A LeadAt Last
RECLINING ON THE red plush of the saloon settee, Bony’s eyes were points of ice and the placidity of his slight body was unusual. From the rifle he gazed upward into Wilton’s blazing brown eyes, to realize that in this young man were depths not previously suspected. The detective spoke softly with a metallic note in his voice. The placidity left him. He sat up. His nostrils quivered as the primitive man’s nostrils quiver at the prospect of a hunt.
“Joe, go outside and see if anyone is in sight.”
Joe’s generous mouth was set in a leer. His eyes were small and agate hard. He left the saloon as silently as a cat. Bony said:
“How do you know, Jack, that this rifle belongs to Spinks?”
“Because the rear sight of this gun has been broken and repaired. Because I repaired the rear sight of Bill’s Winchester repeater,. 32. And because I recognize my own work on this repairing job,” Wilton replied, to add with steady conviction: “This is Bill’s rifle.”
“Put it back exactly as you found it,” instructed Bony.
“But it’s-”
“Please,”urged Bony.
Wilton took up the weapon and departed. Left alone, Bony smiled. The movement of his nostrils became more pronounced. The smile faded, vanished. Joe came in.
“There’s nobody around,” he reported. “Rain’s liftin’. Clouds gettin’ higher and the wind easin’ a bit. Fine day tomorrer. Whatd’you think about that gun?”
“It interests me, and I will continue to think of it,” Bony conceded. “Meanwhile, Joe, get going on setting out a meal. We three will eat here. What’s in the pantry?”
“Everythink in tins. Bread in the box. Fresh bread and fresh-looking butter.”
“Then we’ll feed royally. You fellows may drink beer if you wish, but I would like a pot of tea, strong tea. Tell Jack about the tea, will you?”
Fifteen minutes later they sat at the mahogany table, and to Bony’s pleasure his launchmen preferred tea. Joe exhibited a slight nervousness in these surroundings, and remembered in time not to cool tea in the fragile blue saucer. He and Wilton were quiet, speaking rarely, obviously waiting upon their angler. Presently Bony said:
“I think, Jack, that we agreed the other afternoon that theDolfin could have come in from the east to Swordfish Reef, and unseen by any other craft, have met theDo-me.”
“That’s so. And theGladious could have done it, too, remember. Then there was that small steamer painted warship grey and reported east of Swordfish Reef by theOrcades.”
“Yes, of course, that small steamer passed by theOrcades, so closely that the passengers were interested in it, as liner passengers are ever interested in anything. How long would it take, say, three men to paint theDolfin all over with grey paint?”
Joe’s valuable cup was nearly broken when it was set down violently on its saucer. The idea was not nearly as new to Wilton, who answered Bony’s question.
“They could do it, I should think, in about three hours, just slapping on the paint.”
“They could that,” agreed Joe. “It was a dead calm day, too. There wouldn’t have beenno bother about painting the outside of the hull down to the water line. There were no waves to wash against a craft that could wash off paint just put on.”
“The craft seen by the people on theOrcades was a steamer. It had a funnel,” argued the detective.
“A coupler lengthsof stove piping would do for a funnel,” Joe decided.
“And the mast, being hinged to the deck, and in two pieces could have been shortened by a shorter top section,” added Wilton. “Do you think-”
Bony stopped him with a wave of a hand and a slight smile.
“We must be cautious. We mustn’t manufacture facts to fit a theory. The man called Dan-what is he?”
“Dan Malone? He’s the skipper of theDolfin. He’s a blue-nose fisherman. The other feller is Dave Marshall, come all the way from Cockney-land. Neither of ’em is any chop. They both worked for Rockaway when he first came to Bermee. Came here with Rockaway, in fact.”
“Hum. They both look-er-tough. Do they mix at all with the Bermagui people?”
“Very little. I’ve seen ’em in the hotel at odd times,” Joe replied.
“Indeed! Try to remember this: Did you happen to be in the hotel the night before that day theDo-me disappeared?”
“Yes, I was there ’aving a drink or two with Eddy Burns,” Joe admitted.
“Were either or both theseDolfin men at the hotel that evening?”
Joe frowned, scowled, grunted. Then:
“No. But I remember seein’ the Rockaway truck outside the garage. Parkinswas doing somethink to it, I think. It was when I was goin’ up the street to the pub-about nine o’clock.”
“Without doubt we are progressing,” drawled Bony, selecting a cigarette from one of Mr Rockaway’s expensive boxes. “How is it that you remember all this so clearly?”
“ ’CosI settled me slate bill at the hotel with a fiver Jack, here, give me the day afore theDo-me disappeared. Remember that fiver, Jack?”
