Shivers for Christmas (27 page)

‘“That’s all very well,” said the purser, looking at him hard (I heard all this from Lacey, who does for the purser), “but there’s been a complaint made, and your name has been mentioned by Colonel Markson. He says he knows that you are a card man and a dangerous character.”

‘Lew shook his head.

‘“I don’t know the colonel,” he said, “except by sight. He’s probably mistaken. It’s easy to make mistakes. The first time I saw him I mistook him for a fellow named Hoyle that’s wanted in London for the London and City Bank affair—they got away with twelve thousand pounds. Tell him that, will you, and apologize to him for my mind harbouring such libellous thoughts.”

‘On Christmas evening I saw the colonel talking to young Captain Fairburn at the door of Captain Fairburn’s state-room. They were very friendly and they were both laughing.

‘“I’m afraid I shall have to give you a cheque if I lose any more,” said the captain.

‘That was all. When he’d gone down to dinner I went into his cabin. He had been playing cards. How they got to be friendly I don’t know. You can never keep tracks of things like that. You see a man and a girl pass without noticing one another the first day out. By the time the Irish coast is out of sight they are meeting on deck at daybreak and getting in the way of the watch that has to scrub down. Before they get to Sandy Hook they are receiving congratulations by wireless from their friends and relatives.

‘Young Captain Fairburn came in after dinner to get some cigarettes.

‘“Excuse me, Captain,” I said, “but I shouldn’t play cards in your state-room if I were you.”

‘“Why not, steward?” he asked, surprised. “Is it against the rules of the ship?”

‘“No, sir,” says I, “but it’s dangerous.”

‘“Stuff!” said he. “I was only playing with Colonel Markson—you’re not suggesting that he is a thief, are you?”

‘“No, sir,” I says. When people start asking me if I suggest that somebody is a thief, I resign.

‘That is why stewards can’t help passengers. Passengers know it all. They’re men of the world, by gum!

‘As soon as I had finished my eight state-rooms, I had to join one of the search parties that were hunting through the ship for the lost property. Our purser was still certain that matter must occupy space, and we searched space from the crow’s-nest to the bunkers. I didn’t see or hear anything of what happened in the smoke-room, and I never knew till the next morning that the colonel and Julius had played cut-throat poker with young Fairburn in full view of the smoke-room, and that the Captain had lost a lot more than he could afford. In fact, the cheque he gave was for four figures. The deck steward told me that when they came out on the promenade, he heard the colonel say to Julius: “That settles our young friend’s matrimonial plans—if he had any.”

‘At this moment I was on the boat deck having my second pipe. I was naturally lying doggo—in other words, invisible—not wishing to be seen by any of the ship’s officers or the master at arms, and the night being cold, I was wedged between the second officer’s cabin and the wireless house. From where I sat I had a limited view, and if the couple hadn’t stopped right opposite to where I was, I’d have missed everything. But I always have been lucky that way. All that I could hear at first was a woman crying, and somehow I guessed it was “Mrs Markson”. Perhaps it was because she was the only woman I had seen crying since the voyage started.

‘But when I heard the man’s voice, why, I nearly jumped. It was Lew Isaacs.

‘“Oh, Lew, I’ve treated you badly. I don’t deserve anything …”

‘I saw him put his arm round her shoulder, and I knew by the way her sobs were stifled that she was crying on to his chest.

‘“I bear no ill will, Minnie,” he said. “I’ve always said that if you liked Hoyle better than me, you were entitled to marry him, old girl.”

‘There was a long silence, and then she said:

‘“I’m not married, Lew.”

‘He said nothing for a minute, and when he did speak, he seemed to have turned the subject.

‘“He told the purser that I was in that Father Christmas job. That’s the kind of swine Hoyle is. Where’s the stuff, Min …? You needn’t tell me. It is in the calcium canister of one of these life-buoys. Had it ready planted and painted and substituted it one dark night, eh? It’s an old trick of Hoyle’s.”

‘My hair almost stood up. Round all the promenade decks are life-buoys hooked to the rail. Attached are cans containing a chemical to light up the moment it touches water. The lid of the canister is jerked off automatically as the life-buoy is thrown. It was the simplest idea in the world. Hoyle had a duplicate life-buoy in his cabin baggage. One dark night—probably the first night out—he’d carry it up to the boat deck and put it in the place of another that he’d throw overboard after cutting the cord that opened the calcium tin. He wouldn’t have a chance of doing it on the promenade, but the boat deck was dark and was easily reached.

‘They were talking in low tones and I could only catch an occasional word. Then, just as they were turning to go, I heard her whisper:

‘“There he is!”

