The Complete Detective Sgt. Elk Series (6 Novels in One Edition). Edgar Wallace
as a forlorn hope, he relied upon the application of a fresh young mind to the problem which was so stale in his, for Van Ingen had never seen the diagram.
He looked and frowned.
“Is that all?” he asked, without disguising his disappointment.
“That is all,” responded T.B.
They sat looking at the diagram in silence. Van Ingen, as was his peculiarity, scribbled mechanically on the blotting pad before him. He drew flowers, and men’s heads, and impossible structures of all kinds; he made inaccurate tracings of maps, of columns, pediments, squares, and triangles. Then, in the same absent way, he made a rough copy of the diagram.
Then his pencil stopped and he sat bolt upright.
“Gee!” he whispered.
The detective looked up in astonishment.
“Whew!” whistled Van Ingen. “Have you got an atlas, Smith?”
The detective took one from his trunk. Van Ingen turned the leaves, looked long and earnestly at something he saw, closed the book, and turned a little white, but his eyes were blazing.
“I have found ‘Lolo,’” he said simply.
He took up his pencil and quickly sketched the diagram:
“Look,” he said, and added a few letters:
“Longitude, nought; latitude nought — L.0, L.0!” whispered the detective. “You’ve hit it, Van Ingen! By Jove! Why, that is off the African coast.”
He looked again at the map.
“It is where the Greenwich meridian crosses the Equator,” he said. “It’s ‘nowhere’! The only ‘nowhere’ in the world!”
33. At “Lolo”
Under an awning on the quarterdeck of the Maria Braganza, George T. Baggin was stretched out in the easiest of easychairs in an attitude of luxurious comfort.
Admiral Lombrosa, passing on his way to his cabin, smacked him familiarly upon the shoulder — an attitude which epitomised the changed relationships of the pair.
The Maria Braganza was steaming slowly eastward, and, since it was the hour of siesta, the deck was strewn with the recumbent forms of men. Baggin looked up with a scowl.
“Where is Poltavo?” he asked, and the other laughed.
“He sleeps, Senor Presidente,” said the “Admiral.” — There had been some curious promotions on board the Maria Braganza.—” He is amusing, your count.”
Baggin wriggled uncomfortably in his chair, but made no answer, and the other man eyed him keenly.
Baggin must have felt rather than observed the scrutiny, for suddenly he looked up and caught the sailor’s eye.
“Eh?” he asked, as though to some unspoken question. Then, “Where is Grayson?”
Again the smile on the swart face of the Brazilian.
“He is here,” he said, as a stout figure in white ducks shuffled awkwardly along the canting deck. He came opposite to Baggin; and, drawing a chair towards him with a grunt, he dropped into it with a crash.
“You grow fatter, my friend,” said Baggin.
“Fatter!” gasped the other. “Of course I’m fatter! No exercise — this cursed ship! Oh, what a fool, what a fool I’ve been!”
“Forget it,” said Baggin. He took a long gold case from his inside pocket, opened it, and selected with care a black cheroot. “Forget it.”
“I wish I could! I’d give half-a-million to be safe in the hands of the Official Receiver! I’d give half-a-million to be serving five years in Sing Sing! Baggin,” he said, with comic earnestness, “we’ve got to compromise! It’s got to be done. Where do we stand, eh?”
Baggin puffed leisurely at his cigar, but made no attempt to elucidate the position. He was used to all this; but now, with his nerves on edge, this cowardice of Grayson’s grated.
“Where are the Nine Men of Cadiz?” demanded Grayson, the sweat rolling down his cheeks. “Where is Bortuski? Where is Morson? Where is Couthwright? Zillier, we know where he is, or was, but where are the others? You and me and Count Poltavo and the rest — phutt!” He made a little noise with his mouth.
“I know!” he said. He raised a trembling finger accusingly.
“My dear man,” said Baggin lazily, though his face was white and his lips firm-pressed.
“There was the storm—”
“That’s a lie!” screamed Grayson, beating the air with his hands; “ — that’s a lie! The storm didn’t take Kohr from his bunk and leave blood on his pillow! It didn’t make Morson’s cabin smell of chloroform! I know, I know!”
“There is such a thing as knowing too much,” said George T. Baggin, rising unsteadily.
“Grayson,” he said, “I’ve been a good friend of yours because I sort of like you in spite of your foolishness. Our friends perished in the storm; it wasn’t a bad thing for us, taking matters all round. If this manifesto of ours doesn’t secure us a pardon, we can risk making a run for safety. There are fewer of us to blab. See here—”
He sat down on the side of the other’s chair and dropped his voice— “suppose we can’t shock this old world into giving us a free pardon, and the sun gets too warm for us, as it will sooner or later—”
“Suppose it!” Grayson burst in. “Do you think there’s an hour of the day or night when I don’t suppose it? Lord! I—”
“Listen, can’t you?” said Baggin savagely.
“When that happens, what are we to do? We’ve buried gold on the African coast; we’ve buried it on the South American coast—”
“All the .crew know. We’re at the mercy—”
“Wait, wait!” said the other wearily. “Suppose there comes a time when we must make a dash for safety — with the steam pinnace. Slipping away in the night when the men of the watch are doped. You and your daughter, and me, Poltavo, and the Admiral” — he bent his head lower—” leaving a time-fuse in the magazine,” he whispered. “There’s a way out for us, my friend! We are going to make one last effort,” he went on. “Between here and ‘ Lolo ‘ we fall in with the outward-bound, intermediate Cape mail. It shall be our last attack upon civilisation.”
“Don’t do it!” begged Grayson; “ — for the love of Heaven, don’t do it, Baggin!”
He got upon his feet, .pallid and staring. His hand was clapped over his heart, and his breath came in thick, stertorous gasps. Doris appeared around the corner, walking with Count Poltavo. She came forward swiftly.
“Come, father!” she said, and led him, unresisting, away.
They ate a silent meal in the magnificently upholstered wardroom, which had been converted into a saloon for the officers of the “Mad Battleship.”
After dinner, Count Poltavo and Baggin promenaded the quarterdeck together.
“Grayson has gone below,” reported the count, in answer to a question of his companion. “He got no sleep last night.”
“He is a greater danger than any of the others,” said Baggin.
They stood for awhile, watching the phosphorescence on the water, till Lombrosa’s voice recalled them.
“Are