Island Gold/Chapter 9

weather continued magnificent. The barometer on the chart-house wall was high and steady, the sea like a sheet of painted glass. On board the Naomi the perfect luxury, the admirable efficiency of the service, might have led one to fancy one's self at Cowes but for the boundless expanse of the Pacific surrounding us. The sun burnt faces, the natty white caps, and the spotless drill of the crew, the brass-work polished until the blaze of the fierce sun upon it made the eyes ache, the long chairs set out invitingly under the striped deck awnings—it all brought back Regatta Week to me so vividly that I sometimes imagined one had only to look over the ship's side to see the boats setting down visitors at the Squadron steps.

There were deck quoits, shuffleboard, and various other ship's games for our amusement. But it was too hot for violent exercise. The men rigged up a huge canvas bath, contrived out of a mainsail, in the bows forward, and here each morning before breakfast, Garth, Custrin, and I used to disport ourselves like young seals in their tank at the zoo. For the rest, the day passed very pleasantly with a little gossip, a little music, a little bridge. We three men, following a custom which Garth had established, took our trick at the wheel, and when Custrin had taken his watch, Marjorie reported for duty and proved herself the best helmsman of us all.

As a matter of fact, I had no time to be bored. I spent many hours in the chart-house with Garth and Lawless settling the details of our contemplated expedition. There was, in truth, much to plot out and arrange. The Captain was more emphatic than ever against the idea of anybody beyond us three being let into the secret of the treasure-hunt. In fact, as our discussions proceeded, he showed himself increasingly reluctant to grant us as long as a week on the island.

“It's asking too much, Sir Alexander,” he said, shaking his red head, “to expect the crew to remain cooped up in the yacht in sight of green land and not a man allowed ashore. I might hold 'em in hand for a couple of days; but after that it will be difficult, very difficult, as well you and the Major here must know!”

It was Garth, with his quick business mind, who made the suggestion which solved the problem. Raising his head from the chart which he had been studying while Lawless, in an aggrieved tone, was presenting his case, he said:

“I've got it. You can maroon us!”

“Maroon you?” repeated the Captain in a puzzled voice.

“Aye! Dump us ashore and then take the yacht to Alcedo!”

Alcedo, he explained to us with chart and “Sailing Directions,” was an islet lying some ninety miles west of Cock Island, a small, uninhabited rock, the home of seabirds of all kinds.

“You can get some shooting,” Sir Alexander added, “and if the 'Sailing Directions' speak true, good fishing. There's a fair landing on the north face, it says here, and a run ashore will do the men all the good in the world. You won't have above two or three days at the most at the rock before it will be time to put about and sail back to fetch us off!”

Lawless raised various objections, all of which did him the greatest credit. He didn't like leaving us. Suppose something happened to the Naomi? But Garth swept all objections aside. Then Lawless played his last trump.

“And what about Miss Garth?” he queried. “How will she like leaving you ashore on an uninhabited island? Or do you propose to take her with you?”

Garth rubbed his nose rather sheepishly.

“Hm,” he mused. Then, “Okewood,” he remarked, “this will be a little difficult. How about taking Marjie ashore at Cock Island with us?”

But I promptly negatived this idea.

“Out of the question,” I retorted. “We're going to rough it, Sir Alexander. And it will be no life for your daughter. Why, we aren't even taking a servant!”

Garth jibbed at this. It would be bad enough leaving Marjie, he grumbled, and how he would face her he didn't know. But he must have his man with him. He must have Carstairs. In that I was inclined to support him. I had taken a fancy to Carstairs. I liked his honest, sensible face; he knew Garth and his ways; besides, he seemed a knowledgeable sort of chap and I had an idea that his experience with the sappers in the war might prove uncommonly useful when we pitched our little camp. It was ultimately decided that Carstairs should accompany us.

Then Garth suggested that we should take Custrin as well.

“Capital fellow, the doctor,” he remarked, “what the Americans call a good mixer. I like Custrin. And he'll be useful, you know, Okewood, in case of snake-bite or anything like that, eh?”

Now, as I have explained, I hadn't particularly cottoned to Custrin. Since the first night out, he had made famous progress with Marjorie, and while Garth and I were sweltering in the hold, assembling equipment and supplies for our expedition, she and the doctor sat for hours at the piano in the saloon. I have always tried to be honest with myself and I may as well admit that I was desperately envious of Custrin's delightfully easy manner. He was never gauche or sheepish with Marjorie, and I knew what a boor she had set me down in her estimation.

So I demurred from the proposal of Sir Alexander. The party was big enough, I urged; to add another mouth would mean seriously increasing the amount of supplies we should have to take with us.

“But Custrin's a first-class geologist as well,” pleaded the baronet, “and his knowledge should prove most valuable in our quest!”

I felt a very unpleasant suspicion dawn within me. Was it possible that Garth had told Custrin about the grave on the island and the clue that lay in my letter-case?

“Have you told Custrin about the treasure?” I asked bluntly.

