The Complete Four Just Men (25 page)

‘It is incredible; it is impossible! He was running till the constable caught him, and he has not been out of our hands! Where is the officer who held him?’

Nobody answered, certainly not the tall policeman, who was at that moment being driven eastward, making a rapid change into the conventional evening costume of an English gentleman.

Chapter 14

The
Ibex Queen

‘We have said “check” to the Terrorists; how effective that check will be depends very largely upon the good sense and patience of the citizens of this city,’ wrote Manfred in the course of his remarkable letter to
The Times.
Perhaps the most interesting letter that the
famous newspaper has ever published, coming as it did from a man against whom a warrant existed on the capital charge, and who had
rendered unique and dreadful service to a nation that would assuredly hang him, if Fate delivered him into her hands.

It would seem that the fires of the Red Hundred had been beaten down and finally extinguished by the catastrophes that overtook its most trusty lieutenants on the very day it had scored its greatest triumph. But those who knew the organization were not deceived. Not for a single second did Scotland Yard relax its vigilance, and the Four Just Men, from their unknown watch-tower, waited, without illusions. For the second check came from Scotland Yard. An uncanny prescience as to the presence of cargo not entered on the ship’s papers brought the Yard into ill repute amongst certain skippers on the Baltic, and the Red Hundred needed weapons for their war.

‘Keep them inactive for a month and they’ll melt away,’ said an authority, and there was wisdom in the reasoning.

One night the Woman of Gratz received a letter that roused her from her brooding, and rekindled the fire in her sulky eyes. Such a letter it was, illiterate, written in curious Greek characters, that set the hive of anarchy throughout London humming; that brought delegates who, from reasons of prudence, had scattered themselves over England, back to the headquarters of the Red Hundred.

By that same post a letter was delivered at Hill Lodge, Lewisham, which begged to acknowledge receipt of favour of 18th, and in reply to state goods would be shipped, et cetera, et cetera.

The men in the watch-tower – it was only a figurative watch-tower – were interested more than a little by this communication.

* * *

With heavy seas breaking on her port quarter, the ramshackle tramp
Ibex Queen,
a most unqueenly craft, came shuddering and shaking through the North Sea, and her chief officer, pulling a dilapidated golf cap down over his ear, spat reflectively over the side of the bridge and expressed himself: ‘It’s a lucky thing for us the wind’s astern, old man.’ Old man, smoking contentedly in the lee of the crazy chart-room, grunted approvingly, for not only was he master, but he was owner of the
Ibex Queen.

The cautious and offensive attitude of Lloyd’s, who refused to insure his craft after the mysterious disappearance of two boats of his, had given him a new interest in the art of navigation. Luckily he had not been master either of the
Miko
or the
Pride of Dawmish
, when they sank, and his ticket, in consequence, remained unsullied. Not so the unfortunate skippers, one of whom, a notoriously careless man, had gone down with his ship and the other had been suspended for six months, during which period he drank heavily and frequently, and was in receipt of a handsome allowance from ‘friends’.

Now he was chief officer of the
Ibex Queen
, speaking familiarly with its captain – a significant fact, but one upon which I wish to lay no undue emphasis.

Because of the driving sleet that fell, they picked up no light till the revolving flash of the Nore Lightship.

The little ship plunged on in silence, lifting, wallowing, shuddering, an uneven way till the light was abreast, and then something broke the silence, a strident voice that hailed from the blackness of the night-enshrouded sea.

‘ . . .
Ibex Queen
ahoy!’

Part of the cry was blown away by the wind.

The mate, holding on, leant over the side of the bridge, and reached his battered megaphone.

‘Ahoy!’ he bellowed.

From the dark waters came the answer:

‘Is that . . .
Queen
?’

‘Ay.’

‘Stop . . . coming aboard.’

The mate jerked back the handle of the telegraph.

‘It’s them fellers they told us about at Riga,’ he grumbled. ‘but how in hell they expect to get aboard, I don’t know.

In a few minutes the
Ibex Queen
lay rolling in the trough of the sea.

It was indeed ticklish work getting aboard, for with the stopping of the vessel, the full force of the following gale struck her.

But out of the gloom overside a voice called for a rope, and an imperious demand came for steam in the donkey engine, and with some delay there arrived a sleepy donkey man who passed a steel hawser overboard.

Then in a comparative calm that followed a seventh wave, a voice ordered sharply: ‘Hoist her in!’

