A Bid for Fortune · Part II · Chapter 2 4 (1/4)

IV

Following Up a Clue

For some moments after I had perused the curious epistle Mr. Wetherell had brought to my room I remained wrapped in thought.

“What do you make of it?” my companion asked.

“I don’t know what to say,” I answered, looking at it again. “One thing, however, is quite certain, and that is that, despite its curious wording, it is intended you should take it seriously.”

“You think so?”

“I do indeed. But I think when the Inspector arrives it would be just as well to show it to him. What do you say?”

“I agree with you. Let us defer consideration of it until we see him.”

When, an hour later, the Inspector put in an appearance, the letter was accordingly placed before him, and his opinion asked concerning it. He read it through without comment, carefully examined the writing and signature, and finally held it up to the light. Having done this he turned to me and said:

“Have you that envelope we found at the Canary Bird, Mr. Hatteras?”

I took it out of my pocket and handed it to him. He then placed it on the table side by side with the letter, and through a magnifying-glass scrutinised both carefully. Having done so, he asked for the envelope in which it had arrived. Mr. Wetherell had thrown it into the wastepaper basket, but a moment’s search brought it to light. Again he scrutinised both the first envelope and the letter, and then compared them with the second cover.

“Yes, I thought so,” he said. “This letter was written either by Nikola, or at his desire. The paper is the same as that he purchased at the stationer’s shop we visited.”

“And what had we better do now?” queried Wetherell, who had been eagerly waiting for him to give his opinion.

“We must think,” said the Inspector. “In the first place, I suppose you don’t feel inclined to pay the large sum mentioned here?”

“Not if I can help it, of course,” answered Wetherell. “But if the worst comes to the worst, and I cannot rescue my poor girl any other way, I would sacrifice even more than that.”

“Well, we’ll see if we can find her without compelling you to pay anything at all,” the Inspector cried. “I’ve got an idea in my head.”

“And what is that?” I cried; for I, too, had been thinking out a plan.

“Well, first and foremost,” he answered, “I want you, Mr. Wetherell, to tell me all you can about your servants. Let us begin with the butler. How long has he been with you?”

“Nearly twenty years.”

“A good servant, I presume, and a trustworthy man?”

“To the last degree. I have implicit confidence in him.”

“Then we may dismiss him from our minds. I think I saw a footman in the hall. How long has he been with you?”

“Just about three months.”

“And what sort of a fellow is he?”

“I really could not tell you very much about him. He seems intelligent, quick and willing, and up to his work.”

“Is your cook a man or a woman?”

“A woman. She has been with me since before my wife’s death⁠—that is to say, nearly ten years. You need have no suspicion of her.”

“Housemaids?”

“Two. Both have been with me some time, and seem steady respectable girls. There is also a kitchen-maid; but she has been with me nearly as long as my cook, and I would stake my reputation on her integrity.”

“Well, in that case, the only person who seems at all suspicious is the footman. May we have him up?”

“With pleasure. I’ll ring for him.”

Mr. Wetherell rang the bell, and a moment later it was answered by the man himself.

“Come in, James, and shut the door behind you,” his master said The man did as he was ordered, but not without looking, as I thought, a little uncomfortable. The Inspector I could see had noticed this too, for he had been watching him intently ever since he had appeared in the room.

“James,” said Mr. Wetherell, “the Inspector of Police wishes to ask you a few questions. Answer him to the best of your ability.”

“To begin with,” said the Inspector, “I want you to look at this envelope. Have you seen it before?”

He handed him the envelope of the anonymous letter addressed to Mr. Wetherell. The man took it and turned it over in his hands.

“Yes, sir,” he said, “I have seen it before; I took it in at the front door.”

“From whom?”

“From a little old woman, sir,” the man answered.

“A little old woman!” cried the Inspector, evidently surprised.

“What sort of woman?”

“Well, sir, I don’t know that I can give you much of a description of her. She was very small, had a sort of nutcracker face, a little black poke bonnet, and walked with a stick.”

“Should you know her again if you saw her?”

“Oh yes, sir.”

“Did she say anything when she gave you the letter?”

“Only, ‘For Mr. Wetherell, young man.’ That was all, sir.”

“And you didn’t ask if there was an answer? That was rather a singular omission on your part, was it not?”

“She didn’t give me time, sir. She just put it into my hand and went down the steps again.”

“That will do. Now, Mr. Wetherell, I think we’d better see about getting that money from the bank. You need not wait, my man.”

The footman thereupon left the room, while both Mr. Wetherell and I stared at the Inspector in complete astonishment. He laughed.

“You are wondering why I said that,” he remarked at last.

