The Black House in Harley Street/Chapter 17

Christopher, tumbling head over heels upstairs, followed by the usually placid but now much-concerned Saunders, behind whom, already sobbing with fear, came Maisie, found almost every man of the Lorelei's crew, from the skipper downwards, staring across the roadstead as if they saw something which had caused them to take momentary leave of their senses. Shading his eyes from the powerful glare of the sun, he too looked across the dancing waves—and could scarcely believe the evidence of those eyes.

The Sparrow-Hawk was swinging round to the open sea; it was evident that her engineers had full steam up, and that, with her enormous turn of speed, she would very quickly be out of sight. But that was not all; it was, rather, a small detail. There was a tragedy going on. From the side nearest to the Lorelei puffs of smoke, slight and white, issued, coming from the deck—the puffs that follow rifle or revolver shots. And all the time the sinister grey hull was swinging rapidly round.

A sharp cry from one of the crew at his elbow brought Christopher to a keen sense of the situation.

"There!—swimming!"

​Then they saw that something—man, woman, something human—was swimming with strong, sturdy strokes in their direction. They saw, too, that the shots were directed at it.

An arm—white in the brilliant sunlight, white against the green-blue of the dancing waters—shot up, a signal for help.

The crew of the Lorelei burst into activity. The boat which had carried the breakfast party across, and had only just returned, was dancing idly beneath them; in a moment it was filled and being pulled at a feverish rate in the direction of the swimmer. The swimmer was still coming along, but at a slower speed—slower at every stroke.

Maisie clasped her husband's arm.

"Chris!" she whispered, "who is it?"

"Heaven knows!" answered Christopher. "There's something wrong, Maisie—horribly wrong. See! She's off!"

The Sparrow-Hawk had swung round by that time, and as a racehorse goes when the starting-gate is lifted, she went clean away for the open sea, seeming to break into her top speed at once. The Lorelei's skipper, with something between a curse and a groan, gave some orders to his officers; there was bustle and commotion everywhere on the instant.

"They're off indeed, sir!" exclaimed Saunders. "Good God!—and we haven't got steam up. His lordship told me this morning he meant to stay here until day after to-morrow."

​The boat was approaching the swimmer, who, it was easy to see, was in difficulties. Now it was within two hundred, now one hundred, now fifty yards. Suddenly two arms went up, then disappeared. Maisie clutched Christopher's elbow on one side, Saunders' on the other.

"Don't be alarmed, ma'am," said Saunders. "They've got him. And it's Mr. Macnaughten. I think he's wounded."

By the time the boat came alongside every man on board the Lorelei was working with feverish activity to get steam up. There was no necessity to wait for Macnaughten's account of what had happened—it was plain that treachery of some sort had taken place, and that the queer-looking yacht, so called, must be followed. Nevertheless, as the boat approached the gangway, all who could crowded to it, Christopher foremost. He shouted one word to Macnaughten while they were twenty yards apart—

"Well?"

And Macnaughten, pale, and bleeding from a wound in the shoulder, shouted two words back—

"Van Mildart!"

Christopher vented his feelings in a sharp whistle. He turned to his wife and Saunders.

"Quick!" he said. "Do you see how he's bleeding?—and we've no doctor on board! We must do what we can. Hurry, and get things ready for him. Lucky I know a bit about first aid."

While Maisie and the valet hastened downstairs to make arrangements for the wounded man's reception, ​the boat came alongside, and in another moment Christopher was helping Macnaughten on deck. The detective was very pale and obviously in great pain, and his right arm hung limp and useless. He had somehow got rid of his jacket, and his shirt was already soaked with blood. Although he was biting his lips with pain, he tried to make light of his injuries.

"It's only a flesh wound," he said. "It went right through the fleshy part of the arm just beneath the shoulder. It'll be all right, Aspinall—never mind me now. Where's the captain? Tell him to get steam up and go all he knows after that cursed ship. I tell you van Mildart is on board, and there'll be Heaven knows what—black, cowardly murder at least!"

"They're getting steam up now," answered Christopher. "Come below, Macnaughten, and let me see that wound—I can do a bit of first aid of a sort."

"Oh, so can I," said Macnaughten, still affecting indifference. "Plenty of cold water, some lint, and some bandages—that's what we want. I've had worse wounds than this, and my flesh heals quickly. I'm a bit done with the shock and the swim, but I'll be all right."

However, he was very glad of a stiff dose of brandy when he got into his cabin, and thankful, too, when Christopher and Saunders had put dry clothes on him and dressed the wound under his superintendence, to lie down and rest.

