In White Raiment. Le Queux William
know soon enough. Just breathe the ozone, and make yourself comfortable. That’s all you have to do,” he responded, with his bearded chin thrust forward, in an air of unconcern.
“Well, you haven’t provided many creature comforts for me,” I remarked, with a glance round the stuffy little place.
“No, this isn’t exactly a Cunarder,” he admitted. “But I’ll tell the men to bring you some grub, at any rate. Like some duff?”
“You’re very kind; but I’d rather take a walk on deck in order to get an appetite.”
“No; the sun’s a bit too strong,” he answered waggishly. “You might get sunstroke, you know.”
“I shall be asphyxiated if I remain here.”
“Well, that’s a comfortable death, I believe. More than one chap has died for want o’ breath in the hold of this ship when we’ve been trimmin’ coal.”
“Then you refuse me my liberty?” I said, feeling that to argue pleasantly was useless.
“Yes, you’ve got to stay ’ere.”
“By whose orders?”
“That’s my own business,” he growled.
“And mine also,” I responded firmly. “You may be skipper of this craft, but you are not a gaoler, you know.”
“I’m your gaoler, at any rate.”
“That remains to be seen,” I answered. “I suppose you’ve been paid to take me out of the country, like this; but I may as well warn you that you are aiding and abetting a murder, and that when you get ashore you’ll find yourself in a very nasty position.”
“With the Consul, eh?” he laughed. “Well, they’re a decent lot, as a rule. We don’t get much trouble with ’em if we deposit our papers in order.”
“But if I demanded your arrest for illegal imprisonment?”
“I don’t fancy you’d do that, mister,” he responded with sarcasm. “It might be a bit of a bother for me in England, but the foreign police are a bit chary of touching a British capt’n.”
There was, I knew, some truth in that. Yet I did not intend to remain cooped up there, a prisoner, for the remainder of the voyage.
“Well, now, look here,” I said, in a more conciliatory tone. “Why are you not frank with me?”
“Because you ain’t responsible for your actions.”
“And that’s why you won’t allow me on deck?” He nodded.
“Then I suppose when I was handed over to your tender charge they told you I was a lunatic?”
“Well, they said you’d better be kept under restraint. I was told that you’d had a bad touch of the blues, it seems.”
“And yet you took me aboard while I was unconscious,” I said. “That was scarcely a wise proceeding was it?”
“You were here when I returned; I’ve told you I found you here.”
“Then you mean to tell me that you don’t know who paid you to take me on this pleasure trip?”
“No, I don’t. I’ve only received orders, and just observed them.”
“Orders from whom?”
“From my owners.”
“Your owners! What possible interest could your owners have in shipping me aboard while I was unconscious? Who are they?”
“Hanways, of Newcastle.”
“And what ship is this?”
“The Petrel, of Newcastle.”
“Bound for where?”
“No,” he replied. “I’ve strict orders to keep you confined in the cabin, to treat you as well as your behaviour will allow, and to tell you nothing.”
“Well, captain, you’re a sensible man, and surely you’ll listen to reason.”
“What reason? I’ve got my orders. That’s enough for me.”
“But I tell you that by this action you are aiding in the concealment of a terrible crime – the dastardly murder of a lady in London,” I burst forth.
“Of course. That’s the yarn they said you’d spin. Well, you can stow that for the present. I’ll come down and hear it over a pipe, when I want a bit of relaxation. For the time being, just you sniff the ozone, and fancy yourself in a drawin’-room.”
Then, without more ado, the burly fellow made his exit, slammed the heavy door and bolted it, leaving me still a prisoner within that tiny cabin.
Chapter Six
Captain Banfield Explains
The hours passed but slowly. The man who had first answered my summons brought me some food but to all my arguments he remained obdurate.
“The cap’n says you’re to stay ’ere,” he responded, “and if I let you out he’d put me in irons. Old Banfield ain’t a skipper to be trifled with, I can tell yer.”
So I remained there, filled with gloomy thoughts, and wondering where I was being taken, and what possible interest Messrs Hanway, the owners of the Petrel, could have in my forcible abduction.
I sat there, helpless and puzzled, until it grew quite dark, then my head feeling heavy, and my limbs exhausted on account of the drug that had been so ingeniously administered to me, I threw myself down, and the motion of the vessel soon lulled me to sleep.
The long green waves were sweeping past in the sunlight when I again opened my eyes, and from the porthole I could see a large steamer with a pair of red and black funnels in the distance, leaving a long trail of smoke behind her. Soon, however, she was beyond the range of my vision, and I could do nothing except sit there and review the whole situation.
The beautiful face of my murdered wife arose ever before me. It seemed to cry to me for vengeance. I was her husband, and I alone knew the truth.
Yet it was evident that I was still in the hands of enemies, and, imprisoned there, I could do nothing.
The day passed, and fortunately I found myself feeling better. The effect of the noxious drug was slowly wearing off; yet the strain upon my nerves was terrible, and the imprisonment, coupled with uncertainty as to the future, was driving me to desperation.
A third day passed, much as the second. The only person I saw was the sailor who brought me food from the cook’s galley in the morning and at evening – badly cooked sailors’ fare that I could scarcely touch. As the sun was sinking, we suddenly approached a blue line of coast, and continued to skirt it until it became swallowed up in the night mists. Then, wearied, I again lay down to sleep.
I was awakened by the sudden stoppage of the engines, and found that it was already day again, and that we were in calm water. Outside my porthole was a flat stone wall which shut out everything.
Much shouting and tramping sounded above, and I knew that we were being made fast at a quay.
My opportunity for escape had arrived. If only I could break open the door, and slip up on deck unobserved, I might regain my freedom.
Now, I had during the past two days made a most careful examination of my cabin and of the door, during which I had noticed that, supporting the box-like berth beneath, was an iron stay, the lower end of which was flattened out so that it could be more easily screwed down to the floor. The screws were loose, like most of the fittings of the badly kept craft; therefore, after some little trouble, I managed to remove it, and found that I held in my hand a capital crowbar.
Presently I managed to work the thin end between the door and the lintel, and then, throwing my whole weight against it, endeavoured to force the outer bolt from its fastenings.
My first attempt was abortive, but I saw that the screws were giving away; therefore I continued my