RGL e-Book Cover 2017©
RGL e-Book Cover 2017©
THE Gentle Buccaneers were lounging on the deck of the Gehenna in the moonlight after dinner. They might have been just four very proper and gallant gentlemen, taking their ease after the pleasures of the day, and, indeed, they were something like that; but thereby hangs a tale.
There were four of them altogether—the Honorable Roger Endellion, commonly called Jolly Roger as a delicate compliment to him, as the leading spirit of the great adventure; Jimmy Graydon, alias Truthful James, one time a mighty "Rugger" international three-quarter, and St. John Wallace, commonly called the Brigadier, seeing that for a brief space he had been a soldier; all some time at Eton, and now citizens of the world. The fourth man, Peter Shacklock, generally hailed as the Prodigal Son, was pure American, and, as his nickname might imply, a backslider from a commercial point of view, and a veritable thorn in the flesh of a businesslike father with perhaps more millions (dollars) than he knew how to count.
They were a fine company, physically, if not intellectually, though Endellion himself, the leader of the expedition and owner of the yacht, was by way of being a classical scholar and a passionate admirer of Marcus Aurelius, whose philosophy he was fond of translating with a wide margin.
Now it pleased the Gentle Buccaneers to regard themselves as something between Drake and Kidd. In other words, pirates in the South Pacific Seas, though, nathless, their piracy, like Ariel's spiriting, was done gently. They liked to pose as men who have been badly mauled in the battle of the world, and as regards two of them, at least, this was substantially true. The others had gone into the business in the pure spirit of adventure. But Endellion, at least, had a real enough grievance. As he was fond of putting it, what use was that large fortune of his, inherited from a kindly godmother, seeing that it was impossible for him to show his face either in the park or on "the sweet shady side of Pall Mall." There had been a time, not so long ago when he had been quite persona grata in Society, but that was before he had fallen in love with a woman of considerable personal attractions and slim morality who had somehow got entangled in a card scandal of some magnitude. In his fine quixotic way Endellion had taken all the blame upon himself and confessed of a social crime of the blackest type—the one unforgivable sin, in fact.
He had not been blind. No one had known better than he that the object of his misplaced affections had no business to be playing for such a high stakes, despite the fact that she was a fine exponent, and depended upon her skill to pay most of her obligations. But Endellion had not stopped to count the cost. He was most absurdly in love, and it had seemed to him that with his ample means he and the lady in question might live happily ever afterwards, in spite of the social ostracism which would inevitably be handed out to him. And therefore he stood confessed for her sake, and then, when she was enjoying the sympathy of everybody, she turned her back upon Endellion and married someone else.
Endellion immediately disappeared from his familiar haunts, and from time to time rumors reached his old friends to the effect that he was leading a riotous sort of life in the South Pacific Seas on board a luxurious yacht in company with a few other black sheep he had scraped together from various parts of the globe. He had gone headlong to the devil. Sooner or later he would be picked up by some patrolling gunboat, and then there would be an end to his career.
And so it came about that Endellion was sitting there with his companions, on the deck of his own yacht in the glorious moonlight, off a little spit of an island inhabited, for the most part by other black sheep and a trader or two in copra and mother o' pearl. They did not know even the name of the island and had drifted there in the mere spirit of adventure. They had been on shore for an hour or two taking in water and one or two odd things, and now seated on the deck round a little table on which stood an electric light, smoking their cigars and talking idly over coffee and liquers.
They might have been no more than four idle gentlemen, prospecting around for sheer amusement. From where they sat they could see the foam creaming on the white sand and a waving fringe of palms swaying gently in the evening breeze. It was a peaceful picture of sea and sky and brilliant moon and far enough remote apparently in the way of crime or violence.
"What manner of place is this?" Endellion asked. He had not been ashore. "What do you make of it, Jimmy?"
"Oh, just the usual," Graydon replied. "Two or three huts, a general store, and a poisonous little saloon, of course. Same old game. A handful of white traders steadily drinking themselves to death in the intervals of business, and the inevitable remittance man propped up against the bar. It's a lovely spot, of course, but a God-forsaken hole, all the same. Not much sign of adventure here."
The Prodigal Son, otherwise Peter U. Shacklock, chuckled quietly to himself.
"I don't know about that, sonny," he said. "There's a girl on the island. A real peach, too."
"Oh, come off it," Wallace said. "Do you mean there's a lady tied up on this gob of sand?"
"I do that," Shacklock replied. "I saw her when the hands were filling up the water casks. Tall, dark, with violet eyes and a walk like a goddess. Quite young too. Now I wonder who the deuce she is."
"That will do," Endellion put in. "None of that, my boy. No woman here. Now, what does Marcus Aurelius say about woman and her man friends?"
"Oh, come off with your Marcus Aurelius," Shacklock went on. "I tell you there is a mystery here. Now, what on earth is a woman—and a lady, mind—doing here, where there isn't a clean white man within a thousand miles? When I say a lady I mean it. The real thing."
"It sounds interesting," Wallace said thoughtfully. "A prisoner, perhaps. I will just have a stroll round in the morning——"
"You'll do nothing of the sort," Endellion said. "I am going to have no woman mixed up with this expedition. It will mean the break up of our friendship. I am glad you told me about this, Shacklock. We will sail at dawn."
"Yes, but look here," Shacklock protested. "You can't leave a white woman, and a lady at that, a prisoner in a place like this. And if ever I saw a woman in trouble the is one."
"Oh, don't drag me into it," Endellion said bitterly. "I have finished with the sex. I wouldn't walk a yard across the deck to help one of them."
Endellion spoke cynically enough; there was a hard look on that clean cut, smoothly shaven face of his, and yet at the same time a yearning expression in his eyes. The others looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders, knowing well enough that there was no moving the owner of the Gehenna when he was in his present mood. His was no secret to them, the only three men in the world who really knew the truth.
They sat there for a few moments in silence, looking out over the silver track of the moon, whilst Endellion frowned moodily, and, for once in his life, failing to quote something apposite from his favourite author. Then there was a sound of oars alongside the yacht, and a moment later a woman came up the ladder and stood there, in the little ring of electric light, looking timidly at the four figures seated at the table.
"May—may I speak to you?" she faltered timidly. "I—I am in very great trouble."
Endellion rose to his feet instantly, and brought his heels together. At once the cynic had been merged into the gentleman, so that a moment later the girl with the violet eyes and the white pleading face found herself looking at four wholesome Englishmen. The mere sight of them brought the tears into her eyes.
"Anything we can do for you?" Endellion began.
"You are very good," the girl murmured. "But I have not the courage to tell all of you at once. May I speak alone with the owner of the yacht?"
Three men turned away simultaneously, leaving the woman-hater face to face with the foe. Endellion could hear Shacklock chuckle as he vanished into the darkness.
"I say, what price Marcus Aurelius now?" Shacklock whispered to his companions. "Guess our St. Anthony is going to catch it under the fifth rib all right. Say, boys, we're going to get our adventure yet."
All of which, fortunately, was not audible to the man on the deck. He was looking down into a pleading pair of limpid violet eyes that were turned trustingly upon him, and, sooth to say, that hardened misogynist was not altogether displeased. There was something in this implicit confidence that appealed to him strongly. Because, you see, he was a young man and this girl was good to look upon. Moreover, the prodigal son's description had not been in the least exaggerated. Here was a lady beyond all question, one to the manner born and speaking the little refined shibboleths of Society. And, moreover, she was in trouble. It was useless for Endellion to fall back upon the little platitudes and epigrams behind which he had tried to shield himself in the face of beauty in distress, and, moreover, beauty with a crystal purity of gaze and openness of expression that would have disarmed cynicism itself.
And, on her side, this intruder with the crimson checks and blooming eyes was looking into the face of perhaps the handsomest man she had ever seen. Nor did she know that he was smiling down upon her with that instinctive protection that every woman appreciates whether she admires it or not.
"Won't you sit down?" Endellion said.
"I would rather not," the girl replied. "My name is Audrey Croxton, at least——"
"At least, that's the name you want me to address you by," Endellion smiled. "Isn't that so?"
"Oh, yes, yes," the girl replied. "That is not my name, but it is my father's name, if you understand me."
"Yes, I think I have got that," Endellion said. "There are reasons why you do not want me to know who you really are. Well, it doesn't in least matter. Go on."