“Yes. I got it from the bank when I went there to get housekeeping money for my mother.”
“Then, Joe, do you remember if Mr Ericson was about the hotel that evening?”
“He was all there. ’Im and some others were havin’ a bit of a party in the back parlour.”
“How do you know that?” pressed Bony. “Did you go into the back parlour and see Ericson?”
“No need to see him to know ’e was in there. I could ’ear ’is voice. The bar shutters were up, you understand.”
“Oh! You are being very patient with me, Joe, and I thank you. Just one more question. Do you remember hearing Ericson, when in the backparlour, say anything about going the next day to Swordfish Reef after sharks?”
Again Joe scowled and grunted and hesitated.
“No-o… I can’t say as ’ow I do.”
Bony offered no assistance in clearing away the wreckage of the meal. With Rockaway’s cigarettes on the table beside him he lay stretched along the settee, his eyes closed for periods, and those thin nostrils of his slowly expanding and relaxing. In the launch kitchenette, Joe observed to Wilton:
“That rifle’s got ’im thinkin’. When you showed him that gun, I was forgettin’ he was a d- He’s come to be like a bit of granite. Did you see ’is eyes when ’e was askin’ all them questions?”
“Yes. And he looked like he does when he’s fighting a swordie, Joe. It makes me feel kind of glad I’ve done nothing wrong.”
“Me, too. I’ll bet this Rockaway bloke ’ad somethink to do with theDo-me. Hope we’re in at the final, Jack, old lad. Me and Dan’s got a score to settle. He’ll be in it as well. They’re all crooks.”
“We’re only thinking so now,” Wilton countered.
“I’ve thought it all along,” Joe stoutly maintained. “I never took to that blue-nose Nova Scotia-man. Me-when the times comes, I’m gonna tear ’is guts right out. ‘Peace,’ ’e says to me one day on the jetty. ‘Peace,’ ’e says, ‘I’ll have you to know that I’m Captain Malone to you.’ ’Im, a captain! Stiffen the crows! Why, Whiskers ’Arris on theA . S. 1never wants ’is men to call ’im Captain ’Arris. Skipper’s good enough for ’im.”
Meanwhile Bony had gone up on deck to discover that the rain had stopped andthat rifts in the spinning clouds supported the promise made by the barometer. Dusk was falling on a world weary of the wind but freshened by the rain.
Protected by the arms of the land, the jetty was situated on the north shore of the lower reach and within half a mile of the roaring bar. It was but half the distance to the big house built on the hill-side to which wound a road from the jetty’s base. There were no other houses to be seen, and already in the windows of this onelights were gleaming. The landscape was losing its features, and the hill summits were hidden by the low cloud mist. Faintly Bony could hear dogs barking.
During his promenade round and round theDolfin ’s spacious decks, he peered often at the paintwork. Its colour was, of course, a silver-grey, and his keen eyes at once registered the fact that the paint was comparatively fresh and expertly applied. Once he halted to scratch the paintwork of the raised saloon roofing. He used his thumb-nail. He could discern no grey paint beneath the silver-grey. He was finding it most difficult to connect the Rockaways with the disappearance of theDo-me until he recalled Rockaway’s handshake. Then he found it less difficult.
On going below he found clothes drying before two radiators, and the lights switched on in the saloon, the gangway between the cabins, and farther for’ard in the men’s quarters from which drifted the voices of his launchmen. He called them to the saloon. Telling them to be seated, he began a long questioning regarding Wapengo Inlet, the depth of water in it, roads to it, streams running into it. From this emerged the fact that Joe Peace was far more familiar with Wapengo Inlet than was Jack Wilton. He had years before prospected the country for metals and timber suitable for railway sleepers. When the night blackened the opened port, he said to Joe:
“It’s almost dark now, and I want Jack to assist me in making a thorough examination of this launch. Meanwhile I would like you to keep watch from the jetty, and to let us know instantly should you hear anyone approaching. We shall be some time, and you will not be able to smoke. Is there such a thing as a torch on theMarlin?”
“Two,” Wilton replied. “But there’s plenty aboard here, in the cabins, everywhere to hand.”
Bony smiled, saying:
“If the batteries of one or more were found to be exhausted someone might wonder why they were used for so long.
Joe chuckled in his deep-chested way.
“Good for you, Bony,” he said, with vast admiration. “Never give a shark a chance to bite you. I’ll getthem torches, and then I’ll mount guard.”
“How old is Joe, about?” Bony inquired of Wilton.
