequal contest.
Three or four of the crew ran on with a rush. Villiers didn't stop to meet them. He was cool enough to realize, in the first sense of elation, that there are limits to human powers. Running aft, he paused only to unship a life-belt and hurl it overboard, then, with the leather case still grasped in his right hand, he leapt over the rail into the sea.
He hit the water with tremendous force, for theZugwas steaming at a good twelve knots. That and his still weak condition almost deprived him of breath. He swallowed a good half-pint of salt water before he rose spluttering to the surface.
Even while he was still under the surface Villiers found himself debating upon the wisdom of his rash act.
"If I hadn't jumped into the ditch," he soliloquized, "those fellows would have slung me in, and perhaps given me another tap on the head just to make things doubly sure. I told friend Strauss that I was good for a hundred yards. So I am at racing-speed. It is now up to me to see if I can cover four or five miles, hampered by a leather bag and a life-buoy."
Why he hung on to the attaché-case he hardly knew. Whatever there was within it was evidently now no secret to the directing spirits behind the s.s.Zug. Even if Harborough's charts and plans were still inside the case, there was every reason to suppose that they had been duly inspected and the information they contained committed to memory. Sir Hugh knew the locality of the wreck, even without the aid of the stolen documents, so, now that the mischief was done, there could be little good served by regaining them.
The attaché-case was well made and the lid fitted closely; consequently it possessed a considerable amount of buoyancy. On coming to the surface Villiers found that he could support himself by the case without much effort, and thus give himself time to take stock of his surroundings.
Fifty yards away floated the life-buoy. Having assured himself of his position, the swimmer devoted his attention to theZug. Already she was a good cable's length away, and holding on without apparently altering course. Five or six of the crew were standing right aft, and Villiers fancied that he caught the dull glint of the barrel of a rifle.
"They'll put about," he thought, "and either run me down or else put a bullet through my head if they spot me. I don't think they do, although I'm right in the glare of the sun. I'll keep clear of that buoy for a time, though."
Which was sound logic. The white-painted buoy, bobbing up and down over the crests of the waves, was a fairly-conspicuous object—as it was intended to be. But Jack, bareheaded and almost motionless, ran very little risk of being spotted by the crew of the rapidly-receding vessel.
But, contrary to his expectations, theZugneither altered course nor did her crew open fire. She held on, leaving Villiers to his fate.
"Now for it," he muttered, and, turning on his back and still grasping the recovered attaché-case, he made toward the buoy.
The yachtTitanialay at anchor about three hundred yards west of the Old Mole at Gibraltar. The first stage of her long voyage was accomplished, not without difficulties and dangers, for she had encountered bad weather in the Bay, which had continued until she passed Cape St. Vincent. In a way the gale was a blessing in disguise, for it enabled Harborough to put his crew to a severe test in seamanship, and to their credit they came out of the ordeal in quite a praiseworthy manner. The yacht had been able to hold on her course under close-reefed canvas, and had made a fairly-quick passage without having been compelled to use her engines when once clear of the Needles.
Beyond the necessity of having to replenish fresh water, provisions, and consumable stores, theTitaniawas fully equipped. Each member of the crew responsible for his particular department had carried out his duties thoroughly. Everything necessary for salvage operations was on board—patent, self-contained diving-dresses which enabled their wearers to work independently of air-tubes and pumps, demolition charges, pneumatic drills, tools of various sorts, and chains, ropes, shackles, and blocks, ample for the work, were methodically stored in the holds. The two dwarf seaplanes, which, when packed for transport, took up very little room, had been stowed away under the charge of Claverhouse and Trevear. Griffiths and Bell, the only ex-army men, were responsible for the provisioning of the ship; O'Loghlin and Vivian for the engines, each man working "watch and watch" with an assistant. The rest of the crew formed the amateur deck-hands, Harborough heading the starboard and Beverley the port watch.
Once at sea all hands followed sea routine. A state of discipline prevailed while on duty, although in the "watch below" every man was Tom, Dick, and Harry to his comrades. The system worked well. Every member of the crew had been in a position of more or less authority during the war, and each realized the absolute necessity of discipline. They knew the value of initiative; but initiative, important though it is, must ever be subservient to discipline if success is to be attained.
Harborough was certainly a "tough nut". On duty he was autocratic. His idea was: "I'm in charge; carry out my orders and I'll do my level best in your interests. If anything goes wrong, then I take all the responsibility." Off duty he was affability personified, and was always ready and even eager to listen to suggestions, and should Beverley be in charge of the deck he would never interfere.
Originally it had been the intention to place Villiers in charge of one watch, while Harborough, except for actual navigation duties, acted as general supervisor; but Villiers' mysterious disappearance had altered that plan, and Harborough did not appoint a substitute. He shared a belief with Beverley that Jack Villiers would put in an appearance before theTitaniareached Singapore, and so firm was his conviction that he had the missing officer's kit on board instead of placing it ashore when the yacht left Southampton.
"Bit of a change from the good old North Sea," remarked Merridew, gazing at the towering Rock, bathed in the rosy tints of the setting sun. "This time last year we were perambulating bales of wool: three sweaters, a muffler, monkey-jacket, pilot-coat, and two pairs of thick trousers, and none too warm at that. Now, here we are feeling quite warm in flannels."
