The Poisoned Pen(Fiscle Part-3) - Arthur B. Reeve (best detective novels of all time TXT) 📗
- Author: Arthur B. Reeve
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Sail In One Of Lang's Motor-Boats And He Would Be Unable, Of
Course, To Follow Them Further.
For The Remainder Of The Afternoon Kennedy Remained Pondering The
Case. At Last An Idea Seemed To Dawn On Him. He Found Herndon
Still At His Office And Made An Appointment To Meet On The
Waterfront Near La Montaigne's Pier, After Dinner. The Change In
Kennedy's Spirits Was Obvious, Though It Did Not In The Least
Enlighten My Curiosity. Even After A Dinner Which Was Lengthened
Out Considerably, I Thought, I Did Not Get Appreciably Nearer A
Solution, For We Strolled Over To The Laboratory, Where Craig
Loaded Me Down With A Huge Package Which Was Wrapped Up In Heavy
Paper.
We Arrived On The Corner Opposite The Wharf Just As It Was Growing
Dusk. The Neighbourhood Did Not Appeal To Me At Night, And Even
Though There Were Two Of Us I Was Rather Glad When We Met Herndon,
Who Was Waiting In The Shadow Of A Fruit Stall.
But Instead Of Proceeding Across To The Pier By The Side Of Which
La Montaigne Was Moored, We Cut Across The Wide Street And Turned
Down The Next Pier, Where A Couple Of Freighters Were Lying. The
Odour Of Salt Water, Sewage, Rotting Wood, And The Night Air Was
Not Inspiring. Nevertheless I Was Now Carried Away With The
Strangeness Of Our Adventure.
Halfway Down The Pier Kennedy Paused Before One Of The Gangways
That Was Shrouded In Darkness. The Door Was Opened And We Followed
Gingerly Across The Dirty Deck Of The Freight Ship. Below We Could
Hear The Water Lapping The Piles Of The Pier. Across A Dark Abyss
Lay The Grim Monster La Montaigne With Here And There A Light
Gleaming On One Of Her Decks. The Sounds Of The City Seemed Miles
Away.
"What A Fine Place For A Murder," Laughed Kennedy Coolly. He Was
Unwrapping The Package Which He Had Taken From Me. It Proved To Be
A Huge Reflector In Front Of Which Was Placed A Little Arrangement
Which, Under The Light Of A Shaded Lantern Carried By Herndon,
Looked Like A Coil Of Wire Of Some Kind.
To The Back Of The Reflector Craig Attached Two Other Flexible
Wires Which Led To A Couple Of Dry Cells And A Cylinder With A
Broadened End, Made Of Vulcanised Rubber. It Might Have Been A
Telephone Receiver, For All I Could Tell In The Darkness.
While I Was Still Speculating On The Possible Use Of The Enormous
Parabolic Reflector, A Slight Commotion On The Opposite Side Of
The Pier Distracted My Attention. A Ship Was Coming In And Was
Being Carefully And Quietly Berthed Alongside The Other Big Iron
Freighter On That Side. Herndon Had Left Us.
"The Mohican Is Here," He Remarked As He Rejoined Us. To My Look
Of Inquiry He Added, "The Revenue Cutter."
Kennedy Had Now Finished And Had Pointed The Reflector Full At La
Montaigne. With A Whispered Hasty Word Of Caution And Advice To
Herndon, He Drew Me Along With Him Down The Wharf Again.
At The Little Door Which Was Cut In The Barrier Guarding The Shore
End Of La Montaigne's Wharf Kennedy Stopped. The Customs Service
Night Watchman--There Is Always A Watchman Of Some Kind Aboard
Every Ship, Passenger Or Freighter, All The Time She Is In Port--
Seemed To Understand, For He Admitted Us After A Word With
Kennedy.
Threading Our Way Carefully Among The Boxes, And Bales, And Crates
Which Were Piled High, We Proceeded Down The Wharf. Under The
Electric Lights The Longshoremen Were Working Feverishly, For The
Unloading And Loading Of A Giant Trans-Atlantic Vessel In The Rush
Season Is A Long And Tedious Process At Best, Requiring Night Work
And Overtime, For Every Moment, Like Every Cubic Foot Of Space,
Counts.
Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 122Once Within The Door, However, No One Paid Much Attention To Us.
They Seemed To Take It For Granted That We Had Some Right There.
We Boarded The Ship By One Of The Many Entrances And Then
Proceeded Down To A Deck Where Apparently No One Was Working. It
Was More Like A Great House Than A Ship, I Felt, And I Wondered
Whether Kennedy's Search Was Not More Of A Hunt For A Needle In A
Haystack Than Anything Else. Yet He Seemed To Know What He Was
After.
We Had Descended To What I Imagined Must Be The Quarters Of The
Steward. About Us Were Many Large Cases And Chests, Stacked Up And
Marked As Belonging To The Ship. Kennedy's Attention Was Attracted
To Them Immediately. All At Once It Flashed On Me What His Purpose
Was. In Some Of Those Cases Were The Smuggled Goods!
Before I Could Say A Word And Before Kennedy Had A Chance Even To
Try To Verify His Suspicions, A Sudden Approach Of Footsteps
Startled Us. He Drew Me Into A Cabin Or Room Full Of Shelves With
Ship's Stores.
"Why Didn't You Bring Herndon Over And Break Into The Boxes, If
You Think The Stuff Is Hidden In One Of Them?" I Whispered.
"And Let Those Higher Up Escape While Their Tools Take All The
Blame?" He Answered. "Sh-H."
The Men Who Had Come Into The Compartment Looked About As If
Expecting To See Some One.
"Two Of Them Came Down," A Gruff Voice Said. "Where Are They?"