“Not as old as helooks, and tougher than he looks, too. He’s about fifty, no older. He’s a hell of a good man on a launch, and he can shift about quicker than anyone would think by looking at him.”
“Have you known him long?”
“Most of my life. He used to work for my old man when I was a shrimp.”
“Ah! I’m glad he’s dependable, for one day I may want to depend on him very much. With regard to this search of ours, I want you to devote yourself to all lockers and receptacles. Remember to replace everything exactly as you find it. You may discover something you recognize as once belonging to theDo-me, or once in the possession of either Spinks or his mate. If you found a paint-brush, for instance, still stained with dark grey paint…”
“Might find such a brush in that shed on the shore back of the jetty. That’s where all the paints and oils are kept.”
“Oh! Do you happen to know the lay-out of the house? Ever been inside it?”
“Twice. But only as far as the kitchen.”
“How many servants are employed?”
“There’s the housekeeper, a thoroughly bad-tempered old bitch, a man cook, a butler, and Malone and Marshall. When the Rockaways have parties they get extra help from Bermee or Cobargo.”
“And who, do you think, would be doing the renovations?”
“Lawson, I expect, from Bermagui. He generally does the renovating and repair work.”
The examination of theDolfin began from its bow wherewas a small hold to take the anchor and chain. Aft of this hold was a larger one in which were stowed a set of sails, stores, and drums of oil for the engine. The men’s quarters were given minute attention, and this same thorough care was being applied to the examination of the sleeping cabins when Joe appeared, silently, to say that someone was approaching along the jetty.
“Go for’ard,” Bony hastily instructed, easily falling into the seaman’s pronunciation of the word “forward”. He himself passed aft to the saloon where he lay on thesettee, lit a cigarette and took up a journal. He had barely settled when he heard footsteps on the jetty, and then the thrump of a man’s boots on the deck above. The man descended the steps to the saloon entrance, and casuallyBony half rose and looked round to see the man Dave Malone.
“Good night, Mr Bonaparte.” Malone said, unsmilingly.
“Good evening,” responded Bony, mildly surveying the man.
“Mr Rockaway sent me along to ask if you had everything needful.”
“Everything. We lack for nothing. Please convey my thanks to Mr Rockaway, and say I am most comfortably lodged and appreciative of his kindness.”
“All right. Good night, Mr Bonaparte.”
“Good night.”
Bony listened to the retreating footsteps until they were silenced by distance. Then he sprang for the steps and passed up on deck where he could again hear the departing footsteps. Joe came to stand with him.
“You stay here again, Joe, while we finish the examination down below.”
An hour later the search was completed. It had produced no result.
“I’d like to look inside that paint and oil shed, Jack,” Bony said when they were smoking and sipping coffee in the saloon. “Earlier in the evening I heard dogs near the house, so perhaps it would be unwise to examine the inside of the shed just now. I wonder now. Could you go along to it very early in the morning on the pretext of wanting to borrow a piece of waste or something?”
“Soon find an excuse,”assented Wilton.
“Then go soon after daybreak and look for traces of dark-grey paint on brushes, in tins, and other receptacles. Now I’m off to bed.”
Immediately Bony lay down in the luxurious bunk with its guard-rails of burnished copper, its pillows of down, its superfine blankets, he slept. It seemed to him that he slept only a moment when he was awakened by Wilton to see sunlight streaming in through the open port. In Wilton’s right hand was a paint-brush.
“Found it with a lot of others standing in water to prevent them going hard,” he said, triumph in his voice and eyes. “Look!”
Bony’s lips parted. His teeth gleamed. It was quite clear that when last used the brush had applied dark-grey paint.
“Grey kalsomine,” Wilton explained.“A cold water paint.”
“Were there any other brushes showing this colour?” he asked.
“Two. Like this one, both six inches wide. Good for fast work. There’s a heap of paint-tins and drums beyond the shed, but I didn’t like being seen poking about it. There were no kalsomine packets or any kalsomine liquid, in the shed.”
Bony sat up and reached for the box of cigarettes he had brought overnight from the saloon.
“You have done very well, Jack. How’s the weather?”
“The sea’s down. We can get over the bar as soon as you like. The sky’s clear and the windis coming from the south’ard.”
“Then after breakfast, we will start back for Bermagui. I’ve a lot of work to get through in the shortest possible time. There will be no fishing today.”
When, at seven o’clock, neither Rockaway nor his launch-men had appeared, Bony wrote a polite note of thanks and left it on the saloon table. At half-past seven theMarlin was at sea, heading northward for Bunga Head, a long swell coming abeam, a short chop and a following wind assisting her.