Garth looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“The doctor's a most reliable fellow and highly recommended, very highly recommended to me. You can see his references if you wish, Major. He is quite one of us, you know, and I did not think there was any harm.... Really I think he'd be a distinct asset. Besides, he'll be horribly disappointed now if we don't take him!”

Then, of course, I knew that Garth had told Custrin the whole story and had definitely promised him into the bargain that he should join our party. I remembered now that the two had been in the smoke-room alone together for an hour or more after lunch. I breathed a little prayer of thanksgiving that in my almost wholly Irish nature a little store, an isolated stronghold, as it were, of caution, legacy of some unknown ancestor, was included. Throughout my career in the Secret Service I have made it a practice, when disclosure is necessary, to disclose only as much as is absolutely essential to the business in hand. My brother Francis, probably the greatest secret agent our country has ever had, gave me this tip.

Accordingly, I had told Garth nothing of El Cojo, the man of mystery, of his appearance at Adams's hut, or of the Vice-Consul's warning. Apart altogether from this cautious instinct of mine, I knew next to nothing of this romantic cutthroat, and until I did I had no intention of jeopardizing my chances of sailing with Garth, the owner of the Naomi, by alarming him. I now realized that anything I might have told Garth about El Cojo, the baronet would have inevitably passed on to the doctor.

As for Custrin, I had nothing whatever against him. But he was a stranger—and in our job, if we don't necessarily “'eave 'arf a brick” at the stranger, we are exceedingly cold to him. Custrin was a perfectly civil, unassuming Englishman; but in my career I have refused confidence to many a fellow countryman far more patently trustworthy than he. His rather mixed upbringing would, for one thing, have prompted me to wariness and Garth's ready confidence in him really rather horrified me. I was quite determined not to have him on the island with me and I said so as frankly as possible. On that, with rather an ill grace, Garth capitulated.

The Naomi carried a small camp equipment with two light and portable Armstrong huts in sections. There was a fold-up camp bedstead for Garth, while I had my battered old Wolseley valise and my flea-bag from France. In addition to our provisions, such as biscuits, tinned food of all kinds, groceries, and a suitable stock of drinks including a case of soda-water, we added, as general stores, some electric torches, a couple of ship's lamps and a good supply of candles, a large picnic-basket, some mosquito netting, a medicine chest, a couple of axes, and two spades and two picks which Lawless extracted from the stoke-hold. There were kitchen utensils for Carstairs, who, it appeared, was an excellent cook.

Garth had a pair of shot-guns and a Winchester and the three of us had an automatic pistol apiece. This constituted our armoury. I thought of those “volcanic peaks” of which the “Sailing Directions” spoke and sighed for a box of guncotton, a tube of primers, and some lengths of fuse such as we used to carry with the battery in France. But, well equipped as she was, the Naomi did not run to H.E.

This happened on our third day out of Rodriguez. At dinner that evening the Captain announced that, if all went well, we ought to sight Cock Island about dawn two days hence.

In the chart-house that evening Custrin pleaded with me to reconsider my decision not to take him ashore with us. I told him as nicely as possible that all our arrangements were made and could not now be altered. He then asked me to let him see the message. Now I had not shown this to Garth (or to anybody else except Bard) nor had I vouchsafed to our host any information whatever on the subject. I was still very largely in the dark as to its meaning and I was appreciative of Garth's tact in not pressing me on the subject. So I told Custrin that I was still working on the message and was not showing it to anybody just then.

'Tm sorry,” he said at once; “I didn't mean to be tactless, Okewood. But I'm a pretty fair hand at languages, French or Spanish or Dutch or German, and that kind of thing, you know. I thought I might be useful. Or perhaps it's in cipher?”

Custrin's affectation of nonchalance was very well done. But I have had so much of this kind of spell-binding tried on me in my time that I detected without difficulty a little note of anxiety in his voice. A very inquisitive young man, was my mental note. But aloud I said:

“Thanks for the offer, Doctor. I'll bear it in mind. When I think two heads are better than one on this thing, I'll let you know!”

That was straight enough, one would have thought. But he was a persistent beggar, was Custrin. I'm dashed if he didn't get Garth to tackle me. Our worthy host's rather elephantine attempts at diplomacy, however, were not difficult to counter, and I had my way about keeping the message to myself without, I think, offending his amour propre. I should have dismissed the incident from my mind but for a strange and rather disquieting event which took place the following night.

I had gone below, preparatory to turning in, after another disastrous encounter with Marjorie. When I came off the bridge after taking my turn at the wheel, I found her standing alone at the rail. Since our little passage at arms the first night out, while she had not ostensibly avoided me, she had not given me the opportunity for another tête-à-tête. Her father, it appeared, had told her that she could not go ashore with us on Cock Island, and she wanted me, as leader of the expedition, to intercede with him.

We were going to rough it on the island and a woman would have been impossible. And so I told her. I also thought it quite likely that the surf-bar mentioned by Adams (one always finds some thing of the sort round isolated islets like this) would make landing dangerous, and we should be lucky, I surmised, if we escaped with nothing worse than a good soaking. Marjorie was at first pleading, then indignant, and at last angry. There was a good deal of the plethoric temperament of her father in the toss of her head with which, in disgust at my obstinacy, she turned and left me on the deck. And I, feeling the criminal every man feels when he has displeased a charming girl, slunk below to my bunk.