"It is good of you to try and make it easy for me," the girl said gratefully. "You see, my father lived on the island. He has been here for—for so many years."
Endellion nodded. A remittance man, no doubt, one of those men who, in the conventional phrase, has done something wrong, and who is kept at arms' length across the world and subsidised by his relations so long as he stays in the outer darkness. In his experience Endellion had met scores of these, but that one of them should be so far gone as to keep a child of his in that outlandish region was something almost beyond comprehension.
"And may I ask how long you have been here?" Endellion said. "It is not curiosity——"
"Oh, I quite understand that. I have been here nearly two years."
"And you want to get away?"
"Oh, I must, you can see that I must Mr.——"
"Endellion. That's my name."
Audrey Croxton gazed with wide-opened eyes.
"Oh, indeed?" she said. "I have heard——"
She broke off abruptly.
"Go on," Endellion said good-naturedly. "You were going to say that you have heard of me before."
"Well, I have friends in England——"
"Then you know my story. It is no secret, Miss Croxton. And now, if you think that you can trust a man who——. But we need not go into that. We are both in trouble, you see, and that should be a bond of sympathy between us. Now, do sit down and tell me everything."
"Oh, I do trust you," the girl said. "Do you know, I came here to-night in sheer desperation. I saw your friends on the beach this afternoon, and that gave me the idea. Two years ago when I was a mere schoolgirl at home, I conceived the romantic idea that it was my duty to come out here and look after my father. I had not seen him for many, many years, and I persuaded myself he had been very badly treated by his relatives. Just the notion that a child does get hold of. So when I got the chance, and the necessary means, I ran away and joined my father here."
"To his joy or annoyance, which?" Endellion asked. "I am bound to ask you the question."
"Isn't my presence here to-night an answer?" the girl said, with some spirit. "It was a fatal mistake, Mr. Endellion. I had no idea that my father had sunk so low. I would not confess my mistake, I would not write to my friends for money to return home. You may call that pride or stupidity, whichever you like, but any father, to do him justice, would send me back again if he had the money. He has promised me over and over again that if he was lucky he would see to it. But until quite lately there has been no opportunity. Then a few days ago there came to the island a Japanese, whom my father had befriended once or twice, a man in the last stage of consumption who came here to die. He had been a pearl fisher—a pearl poacher, if you like. He had one big stone which he gave to my father out of gratitude a few days before he died. That pearl is worth a good many hundreds of pounds, and there was my opportunity. I implored my father to sell it to one of the traders here. But he says if he keeps it for a week or two until the next ship comes along he will be able to get double the price. And then he began to talk, he began to display that stone in the saloon where he spent most of his day. There is a man here who will rob father of it if he gets the opportunity. If he doesn't get the opportunity, he will make it, and then I shall never reach England again. I was wondering if, by any chance, I could induce one of you gentlemen to make my father an offer."
To all this Endellion listened gravely enough. He could read the tense anxiety behind those quietly-spoken words, and he was beginning to realise what a veritable hell life must have been there all those weary months for this delicately natured girl.
"I think that could be managed," Endellion said. "Tell me, where is your father now?"
"Down at the saloon as usual," the girl said with a sort of weary scorn. "He had his cheque from England a few days ago, so just now he is a welcome guest. I would not mind so much if he would not carry that pearl about with him. Any time Billy Hutton and his gang may make him intoxicated, and then they will lure him on to play cards for the pearl. Oh, it's terrible, Mr. Endellion, terrible. Can't you help, me?"
"I not only can, but will," Endellion said crisply. "But who is the aforesaid Billy Hutton?"
"The terror of these seas," the girl explained. "A pirate, a pearl poacher, anything that is vile. He is a big, burly ruffian, who is the bully of the island. He has a small tramp steamer in which he and his crew go off from island to island, and wherever they are there is violence. And that's the man my father wants to—oh, Mr. Endellion, I can't say it. It's too horrible."
Endellion inclined his head gravely. In a flash he had comprehended the whole situation. He was feeling just a little unreal, as if he had stepped on to the stage in the midst of a comedy-drama with a rehearsed part. He knew something by repute of the aforesaid Billy Hutton, pirate, scalliwag, and scoundrel generally, who arrogated to himself the mastery of those free and easy seas, and who had more than once expressed a lurid desire to meet the man who was there with the obvious intention of disputing his sovereignty with him. And this was the creature that Croxton would have allowed the child of his to marry.
Endellion could see it clearly enough, could see the broken down gentleman who had sunk so low that he cared nothing so long as he could obtain his daily portion of drink.
And yet, with it all, Endellion was conscious of the fact that he was flying in the face of every resolution which had been bitten into him by his troubles in the past. He could recollect another face like this, and another pair of violet eyes that had looked wildly and imploringly into his with a prayer for salvation behind them. And because he had passionately loved the owner of those eyes he had cheerfully sworn away his own honor and had gone out into the social darkness without receiving a single word of thanks. Never again, he had told himself. And yet here he was, perforce a squire of dames, a champion of beauty, on the last spot of God's earth where he had expected to find that role thrust upon him.
"I think I understand," he said. "It's pretty horrible, isn't it? That's a banal way of putting it, Miss Croxton, but I want you to understand; I turned my back on England two years ago, swearing by all my gods that I would never speak to a woman again. I told myself that if I saw one of them dying by the wayside I would not hold out a hand to help her. Never mind why. Certainly I never expected to be speaking to a woman like this again. But I cannot leave you here to suffer. I must help you. Well, let me tell you the truth, I want to help you. This matter shall be attended to at once. Where is your father to be found?"
"There is only one place, except when he is asleep," Audrey said. "Or when he has no money. He is down at Bioni's saloon. You can see it on the beach yonder. And that little bungalow on the left is my home."
"You had better stay here," Endellion said. "You will be safe till we come back. I think it would be far more prudent. Now, let me make you comfortable in the cabin."
"You are very good," the girl said. "And you will be careful, won't you? The man I speak of is utterly reckless."
A few minutes later Endellion and his trusty companions were pulling off in the direction of the shore. The leader of the expedition had made the situation plain in a few words, and it was an eager little coterie that turned their face in the direction of the saloon.
They pulled up their boat presently on a little spit of golden sand and made their way past the fringe of palms and growing hibiscus that led to the saloon. The doors were closed, despite the closeness of the night, and here and there a clink of light crept through the window slats.
Endellion pushed his way unconcernedly forward and entered the saloon, closely followed by his companions. A blast of hot reeking air drove them back for a moment, a stifling heat that seemed to have little effect on the knot of men gathered round a rough deal table. Two of them were playing cards, and the other choice specimens of humanity were drinking and looking on. It was evidently an exciting game, for it was some little time before the unsavory occupants of the place became aware of the presence of the new comers, so that Endellion and his friends had a good chance of looking round.
They saw a big mountain of a man, burly and red of face, and black of beard, who sat at one end of the table with cards in his hand. He appeared to dominate the place with a certain personality of his own, for the others seemed to hang upon his every word and applaud the coarse jests that fell from his lips.
And the game they were playing was evidently poker. From time to time one of the cardholders selected a fresh piece of pasteboard from the greasy pack, and then the bidding went on.
The other man was a fine specimen of humanity, slim and wiry, but the muscles round the corners of his lips trembled and the slim, well-shaped hands were horribly shaky. A ragged, fair moustache dropped over his lips; the grey eyes were weak and bleared and watery.
"That's the man," Endellion whispered. "A typical specimen of the class who live upon the charity of their friends. A gentleman, evidently. Strange how the flavor clings in spite of everything, isn't it? My God, it's Lashford."
"What, 'Lashford of Evans?'" Graydon asked.
"Yes, that's the man. Can't you recognise him from the photograph that used to hang up in the dining-room? To what base uses may we come, as Marcus Aurelius says."
"Guess it was Shakespeare who said that," Shacklock said.
"Well, it doesn't matter," Endellion replied. "That's Lashford all right. Lashford who was captain of the Eton eleven for three years and the finest bat the old House ever turned out. And just look at him now."
As Endellion spoke he stepped quietly forward and stood by the side of the table where the game of cards was going on. That cool, insolent clean-cut face of his and his spotless white clothing were in vivid contrast to the greasy picturesqueness of the ruffians round the table.
