A Bid for Fortune - Guy Boothby (ready player one ebook TXT) 📗

Pull in towards Circular Quay and find the Maid of the Mist barque. Go aboard her, and take your money down into the cuddy. There you’ll get your answer.”

“Nothing more?” cried Mr. Wetherell.

“That’s all I was told,” answered the man, and then said, “Good night.”

At the same moment the police boat pulled up alongside him and made fast. I saw a dark figure enter his boat, and next moment the glare of a lantern fell upon the man’s face. I picked up my oars and pulled over to them, getting there just in time to hear the Inspector ask the man his name.

“James Burbidge,” was the reply. “I don’t know as how you’ve got anything against me. I’m a licensed waterman, I am.”

“Very likely,” said the Inspector; “but I want a little explanation from you. How do you come to be mixed up in this business?”

“What⁠—about this ’ere message, d’you mean?”

“Yes, about this message. Where is it from? Who gave it to you?”

“Well, if you’ll let me go, I’ll tell you all about it,” growled the man. “I was up at the Hen and Chickens this evenin’, just afore dark, takin’ a nobbler along with a friend. Presently in comes a cove in a cloak. He beckons me outside and says, ‘Do you want to earn a sufring?’⁠—a sufring is twenty bob. So I says, ‘My word, I do!’ Then he says, ‘Well, you go out on the harbour tonight, and be down agin Shark point at ten?’ I said I would, and so I was. ‘You’ll see a boat there with an old gent in it,’ says he. ‘He’ll strike three matches, and you do the same. Then ask him if he’s Mr. Wetherell. If he says ‘Yes’, ask him if the money’s all right? And if he says ‘Yes’ to that, tell him to pull in towards Circular Quay and find the Maid of the Mist barque. He’s to take his money down to the cuddy, and he’ll get his answer there.’ That’s the truth, so ’elp me bob! I don’t know what you wants to go arrestin’ of an honest man for.”

The Inspector turned to the water police.

“Does any man here know James Burbidge?”

Two or three voices immediately answered in the affirmative, and this seemed to decide the officer, for he turned to the waterman again and said, “As some of my men seem to know you, I’ll let you off. But for your own sake go home and keep a silent tongue in your head.” He thereupon clambered back into his own boat and bade the man depart. In less time than it takes to tell he was out of sight. We then drew up alongside the police boat.

“What had we better do, Mr. Inspector?” asked Mr. Wetherell.

“Find the Maid of the Mist at once. She’s an untenanted ship, being for sale. You will go aboard, sir, with your companion, and down to the cuddy. Don’t take your money, however. We’ll draw up alongside as soon as you’re below, and when one of their gang, whom you’ll dispatch for it, comes up to get the coin, we’ll collar him, and then come to your assistance. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly. But how are we to know the vessel?”

“Well, the better plan would be for you to follow us. We’ll pull to within a hundred yards of her. I learn from one of my men here that she’s painted white, so you’ll have no difficulty in recognising her.”

“Very well, then, go on, and we’ll follow you.”

The police boat accordingly set off, and we followed about fifty yards behind her. A thick drizzle was now falling, and it was by no means an easy matter to keep her in sight. For some time we pulled on. Presently we began to get closer to her. In a quarter of an hour we were alongside.

“There’s your craft,” said the Inspector, pointing as he spoke to a big vessel showing dimly through the scud to starboard of us. “Pull over to her.”

I followed his instructions, and, arriving at the vessel’s side, hitched on, made the painter fast, and then, having clambered aboard, assisted Mr. Wetherell to do the same. As soon as we had both gained the deck we stood and looked about us, at the same time listening for any sound which might proclaim the presence of the men we had come to meet; but save the sighing of the wind in the shrouds overhead, the dismal creaking of blocks, and the drip of moisture upon the deck, no sign was to be heard. There was nothing for it, therefore, but to make our way below as best we could. Fortunately I had had the forethought to bring with me a small piece of candle, which came in very handily at the present juncture, seeing that the cuddy, when we reached the companion ladder, was wrapt in total darkness. Very carefully I stepped inside, lit the candle, and then, with Mr. Wetherell at my heels, made my way down the steps.

Arriving at the bottom we found ourselves in a fair-sized saloon of the old-fashioned type. Three cabins stood on either side, while from the bottom of the companion ladder, by which we had descended, to a long cushioned locker right aft under the wheel, ran a table covered with American cloth. But there was no man of any kind to be seen. I opened cabin after cabin, and searched each with a like result. We were evidently quite alone in the ship.

“What do you make of it all?” I asked of Mr. Wetherell.

“It looks extremely suspicious,” he answered. “Perhaps we’re too early for them. But see, Mr. Hatteras, there’s something on the table at the further end.”

So there was⁠—something that looked very much like a letter. Together we went round to the end of the table, and there, surely enough, found a letter pinned to the American cloth, and addressed to my companion in a bold but rather quaint handwriting.

“It’s for you, Mr. Wetherell,” I said, removing the