J. Farjeon - Murderer’s Trail

‘Do you—smell anything?’ came the question.

Ben sniffed. The thing he instinctively sniffed for was fire. No, he didn’t sniff fire.

‘I don’t smell nuffin’,’ he said. ‘That is, barrin’ coal.’

He sniffed again. Ah, yes! There was something. He went on sniffing.

‘Where is it?’ He blinked.

He looked towards the girl and missed her. ‘Oi!’ he whispered. But she was merely bending down, and her position answered his question. The smell was coming up from below them.

Ben got a sudden queer vision. It was of a hospital. He saw rows of small white beds, and nurses moving about and doctors. He saw a man being brought in on a stretcher. He discovered himself on a stretcher, moving towards an operating room. Things happened very swiftly in Ben’s mind.

But why had this vision come to him? They were in a ship, not a hospital. Of course, he did remember coming out of gas once and hearing a throbbing something like that of the engines. Still, this wasn’t gas, even though it brought gas to his mind. Something that reminded him of gas, but not gas. Something …

‘Lummy!’ he gasped. ‘Clorridgeform!’

The chloroform was in a small green bottle that lay on the ground in a little arc of light produced by the girl’s torch. For several seconds they stared at it. The sight brought recent events ominously close.

‘’Ow did it git there?’ asked Ben.

As he put the question, the bottle disappeared. The girl had snapped off the light again.

‘Wotcher doin’?’ demanded Ben.

He heard a swift whisper, but it was too low to be intelligible. Then another sound caught his attention. It came from above, in the vicinity of the ladder.

The swift whisper had been a warning. Gawd—now fer it! Ben whispered back:

‘Doncher move, miss! Stand steady! They’ll ’ear yer!’

There was no time to climb back to their original hiding-place and, in a matter of seconds, to re-cover themselves with coal. Perhaps, by standing perfectly still under the wall of coal, they might escape notice. The originator of the noise above, whoever it was, might pass on to another ladder, giving this dead end a miss, or he might poke his head in, see nothing during a quick glance, and then poke his head out again. Sound—that was the thing to avoid. Sound!

Why does one always want to sneeze at the most inconvenient moment? In terror Ben seized his upper lip and fought against the tragedy of explosion. He thought hard of a monkey sitting on the North Pole—he had heard this was one of the best remedies—but as the monkey sneezed this only made matters more insupportable. He hastily sent the monkey packing, and substituted a snake, which hasn’t a nose. At least, Ben’s snake hadn’t. Then a shaft of light struck him from above.

There being no object in keeping the sneeze back any longer, he let it go.

When he opened his eyes he received another shock. The light was still on him, revealing him mercilessly, but it did not reveal anybody else! The girl was no longer by his side. He appeared to have sneezed her away.

The source of the light drew nearer. He did not move. He was too stunned. A second edition of himself moved, however. His black shadow. It swelled enormously as the light approached, creating envy in the breast of its responsible substance. ‘Gawd, if I was as big as that,’ thought Ben, ‘I’d give somebody somethink!’

Then he turned round to see who the somebody was. It was the short, thick-set, stumpy man.

The unwelcome visitor did not speak until he had reached the bottom of the ladder and had settled himself securely on terra firma. Then, after a curt scrutiny, he opened fire.

‘Well, what’s your game?’ he demanded.

Ben became child-like.

‘Stowaway,’ he answered.

‘I see! Riding without a ticket, eh?’

‘Tha’s it. Somethink fer nothink.’

‘Not a hope!’ retorted the other. ‘You don’t get anything for nothing in this world. Thought you people had learned that by now.’

‘I’ve give hup learnin’,’ returned Ben. ‘Well, wotcher goin’ ter do abart it?’

His inquisitor did not answer. His eyes were on the ground. He stared at the bottle of chloroform.

‘Where did that come from?’ he inquired.

‘Fell out of me button ’ole,’ said Ben.

‘Joking won’t help you,’ frowned the other. He stooped and picked the bottle up. Then he looked at Ben quizzically. ‘Do you know what this is?’

‘Yus.’

‘What?’

‘Ginger beer.’

‘Ginger beer! A pretty strong brand! Ever heard of chloroform?’

A bit of coal shifted somewhere, and made them jump.

‘What’s that?’ exclaimed the officer.

‘Ever ’eard o’ rats?’ asked Ben.

The officer frowned. Not long since, in this very spot, he had himself offered the same explanation to another man. All at once he looked at Ben sharply.

‘Say, you—how long have you been in this little funk hole?’

That was an awkward question. Two days, apparently. But if he admitted it, the officer would know that Ben had overheard a certain conversation. In a panic he responded:

‘Jest come ’ere.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Fack.’

‘I didn’t see you as I came along.’

‘Tha’s why I come along.’

‘Damned fool!’

‘’Oo?’

‘Look here, do you know you’re speaking to an officer?’

‘On’y third.’

‘Only—’ Indignation was succeeded by interest. ‘So you can read a uniform, eh?’

‘Better’n the Bible.’

‘How’s that? Been to sea before?’

‘Yus. Ain’t you never ’eard o’ the Battle o’ Jutland?’

‘And haven’t you heard that even third officers are called “sir?”’

About to submit, Ben suddenly changed his mind. His ear had caught the sound of coal shifting again, and his brain was working.

‘Git on with it!’ he retorted, deliberately rude. ‘This ain’t a children’s party!’

‘By God, it isn’t!’ cried the third officer angrily. ‘You’ll learn what sort of a party it is before you’re many minutes older.’ He held up the bottle of chloroform. ‘ This isn’t going to help you, you know!’

‘Wotcher mean?’ asked Ben uneasily.

‘Clear enough, I should think! Stowaway! We’ll see about that!’

Ben blinked at the bottle, and backed a little. The third officer was brandishing it rather close. That, however, was not the point that worried him most.

‘That ain’t nothing ter do with me!’ he declared, with vehemence.

‘Oh, isn’t it?’

‘No, it ain’t!’

‘I thought it dropped from your button hole?’

‘Go on! I was bein’ funny! Doncher know a joke when yer sees one?’

The third officer suddenly grinned. Apparently he was seeing some joke at that moment.

‘I tell yer, w— I fahnd it on the grahnd!’ He just saved himself from saying ‘we.’ ‘I was lookin’ at it when you come along.’

‘Really, now?’ responded the third officer, still grinning. ‘Without a spot-light?’

Ben perspired. The joke had passed out of his hands. Staring at the grin in front of him, he wondered how hard he could hit, if he really tried. But he did not hit the grin. He suddenly interpreted it, instead. And perspired more freely afterwards.

‘So that’s yer gime, is it?’ he thought. ‘You dropped it ’ere, did yer, and now you’re puttin’ it on me ! Orl right, Sunny Boy, I got a gime too, that’ll send the sun in!’

Aloud he said:

‘’Oo wants a spot-light fer clorridgeform? I got a nose, ain’t I?’

‘Yes, and you’ll feel something on it, if I have any more of your back chat!’ exclaimed the third officer. ‘Now, then—up the ladder with you. And step lively!’