Array Sapper - The Complete Works of H. C. McNeile Sapper

I murmured something about his being the same, just as two of the parsons strolled past, and I wondered why the girl gave a little laugh. Then suddenly she sat up with a cry of admiration.

"Oh! look at that lovely yacht!"

I swung round quickly, and there, sure enough, about a hundred yards from us, and just coming into sight round the awning, was a small steam yacht, the one presumably from which Ferdinand was to wave. And at that moment the shorter of the two parsons put a revolver within an inch of my face, while the other ran his hands over my pockets. It was so unexpected that I gaped at him foolishly, and even When I saw my Colt flung overboard I hardly realised that the big hold-up had begun.

Then there came a heavy thud from just above us, and I saw Jenkins, the wireless man, pitched forward on his face half in and half out of his cabin door. He lay there sprawling while another of the parsons proceeded to wreck his instruments with the iron bar which he had used to stun the operator. It was then, with a squawk of terror like an anguished hen, that Mrs. Armstrong rose to her feet, and with her pink parasol in one hand and her rug in the other fled towards the bows of the ship. She looked so irresistibly funny, this large, hysterical woman, that I couldn't help it, I laughed. And even the two parsons smiled, though not for long.

"Go below," said one of them to Miss Armstrong. "Remain in your cabin. And you "—he turned to me—"go aft where the others are."

"You scoundrel!" I shouted, "what are you playing at?"

"Don't argue, or I'll blow out your brains," he said quietly. "And get a move on."

I found the two Americans and the coloured gentleman standing in a bunch with a few of the deck hands, and everyone seemed equally dazed. One of the so-called parsons stood near with a revolver in each hand, but it was really an unnecessary precaution: we were none of us in a position to do anything. And suddenly one of the Americans gripped my arm.

"Gee! look at the two guns on that yacht."

Sure enough, mounted fore and aft and trained directly on us were two guns that looked to me to be of about three-inch calibre, and behind each of them stood two men.

"What's the game, anyway?" he went on excitedly, as two boats shot away from the yacht. For the first time I noticed that the engines had stopped, and that we were lying motionless on the calm oily sea. But my principal thoughts were centred on Jim. Where was he? What was he doing? Had these blackguards done away with him, or was he lying up somewhere—hidden away? And even if he were what could he do? Those two guns had an unpleasant appearance.

* * * * *

A bunch of armed men came pouring over the side, and then disappeared below, only to come up again in a few minutes carrying a number of wooden boxes, which they lowered into the boats alongside. They worked with the efficiency of well-trained sailors, and I found myself cursing aloud. For I knew what was inside those boxes, and one was so utterly helpless to do anything. And yet I couldn't help feeling a sort of unwilling admiration; the thing was so perfectly organised. It might have been a well-rehearsed drill instead of a unique and gigantic piece of piracy.

I stepped back a few paces, and looked up at the bridge. The skipper was there and his three officers—covered by another of the parsons. And the fifth member of the party was the Reverend Samuel Longfellow. He was smiling gently to himself, and as the last of the boxes was lowered over the side he came to the edge of the bridge and addressed us.

"We are now going to leave you," he remarked suavely. "You are all unarmed, and I wish to give you a word of advice. Should either of the gunners on my yacht see anyone move, however innocent the reason, before we are on board, he or both of them will open fire. So do not, Captain Kelly, be tempted to have a shot at me, because it will be the last shot you ever have. You will now join your crew, if you please."

In silence the skipper and his officers came down from the bridge, and the speaker followed them. For a moment or two he stood facing us with an ironical smile on his face.

"Your brother in the Church," he remarked, "thanks you for your little gift to his offertory box." Then he turned to one of the other parsons beside him. "Is it set?" he asked briefly.

"Yes," said the other. "We'd better hurry. What about that woman up there?"

"Confound the woman!" answered the Reverend Samuel. "A pleasant journey, Captain Kelly."

He stepped down the gangway into the second boat, and pulled away towards the yacht.

And then for the first time I remembered Mrs. Armstrong. She was cowering down with her hands over her ears, the picture of abject terror. But now curiosity overcame her fright and she knelt up and stared at the yacht. Her pink parasol was clutched in her hands, and tragic though the situation was, I could not help smiling.

A mocking shout from the yacht made me look away again. The scoundrel who called himself the Reverend Samuel Longfellow was standing beside the boxes of gold and pearls which had been stacked on the deck. He was waving his hand and bowing ironically, with the six other blackguards beside him, when the last amazing development took place.

Literally before our eyes they vanished in a great sheet of flame. I had a momentary glimpse of the yacht apparently splitting in two, and then the roar of a gigantic explosion nearly deafened me.

"Get under cover!" yelled the skipper, and there was a general stampede, as bits of metal and wood began falling into the sea all round us. Then there came another smaller explosion as the sea rushed into the yacht's engine- room, a great column of water shot up, and when it subsided the yacht had disappeared.

"What in heaven's name happened?" said one of the Americans dazedly.

I said nothing; I felt too dazed myself. And unconsciously I looked towards the bows. Mrs. Armstrong had disappeared.

The skipper sent away a boat, but it was useless. There was a mass of floating wreckage, but no trace of any survivor.

I met Mrs. Armstrong on deck half an hour afterwards. "Dreadful! Terrible!" she cried. "How more than thankful I am I didn't see it!"

I stared at her.

"You didn't see it?" I said. "But surely—"

And then I heard Jim's voice behind me.

"Mrs. Armstrong, I have a dreadful confession to make. Mrs. Armstrong, Dick, was good enough to lend me some clothes this morning, so that we could have a rag when crossing the Line, and I've gone and dropped her parasol overboard."

"We're nowhere near the Line," I remarked, but fortunately the good lady paid no attention.

"What does it matter, Mr. Maitland?" she cried. "To think of anything of that sort in face of this awful tragedy!"

She walked away like an agitated hen, and Jim smiled grimly.

"Poor old soul!" he said, "let's hope she never gets an idea of the truth."

"So it was you up in the bows," I remarked.

He nodded. "Didn't you guess, Dick? Let's go and have a drink, and I'll put you wise."

"I went and saw Kelly that night," he began, when we were comfortably settled, "and at first he laughed as I thought he would. Then after a while he didn't laugh quite so much, and presently I made a suggestion. If these men were what they said they were, the two big chests below would prove their case. Let us examine these two chests and see. So finally we went below to where the passengers' luggage is stored. There were the two cases, and there and then we opened one. It was packed—not with Bibles—but with nitro-glycerine."

Jim paused and took a drink.

"I don't think," he went on gravely, "that I have ever seen a man in quite such a dreadful rage as Kelly. There was a clockwork mechanism which could be started by turning a screw on the outside of each box, and the whole diabolical plan was as clear as daylight. There was enough stuff there to sink a fleet of battleships, and when they had cleared off in the yacht with the gold we should suddenly have split in two and gone down with every soul on board."