I had changed into pyjamas when Custrin, who had the cabin next to mine, put his head in at the door.

“I'm just going to get a 'peg,'” he said. “You look as though you could do with one yourself. Shall I bring you one down?”

A drink was emphatically what I needed in the frame of mind in which I found myself, so I gratefully accepted his offer.

“And make it a stiff one!” I called out after him.

Then Carstairs, who had been working like a Trojan all the evening packing, oiling guns, and greasing boots, fetched me away to the little sort of pantry-place at the end of the flat which was his special domain, to consult me about the clothes I was taking. When I got back to my cabin, my drink in a long glass stood on the chest of drawers. There was no sign of Custrin.

Carstairs, in shirt and trousers, was simply dripping with perspiration. He looked absolutely all in.

“Here,” I said, “you seem to be more in need of a 'peg' than I am, Carstairs. Suppose you take hold of that glass and show what you can do with it!”

The offer was scarcely in accordance with the discipline of the Naomi, and Carstairs glanced cautiously up and down the corridor before he seized the glass and with a whispered “Here's luck, sir!” drained it.

I don't know how long I had been asleep when I awoke with the impression that my cabin door had opened. Then I remembered, with a flash, that on going to lock it as usual before getting into my bunk I had found the key to be missing. I had searched the floor of the cabin and the corridor for it in vain. Carstairs had turned in, and I was loath to disturb him after his heavy day.

There was no moon on this night, and my cabin was quite dark. The Naomi trembled to the thump of the propeller and at the wash-basin some fitting or other rattled a merry little jig. Otherwise, all was still. I was about to turn over on my side and go to sleep again when a slight noise caught my ear. My hand flashed instantly to the electric switch and the cabin was flooded with light.

Custrin stood in the doorway. He was in his pyjamas barefooted. His eyes were closed and one hand rested on the chest of drawers just inside the door. He was muttering to himself. As I sprang out of my bunk, he turned round and, still muttering, made his way back to his own room next door.

I dashed after him. The corridor was quite dark, and by the time I had found the switch in Custrin's cabin, the doctor was in his berth, to all intents and purposes sleeping peacefully.

“Trust all men, but cut the pack!” is a favourite saying of my brother Francis. With that document in my possession I had no desire to be disturbed by surprise visitors, even though they walked in their sleep. I now blamed myself for my slackness in not making Carstairs find the key of my door. I went straight off to his bunk.

Carstairs was asleep on his back, snoring merrily. I tapped on the side of the bunk and, finding that this failed to awaken him, shook him by the arm. He never budged. The snoring stopped; but he slept on.

I shook him violently again. Never had I seen a man sleep like this! I put my two hands under his shoulders, raised him up and jerked him to and fro. But he remained a dead weight in my grip, sunk in deep sleep.

There was a step in the corridor outside. I put my head out. Mackay, the engineer, was there on his way to his bunk.

“Hsst!” I whispered. “Mackay, what do you make of this? I can't wake Carstairs...”

Mackay thrust his grizzled head into the cabin. He bent down over the sleeping man and sniffed audibly.

“The man's drunk!” he remarked casually.

My conscience smote me. But then I reflected. Could one “peg” have reduced the model Carstairs to this state? Unless, of course, he had already been drinking that evening. I had detected no sign of it about him...

“I wonder if I should fetch the doctor...” I began.

“Hoots!” broke in the engineer, “let the man bide. He's a guid lad, but, mon, he'll have a sore heid to-morrow! I'm thinking Sir Alec wull gie him all the doctoring he wants!”

“After all,” said I, “I don't think we need disturb the doctor!”

Custrin's curiosity about the message, the inexplicable disappearance of my key, the drink the doctor had prepared for me which I had given to Carstairs, and the servant's drunken stupor, Custrin's visit to my cabin... my mind sprang from rung to rung in this ladder of curious happenings. What had John Bard told me about El Cojo's gang? “...a tremendous organization with an immense network of spies as widespread and efficient as the Mafia of Italy!”

My hand went instinctively to the inside pocket of my pyjamas, a pocket with a button-up flap specially designed which has rendered me good service in sleeping-cars and cabins half round the world. I felt beneath my fingers the crackle of the oil-silk in its flannel cover.

I still held my secret guarded. I congratulated myself on my firmness in refusing to let this persistent Master Custrin accompany the expedition. But we had not yet reached the island. I must be watchful, watchful...

Half an hour later, as I sat on the edge of my bunk smoking a cigarette, there came a tap at the door. Garth, looking strangely big and unwieldy in his pyjamas, stood outside.

“Come up at once!” he whispered. “Don't trouble to dress. There's no one about!”

He glided away. When I emerged on deck the eastern sky was streaked with light. Lawless was on the bridge, Garth at his side.

Silently the Captain pointed to the horizon. Away on the port bow a faint grey blur rested lightly on the straight edge of the ocean like a wisp of mist on a lake at dawn.

“Cock Island!” said the skipper.