Roaring and rattling, the drum of the engine spun round and overside came a drenched little motor-launch with two passengers in shining oilskins.

Whilst the half-dozen men who composed the crew of the
Ibex Queen
lashed the launch fast on deck, the taller of the two passengers made his way to the bridge. He saluted the mate with a nod.

‘Well!’

‘We’ve had rather a rough time,’ said the tall passenger coolly. ‘I didn’t think we could live out the seas that were breaking.’

The shadowy figure of the old man shuffled forward.

‘I’m the master of this boat,’ he said, and added, ‘and owner – if you’ve got business, come below.’

The first mate set the telegraph to full speed ahead.

‘Am I in this?’ he demanded.

The old man stopped with one foot on the companion.

‘You are, and you ain’t,’ he said cautiously. ‘I’ll send the second to relieve you in a bit.’

‘Send him quick,’ growled the man suspiciously.

In the dingy saloon where an oil lamp swung leisurely to the extent of its tethering chain, the skipper viewed his visitors.

‘Ain’t I seen you before?’ he asked.

Manfred laughed.

‘Perhaps.’

‘Bilbao or Vigo, or one of them Spanish ports maybe,’ suggested the skipper.

‘Very likely,’ said Manfred carelessly; ‘at any rate, I know you – I was once a passenger by the
Pride of Dawmish
when you were skipper.’

The old man coughed with some embarrassment.

‘Very unfortunate business that,’ he recited. ‘If I’d had charge of her, nothing would have happened . . . valuable cargo . . . never got a penny from them swines of insurance people.’

Manfred’s keen eyes were fixed on the old man.

‘I thought the reverse,’ he said dryly. ‘Somebody told me – ’

‘Lies, all lies,’ said the skipper doggedly. He was, in the light, an uncleanly old man, with dirty white tufts of whisker placed at irregular intervals over his face. He shifted uneasily under Manfred’s scrutiny.

‘What about this cargo?’ he said abruptly, then checked himself. ‘What d’yer want?’ he modified his demand.

Manfred produced a pocket-book and from this extracted a printed sheet. The old man fumbled for his pince-nez and looked through the sheet.

‘That’s regular,’ he said. ‘Hundred and twenty bales of skins to the order of Mereowski, Leather Brokers, St. Ann’s Wharf – well?’

‘An insignificant cargo,’ said Manfred quietly, ‘for so high a freight.’ It was a shot at random, but it went home.

The old man grinned.

‘A freight without inquiries,’ he said smugly, ‘me not meetin’ the charter parties and asking no questions.’

‘I see,’ said Manfred.

‘And you’re the consign–ee?’ asked the skipper.

Manfred made a motion of assent.

‘In fact – if not in intention,’ was his cryptic reply, and then he went on.

‘I want you to take a voyage, Captain Stansell – a pleasure trip.’

Again the old man grinned. ‘It’ll be a pleasure to me – if the money’s all right.’

‘Say to Gravesend,’ Manfred continued, ‘a straight trip to Gravesend, carrying passengers – shipwrecked passengers – tell the tale to the Trinity Masters.’

The old man was looking at Manfred from under his shaggy eyebrows.

‘What – ’ he began, when the door was flung open and the chief mate strode in.

‘There’s a tug standing out to us making signal,’ he said, and the old man looked perplexed.

‘Ah!’ he said thoughtfully, ‘the signal – come to think of it, mister, you showed no light?’

‘That is so,’ said the visitor carelessly; ‘you see, we underestimated the bucketing we should get in our little boat, and the flare wouldn’t burn – we shipped water in every locker.’

The two ship’s officers were regarding Manfred and his companion with growing suspicion.

‘How do I know you’re the parties the stuf
f
’s intended for?’ asked the skipper; ‘them skins, I mean,’ he added hastily, ‘what I took aboard at Riga, me and the mate being ashore at the time, and not seeing ’em stowed.’

‘
Qui s’excuse, s’accuse
,’
quoted Manfred with a smile. ‘I can make your mind easy on that point, because – ’ he arrested his speech purposely – ‘we’re not!’

‘Eh!’

‘We are not the people to whom your bombs and melinite are consigned,’ Manfred went on coolly, ‘but we are prepared to take charge of the cargo, none the less – don’t move,’ he warned.

The mate scowled and backed to the door.

