Part 22 (1/2)
”Just the two of them?” asked Scarterfield.
”Why, no,” replied Jallanby. ”They were joined, a day or two before they sailed, by a friend of theirs--a Chinaman. Queer combination--Englishman, Frenchman, Chinaman. But this Chinaman, he was a swell--what we should call a gentleman, you know--Mr. Belford told me, in private, that he belonged to the Chinese Amba.s.sador's suite in London.”
”Oh!” said Scarterfield. ”Just so! A diplomat. And where did he stop--here?”
”Oh, he joined them at the hotel,” answered Jallanby. ”He'd come there that night I dined with them. Quiet, very gentlemanly little chap--quite the gentleman, you know.”
”And--his name?” asked Scarterfield.
But the s.h.i.+p-broker held up a deprecating hand.
”Don't ask me!” he said. ”I heard it, but I'm not up to those Chinese names. Still, you'd find it in the hotel register, no doubt. But really, gentlemen, you surprise me!--I should never have thought--yet, you never know who people are, do you? Nice, pleasant, well-behaved fellows these were, and----”
”Ah!” said Scarterfield, with deep significance. ”It's a queer world, Mr. Jallanby. Now then, for the moment, oblige me by keeping all this to yourself. But two questions--first, how long since is it that these chaps sailed for Bergen; second, what is the name of this smart little vessel?”
”They sailed precisely three weeks ago next Monday,” answered the s.h.i.+p-broker, ”and the name of the vessel is the _Blanchflower_.”
We left Mr. Jallanby then, promising to see him again, and went away.
I was wondering what the detective made out of all this, and I waited with some curiosity for him to speak. But we had got half way up the old High Street before Scarterfield opened his lips. And then his tone was a blend of speculation and distrust.
”Now, I wonder where those chaps have gone?” he muttered. ”Of course they haven't gone to Norway! Of course that Chinese chap wasn't from the Chinese Legation in London! The whole thing's a bluff. By this time they'll have altered the name of that yawl, and gone--where? In search of that buried stuff, to be sure!”
”If the man who called himself Belford is really Baxter, he'll know precisely where it is,” I said.
”Aye, just so, Mr. Middlebrook,” a.s.sented Scarterfield. ”But--there's been time in all these years to s.h.i.+ft that stuff from one place to another! I haven't the slightest doubt that Belford is Baxter, and that he and his a.s.sociates bought that vessel as the easiest way of getting the stuff from wherever it's hid--but where are we to look for them and their craft? Have they gone north or south! It would be waste of time and money to cable to the Norwegian ports for news of them--they're not gone there, that I'll swear.”
”Scarterfield,” said I, feeling convinced on the matter. ”If the man's Baxter, and he's after that stuff, he's gone north. The stuff is near Blyth! Dead certain!”
”I dare say you're right,” he said slowly. ”And as I've found out all there is to find out here in Hull, I suppose a return to Blyth is the most advisable thing. After all, we know what to look out for on that coast--a twenty-ton yawl, with an Englishman, a Frenchman, and a Chinaman aboard her. Very well.”
So that afternoon, after seeing the s.h.i.+p-broker again, and making certain arrangements with him in case he heard anything of the _Blanchflower_ and her crew of three queerly-a.s.sorted individuals, we retraced our steps northward. But while Scarterfield turned off at Newcastle for Tynemouth and Blyth, I went forward alone, for Alnwick and Ravensdene Court.
CHAPTER XVI
THE PATHLESS WOOD
Being very late in the evening when I arrived at Alnwick, I remained there for that night, and it was not until noon of the next day that I once more reached Ravensdene Court. Lorrimore was there, he had come over to lunch, and for the moment I hoped that he had brought some news from his Chinese servant. But he had heard nothing of Wing since his departure: it would scarcely be Wing's method, he said, to communicate with him by letter; when he had anything to tell, he would either return or act, of his own initiative, upon his acquired information: the way of the Chinaman, he remarked with a knowing look at Mr. Raven, was dark, subtle, and not easily understandable to Western minds.
”And yourself, Middlebrook?” asked Mr. Raven. ”What did the detective want, and what have you found out?”
I told them the whole story as we sat at lunch. They were all deeply absorbed, but no one so much as Mr. Cazalette, who, true to his principle of doing no more than crumbling a dry biscuit and sipping a gla.s.s or two of sherry at that hour, gave my tale of the doings at Blyth and Hull his undivided attention. And when he had heard me out, he slipped away in silence, evidently very thoughtful, and disappeared into the library.
”So there it all is,” I said in conclusion, ”and if anybody can make head or tail of it and get a definite and dependable theory, I am sure that Scarterfield, from a professional standpoint, will be glad to hear whatever can be said.”
”It seems to me that Scarterfield is on the high road to a very respectable theory already,” remarked Lorrimore. ”So are you! The thing--to me--appears to be fairly plain. It starts out with the a.s.sociation of Baxter and the dishonest bank-manager. The bank-manager, left in charge of this old-fas.h.i.+oned bank at Blyth, where any supervision of his doings was no doubt pretty slack, and where he was, of course, fully trusted, examines the nature of the various matters committed to his care, and finds out the contents of those Forestburne chests. He then enters into a conspiracy with Baxter for purloining them and some other valuables--those jewels you mentioned, Middlebrook. It would not be a difficult thing to get them away from the bank premises without anyone knowing. Then the two conspirators secrete them in a safe and unlikely place, easily accessible, I take it, from the sea. Probably, they meant to remove them for good and all, just before the dishonest bank-manager's temporary residence in the town came to an end. But his fatal accident occurs. Then Master Baxter is placed in a nice fix! He knows that his fellow-criminal's sudden death will necessarily lead to some examination, more or less thorough, of the effects at the bank. That examination, to be sure, was made. But Baxter has gone, cleared out, vanished, before the result is known. He may have had an idea--we can only guess at it--that suspicion would fall on him. Anyway, he leaves the town, and is never seen in or near it again. If this theory is a true one, things seem pretty clear up to this point.”
”Of course,” said I, ”it is theory! All supposition, you know.”
”Right!” a.s.sented Lorrimore. ”But let us theorise a bit further--I am, you see, merely following out the train of thought which seems to have been set up in you and in Scarterfield. Baxter disappears. n.o.body knows where he's gone. There is a veil drawn over a certain period--pretty thickly. But we, who have had occasion to try to pierce it, have seen, so we think, through certain tears and rifts in it. We know that a certain number of years ago there was a trading s.h.i.+p in the Yellow Sea, the _Elizabeth Robinson_, concerning the fate of which there is more mystery than is quite in accordance with either safety or respectability. She was bound from Hong-Kong to Chemulpo, and she never reached Chemulpo. But we also know that on her, when she left Hong-Kong there were two men, presumably brothers, whose names were Noah Quick and Salter Quick, set down, mind you, not as members of the crew, but as pa.s.sengers. Also there was a Chinese cook, of the name of Lo Chuh Fen. And there was another man, who called himself Netherfield, and who hailed from Blyth, in Northumberland.”