"Good evening," Endellion said with exquisite politeness. "A little game of poker, I presume? But, my dear Mr. Lashford, if you will allow me to call you so, how can you expect to win when you are playing with an opponent who uses his own cards, and not only that, but marks them, too? I wonder how many hundreds of times that venerable pile of greasy pasteboards has figured in a robbery like this?"
It was done so coolly and quietly that for a moment the big man with the black beard and his companions stood there gazing stupidly at the intruders. It was only the man with the fair moustache who showed signs of agitation. At the mention of his proper name he had half-started to his feet, then dropped back into his chair again with a dull red spot glowing on either cheek. But the quiet thrust had gone clean home, the recognition, the cool, cutting contempt in Endellion's tone had penetrated through the outer coat of vice and sloth and lost self-respect. He looked up dully.
"Eton, by the Lord," he said. "Since my day, too. Evans? Am I right, sir?"
"You are," Endellion said crisply. "And upon my word you are still remarkably like your photograph. I wonder what Evans' would say, if they knew?"
"Drop that, damn you," Lashford said fiercely.
"Ah, well, the old Adam is not yet dead, I am glad to see," Endellion replied. "And for the sake of the old school I am not going to stand here and see that black-bearded ruffian rob you. Here, look for yourself!"
Endellion reached over coolly and took one of the oleaginous cards from the table.
"Look here, you fool," he said. "These cards were once white with glazed backs. They shine even now if you glance at them sideways. And I'll eat the whole pack if there are not dull spots on the back of every one of them. There you are. See for yourself. How are you going to win when that scamp yonder can pick any card he likes, knowing the value of it from the spots on the back? Upon my word, Mr. Hutton, it's pretty cool of you to work an old trick like that. Get up, Lashford, and come along with us. This is no place for an old Etonian, even if he has flown off the handle. And before you go, be sure you have got that pearl in your pocket."
"Oh, that's all right," Lashford muttered.
Then it was that the big bully rose from his chair. He had been too paralysed by Endellion's audacious onslaught and the cool, easy proof of his accusation to sit there whilst he was sparring for wind, so to speak. He looked round now, as if measuring Endellion and his companions with the eyes of a general reckoning up the forces against him. And because he did not slip his hand to his hip pocket and the other greasy rascals were standing around, as if awaiting a lead, Endellion, and the rest of the Gentle Buccaneers knew that these men were not armed. They had probably regarded that precaution as unnecessary; they had just come over from their battered old tramp steamer on an errand far too simple to call for any precaution of that kind.
"Who the blazes are you?" Hutton demanded.
"I think you know," Endellion smiled sweetly. "I understand that you have expressed a friendly interest in me and the Gehenna and her crew. You say that there isn't room in the South Pacific for your lot and mine. With that expression of opinion I am in entire accord. That's not a threat, it's only an expression of opinion. But I think you understand what I mean. We are both here on a spirit of adventure, and both, I believe, utterly reckless. But your methods are not ours. Swindling and robbery form no part of our programme."
It was all quietly said and in a cool and cutting voice that seemed to drive the big man to the verge of frenzy. He let out wildly in Endellion's direction with a fist big enough to have smashed that handsome, insolent, contemptuous face if the blow had got home. But Endellion side-stepped deftly and caught the bully a stinging counter on the left cheek.
"Into it, boys!" Graydon yelled. "Collar 'em low. They've got no arms, so we'll just make a 'rough house' of it. Whoop, you devils, get your heads down forwards, and mind you heel out when I give you the word. And you, you little black devil behind the bar yonder, lock the door, and if anyone wants to come in tell 'em they can't, because you've got some gentlemen here engaged in a friendly argument. Lock the door, you little sprat, and then lie down behind the bar until someone whistles for you. Now, then, all together."
"Rah! Rah! Rah!" Shacklock screamed. "Yale! Yale! Go it, ye cripples! Come on, Brigadier!"
A moment later the whole pack were mixed in inextricable confusion on the floor. White shirts and black ties were torn away indiscriminately in the scene that ensued, till gradually Hutton and his pack were driven back by the scientific rush of those thained footballers, and before long three of the pirates were lying dazed on the floor, wondering where they were and whether they had suddenly become victims of a passing tornado.
Endellion scrambled to his feet. He was hardly up before Hutton was at him again. The others, recognising the two master minds, drew a little on one side to watch the coming fray.
"The skipper will be all right," Wallace said cheerfully. "It looks big odds, but he'll get there."
Endellion tore off what remained of his white coat. He measured the big man opposite with a cool and critical eye, and addressed him with irritating calm.
"Now, that's not a bad idea, Mr. Hutton," he said. "We are none of us armed, so we will have to fall back upon Nature's weapons. I see by the way you are shaping that you know something about the art, and, without vanity, I am not exactly a novice. Some other time perhaps we may try other forces. But now, as it is a question of whether you finish this game on top or I do, we must make the best of what we have got."
Hutton appeared to ask nothing better. There was a wicked gleam in his eyes as be lunged forward with all the weight of that big body behind him. And then began a battle of giants. Weight was all on the side of the swashbuckler; he had a fair smattering of science, too, but he was considerably the older man, and a long experience in the fetid atmosphere of saloon bars was all against him. There was no mistaking his power and his knowledge and had he been permitted to come to close grips it might have gone hard with Endellion. But, despite all the jibs and sneers of the big man, he kept his distance and contented himself now and again with a few short arm jabs that were hammered home well on the big fellow's ribs, until at length he lost his temper and came on in a blind fury to receive a smashing blow just a shade too high on the jaw to knock him out.
Then he burst furiously into curses loud and deep, so that presently he began to sob for breath, as if his lungs oppressed him, embittered by the knowledge that so far, at any rate, he had not even touched his nimble opponent.
"You've got him now, old man," Graydon said coolly. "Just wade in and finish him."
"I should like to punish him a bit more yet," Endellion said, as if he were conferring a favor.
And he did. He hammered away until the big man's face was streaming and a great swelling over his left eye presently closed that optic altogether. Hutton was puffing now, and unmistakably groggy at the knees. With his two hands thrown up, he lurched forward, and then, quite calmly and good-naturedly, Endellion drove home a blow on the mark, so that the big man sank gently backwards and, like Elder Jones in the poem, "subsequent proceedings interested him no more."
When he opened his eyes at length Endellion was smiling down on him, with Lashford by his side.
"Well, Mr. Hutton," Endellion said, "if you enjoyed that little dust-up as much as I did we can shake hands over it."
Hutton broke into voluble execrations.
"When you are dying perhaps, curse you," he said. "But listen to me, my lad. It's your turn today but it will be mine tomorrow. We shall meet again. And when we do, look to yourself."
Endellion turned away with a shrug of his shoulders, and a few minutes later the thoroughly satisfied Buccaneers were making their way back towards their boat, with Lashford bringing up the rear. Endellion dropped behind to speak to him.
"Now, look here, sir," he said. "I know all about your story and some day I'll tell you mine. Your daughter is on board my yacht. I leave you to guess why she came to seek my assistance this evening. I rather gather that for certain reasons you don't want to go back home."
"I—I can't," Lashford stammered.
"Well, for the matter of that, neither can I," Endellion said coolly. "But, at any rate, I can hold out a helping hand to an old Etonian, even when he has sunk as low as you have. And when there is a lady in the question—oh, dash it, you know what I mean. At any rate, after what has happened you can't stay here. I suggest you get all your belongings together, and join us on the yacht. There is no hurry, and we can settle what is to be done later on. Now, what do you say?"
"What can I say, except to thank you?" Lashford said. "But won't you find us rather a nuisance?"
It was precisely the same question that Graydon asked his skipper in somewhat agitated tones an hour or so later when once more they were on board the yacht.
"It was a rattling good spree, old man," he said. "But we didn't come over here to prowl about the island rescuing damsels in distress. You see what it means? It will play the devil with our arrangements. Not to be inquisitive, old thing, what are you going to do about it?"
"Dashed if I know," Endellion replied. "But how on earth could we have done otherwise?"