"Run up and see where that rascally pirate has got to, Aspinall," he said anxiously. "And do get the skipper to hurry up."

​And Christopher ran on deck, and shading his eyes with a hand still stained with Macnaughten's blood, looked out across the glittering waters. The Sparrow-Hawk was already hull down on the westward horizon.

The captain went down with Christopher to the wounded man's cabin, where Maisie was busied in arranging cushions and pillows for his comfort and Saunders was tidying up. Macnaughten asked impatiently for news.

"We'll have steam up presently and get away at our best lick, Mr. Macnaughten," replied the captain; "but yon's a much faster sailer than the Lorelei, and once she's out of our sight, I misdoubt that we'll never be seeing her again. I was noticing her lines generally last night as I passed her—she's a good five knots faster than what we are, sir."

Macnaughten uttered an impatient exclamation.

"I know that, worse luck!" he said. "I didn't board her for nothing. She's as fast as a destroyer. And there's not much of a pleasure yacht about her, my faith! She's armoured—and armed too. And as for Vanderkiste—or rather, for that young devil who came here posing as Vanderkiste—why, he's just one of the gang headed by van Mildart. There'll be murder, that's what there'll be. You saw how they tried to shoot me like a dog!—if there was one shot there were twenty."

"If it won't weaken you too much," said Christopher, "tell us what you found there."

"Oh, I'm all right," replied Macnaughten. "I'll ask Saunders for a little brandy if I feel faint. What did ​we find on the Sparrow-Hawk? Well, we ought to have found her flying the skull and cross-bones—so we ought. I began to feel uneasy as soon as we were on deck—you know that sort of premonitory feeling that there's something wrong. I don't know what it was. Our reception was all right. There were the so-called Vanderkiste and Kelsey at the top of the gangway to receive us—confounded scoundrels!—with outstretched hands and smiles of welcome. One of them—Vanderkiste, I think—suggested that we might like to have a look around the upper deck before going into the cabin for breakfast, so we just wandered about a little. I was noticing the general cut of the crew; they are all handsomely uniformed and very smart, but if nine-tenths of them haven't a pretty good acquaintance with bowie-knives and six-shooters, then I know nothing. There are a good many niggers among them—the sort that one doesn't care about having overmuch to do with—and a few Portuguese, picked up, I reckon, in some South American port. A shifty-eyed, truculent-looking lot, taking 'em altogether, I can assure you!"

He paused to take a sip at the brandy and soda which Saunders had placed within reach of his sound arm, and Christopher begged him to take his time and not to tax his strength.

"Oh, I'm pretty tough!" he said, continuing. "Well, it didn't need half an eye to see that that ship wasn't just meant for pleasure. She was like a sharp terrier dog that only just wants a hint to show its bristles and its teeth. Yacht!—it's a little battleship—and an ugly ​and wicked one at that. I soon saw she was not only armoured for some feet both above and below the water-line, but that she carried some very business-like-looking guns. 'You might be thinking of having a snap with somebody,' I said to Vanderkiste as we strolled around. He gave me a sly look. 'Don't know that we shan't have yet,' he says. 'We're going into some strange quarters before we're through with this little trip, and it's just as well to be careful.' 'Even if one is on a pleasure yacht,' says I meaningly. 'Just so,' says he. 'And of course,' I said, eyeing one of the quick-firing guns, 'of course, if you must arm yourself, it's best to have the very latest invention.' 'I quite agree with you,' he says."

The engines of the Lorelei began to hum, to throb, to settle down into a steady singing.

"Now we're after her," said the captain. He ran on deck, and came back a minute or two later, obviously anxious to hear the rest of Macnaughten's story. "I can just see the Sparrow-Hawk," he said. "She's got a big start on us, though."

"Oh, we'll never catch her; and if we did, she could blow us out of the water!" groaned Macnaughten. "All we can do is to hope to trace her. It's my opinion she's off for South America—Buenos Ayres, very likely. Well, as I was telling you, we looked about us for a while, and then Vanderkiste led the way to breakfast. He was walking with Lady Maxton and Mrs. Goulburn; Goulburn and Lord Maxton were talking to Kelsey; Miss Lamotte and myself were farther in the ​rear as we went down to the saloon. She gave me a queer look and spoke in an undertone: 'This is a strange sort of yacht,' she said. 'It seems to me there are more cannon than couches, and I don't like the look of anything.' 'Neither do I,' I replied in a whisper. 'Keep your weather eye open.'

