Chapter XXXV More Checks
I rushed upstairs to Jack, who had gone on deck.
“Jack,” I cried, almost shouting in my excitement,—“he’s done us again!—he’s got the things! Heaven only knows what he means to do with them, but he’s got them and—and we haven’t!” I concluded lamely.
“What do you mean, man?” said Jack. “Who’s got what?”
“Why, Strong—Strong again! Don’t you understand?—he’s stolen the letter and the picture too, and Heaven only knows where he’s gone with them.”
It was now Jack’s turn to be moved.
“Impossible!” he exclaimed; “he would never dare; why—man alive!—he knows well enough he must swing if he sets foot in England, and what use are the things to him anywhere else?” Jack rose and strode about the deck.
“He might have done it out of spite, though,” he added next minute; “very likely he was determined that if he couldn’t have the money, at all events we shouldn’t have it either. Are you sure they are gone?”
“Come and see for yourself,” I said; and together we hurried down again, through the saloon and into my cabin.
Here we turned out every single article that my portmanteau contained; we searched every corner of the tiny room in case the things should have been mislaid; but we found nothing, and finally, in desperation, we called up the steward and cross-questioned him as to whether anyone could possibly have entered the cabin, either by day or night, without being seen by him or by his sub.
But neither did the steward know anything of the lost articles, nor would he admit that anyone could or would have entered the saloon without his being aware of the fact.
“Why, my pantry’s at the foot of the stairs,” he said, “and if I’m not in it Arthur is, and the stewardess is generally knocking around about here too; how’s anyone going to pass the lot of us without someone knowing of it? Besides, we don’t keep no thieves aboard this ship,” he concluded, with displeasure. “No one but me and Arthur’s been in this ’ere cabin since you came aboard at Hogland, and that’s a fact!”
“No, you’re wrong there, steward!” I said, “for that Russian sailor Michail came in to close the portholes last night, and woke me; what’s more, he said you sent him.”
The steward admitted that this suddenly recollected circumstance was correct. He had forgotten it, he explained. Michail had come to him at about two in the morning, and had asked whether he should close the passengers’ windows, as the wind seemed to be rising and the portholes might ship a sea or two presently. “If you suspect him, or me, or any of us, all you have to do is to examine our things,” the steward ended.
But we disclaimed any such desire. We would like to see Michail, however, and as soon as possible; for if the things were not forthcoming, we must—as Jack expressed it—“get out at Elsinore, and walk!”
So Michail came up for examination.
Did he often volunteer for the duty of closing portholes at night? we asked.
Michail said he did it sometimes; he generally offered to do it because he liked the job; the passengers now and then gave him a small gratuity. On this occasion, Michail added, the gentlemen had given him nothing, but it was not too late should they desire to repair the omission.
“Wait a minute, Michail,” said Jack. “The time has not yet arrived to speak of gratuities. What about this portmanteau, here? Have you seen it before?”
“Often,” said Michail; “it is the very one I carried ashore on Hogland, for the gentleman with red hair.” (My hair is not red, it is a warm yellow; Michail meant me, nevertheless, for Jack’s locks are raven black.)
“Yes; but have you been a-fishing in it lately—just an innocent search, you know, for something of interest; not a burglary of course.”
Michael started back in horror and surprise. “Do the barins take me for a thief?” he asked with some indignation.
“That was the idea,” said Jack, quite coolly. “But you may have been acting for another—for that other Englishman, for instance, Strong.”
“Which Englishman is that?” asked Michail innocently; “one of the sailors?”
“The Narva man; you know well enough!” said Jack.
Michail crossed himself very devoutly. “Barin!” he said; “as if I would act with that skoteena!” (rascal)
“Come, Michail,” continued Jack, “will ten roubles do it?”
“There is nothing to tell of myself,” said Michail reflectively; “but for the sum of money mentioned, I might possibly be induced to tell you something that I heard him say to one of our men in the fo’c’sle.”
“Well,” I said, “go on Michail. It sounds promising. When did he say it, and what did he say?”
“It was yesterday,” replied Michail; “you two were walking on deck, and I saw him point to you and say those two passengers had the worst tempers of any two men he’d ever seen; they go mad angry every two or three days, he said, and tear around, playing Old Harry with everything. Very likely they’ll want to be landed in the middle of the North Sea, and they’ll paint everything red till they’re allowed, too; and I shan’t be there to see the fun, he said, for I shall have been put ashore at Copenhagen.”
“What did he mean by that? You’re romancing, Michail!” said Jack severely.
Michail replied that he would scorn to tell us anything but the plain truth, though he was always glad to tell that—for a consideration.