LET it not be imagined by thoughtless readers that the Gentle Buccaneers were always splashing about in purple patches. There were intervals between lightning streaks of lurid adventure when they sat quietly down round their own fireside, so to speak, and occasionally indulged in the dubious pleasures of introspection. Now, introspection is not always a pleasant thing, even to an amateur pirate, especially if he be connected with some ancient family and still bears upon him the rags of tradition as taught in English schools and universities. Even if such a man has done something which parts him violently and secretly from this native land, he cannot altogether forget the playing fields and the covert side and the glamour of the river. And some such thoughts as these obsessed Jimmy Graydon, otherwise known as Truthful James, as he sat on the deck of the Gehenna with the Buccaneers around him. And, sooth to say, Wallace, known as the Brigadier, was in somewhat similar case. They were both suffering from what Peter Shacklock, otherwise the Prodigal Son, called hobnail conscience, or an enlargement of the moral spleen. Anyway, they were a moody crowd, conversing fitfully in the absence of Endellion the Skipper, who just then was down below in confab with the taciturn individual who was responsible for the Gehenna's wireless. This, by-the-way, was something of a new toy, and had been installed on the Gehenna after a furtive visit to a nameless port in North New Zealand, where Endellion had been in secret conclave for at least two days with the officer in command of an English destroyer. What it all meant Endellion had not said. There were certain things he kept to himself, which is one of the privileges of the commander all the world over.
For some days now, they had been aimlessly drifting about amongst the little group of coral islands, two or three hundred miles away from the usual base, and perhaps the slowness of the proceedings had something to do with the gloom which had settled upon the Gentle Buccaneers. For a week they had enjoyed the inestimable privilege of a lady's company on board, until at length they had deported Audrey Lashford and her father in a place of comparative safety with a view to conveying them elsewhere as soon as circumstances would permit.
So they were lounging on the deck under the lee of a little island and waiting on events. They had been talking in a desultory sort of way for some time, and, for the most part, listening to the lamentations of the Brigadier with regard to the cruel circumstances that prevented him offering his services to a distressed motherland in the hour of her need. For the Brigadier received papers from time to time, and, now that their wireless had been installed, was not entirely outside the ring of current events.
"I ought not to be here," the Brigadier said moodily.
"Well, if it comes to that," said Jimmy Graydon, "neither should any of us."
"Yes, but my case is different," Wallace went on. "I was a gunner, remember, and a dashed good officer, too, though I say it as shouldn't. They could do with me out in France now."
"Yes, you'd better give yourself up," Shacklock drawled unkindly. "Throw yourself on the mercy of the court."
"I couldn't do it," the Brigadier groaned. "They'd know all about me in a week. I was wondering if we couldn't help in the great game out here."
"I'm not quite sure we can't," said Endellion as he came up on deck and joined the group. "If I'm right, sonny, you may be able to strike a blow for the flag yet."
The Brigadier's face cleared.
"Get on with it," he said. "You've got some deep scheme in your mind, I'm sure, else you'd never have shoved up that wireless. Now, then, cough it up."
Endellion proceeded to unfold a newspaper.
"Well, it's like this," he said. "Here is an old copy of the Times, which contains an interesting account of the voyage of a huge German submarine called the Deutschland."
"Isn't that the boat that went to America before we came in?" Shacklock asked. "Crossed the Atlantic under water and got back home with a cargo of rubber."
"That's right," Endellion said. "She used to be a pioneer, they were going to build a fleet of 'em, and cheat the British blockade that way. Now, this Deutschland was never heard of after the return voyage, and when the British unofficially claimed to have sunk her the Huns didn't deny it. Because why? I think I can tell you. It was all bluff. Germany never expected to feed her population by U-boats, however big. Her game was to supply submarines thousands of miles from their base with lubricating oils and petrol."
"I believe that's right," Shacklock said. "Don't you remember that soon after the first voyage of the Deutschland certain English vessels were torpedoed off the American coast? That was done to get the wind up Uncle Sam. But still they did it."
"You are very bright this afternoon, my worthy prodigal," Endellion smiled. "Yes, you've got it. That was a brainy idea. But no one seemed to spot it, at least, I thought nobody had till I met that naval acquaintance of mine the other day. He told me that the Deutschland was never sunk at all. She's knocking about in these seas feeding the U-boats responsible for the sinking of shipping in the Bay of Bengal. And somewhere, on one of these coral islands here, is a vast store of 'juice' ready for the Deutschland when she wants it. And now you understand why I was closeted for two days with a certain naval officer and why we had that wireless installed. Boys, the Deutschland is not far off, and if we can down her then I reckon we shall have struck a blow for the old flag that we can be proud of. What says the Brigadier?"
"Oh, the Brigadier's willing enough," Wallace replied grimly. "But where, precisely, do I come in?"
"Well, I suppose you can still handle a four-inch gun," Endellion said. "Don't forget that we have got a couple on board."
The Brigadier's eyes lighted up.
"I have forgotten nothing," he said. "I guess I'm as good a shot as ever I was. Give me a clear horizon, and the Deutschland, and I'll sink her at four miles in as many shots, or for ever hold my peace. Now, then, commodore, what's the little scheme?"
They talked on for an hour or so as they lay in that little bay until presently round the headland appeared a rowing boat with four men aboard. It was clear that the Gehenna was their destination, for they pulled straight to the side and presently two men scrambled on her deck. At the sight of one of them Endellion stuck his glass in his eye and for once in his life appeared to be almost astonished.
"Great Scott, it's Billy Hutton," he said. "Now what does that infernal rascal want here?"
The big man with the huge black beard came smilingly across the deck in Endellion's direction with the air of one who is sure of his welcome, and serene in the knowledge that there was no enmity between them.
"Didn't expect to see me, eh?" he said. "Well, Billy Hutton never bore no malice. You downed me in fair fight right enough, and I'm too big a man not to admit it."
"That's very nice of you," Endellion said sweetly. "Now what can I do for you, Mr. Hutton?"
"Well, you see, we're both Englishmen," Hutton said. "And I thought there being a war on, as you might like to help me. That is, me and my friend here. Mr. Franks, the great naturalist. Let me introduce him."
The man called Franks brought his heels together and bowed stiffly from the waist. He was of middle age, stiffly built, and looking every inch of him as hard as nails, as he removed his cap he disclosed a close-cropped head of grey hair that stood up right from a forehead absolutely square. He spoke pleasantly enough, his English refined and correct.
"What my friend Mr. Hutton says is quite right," he said. "I am a naturalist connected with the Museum of South Kensington. Unfortunately, some of my specimen cases were capsized into a place where the water is too deep to recover them, that is, without injury to the tin cases. So I thought, we might be able to pump the little lagoon dry and recover them, without rough handling. Mr. Hutton has a high pressure pump, but no armored hose. I thought perhaps you might be able to supply the deficiency. We only want it for a day or two."
"I dare say I could," Endellion drawled. "On second thoughts, I am quite sure I can. And I shall be happy to deliver the hose anywhere you want."
"Ah, that is very good of you," Franks said. "It is not very far away. On the north-west of the island there are three palm trees and there the coral reef sheers away into deep water. The lagoon is just behind."
"Oh, that's all right," Endellion said. "I will see that you have the stuff tomorrow morning. In fact, I'll take it myself. Will forty fathoms be sufficient?"
Mr. Franks was of the opinion that it would be more than ample. He was exceedingly sorry to trouble Mr. Endellion and was overwhelmed with the latter's kindness. He partook of the whisky and soda and cigars hospitably produced by Endellion, and after a further exchange of compliments left the deck of the Gehenna in the wake of the grinning Hutton.
"Well, what do you think of that?" Graydon asked. "What's the game, Skipper?"
"I don't know," Endellion said thoughtfully. "Perhaps I shall be able to tell you more about it after I have delivered the goods to-morrow. But Billy Hutton is hardly the sort of man to go out of his way to help a harmless naturalist."
"Naturalist, be damned," Shacklock exclaimed. "Why, that man's a German officer. He's got it written all over him. And see how he stood. Did you see how he brought his heels together and bowed from his waist? Why, another second and he would have given us a salute."
"A regular man of the world, the Prodigal Son," Wallace laughed. "What makes you so sure, old chap?"
"Because I have seen the tribe before," Shacklock grinned. "During my brief but brilliant career in the United States I put in a few months at West Point, and there we had a dozen or more retired German officers. They were quite a cult with us at one time. Oh, I am sure I am right."