From The Noise I Inferred That There Must Be Four Or Five Men, And
From The Ease With Which They Shifted The Cases About Some Of Them
Must Have Been Pretty Husky Stevedores.
"I Don't Know," A More Polished But Unfamiliar Voice Answered.
The Door To Our Hiding-Place Was Opened Roughly And Then Banged
Shut Before We Realised It. With A Taunting Laugh, Some One Turned
A Key In The Lock And Before We Could Move A Quick Shift Of
Packing Cases Against The Door Made Escape Impossible.
Here We Were Marooned, Shanghaied, As It Were, Within Sight If Not
Call Of Herndon And Our Friends. We Had Run Up Against
Professional Smugglers, Of Whom I Had Vaguely Read, Disguised As
Stewards, Deckhands, Stokers, And Other Workers.
The Only Other Opening To The Cabin Was A Sort Of Porthole, More
For Ventilation Than Anything Else. Kennedy Stuck His Head Through
It, But It Was Impossible For A Man To Squeeze Out. There Was One
Of The Lower Decks Directly Before Us While A Bright Arc Light
Gleamed Tantalisingly Over It, Throwing A Round Circle Of Light
Into Our Prison. I Reflected Bitterly On Our Shipwreck Within
Sight Of Port.
Kennedy Remained Silent, And I Did Not Know What Was Working In
His Mind. Together We Made Out The Outline Of The Freighter At The
Next Wharf And Speculated As To The Location Where We Had Left
Herndon With The Huge Reflector. There Was No Moon And It Was As
Black As Ink In That Direction, But If We Could Have Got Out I
Would Have Trusted To Luck To Reach It By Swimming.
Below Us, From The Restless Water Lapping On The Sides Of The Hulk
Of La Montaigne, We Could Now Hear Muffled Sounds. It Was A Motor-
Boat Which Had Come Crawling Up The River Front, With Lights
Extinguished, And Had Pushed A Cautious Nose Into The Slip Where
Our Ship Lay At The Quay. None Of Your Romantic Low-Lying, Rakish
Craft Of The Old Smuggling Yarns Was This, Ready For Deeds Of
Desperation In The Dark Hours Of Midnight. It Was Just A Modern
Part 3 Chapter 10 (The Smuggler) Pg 123Little Motor-Boat, Up-To-Date, And Swift.
"Perhaps We'll Get Out Of This Finally," I Grumbled As I
Understood Now What Was Afoot, "But Not In Time To Be Of Any Use."
A Smothered Sound As Of Something Going Over The Vessel's Side
Followed. It Was One Of The Boxes Which We Had Seen Outside In The
Storeroom. Another Followed, And A Third And A Fourth.
Then Came A Subdued Parley. "We Have Two Customs Detectives Locked
In A Cabin Here. We Can't Stay Now. You'll Have To Take Us And Our
Things Off, Too."
"Can't Do It," Called Up Another Muffled Voice. "Make Your Things
Into A Little Bundle. We'll Take That, But You'll Have To Get Past
The Nightwatchman Yourselves And Meet Us At Riverledge."
A Moment Later Something Else Went Over The Side, And From The
Sound We Could Infer That The Engine Of The Motor-Boat Was Being
Started.
A Voice Sounded Mockingly Outside Our Door. "Bon Soir, You Fellows
In There. We're Going Up The Dock. Sorry To Leave You Here Till
Morning, But They'll Let You Out Then. Au Revoir."
Below I Could Hear Just The Faintest Well-Muffled Chug-Chug.
Kennedy In The Meantime Had Been Coolly Craning His Neck Out Of
Our Porthole Under The Rays Of The Arc Light Overhead. He Was
Holding Something In His Hand. It Seemed Like A Little Silver-
Backed Piece Of Thin Glass With A Flaring Funnel-Like Thing Back
Of It, Which He Held Most Particularly. Though He Heard The
Parting Taunt Outside He Paid No Attention.
"You Go To The Deuce, Whoever You Are," I Cried, Beating On The
Door, To Which Only A Coarse Laugh Echoed Back Down The
Passageway.
"Be Quiet, Walter," Ordered Kennedy. "We Have Located The Smuggled
Goods In The Storeroom Of The Steward, Four Wooden Cases Of Them.
I Think The Stuff Must Have Been Brought On The Ship In The Trunks
And Then Transferred To The Cases, Perhaps After The Code Wireless
Message Was Received. But We Have Been Overpowered And Locked In A
Cabin With A Port Too Small To Crawl Through. The Cases Have Been
Lowered Over The Side Of The Ship To A Motor-Boat That Was Waiting
Below. The Lights On The Boat Are Out, But If You Hurry You Can
Get It. The Accomplices Who Locked Us In Are Going To Disappear Up
The Wharf. If You Could Only Get The Night Watchman Quickly Enough
You Could Catch Them, Too, Before They Reach The Street."
I Had Turned, Half Expecting To See Kennedy Talking To A Ship's
Officer Who Might Have Chanced On The Deck Outside. There Was No
One. The Only Thing Of Life Was The Still Sputtering Arc Light.
Had The Man Gone Crazy?
"What Of It?" I Growled. "Don't You Suppose I Know All That?
What's The Use Of Repeating It Now? The Thing To Do Is To Get Out
Of This Hole. Come, Help Me At This Door. Maybe We Can Batter It
Down."
Kennedy Paid No Attention To Me, However, But Kept His Eyes Glued
On The Cimmerian Blackness Outside The Porthole.
He Had Done Nothing Apparently, Yet A Long Finger Of Light Seemed
To Shoot Out Into The Sky From The Pier Across From Us And Begin
Waving Back And Forth As It Was Lowered To The Dark Waters
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