“Well, you’ve earned nothing yet, my friend; the ten roubles remain with me, so far. You’d better remember a little more if you want the money.”
“That was all the skoteena himself said,” Michael continued; “but if the barins desire it, I will tell them what some of those in the fo’c’sle thought about it.”
“Go on,” said Jack; “what did they say?”
“They said—when the skoteena had told us about your tempers and what you would do in the North Sea after he had gone—that he wouldn’t say a thing like that unless he had a reason for it; and probably the reason was that he had got hold of some of your property, and you’d find out about it in a day or two and go mad with rage, and want to be landed wherever was nearest so as to go after him.”
“Oh, that was it, was it?” said Jack.
Michail received his ten roubles, and Jack drew me aside.
“I’ll tell you what it is, Peter, old chap; Michail’s right. Whether he said it because he has a guilty conscience, and wants us off the ship; or whether Strong really used the expression he attributes to him, one thing’s certain—we must land.”
“Where can we?—anywhere here along the Danish coast? By George! if we catch him again, Jack, he shan’t escape us, eh?”
“He should swing if it depended upon me, now, and I could prove anything,” said Jack grimly. “But come and interview Captain Edwards, and see if he’ll stop the ship and land us.” Captain Edwards was upon the bridge with the pilot, whom we had shipped at Copenhagen.
“Of course,” Jack added, as we caught sight of the jolly-looking, weather-beaten Dane standing beside our own skipper—“the pilot! We’ll ask Edwards to let us go ashore in his boat, with him; that’ll probably be Elsinore. Confound it all, though, we shall be six hours behind him at Copenhagen!”
“But why, what’s up, what’s happened?” asked bewildered Captain Edwards, when we had made known to him the nature of our request; “has the other fellow bolted with the money-bags?”
We explained that this was just about the state of the case; the man had robbed us, and we must land and be after him.
“Are you quite sure it was he?” continued Edwards; “it would be funny if you went after this fellow and left the real culprit, plus your property, on board!”
But we explained that there was no reasonable doubt as to this. The only person now on the ship who might possibly have had a hand in it was Michail, and we begged the captain to keep an open eye on this rascal, and even have him watched on landing in Hull. It was possible that he might have in his possession a picture belonging to us, and of some value.
“What! a work of art?” laughed Edwards. “May I ask how you came to be travelling about and landing and prospecting on Hogland in company with a valuable work of art?”
Well, we thought it best—and probably the shorter way as well—to tell the skipper all about it, and we did so. Now that Strong was out of our hands we need not scruple to conceal the fact that he was perhaps the greatest rascal unhung, and that he and the hero of the Narva exploit were one and the same person.
Captain Edwards was naturally somewhat excited.
“The scoundrel ought to have been sent back to Narva,” he said, “not brought on here and set free. You deserve what’s happened for setting such a monster loose upon society. It’s not fair dealing towards your kind, young men, upon my soul it isn’t; you may take that from an older man than yourselves. However, please God you’ll catch him yet. You must land with the pilot, of course; that’ll be at Elsinore, in half an hour’s time. You’d better get your traps ready.”
We went down to prepare for our departure. In the cabin a thought occurred to me. What if Michail and Strong were in direct collusion, and had agreed upon a base of action such as this: that Michail should convey to us, just as he had done, by innuendo, that Strong had stolen our property, in order that we might be induced to land at Elsinore and hurry back after him by train to Copenhagen; that meanwhile Strong should have caught the first train to Elsinore, and—having “done” the distance by land much faster than we should have accomplished it by water—be waiting at Elsinore or beyond it, knocking around in a small boat all ready to be picked up at dusk by his friend Michail. In that case he would have left the property on board, and would simply continue his journey to Hull, and land there in two days and a half, or three days, while we were still hunting him, goodness knows where, all over the Continent, perhaps!
“Well,” said Jack, “if that is the plan, Master Strong will find himself in the wrong box. I don’t believe he could get taken on board out of a small boat without stopping the ship, or the captain or mate knowing something of it; but if he did, Edwards knows all about him now, and he’d be as safe here as in Newgate, pro tem. Let him come, by all means; the arrangement would be all right for us even though we did lose a few days travelling about the Continent.”
Nevertheless we warned Captain Edwards that it was just possible Strong might turn up again beyond Elsinore and demand to be taken aboard, or perhaps be assisted by Michail in making a secret reappearance.
“Not he!” said Edwards; “he wouldn’t risk it—don’t you make any mistake! I only wish he would. It would be putting his head in a bag with a vengeance!”
I think I ought to make an apology, at this point, to the memory of the astute Mr. James Strong. I ought never to have imagined him capable of so crude an enterprise as that which my fancy accused him of undertaking.