"And so am I," Endellion said curtly. "That chap's a German naval officer, and Billy Hutton's in his pay. Now, what I make of it is this. We are almost on the top of a big petrol store and unless I'm greatly mistaken the Deutschland is coming here before long to fill up. That's what they want the armored hose for. They have lost theirs, or they haven't got enough. The whole thing's plain as a pikestaff. The oil is hidden just round the headland yonder so that it can be pumped straight into the submarine. You heard what our quasi- naturalist said about the edge of the island where the reef sheers into deep water. Well, there you are, and within the next eight-and-forty hours the biggest submarine in the world will be here. Now, if we can down that boat I guess we can stop all these raids on shipping in the Indian Ocean. At least, that's my idea, and that was the idea of the Naval Lieutenant who shall be nameless. And there's no time to be lost. We'll just get out to sea as soon as the tide turns."
"You've got a scheme?" the brigadier asked eagerly.
"More than one," Endellion said. "But with any luck one will be enough. Now then, lads, jump about a bit. Take a boat, two of you, and dump down that armored hose on the spot indicated by the gentle Mr. Franks. And, whatever you do, don't go prospecting around. Just chuck the stuff on shore and come away."
Nightfall saw the Gehenna out at sea steering an erratic course till dawn, when she ran alongside a dirty, dilapidated tramp steamer that was at once a byword and a laughing-stock in the whole of those tropical seas. She was dirty and dingy and rusty and slow, a veritable mollusk of the ocean creeping from port to port and floating more by the grace of God than anything else. A grimy-looking individual behind a short pipe grunted something in response to Endellion's hail. As far as the eye could see there was no sign of a sail anywhere.
"That you, Gunter?" Endellion asked.
"Tain't nobody else," the man behind the black pipe grunted. "What will you be wantin' with me?"
"Well, come on board and I'll tell you," Endellion replied. "We've still got a bottle or two of whisky left."
Five minutes later the skipper of the tramp Sardonyx lounged on the spotless deck of the Gehenna. After his fourth excursion in the direction of the whisky bottle he began to listen more complacently to the proposal that Endellion had to make. Briefly, it was this.
For a valuable consideration Mr. Gunter contracted to hand over the Sardonyx to the crew of the Gehenna and take himself modestly away, with his men to one of the little islands in the neighborhood where they were to remain hidden for a week. And, meanwhile, the Gehenna would anchor up in one of the many tiny harbours, not only as a guarantee of good faith, but as an earnest that both tobacco and whisky would be plentiful so far as the voluntary prisoners were concerned. And if anything happened to the Sardonyx then Endellion contracted to make good the loss. And as he was known in those seas as a man of his word, and as he was recognised as a man of substance, Gunter raised no further objections.
"That's all right, sir," he said. "You can sink the confounded old hooker if you like. If I can get a new boat out of this business I shall be well satisfied."
These high diplomatic arrangements having been completed, the two boats lay side by side in a little land-locked harbour far away from all prying eyes, and for the next few hours the two crews worked harder than they had ever worked in their lives before. By sunset the wireless installation of the Gehenna had been transferred to the Sardonyx, and so, also, had the two four- inch guns. And the crew of the Gehenna, who were crawling about the deck of the Sardonyx like so many lice, were transformed out of all recognition, too. Gone were their smart uniforms, gone all semblance of discipline and order, and in the place of a smart collection of sailormen appeared a lounging set of deck hands, sullen almost to the verge of mutiny. It was a fine piece of stage work, and Endellion was naturally proud of it. But there was a method behind all this, despite the grease and dirt, and the blackened, visages. And so the Sardonyx crept across the surface of the waters, a greasy dingy oily outrage on the face of the ocean. It was, in the language of Graydon, who had a pretty turn for metaphor, like a squashed blue-bottle flattened out on the surface of a marine landscape.
The one individual who viewed the whole scene with an indifference born of familiarity was Gunter, the owner of the Sardonyx, who had been taken on board at the last moment, or so he thought, though this was part of Endellion's strategy. It had been no part of his scheme to let the grimy little Welshman into the secret until they were afloat. Not that Gunter minded, for the little man was quite a patriot in his way, especially when patriotism and pocket walked hand in hand, so to speak.
"So that's the game, whatever, Mr. Endellion," he said. "Well you can count me in, look you. And if the old tub goes down, why you'll just make it good."
"Of course I will," Endellion said.
"And if there is any trouble with that man Hutton, then I'll ask you to see me through. For it is not likely that these parts will be healthy for me in future."
"Oh, that's all right," Endellion laughed. "You'll get well paid, and if this little stunt turns up trumps I don't think you will find the Admiralty likely to be stingy. Why you ought to be able to retire out of this business."
Gunter responded that he wanted nothing better. He had done fairly well with that rusty old barge of his, and, if he could see a further thousand or two, had made up his mind to settle down somewhere in New Zealand and devote the balance of his existence to the intensive culture of vegetables. There was evidently a vein of poetry in the little man.
And so for the next twelve hours the Sardonyx blundered along, whilst miracles were being wrought on her deck. The dingy, dirty-faced crew worked like heroes until at length the two 4-in. guns were in place and trained almost to Wallace's satisfaction. To a certain extent he had had to make bricks without straw. He had rigged up iron sheeting and steel plates and bolts until a couple of fairly efficient platforms had been made. These he eyed dubiously.
"I hope they will be all right," he said. "Though I has ma doots. If those guns break loose they'll shake the guts out of this old barge. Well, we'll hope for the best."
So they drifted on through the night, apparently without aim or direction, until at length they fetched up to the lee of the coral reef where Endellion's crew had dumped down the armored hose. They were lying some three miles away from a clump of palms that marked the spot, lying lazily in the trough of a silver sea with steam oozing out of every joint of the Sardonyx. It was as if something had gone wrong with the rotten engines, a complete breakdown leaving it at the mercy of any storm that came along. The Sardonyx lay there, a pathetic object, and, at the same time, an object of proper contempt for any craft worthy of the name. Any passing boat familiar with those seas would have known at once that here was the Sardonyx in trouble, again waiting pathetically for a tow, or, in the alternative, going down to the bottom, where she should have been long ago. She was flying a distress signal, and apparently her crew were resigned to despair. A more pathetic, lamentable spectacle had never blotted the South Pacific.
All this to the outward eye, at least. But the grimy crew with their blackened faces and the temporary commander who might have just finished crawling up the funnel, were eagerly watching with keen eyes for the first sign of life on the edge of the coral reef. Endellion stood by the rail with a pair of powerful glasses to his eyes. And there he watched hour after hour until at length his patience was rewarded.
He saw a boat beached on the sand from which two men emerged dragging a box after them. Then he made out clearly enough the big burly figure of Billy Hutton and the trim, square-built man who could have been none else than the pseudo-naturalist, who called himself Franks. For a little time the two busied themselves, until presently the Sardonyx dawned upon them. Apparently this vision of beauty was rather disturbing to Franks, for he pointed it out to his companion, and an earnest conversation apparently followed. Then the motor boat slid out to the sea again with Hutton upon it, and a little later swept round under the counter of the derelict. Hutton hailed her.
At a sign from Endellion, Gunter lounged forward and stood with his elbows on the rail. The rest of the crew followed with a certain moody indifference.
"What's the trouble?" Hutton asked.
"Oh, the usual, look you," Gunter said. "Engine trouble whatever."
Then followed some jargon in the language of machinery to which Hutton listened with polite indifference.
"I can't do anything for you yet, old man," he said. "I am rather busy over yonder for an hour or two, and if you can keep going till night I'll arrange a tow for you. The usual terms, I suppose?"
The Welshman indicated that it was all the same to him, and Hutton steamed off again, apparently quite easy in his mind and suspecting no mischief. There was no time to be lost, and, in any case, it did not matter. The crew of the Sardonyx were too far away to take in any details, and even if they knew what was going on it would be out of their power to do anything till the big grey raider was at sea again. And so another hour or two passed, until suddenly Endellion emitted a sound between a sigh and a gasp, and handed over his glasses to Wallace.
"There you are, old man," he said. "She's come."
"By Jove, you are right," Wallace exclaimed as he gazed steadily through the binoculars. "The father and mother of all submarines. Lord, she must be nearly six hundred feet long! And, what a mark!"
The glasses were passed from hand to hand until there was not a man on board who had not had a good view of the big German U-boat. She lay there, on the edge of the coral reef, broadside on to the Sardonyx that yawed and dipped in a perfect bath of steam as if her last moment had come. Behind this camouflage five-and-twenty pair of eyes were watching the drama that was taking place on the edge of the reef.
"I think she's our bird now, old man," Endellion said cheerfully. "She's not a bit suspicious of us."