"And I'm on anchor watch," added Fontayne. "I'm rather looking forward to it, 'cause it's full moon to-night, and the Rock will look splendid in the moonlight. I remember when I was an A.B. in the R.N.V.R. keeping middle watch when we were lying just inside Inchkeith. It was New Year's night, and there was a buzz going round that a Fritz was nosing about just outside the boom. Sleeting, snowing, and blowing like billy-ho. Absolute fact; I had to go below and thaw before I could get my clothes off. Hallo, there's a boat pulling off."
[Illustration: UNMASKED HE WAS NO LONGER AN AMIABLE SWEDE(missing from book)]
[Illustration: UNMASKED HE WAS NO LONGER AN AMIABLE SWEDE(missing from book)]
The boat, manned by a couple of "Rock Scorps" ran alongside the gangway, and presently the crew of theTitaniawere bargaining for quantities of luscious fruit at a price that, although affording a handsome profit to the vendors, was so ridiculously cheap that the purchasers could hardly believe it.
Then another boat ran alongside, and others, until theTitanialooked like a swan surrounded by her cygnets. There were bumboatmen, ship's store-dealers, washermen, butchers, purveyors of insipid rain-water—Spaniards, Genoese, Moors, and representatives of every country bordering on the Mediterranean—all clamouring to do business with the newly-arrived vessel.
"Allow no one to come on board," ordered Harborough.
"No exception?" inquired a hearty voice, and to the surprise of everyone on deck Jack Villiers appeared from behind a pile of fruit-cases in the stern-sheets of a whaler.
For once, at least, Harborough went back on his word. He almost went back and down an open hatchway, for, although he was convinced that Villiers would put in an appearance, that worthy's sudden return took the usually cool and collected Sir Hugh by surprise.
"Good heavens, Villiers, dear old thing!" he exclaimed. "How in the name of all that's wonderful——!"
Running up the accommodation-ladder and saluting the quarter-deck as he came over the side, Villiers grasped his chief's extended hand.
"'Fraid I haven't much of a kit," he remarked apologetically; "but this, I think, sir, is your property."
He held out the attaché-case. Harborough gazed at it with mingled surprise and amusement.
"You've a yarn to spin about that," he observed. "Come below. We're about to have dinner. You'll be able to have a word with Beverley before he goes on watch."
"I won't say that I've nothing to tell," remarked Jack, "because I have."
For the next three quarters of an hour he was hard at it, his audience listening in almost unbroken silence. Following his plunge from the deck of theZug, he was in the water forty minutes before he was picked up by a Portuguese "mulutta"—a fishing-boat whose chief characteristic is the large number of fantastically-shaped sails she carries. It was doubtless the presence of the fishing-boat that deterred theZug'screw from putting about and opening fire upon the swimmer; but Villiers had not observed the presence of his rescuers until the tramp was hull down.
The fishermen treated him very kindly, and eventually landed him at Figuera, a Portuguese harbour about one hundred miles north of Lisbon. A hospitable merchant rendered him every possible assistance and provided him with money sufficient to enable him to reach Algeciras, which he did after a long and circuitous railway journey which, in Villiers' opinion, embraced the greater part of Portugal and Spain. At Algeciras he was fortunate in catching the last ferry-boat for that day across to the Rock, and during the six-mile passage across the Bay of Gibraltar he saw, to his unbounded delight, theTitaniaputting in and dropping anchor off the Old Mole.
"I'm afraid," observed Harborough, when Villiers had finished his narrative, "that you expended a lot of unnecessary zeal over that attaché-case."
"Oh!" exclaimed Jack doubtfully. "Why?"
"Because it was a fake," explained Harborough. "I did not mention it at the time, because it was my secret. I intended doing so immediately we left England. These plans and charts are false. I knew that someone was after the real charts, and I took precautions accordingly. I expected they would be stolen, and they were. In order to make sure that they were stolen and not accidentally lost, you remember, I offered a substantial reward. But they were not returned—hence it was reasonable to assume that they were deliberately stolen by our rivals. You have proved that such was the case. I only hope your late host, Herr Strauss, acts upon them."
"I believe the fellow is identical with Kristian Borgen," said Villiers. "In fact, I chucked it in his teeth."
"And he denied it?"
"He did."
"Then he told the truth," declared Harborough. "He is acting under the fellow Borgen's orders, but Borgen was in Southampton when we left; consequently he couldn't have been on theZugwhen she sailed. And we've enough evidence now to get theZugdetained and her crew put under arrest at the first port she touches."
"Don't do that," said Villiers. "It would spoil a lot of sport. Just fancy those fellows thinking they're doing us, and all the while acting on faked information. Their punishment will be found in their disappointment. Personally, I'd like to have five minutes with the gentleman who sand-bagged me, but I'm quite content to let the rival crush have a run for its money."
"There's something in that," agreed Harborough, who, in common with the rest of the members of the expedition, had a strong partiality for the element of chance and a liking for sport. "They're interlopers, it's true, but rivalry adds a zest to life. But you must be tired with your long journey, Villiers."
"I am," replied Jack, stifling a yawn. "I'll turn in. I suppose there'll be time for me to nip ashore to-morrow and get a new kit."
"Plenty of time to go ashore," replied Harborough, "but I don't think you'll need a fresh rig-out. Your kit's stowed away in the locker under your bunk."