“I must confess it struck me as curious,” answered Wetherell. “Well, let me tell you I did it with a purpose. Did you notice that young man’s face when he entered the room and when I gave him the letter? There can be no doubt about it, he is in the secret.”

“You mean that he is in Nikola’s employ? Then why don’t you arrest him?”

“Because I want to be quite certain first. I said that about the money because, if he is Nikola’s agent, he will carry the information to him, and by so doing keep your daughter in Sydney for at least a day longer. Do you see?”

“I do, and I admire your diplomacy. Now what is your plan?”

“May I first tell mine?” I said.

“Do,” said the Inspector, “for mine is not quite matured yet.”

“Well,” I said, “my idea is this. I propose that Mr. Wetherell shall obtain from his bank a number of gold bags, fill them with lead discs to represent coin, and let it leak out before this man that he has got the money in the house. Then tonight Mr. Wetherell will set off for the waterside. I will row him down the harbour disguised as a boatman. We will pick up the boat, as arranged in that letter. In the meantime you must start from the other side in a police boat, pull up to meet us, and arrest the man. Then we will force him to disclose Miss Wetherell’s whereabouts, and act upon his information. What do you say?”

“It certainly sounds feasible,” said the Inspector, and Mr. Wetherell nodded his head approvingly. At that moment the Marquis entered the room, looking much better than when we had found him on the preceding night, and the conversation branched off into a different channel.

My plot seemed to commend itself so much to Mr. Wetherell’s judgement, that he ordered his carriage and drove off there and then to his bank, while I went down to the harbour, arranged about a boat and having done so, proceeded up to the town, where I purchased a false beard, an old dungaree suit, such as a man loafing about the harbour might wear, and a slouch hat of villainous appearance. By the time I got back to the house Mr. Wetherell had returned. With great delight he conducted me to his study, and, opening his safe, showed me a number of canvas bags, on each of which was printed £1,000.

“But surely there are not £100,000 there?”

“No,” said the old gentleman with a chuckle. “There is the counterfeit of £50,000 there; for the rest I propose to show them these.”

So saying, he dived his hand into a drawer and produced a sheaf of crisp banknotes.

“There⁠—these are notes for the balance of the amount.”

“But you surely are not going to pay? I thought we were going to try to catch the rascals without letting any money change hands.”

“So we are; do not be afraid. If you will only glance at these notes you will see that they are dummies, every one of them. They are for me to exhibit to the man in the boat; in the dark they’ll pass muster, never fear.”

“Very good indeed,” I said with a laugh. “By the time they can be properly examined we shall have the police at hand ready to capture him.”

“I believe we shall,” the old gentleman cried, rubbing his hands together in his delight⁠—“I believe we shall. And a nice example we’ll make of the rascals. Nikola thinks he can beat me, I’ll show him how mistaken he is!”

And for some time the old gentleman continued in this strain, confidently believing that he would have his daughter with him again by the time morning came. Nor was I far behind him in confidence. Since Nikola had not spirited her out of the country my plot seemed the one of all others to enable us to regain possession of her, and not only that, but we hoped it would give us an opportunity of punishing those who had so schemed against her. Suddenly an idea was born in my brain, and instantly I acted on it.

“Mr. Wetherell,” I said, “supposing, when your daughter is safe with you again, I presume so far as once more to offer myself for your son-in-law, what will you say?”

“What will I say?” he cried. “Why, I will tell you that you shall have her, my boy, with ten thousand blessings on your head. I know you now; and since I’ve treated you so badly, and you’ve taken such a noble revenge, why, I’ll make it up to you, or my name’s not Wetherell. But we won’t talk any more about that till we have got possession of her; we have other and more important things to think of. What time ought we to start tonight?”

“The letter fixes the meeting for ten o’clock; we had better be in the boat by half-past nine. In the meantime I should advise you to take a little rest. By the way, do you think your footman realizes that you have the money?”

“He ought to, for he carried it up to this room for me; and, what’s more, he has applied for a holiday this afternoon.”

“That’s to carry the information. Very good; everything is working excellently. Now I’m off to rest for a little while.”

“I’ll follow your example. In the meantime I’ll give orders for an early dinner.”

We dined at seven o’clock sharp, and at half-past eight I went off to my room to don my disguise; then, bidding the Marquis goodbye⁠—much to the young gentleman’s disgust, for he was most anxious to accompany us⁠—I slipped quietly out of my window, crossed the garden⁠—I hoped unobserved⁠—and then went down to the harbour side, where the boat I had chartered was waiting for me. A quarter of an hour later Wetherell’s carriage drove up, and on seeing it I went across and opened the door. My disguise was so perfect that for a moment the old gentleman seemed undecided whether to trust me or not. But my voice, when I spoke, reassured him, and then we set to work carrying the bags of spurious money down to the boat. As soon as this was accomplished we stepped in. I seated myself amidships and got out the oars, Mr. Wetherell taking the yoke-lines in the stern. Then we shoved off, and made our way out into the harbour.