"Well, I hope not," Wallace said. "It looks like a case of rock me to sleep, mother, all right. But you never know with those devils. They might take it into their heads at any moment to hand us a dozen shells out of mere mischief. And if I don't get her first shot or two, we're done."
"Yes, I had thought of that," Endellion said. "When the band begins to play, we'll get the boats out, leaving just you and me and one or two more on board. They'll never see the boats in this sea, and, if the worst comes to the worst, we can pull round the point and land in the bay beyond."
To all of which the crew demurred as one man. But Endellion was firm enough, and a few moments later the deck was deserted save for the Gentle Buccaneers and the little Welshman who owned the Sardonyx.
Meanwhile a score of men had landed from the submarine and were busy on the reef, evidently opening the petrol tank and connecting it with the U-boat. Gradually the Sardonyx yawed round, still oozing steam at every pore until the guns were trained on the long grey hull that rose out of the sea like some gigantic whale.
"Let her have it," Shacklock yelled excitedly. "Plug her under the fifth rib, brigadier. Show us what Daddy did in the Great War."
But Wallace did not appear to be heeding. He was too engrossed on his task to hear anything that was going on around him. Presently there was a puff of smoke and a dull roar, and a shell from one of the guns pitched neatly into the centre of the group hovering around the petrol tanks. Then there was a sort of dissolving view, visible enough through the binoculars, and the trim figure of the man Franks crumpled up and lay like a brown speck on the burning sands.
"That was a good 'un," Graydon said. "But not quite good enough, old man."
"Oh, not bad for a sighting shot," Wallace said coolly. "Let's hand 'em another pasteboard."
The second shot was effective enough, for it struck the submarine forward, tearing a huge hole in her bows, and, exploding, seemed to fill the air with fragments of steel and fractured machinery. But apparently no vital spot had been struck, for the crew gathered to the attack, and almost before Wallace could get in another shot the submarine had fired in her turn, and with a crash down came most of the top hamper of the Sardonyx. Another and another shot followed, the third one sheering away part of the bows of the Sardonyx without apparently disturbing Wallace, who worked his guns grimly. It was touch and go even now, and it might have gone hard indeed with those on board but for the fact that Wallace's fifth and sixth shots were absolutely pictures. The fifth pitched plumb on the deck of the submarine, blowing the crew thereon into fragments, and the sixth got into the very vitals of the U-boat, for the explosion that followed shook the crazy old Sardonyx from stem to stern. Then the bows of the submarine rose until she stood on end in the grotesque likeness of a church steeple. Just for a moment she hung quivering there, then gradually went down in a cloud of steam and smoke into 400 fathoms of water off the edge of the reef and was seen no more. All that remained of her consisted of Billy Hutton and two German sailors dancing frantically on the reef and shaking their fists in the direction of the Sardonyx, which was settling by the head.
"So that's that," Wallace drawled.
"Amen, not to say Prosit," Graydon cried. "But come on, lads, we haven't got a minute to spare."
They swarmed down the side into the last boat and pulled away vigorously from the doomed Sardonyx. She went down presently like a stone, there was a ripple on the sea, and a dull explosion somewhere, and the old tram was finished.
"Now what do you think of that for a day's work?" Endellion asked. "Well, we can't take any credit, boys. That will all go to Gunter. He'll have all the kudos, to say nothing of the Admiralty dollars. But I'm sorry about the old hooker."
"Now, don't you go fretting your fat about that," Gunter grinned. "If you are satisfied and the Admiralty is satisfied, then there's no cause for me to grumble whatever. And if ever you want any really nice vegetables, you send to David Gunter and he will supply you with all you want."
THE spirit of adventure, like that of jealousy, mocks the meat it feeds on, though there are certain captious critics who rend that familiar Shakespearean quotation in another form. But be that as it may, the fact remains, and so it came about that after a considerable pause the Gentle Buccaneers found themselves going again quite two thousand miles from their base. Things had been quiet enough since the episode of the Grey Raider, so that our adventurers were glad to be on the wing again. Now, everything was fish that came to their net, especially since Graydon had hit upon the happy idea that the Gehenna should establish herself as a central organisation for Red Cross funds. In other words, all the loot vicariously gathered in those golden seas henceforth would be transmitted anonymously to the American Red Cross Society. It was a sort of Robin Hood combination and a salve to conscience at the same time.
Therefore, when the Gehenna fetched up alongside a certain island in the South Pacific and Endellion came in contact with a wily Oriental called Jim Shi and listened to his flowery tale about pearls and other gilt-edged articles of commerce, he was disposed to fall in with the suggestion of the Chinaman that they should visit the place called Shara and try their luck in the most strictly preserved piece of water in the world. It was Japanese water, that same, and usually carefully patrolled by a destroyer or two, but just now, with the big war on, and the traffic in pearls more or less at a standstill, these sacred covers were likely to be loosely guarded. Here, therefore, was an adventure after the heart of the Buccaneers, wherein personal danger and large areas of valuable loot were impartially distributed.
Apparently Jim Shi knew all about it. He had evidently given the matter his careful consideration, and, indeed, he said frankly enough that he regarded the coming of the Gehenna as a direct interposition of Providence, or the Chinese equivalent for that same manifestation.
Jim Shi was a wealthy Chinaman, and a sometime mandarin, who hinted pretty broadly that he had either left his country for his country's good, or that he had found the atmosphere of Peking not so salubrious as it had been at one period of his picturesque career. Therefore, he had retired from China, taking his loot with him, and, at the same time, accompanied by his daughter Lota, the vivacious and fascinating young woman who had learnt a great deal of Western diplomacy and its equivalent during a three years' residence in San Francisco.
She was quite young, pretty, and fascinating, and, to say the least of it, liberal-minded. She presided gracefully and tactfully over her father's luxurious establishment on the little island, which practically belonged to him, and she was a great favorite with the Gentle Buccaneers. To begin with, she spoke English quite as well as they did, she played and sang divinely with a strong leaning towards the musical comedy and ragtime type of harmony which is almost the second nature of the Western girl. She was learned on the subject of cocktails, flippantly familiar with the sort of conversation that usually revolves round the "morning after the night before," in fact, a man's woman to her finger tips, so that before long she and the Gentle Buccaneers were the best of friends. It was she, as a matter of fact, who suggested the expedition, an enterprise that she had expressed her firm intention of joining.
"Oh, I am coming along, Mr. Endellion," she said. "On that you can bet your bottom dollar. I want adventure, and, like the little boy in your soap advertisement, I shan't be happy till I get it."
All this with a laugh and a twinkle in her eye, which were very alluring, especially when the words were uttered by a Chinese girl, dressed in picturesque costume, with a Turkish cigarette between her red lips, and a dry Martini within reach of those dainty hands with the henna-dyed finger nails. Endellion was a professed woman-hater, but that solemn ritual of his certainly did not extend to the fascinating Lota, whom he regarded more as a colleague than a weaker vessel.
"Yes, Lota will certainly come along," Jim Shi said to Endellion as the preliminaries were arranged. They were sitting out on the broad verandah in the moonlight, and the whole of the Buccaneers were gathered there, for they were sailing on the morrow for a more or less unknown destination nearly two thousand miles away. "Lota will never consent to stay behind."
"She won't," Lota said emphatically.
"Oh, well, that's settled, then, anyhow," Shacklock remarked. "But, say, who's the pilot?"
"Oh, I have the pilot all right," Jim Shi murmured. "And remember, I have been to the little island of Shara before. I have seen the wonders of the place, and I know the treasure that lies there. And since the war began there has been no pearl-fishing in the bay at all."
"Yes, but who's the pilot?" Wallace insisted.
"Ah, he is a Japanese in my employ. A diver. He has been working there for years. And it is he who will be our pilot. You leave it to me, gentlemen."
So, in the fullness of time they set out on board the Gehenna with a pilot, and made their way leisurely through those glorious seas to their destination. They were carrying a rather larger complement than Endellion liked, a dozen or so of Kanakas and perhaps a score of Chinese coolies that had appeared as if by magic almost as soon as the expedition had begun to take shape. They made rather a crowd on board the yacht, but they were fine sailors for the most part, and seemed to stand in considerable awe of Jim Shi. There was a workmanlike air about them, an unusual discipline that did not fail to show itself to Wallace, otherwise known as the Brigadier.