‘Don’t run either,’ said Manfred, having in his hand sufficient argument to enforce his command, and the mate wisely stood his ground.

‘This is piracy,’ stammered the old man, his face pinched and his jaw chattering. ‘This is a hangin’ business, mister – me – friend.’

‘You surprise me,’ said the other ironically, and motioned the officers to the far end of the saloon.

‘We must leave you for a little while, but we shall be within call,’ he said, and they went out, locking the door.

The
Ibex Queen
rolled and dipped before the following seas, and Manfred, swinging himself up the narrow gangway ladder, reached the bridge. A shivering young man in the canvas shelter at the end of the bridge looked round.

‘Where’s the old man?’ he asked.

‘Temporarily confined to his cabin,’ said Gonsalez flippantly.

‘What’s the game?’ asked the youngster.

‘Where’s the tug?’ asked Manfred.

‘There she is – half a mile away,’ grumbled the boy, then again: ‘What’s the racket?’ he asked.

‘Nothing much,’ replied Manfred, ‘only this old tub is running contraband, bombs and high explosives for the Port of London.’

‘Good Lord!’ said the astonished youth aghast, ‘is the old man in it?’

‘Up to his eyes – show the tug a flare.’

The young mate had jumped to the conclusion that these two men were police officers, and obeyed, and in a few seconds the sea was illuminated with the flare’s ghostly light.

‘When she comes alongside,’ ordered Manfred, ‘the crew can go ashore.’

‘What about the ship?’

‘I’ll look after this beautiful craft,’ was the quiet reply.

Twenty minutes later Poiccart summoned the two officers from the cabin, and they went on deck to find the scratch crew paraded with their bags – stokers, engineers, seamen and boys.

‘What’s the meaning of this?’ roared the skipper in a flurry of alarm.

A voice from the darkness of the bridge informed him ‘Stand by to abandon ship!’ it said mockingly; ‘there’s a tug alongside with a few of your friends. If you stay, you’ll be shot – move!’

A revolver bullet struck the deck at the old man’s feet and he jumped for the companion ladder. The sea had fallen a little, but the tiny mast of the tug alongside gyrated dizzily.

Telling the story of the end of the
Ilex Queen
it may be said in truth, that the captain was the first to leave the ship, but that the chief officer was a close second.

Manfred watched the departure and shouted his farewells.

‘
Bon voyage!’
he cried, then to the skipper of the tug: ‘Let go – whilst you are safe!’

He heard the fussy little engines of the smaller craft panting, and watched her starboard light dipping and rising in the seas as she circled round for the shore trip.

Poiccart, slipping off his oilskins, clattered down the grimy ladder that led to the engine-room, and as the
Ibex Queen
gathered way again, Manfred swung her head to sea.

Through the speaking tube Poiccart gave him some information.

‘Steam enough to get us into deep water,’ he reported.

When the Admiralty chart showed seventy fathoms Manfred rung the telegraph to ‘stop’.

‘Luckily,’ he said later, ‘the sea has gone down considerably. This place will do remarkably well, and, besides, we want a little steam in hand for the donkey engine.’

Whilst Poiccart was busy in the hold, Manfred gave a last look round the horizon for signs of approaching steamers. The North Sea is never deserted, and away to the north-east a little light twinkled. The two men showed considerable seamanship in getting their boat overside.

‘Goodbye,
Ibex Queen,’
said Manfred grimly, and started the purring engines of the launch.

He had left the lights burning on the doomed ship, and the men watched her unsteady roll.

‘Not desiring publicity,’ said Poiccart, ‘I have arranged for a fairly unspectacular sinking.’

‘Noiseless?’

‘As far as possible,’ said the other. A dull ‘boom!’ floated over the water.

‘That was unavoidable,’ said Poiccart apologetically, as the bow of the ship rose up. Then she went down by the stern, quickly, silently, mysteriously. Thus passed the
Ibex Queen,
and Lloyd’s list knew her name no more.

* * *

The sometime captain of the
Ibex Queen
had outgrown his awe of beautiful women. If he shed senile tears in the presence of the Woman of Gratz, they were inspired by the pecuniary loss he had suffered in the loss of one of the finest twin-screw steamers that ever left the Clyde yard. This description is his. To exaggerate virtues of the departed is characteristically human, and the
Ibex Queen
was an ocean liner, sumptuously fitted, extravagantly manned, and the envy and admiration of the seaborne world.