It was a dull, cloudy night, with hardly a sign of a star in the whole length and breadth of heaven, while every few minutes a cold, cheerless wind swept across the water. So chilly indeed was it that before we had gone very far I began to wish I had added an overcoat to my other disguises. We hardly spoke, but pulled slowly down towards the island mentioned in the letter. The strain on our nerves was intense and I must confess to feeling decidedly nervous as I wondered what would happen if the police boat did not pull up to meet us, as we had that morning arranged.

A quarter to ten chimed from some church ashore as we approached within a hundred yards of our destination. Then I rested on my oars and waited. All round us were the lights of bigger craft, but no rowing-boat could I see. About five minutes before the hour I whispered to Wetherell to make ready, and in answer the old gentleman took a matchbox from his pocket. Exactly as the town clocks struck the hour he lit a vesta; it flared a little and then went out. As it did so a boat shot out of the darkness to port. He struck a second, and then a third. As the last one burned up and then died away, the man rowing the boat I have just referred to struck a light, then another, then another, in rapid succession. Having finished his display, he took up his oars and propelled his boat towards us. When he was within talking distance he said in a gruff voice:

“Is Mr. Wetherell aboard?”

To this my companion immediately answered, not however without a tremble in his voice, “Yes, here I am!”

“Money all right?”

“Can you see if I hold it up?” asked Mr. Wetherell. As he spoke a long black boat came into view on the other side of our questioner, and pulled slowly towards him. It was the police boat.

“No, I don’t want to see,” said the voice again. “But this is the message I was to give you. Pull in towards Circular Quay and find the Maid of the Mist barque. Go aboard her, and take your money down into the cuddy. There you’ll get your answer.”

“Nothing more?” cried Mr. Wetherell.

“That’s all I was told,” answered the man, and then said, “Good night.”

At the same moment the police boat pulled up alongside him and made fast. I saw a dark figure enter his boat, and next moment the glare of a lantern fell upon the man’s face. I picked up my oars and pulled over to them, getting there just in time to hear the Inspector ask the man his name.

“James Burbidge,” was the reply. “I don’t know as how you’ve got anything against me. I’m a licensed waterman, I am.”

“Very likely,” said the Inspector; “but I want a little explanation from you. How do you come to be mixed up in this business?”

“What⁠—about this ’ere message, d’you mean?”

“Yes, about this message. Where is it from? Who gave it to you?”

“Well, if you’ll let me go, I’ll tell you all about it,” growled the man. “I was up at the Hen and Chickens this evenin’, just afore dark, takin’ a nobbler along with a friend. Presently in comes a cove in a cloak. He beckons me outside and says, ‘Do you want to earn a sufring?’⁠—a sufring is twenty bob. So I says, ‘My word, I do!’ Then he says, ‘Well, you go out on the harbour tonight, and be down agin Shark point at ten?’ I said I would, and so I was. ‘You’ll see a boat there with an old gent in it,’ says he. ‘He’ll strike three matches, and you do the same. Then ask him if he’s Mr. Wetherell. If he says ‘Yes’, ask him if the money’s all right? And if he says ‘Yes’ to that, tell him to pull in towards Circular Quay and find the Maid of the Mist barque. He’s to take his money down to the cuddy, and he’ll get his answer there.’ That’s the truth, so ’elp me bob! I don’t know what you wants to go arrestin’ of an honest man for.”

The Inspector turned to the water police.

“Does any man here know James Burbidge?”

Two or three voices immediately answered in the affirmative, and this seemed to decide the officer, for he turned to the waterman again and said, “As some of my men seem to know you, I’ll let you off. But for your own sake go home and keep a silent tongue in your head.” He thereupon clambered back into his own boat and bade the man depart. In less time than it takes to tell he was out of sight. We then drew up alongside the police boat.

“What had we better do, Mr. Inspector?” asked Mr. Wetherell.

“Find the Maid of the Mist at once. She’s an untenanted ship, being for sale. You will go aboard, sir, with your companion, and down to the cuddy. Don’t take your money, however. We’ll draw up alongside as soon as you’re below, and when one of their gang, whom you’ll dispatch for it, comes up to get the coin, we’ll collar him, and then come to your assistance. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly. But how are we to know the vessel?”