"Now, where did the old man pick them up?" he asked Endellion. "They ain't any ordinary lot of Chinks. If those chaps haven't been in the Chinese navy, I'll eat 'em. Do you notice how familiar they are with a rifle?"
Endellion lounged along the deck with his glass in his eye and a cigarette in his mouth, and shrugged his shoulders indifferently. For the time being, at any rate, he was little more than a passenger on his own ship, and therefore not in the least disposed to interfere.
"Oh, what the devil does it matter?" he asked. "Besides, it will be all to the good if we have any trouble with some nosing Japanese destroyer. It's nothing to do with me. We're out here on a fine excursion with a bit of danger in it, and if it turns up trumps, why, it ought to mean at least twenty thousand to the American Red Cross. Be a patriot, old man, be a patriot, and if you can't be a patriot, don't be an ass."
All the same the Brigadier was not entirely convinced. He went about from day to day with his eyes wide open, like "a chiel's amang them takin' notes." It rather disturbed him to see how Jim Shi had practically taken possession of the Gehenna, Jim Shi in a British naval uniform, no less, and evincing a knowledge of seamanship that was rather strange in a man who had spent most of his life ashore. And if Jim Shi was enthusiastic about anything, it was over the merits and beauties of the Gehenna. If he had a yacht like that, he said, before long he would he king of the South Pacific. But he lacked the couple of hundred thousand pounds or so necessary for the purchase of such a craft, and, that being so, he had to content himself with the role of temporary owner and Captain.
It all sounded innocent and friendly enough, but the Brigadier was far from satisfied, though he would have found it difficult to put his suspicions into words. And so the time went on until one golden afternoon the Gehenna passed between two high cliffs of basaltic rock that shut in a long, narrow tongue of water that represented the finest pearl-fishing ground in the world. This shiny isthmus was flanked on either side by beaches of golden sand, and at the further end was locked in again by a rampart of the same black rock. There was not too much room for the Gehenna to enter, for there was a big sandbar across the mouth of the bay, with a deep channel only on the lee side. Nobody but an experienced pilot who knew every inch of the way could have steered the yacht safely to her anchorage ground.
"Um," Endellion said as he looked around him. "I don't know that I am particularly enamored with this. It may be the finest pearl-fishing in the world, but there's not enough elbow-room for my taste. If we get caught here, we shall be like rats in a trap. We shan't even have a fighting chance."
Jim Shi smiled reassuringly.
"Oh, that will be all right, Mr. Endellion," he said. "We can keep a watch post on top of the cliff yonder much more efficiently than you could from the deck of the boat. And we could warp out in an hour. And given the Gehenna half a league, there's not a gunboat in the Japanese navy that could touch her."
All of which was perfectly true, so that Endellion did not contest the point. Therefore, he resigned himself cheerfully to the hands of his guide, and for the next day or two spent a good deal more time in the company of the fascinating Lota than is consistent with the shibboleths of a hardened woman-hater.
Meanwhile, the pearl-fishing proceeded in earnest, and continued for the best part of a fortnight with quite lamentable results so far as the Red Cross was concerned. Day followed day with not more than a mere handful of pearls recovered from the vasty deep, and those of a quality not likely to cause any sensation on the market.
Jim Shi shook his head and professed not to understand. It was here, he said, that he had seen enough pearls harvested in a month to supply the markets of Europe for years. Perhaps there had been an epidemic amongst the pearl oysters, perhaps some other enterprising adventurer had forestalled them. And again, there had been high seas running out in the open, accompanied by heavy gales, and perhaps this had disturbed the fishery. But, anyway, the pearls were not there.
To all of which Wallace listened with a certain grim cynicism. He was the one of the Buccaneers who understood more of the language of the coolies and the Kanakas than all the rest of his colleagues put together. So one evening after dinner, when the rest of them were seated over their coffee and cigarettes in the cabin, he sneaked forward with a bottle of rum, and proceeded to open the hearts of a couple of the Kanakas who had been helping in the diving operations.
They were shy enough at first, reticent and suspicious of the white man who asked many questions, but gradually as the generous spirit warmed them they became more communicative.
"No pearls, here, master," the bigger of the Kanakas volunteered. "Been no pearls here for years. Just a few of 'em, but not worth coming all this way for. China master, he know that as well as we do."
"Oh, he does, does he?" Wallace said softly.
"Just so, boss. We came with him two year before, an' find nothing. All gone to American man, and Japanese man all finished. No doing, master."
A few minutes later Wallace crept away, turning over this problem in his mind. Now, what the deuce was that wily Chinaman about? Why had he dragged the Gehenna and her crew all this way on a wild-goose chase, and practically imprisoned them in this rock-bound lagoon? And why had he talked so glibly about the dangers of the expedition and the perils of Japanese destroyers unless it had been with the desire to appeal to their innate love of adventure? Unless, perhaps, he had designs on the yacht.
Ah, that was it, no doubt. It came to Wallace like a lightning flash. Ever since the Gehenna had first bulked largely on the ex-Mandarin's vision he had talked about nothing else. He never lost an opportunity to get on board, he had studied the yacht with loving intention from her funnels to her keel. And had he not more than once declared that he would gladly sacrifice all he possessed to call himself the owner of a boat like the Gehenna?
The more Wallace thought over the matter the less he liked it. He reflected that the Buccaneers knew little or nothing of the Chinaman, and that there would probably have been no particularly friendly intercourse between them had it not been for Lota and her manifest charms. And then again Wallace thought of those well-trained, well-drilled coolies who were quite at home on board the craft. And he thought more especially of the little Japanese called Li, the taciturn Oriental who had hardly spoken a word since he came on board, and had taken over the Gehenna in the character of pilot.
These suspicions Wallace confided to his companions an hour or so later, when Jim Shi and his daughter had retired and the Gentle Buccaneers had the cabin to themselves. At first Endellion was disposed to make light of what Wallace said, but gradually his arguments went home, and for a few minutes an uneasy silence reigned in the cabin.
"But what do you make of it?" Endellion asked.
"I'm dashed if I know," Wallace said. "At any rate, you can see for yourself that there are no pearls here, and those Kanakas were telling the truth when they said the fishing-ground had been worked out years ago. The question for you chaps who have got more brains than I have is, why did the Chinaman bring us here, and what does he expect to gain by it?"
The Buccaneers looked from one to the other doubtfully.
"Can any of you chaps see where the catch comes in?" Endellion asked. "For I am hanged if I can. Still, there must be one somewhere, and I think the best thing we can do is to get out of it as soon as possible. So I'll tackle Jim Shi in the morning."
Jim Shi was blandly regretful, profusely apologetic, but at the same time, raised no objections. He was almost like a Frenchman in his profuse apologies. He himself had been deceived, and so, he was quite sure, had his daughter. And Lota sighed and simpered with many sentimental glances from those fine eyes of hers, though she was cheered by the reflection that she had had quite a good time in the company of the Buccaneers. She would see them again some day, perhaps, and so forth and so on, to the great delight and comfort of most of the party with the exception of Endellion, who was still worried.
He was worried all the more when he discovered how slack had been the watch which had been kept on the top of the cliff, and he was inclined to curse himself roundly when he regarded the big basalt rocks on either side and realised, perhaps for the first time, what a rat-trap he was in if anything happened to prevent the Gehenna from putting to sea. So, without saying anything to anyone, he made arrangements to get up anchor the following morning, and daybreak saw the nose of the yacht turned to the open.
And that, sad to relate, was as far as she went. The pilot came on the bridge an hour later with a serious face and announced the fact that the narrow channel by the side of the sandbar had entirely silted up. There was not sufficient room, so the Japanese averred, to warp out a barge. What had happened he did not know, but the fact remained that the yacht was a prisoner as securely fixed there as if she had been towed by a submarine into a German harbor.
Naturally enough, in the exciting pastime of pearl-fishing, nobody had noticed what had been going on, and, in any case, nobody could have expected it. But here they were landlocked in that long tongue of shining water with the high cliffs on three sides of them. If they could not get away, and that appeared to be absolutely impossible, then they would have to hang on there until the provisions were exhausted and slowly starve to death. That was unless help came along, which was extremely problematical.
At the suggestion of Li, the pilot, Endellion went out himself in one of the ship's boats to assure himself that the catastrophe had not been exaggerated. Half an hour convinced him that Li's statement was no more than the truth. Then, for the next few hours, something like consternation reigned on the deck of the Gehenna.
