A Crime of the Under-seas

CHAPTER XII

It was well-nigh mid-day before we reached our hotel; but as soon as we did so Mr. Leversidge placed the small box containing the pearl in a safe place. Having had such difficulty in finding it, he had no desire to run the risk of losing it again. This done, we devoted half an hour to business, and after that I went down to the agent's office to make inquiries about the mail-boat for Japan, which was due to arrive from San Francisco the following day. The remainder of the afternoon was occupied with calls upon old friends, and it was not until well after nightfall that I returned to our hotel. On arriving there, to my surprise, I found Mr. Leversidge in my bedroom in a state of wildest excitement. He was standing in the middle of the room holding the small wooden box containing the pearl in his hand. I inquired what was the matter.

"Thank Heaven you have returned," he cried. "Collon, I have made a terrible discovery. You will scarcely believe, but we've been swindled again, and in the most barefaced manner possible, by that seemingly repentant hound on board the steamer."

"What on earth do you mean?" I inquired, scarcely able to credit what he said. "How have we been swindled?"

In answer to my question he lifted the lid of the box and tipped its contents into the palm of his hand, which he held towards me in a theatrical fashion.

"We've been horribly taken in," he said. "This is not the pearl my firm purchased. It is a dummy – a fake, a make-believe. That clever rascal must have manufactured it himself for this express purpose, and all his protestations were as false as the pearl itself."

"What?" I cried. "I can't believe it. Let me look at the thing."

Taking it from him I examined it carefully. What he said was true. It was not genuine. At the same time, however, I am prepared to assert that it was the finest forgery of its kind I have ever come across in a fairly extensive experience. Until that moment, in my own heart, I had been despising the spurious Colway-Brown for a mere chicken-hearted cur, who, as soon as he was collared, wept and whined, and declared himself over-tempted and deeply repentant. Now, however, I was beginning to have a greater respect for him than I had yet felt, and for the simple and sufficient reason that in a trial of skill he had proved one too many for us.

"What can we do?" asked Mr. Leversidge. "By this time he may have changed to another boat, and have left the Island. In that case we shall have to commence our chase over again."

I was about to reply, when one of the native servants of the hotel entered the room and handed Mr. Leversidge a note, which he opened. Having read it he passed it on to me.

"Good heavens! I can scarcely believe it," I heard him say softly to himself. "Read that, Mr. Collon."

The note was from the captain of the schooner Friendship, and ran as follows: —

"To J. Leversidge, Esq.,

"Pacific Hotel, Honolulu.

"Dear Sir, —

"I regret exceedingly having to inform you that the man whom you visited on board my vessel this morning was, half an hour ago, shot by a person who had evidently been awaiting his arrival in this port. The murderer is in safe custody. As I understand from him that you were, or had been until lately, his employer, I thought it my duty to at once communicate with you.

"I am, Sir,

"Yours very obediently,

"J. Bolsover."

"This is retribution with a vengeance," I said. "But who can the murderer be?"

"One of the gang who was after the pearl in Australia, I'll be bound," returned Mr. Leversidge. Then the expression on his face suddenly changed, and he seized me by the arm. "For hundreds of reasons he would be certain to carry the pearl about his person. Can the murderer have stolen it, think you?"

"We will very soon ascertain," I answered, springing from the chair into which I had just thrown myself. "Come, Mr. Leversidge, we'll be off to the boat at once. This is no time for half measures."

So saying, we seized our hats and left the hotel in search of the schooner Friendship. When we got on board we found an unusual stillness reigning. The skipper greeted us at the entrance of the companion ladder and shook us by the hand. "This is a bad business, gentlemen," he said, "and I regret that it should have happened aboard my boat."

"A very bad business, as you say," Mr. Leversidge replied. "How long ago did it happen?"

"About an hour and a half," replied the other. "It was getting dark, when a man came aboard and asked to see your friend. He was standing just where we are now, and after they had said a few words they walked aft together. They must have started quarrelling at once, for as I went down the ladder to the cuddy I heard some high words pass between them, then a shot was fired, and your friend fell upon the deck. I rushed on deck and got there just in time to seize the murderer as he was going over the side. We clapped him in irons straight away, and as soon as we had done so, set ashore for the police."

"And the murdered man?"

"We carried him below, but he expired before we got him there. He lies now in his cabin. The police are coming to take him off in an hour's time. Perhaps you would like to see him?"

"Thank you," said Mr. Leversidge, and the captain led the way to the berth below, where he left us alone with the dead man.

"It's now, or never," I said. "If we want the pearl, we've got to find it before the police come off to take possession of the body, otherwise how are you going to establish your rights to it."

"But where do you intend looking for it?" Mr. Leversidge inquired.

"I'm going to begin by searching the body," I answered, "and then if we are permitted sufficient time, I shall take a look at his luggage. You had better guard the door."

As I spoke I took from my pocket a small, but exceedingly sharp pair of folding scissors, which I make a point of always carrying about with me. Then drawing back the blanket with which the body was covered, I ran my practised fingers over it. It is wonderful what a number of hiding-places the human frame contains. But it is the business of my life to know them all, and on this particular occasion it was not long before I discovered that high up under his right arm his coat had been carefully padded. To cut the lining was the work of a few seconds, and the results justified my expectations. "Here is your pearl, Mr. Leversidge," I said, holding it up, and a moment later I handed him the jewel in question. "Now let us get on deck as soon as possible. You had better leave your address, however, with the captain, in order that the police may know where to find you should your presence be required at the inquest."

He followed my advice, and then we descended to our boat alongside. Next morning, to obviate any chance of future inconvenience, we made it our business to attend at the police office, where we stated what we knew of the murdered man. Three hours later I bade Mr. Leversidge farewell on the hurricane deck of the American mail-boat.