"Well, they ushered us into a very comfortable saloon; it certainly wasn't elegantly furnished or appointed—nothing like his lordship's here, for instance—but it was comfortable enough for a ship of that sort. There was a biggish table in the centre, spread for breakfast; and I must say that the breakfast was a very good one and beautifully served, and I dare say beautifully cooked, only I really can't say as to that, because I never got a bite of it, of course. There were piles of the most tempting-looking fruit here and there, and fresh flowers, and enough champagne in view to float a small lugger—metaphorically speaking. I wasn't sorry to see that breakfast—the row across the bay had made me hungry, and I saw some cold pickled trout, of which I am very fond. However, I very soon forgot all about breakfast, I can assure you!

"There were two niggers in the room in white drill uniforms, ready to wait on us, and everything seemed to be in readiness. Vanderkiste begged us to be seated, and took Lady Maxton to the top of the table. Mrs. Goulburn faced her on the other side; Goulburn sat by Lady Maxton, and Lord Maxton by Mrs. Goulburn, with Miss Lamotte next to him. Vanderkiste, standing at the head of the table, pointed me to a place next to ​Miss Lamotte's. Kelsey was at the foot. We were all seated except Vanderkiste, who stood in the principal place, watching us. He gave us a peculiar smile. 'Ladies and gentlemen,' he said, 'I must ask your pardon for a little imposition. All things are fair, you know, in love and war. Allow me to vacate this place, and to introduce you to your host—and your captor!'

"As he said that, the young villain threw open a door behind him, and stood aside with a mocking smile. There, watching us with those malignant eyes of his, stood van Mildart!

"Well, you can guess what we felt. The little Countess screamed; poor Mrs. Goulburn went white as a sheet; even Miss Lamotte blenched before the little devil's fierce gaze. As for Lord Maxton, Goulburn, and myself, we all jumped to our feet. And when we did that, those cursed niggers just stepped quietly to the entrance and drew a couple of as ugly-looking guns as ever I saw. It was a clean hold-up, you can be sure.

"Now, I never admired Lord Maxton as much since I came to know him as I did just then. His lordship is as kind a man and as hospitable an entertainer as you could find, but he isn't exactly what you'd call a giant in intellect, and sometimes he talks rather like a schoolboy or one of his stablemen. Well, now he stood up and faced van Mildart and spoke straight. 'What do you mean by this, sir?' he demanded, in a very stern voice. 'Why are we subjected to this outrage?' He made a good figure, standing there, I can tell you, and I admired him.

​"But van Mildart!—that man has a face of brass and a heart of stone. He motioned us to sit down. Needless to say we didn't.

"'There is no need to waste words,' said he. 'You are all in my power, and nothing can save you. To save time, I may as well tell you at once what is in store for you. You, Lord and Lady Maxton, must pay a ransom of two hundred and fifty thousand pounds; you, Mr. and Mrs. Goulburn, a like sum. If you refuse, we will take means to make you comply with our demands. As for the two others, they are poor people, but we have scores to reckon with both. You, Lamotte, as a traitor, shall be taken to a certain island I know of where everything is covered by land-crabs, and there you shall be left. There is no food to be had, and no water; there is no shade, but there is a lot of sun. You will starve; you will thirst; the crabs will watch you, and you will watch the crabs; the crabs will never grow tireless, but you will want to sleep, and will not dare to sleep. You will go mad—and then the crabs will eat you.'

"Well, I'll give Miss Lamotte credit for this—she never flinched a scrap as the little beast let all this off. She just looked at him with contempt, pure and simple, and she smiled a little. But van Mildart took no further notice of her; he turned to me.

"'As for you, Macnaughten,' he says, 'you've more than once put spokes in wheels of mine, and you've been directly responsible for the deaths of two of my principal co-adjutors in times past. By all the rules of war your life is forfeit. You will be shot—at once. ​There's no particular reason why you should live any longer. See that that is carried out instantly,' he wound up, turning to the fellow who posed as Vanderkiste. 'As for the rest of them, let them breakfast with what appetites they have.' And with that he went inside his den again, and the door closed on him.

"Well, you may just guess that wasn't nice. The Vanderkiste man drew his gun and motioned me upstairs, and Kelsey and the niggers were equally insistent. The women shrieked; Lord Maxton swore; Goulburn expostulated. In another minute I was on deck, with these four devils round me and Vanderkiste yelling some orders in a lingo I didn't understand. Nice—wasn't it?

"It was then I made my dash. I drove one fist into Vanderkiste's face, the other into Kelsey's, tripped one nigger up with one foot, the other with the other, and went over the side like a streak of specially greased lightning. I'm a good swimmer, and I kept down as long as I could and swam as far as I could, getting my jacket off as I swam. But one bullet got me when I came up. What happened after that you all know."