True to his caste, Jim Shi was imperturbable enough, and so, too, was his daughter. If it was the will of the gods of the lagoon that they should all perish, then they must. With which Jim Shi helped himself to another cigar and sat himself with great comfort on the deck.
"It is fate, Mr. Endellion," he said. "Some hidden trick of the sea, perhaps a slight earthquake somewhere. We shall have to pole the boats over the sandbar and leave the Gehenna here. She may be still in the lagoon when we get back, but I very much doubt it. If one of those Japanese gunboats comes along they'll blow her all to pieces. I hope that she is properly insured."
"Not for a bob," Endellion said. "If you can tell me where I can insure what is practically a pirate ship, then I shall be greatly obliged."
"Mayn't I be permitted to do it myself?" Jim Shi asked suavely. "As I got you into this mess, I feel that I must do my best to get you out of it. I ask you to sell me the yacht as she stands, of course, at a speculative price, and if I can manage to get her off again, then it will be all the better for me. It is a fair offer."
"So it seems," Endellion said drily. "But I should like to consult the others first."
Endellion went off coolly enough, but he was raging inwardly. That some diabolical trick was being played upon himself and his companions by this wily Oriental he did not doubt for a moment.
"But what is it?" he asked the others. "How is it worked? That channel is silted up all right, and we are prisoners. Now I don't believe that Jim Shi and his coolies could have carried the sand there, and it certainly wasn't there when we got inside. I believe that blackguard of a pilot could tell us if he liked."
"By gad, he shall," Wallace cried. "Now you leave him to me. I can speak enough of his language."
An hour before dawn Wallace, revolver in hand, walked into Endellion's cabin with Li following reluctantly behind. Wallace closed the door.
"Now, then, spit it out," he said.
"Jim Shi is my master," Li suggested.
"Something more than that, isn't he?" Wallace said encouragingly. "Don't be shy."
"My master," Li repeated doggedly. "I work for him for two year. He pay me little, so little that I can hardly live, and then, excellencies——"
"You borrowed a bit," Wallace prompted.
At this point Li found his tongue.
"Two hundred of your pounds," he said. "To escape to my own country. For I was not so much a servant as a slave. And that great fat devil, he found out, and he threaten to lock me up in the prison house. Since that date he pay me nothing, he beat and starve me, so I have hardly no food till the big white yacht comes along, and then the fat devil grows kind. Because I know the secret of this place. Because I can make the channel to close himself and shut in the great white yacht so that she goes to sea no more. And then Jim Shi he buys the boat at his own price, and then when the times comes and the white men from the west are gone the channel he open to himself again and behold the ship belongs to my master."
"Oh, so that's the game, it it?" Endellion said softly. "Now, my friend, how much?"
"Oh, don't you worry about that," Wallace chipped in. "I have settled with our friend here. Now, Li, I am going to lock you in my cabin till the morning. Not that I mistrust you, but I want to be on the safe side. After breakfast you and I and the skipper are going up to the top of the lagoon on a little shooting expedition. You are going to show us where we can find a seal or two. And, incidentally, you are going to show us something else."
"That's so, master," the impassive Li agreed. "You pay me and I serve you well. Give me money to get back to my own country, and I'll show you everything."
"Oh, that's all right," Wallace said. "Come along."
With that he shepherded the little Jap in his own cabin and returned to Endellion again.
"Let's have it," the latter said.
"Well, the whole thing's an ingenious plant," Wallace explained. "We were lured here on purpose. That greasy old Chink wants the yacht, and, but for a bit of sheer luck, I guess he would have got it. Now, this game has been played before on a smaller scale, though it has only been possible since the pearls gave out. I didn't know what the game was in the least, but I have had my eye on our friend Li for a day or two and I didn't quite like the way he was shaping. So when the bottom fell out of everything this morning I thought I'd tackle him, and I did. I couldn't frighten him—you can't frighten a man who looks upon Hari Kari as a sort of luxury—so I dropped that tack and tried bribery instead. I told the little blighter that I knew there was a trick somewhere and offered him five hundred of the best and a passage to his native land if he would give the show away. You see, I knew he must know all about it, being the pilot. Then, by gad, he nearly wept on my neck and cursed Jim Shi by a thousand gods. Then I got the whole thing out of him. It's all right, old man."
"Oh, is it?" Endellion said dubiously. "Then perhaps you had better tell me. This is the time when even my friend, Marcus Aurelius, is a little wanting."
"I tell you it's all right," Wallace protested. "We can't get off to-morrow quietly with the Jap, then you'll see for yourself. I don't want to spoil your pleasure."
Whereupon Endellion ceased his questions and retired to spend a sleepless night. They got off in the morning in one of the boats and pulled up under the head of the lagoon on the sand at the foot of the big frowning cliff. The tide was beginning to make, and already the sea was forming at the mouth of the caves along the cliff. Into one of these Li made his way, followed by his companions until he reached the dripping weed-clad wall at the far end. Then he stooped down and did something with a long rusty bar that appeared to be a lever, and as if by magic a hole appeared at the back of the cave showing a wide expanse of sea and wave and sky beyond. An immense fragment of rock balanced on its slippery base had turned sideways, and Endellion gasped as he began to grasp the inwardness of it all.
"I think I begin to understand," he said. "Now, I wonder who hit upon that ingenious dodge? What clever adventurer found out the secret of that rocking stone?"
"So you have tumbled to it?" Wallace asked.
"I think so," Endellion said. "At half tide this cave is full of water, and so long as there is no outlet for the current the sand on the bar at the far entrance begins to silt up. With the strong tides running here the sand would silt enough in a week to keep the Gehenna here for ever. But in a long tongue of water like this directly that hole was made the strong tide would suck all that sand away in the course of a week. Isn't that right, Li?"
"Quite right, master," Li said. "We leave him big hole open and in two or three days' time the bar is clear again. Ah, this is not the first time this what you call game has been played here. Chinamen he know the secret since nearly a century ago, and when I was diver here I learnt him, and because I thought it would please Jim Shi, I told him, too. And when the white excellencies come along with a big beautiful yacht Jim Shi tells me the story of the pearls, and they come here to see for themselves, and they come to stay as you'd say. But Jim Shi he no good. Much cruel man who care nothing for poor Japanese so long he make use of him. And when the excellency there with the glass in his eye promised me five hundred of your pounds and a passage home, then I tell the truth. And why, because I don't care damn for Jim Shi any more."
This fairly lucid explanation being satisfactory, a seal or two was dispatched by way of giving proper local color to the expedition, and a quiet, thoughtful, though absolutely satisfied shooting party returned to the yacht. To one by one, in the seclusion of his cabin, was told the secret by Endellion.
At any rate, there was no interference now with the natural flow of the tide that ran through the cave under an arm in the big cliffs, and for the next two or three nights the Gentle Buccaneers sat down to dine with their Oriental guests with an easy mind and the comfortable assurance that the fourth day would see them well out to sea again.
It was a case of gathering roses whilst they might, a sort of false, reckless gaiety with the fear of starvation before their eyes, a kind of philosophy that Jim Shi openly applauded. He could afford to wait till the time came to drive a hard bargain with Endellion and therefore he was more than usually friendly.
So, also, was the fascinating Lota until she came smilingly on deck just before breakfast on the fourth morning, followed by her father. But the smiles disappeared from the faces of both of them as if by magic when they found that instead of being still at anchor in the lagoon, they were moving smoothly and noiselessly over a golden sea as smooth as a mirror. Just for a moment Jim Shi's face changed, and there was a murderous gleam in his eye as he turned his head in the direction of the rigid Li, who was engrossed at the wheel. Lota smiled blandly at the Buccaneers, then turned away with a request that her breakfast might be brought to her in her cabin. With his glass firmly fixed in his eye and his hands in the pocket of his immaculate duck jacket, Endellion approached his guest.
"A nice little surprise for you, I think," he said. "How gratified you must be, my friend, to think that you have not brought disaster upon those people for whom you entertain so high a regard. No explanations are necessary, a fact that I need hardly dilate upon. Now listen. I am going to put you on the first tramp steamer that comes along, together with your charming daughter. It is an exceedingly fortunate thing for you that she is here, because otherwise I should have had great pleasure in taking you by the scruff of the neck and throwing you into the sea. Now, then, come to breakfast."