"Good-bye, Mr. Collon," he said. "It seems strange to be parting like this after all we have gone through together. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your co-operation. There is only one question I wish to ask you before you go."

"And what is that?"

"Was I right, or was I wrong, when I told you in Ceylon that I thought this case would prove to be one of the most extraordinary even in your varied repertoire?"

"You were quite right," I answered. "I have never known another like it. Good-bye."

"Good-bye, and may you always be equally successful."

Three months later, when I was just bringing to a conclusion a delicate bit of business in Cochin China, the incoming mail-boat brought me a small packet, which, when I had opened it, I discovered contained a valuable diamond ring, with a card bearing this inscription: – "To Christopher Collon, in recognition of a signal service rendered to Wilson, Burke & Leversidge, of Hatton Garden."

The great black pearl which was the cause of all that has been told in this story is now amongst the most valued jewels of an Empress. How little, when it lies black as night upon her snow-white bosom, does she think what it cost in human life, or of the part it played in the drama to which I now invariably refer as "A CRIME OF THE UNDER-SEAS."

The Phantom Stockman

"A remarkably charming situation, and as pretty a homestead as any I have seen in the Bush," I said. "You have certainly worked wonders during the short time you have been in possession."

It was a moonlight night, and Jim Spicer and I were sitting in the verandah of Warradoona Station in Western New South Wales. Ten o'clock had struck nearly half an hour before, and, at a quarter past, Mrs. Spicer had bidden us "Good-night" and had gone off to bed. On hearing that I did not feel tired, her husband had invited me to bring my pipe and grog into the verandah, where we could chat about old times without disturbing anybody. I had only arrived that afternoon from Melbourne, and, as we had not met for more than three years, it may be easily imagined that we had much to say to each other. Years before we had been on a station together in Queensland, had done two overlanding trips in the same party, and had more than once tried our luck upon the gold-fields in partnership. Then he had taken a billet as manager of a big station in the Far West, and I had gone south to Melbourne to give up the Bush and settle down to the humdrum business I had inherited from my father. My surprise may therefore be understood when one morning I received a letter from my old comrade, informing me that he was married and had taken a property on Warradoona Creek. He brought his letter to a conclusion by telling me that if I stood in need of a holiday, and would care to undertake the long journey out to his place, he would not only give me a hearty welcome, but would be very thankful for my assistance in unravelling a mystery which up to the time of writing had baffled him completely. What the mystery was he did not say.

Now, as all the Bush world knows, Warradoona, despite the fact that it is on the direct overlanding route to Western Queensland, is one of the most unget-at-able places on the face of our great Island Continent. To begin with, you have a four hundred mile railway journey, then a coach ride of upwards of two hundred more, which will bring you to the township of Yarrapanya, a settlement of four houses at the junction of Warradoona Creek with the Salt Bush River. In the township horses can be obtained, and with their assistance the remainder of the journey, upwards of a hundred miles, may be accomplished. At the best of times it is a tedious undertaking, but when the floods are out, or, on the other hand, in the summer season when there is no water at all, it becomes a peculiarly dangerous one. To compensate for these drawbacks, however, when you do reach the station you will receive as hearty a welcome as any to be obtained in the Bush. The property itself is a large one, and certainly the best in that district. The homestead is a neat Bush building constructed of wood, roofed with shingles, and boasting on every side a broad verandah. It is built on the side of a hill and overlooks the plain that separates the higher land from the river. Away to the north where the Ranges trend in towards the Creek, there is a narrow pass through which come all the overlanding parties bringing cattle from Queensland to the south. To the southward a dense Mulga Scrub commences, and clothes the whole face of the hills as far as the eye can reach. Across the river and lying some thirty miles due west is Yarka Station, where, at the time of which I write, resided Jim's nearest neighbour, the Honourable Marmaduke Chudfield, a young Englishman, who, after he had given his family repeated opportunities of studying the more frivolous side of his character, had been shipped to Australia, where it was confidently hoped hard work and a limited supply of money would turn him into a staid and respectable colonist.

"Yes," said Spicer, as he walked to the rail of the verandah, and looked down upon the moonlit plain, "it is, as you say, by no means a bad sort of place. As I shall show you to-morrow, the station buildings are above the average in point of completeness, the run is well sheltered and grassed, the supply of water is abundant, and, as you are aware, we are on the direct cattle route to the south. Moreover, I have got the place for a considerable period on exceptional terms."

"I congratulate you most heartily. Now tell me the disadvantages; for I suppose there are some."

"So far as I have seen there is only one. At the same time, however, I must confess that that one is quite big enough to outweigh all the advantages put together. In point of fact, it was that very disadvantage that made me write to you last week and endeavour to induce you to pay us a visit."

"Now I come to think of it, I remember in your letter you did speak of some mystery that you wanted cleared up. What is it? In these prosaic days mysteries, save in mining matters, are few and far between. I am all impatience to hear what shape yours assumes."

While I had been speaking Spicer had been leaning on the verandah rail looking down the hillside towards the river. Now he turned, and, placing his back against one of the posts that supported the roof, regarded me steadily for some seconds.

"First and foremost, old man," he said, "try to bear it in mind that I don't want to be laughed at. I've got so much at stake that I'm as touchy on the subject as an old man with the gout. The trouble I have to contend with is that this place is supposed to be haunted. I know it's a silly sort of thing for a matter-of-fact fellow like myself to say; but still the fact remains, and a remarkably unpleasant fact it is."

"The deuce it is," I replied. "And pray what is the place supposed to be haunted by?"

"By a man on a white horse who rides about on a plain down yonder."

"Is this only hearsay, or have you seen the apparition yourself?"