‘It was the colonel. I caught a whiff of his cigar before I saw him.

‘“Hullo! That’s Lew Isaacs, isn’t it? Meeting old friends, eh, Min?”

‘“Hoyle, I’ve got a word or two to say to you. The first is business. You’ve been breaking into our game to-night with that young officer. Tad is pretty mad about it.”

‘“Got a franchise to work the Western Ocean, Lew? What do I have to do—get a written permission before I work a ship?”

‘“That’s one thing,” said Lew. “Here’s another, and that is business too. You told the purser that I was in your Santa Claus game.”

‘“He knew all about you,” said the colonel, and I saw the red end of his cigar gleaming and fading. “It did you no harm, and testified to my respectability—that’s right, eh, Lew? Anything more?”

‘Lew struck a match to light his cigarette, and I saw his face. Saw the woman’s too—just for a fraction of a second.

‘“You’ve got a young girl in your outfit—secretary or something. What’s the great idea?”

‘The colonel laughed softly.

‘“Min’s been talking, eh? Jealous. Well, Lew, it’s like this: Men grow old and it doesn’t matter. Looks are not my asset. They are in the case of Min. There’s no sense in seeing these things sentimentally. When a card man loses his fingers he’s finished, isn’t he? When Min loses her looks … Well, be sensible. I can’t work with a plain woman. She’s got to hook first time, Lew. Isn’t that common sense? It’s tough on Min, but I’m going to play fair. She’s got a big roll coming to her—’

‘“What about the girl? She’s a decent woman and a countrywoman of mine,” said Lew.

‘Hoyle laughed again.

‘“I didn’t know that a Jew had a country, but we won’t argue. She’s a mighty nice girl, and when she’s a little wiser than she is at present … Anyway, we’re not going to quarrel.”

‘I saw the dark figure of Lew. He was leaning back with both his elbows on the rail.

‘“I never quarrel with a man who keeps his gun in his hand all the time,” he said, and I think that one struck home, for the colonel moved kind of startled.

‘“Besides,” said Lew, “I’m not actually in this. Off you go, Min, I want a chat about this Father Christmas notion.”

‘He took the arm of the colonel, and they went for’ard, and I followed Mrs Markson down the deck. The first person I went to see was the chief purser. I don’t want to say anything against the chief pursers of the “Starcuna” Line, but all I can say is that if there’s one with the brain of a Napoleon, I’ve never sailed with him. Our chief purser at the time was a man who thought in about fifty phrases, one of which I’ve told you. “Do nothing precipitate” was another. “Dereliction of duty” was also a great favourite. I don’t know what it means and I’ll bet he didn’t either.

‘“It’s an extraordinary story,” he said, “and I’ll report the matter to the captain first thing in the morning. We must do nothing precipitate. But what were you doing on the boat deck, Jenks, smoking? That was a dereliction of duty, surely! However, we’ll wait until the morning. I was certain the missing property would be found. Matter must occupy space.”

‘I was so agitated and put out that I went out to the promenade deck and helped the steward on duty stack up the chairs and collect the rugs and the library books. It was getting late, and I spotted Miss Colport and the captain very close together and looking over the rail. I suppose the sea was vaster than ever that night, for if they weren’t holding hands then I’m inexperienced. I can tell hand-holders a mile off.

‘Farther along the deck was Mrs Markson and Julius. They were talking together, too, but not so friendly.

It was late, and some of the bulkhead lights were out. I saw the second officer coming along the deck in his heavy overcoat and sea boots, and at that minute something flashed past the rail.

‘I heard the shriek, and then the second officer yelled:

‘“
Man overboard!
”

‘He sprang to the rail, lifted up a buoy, and flung it as the
Beramic
heeled over to port and the engines rang astern.

‘“The calcium light’s not burning,” shouted the second, and, racing along the deck, he flung over a second buoy. It hardly touched the water before it burst into a green flame.

‘“That works all right—what in hell was wrong with the other?” asked the second officer.

‘The
Beramic
was moving in a slow circle, and the watch had the fore lifeboat into the water in double quick time. The deck was crowded now. The passengers had flocked out of the saloon and the smoke-room, and were crowding up the companionway in their dressing-gowns. I think it was the “man boat” signal on the siren that roused ’em. The boat pulled round and reached the second buoy, but the first they never found, nor the man either.

‘“What is it, steward?”

‘I looked round and saw Mr Lew Isaacs. He was in his pyjamas and dressing-gown.

‘“A man overboard, sir,” I said; “and they threw him a buoy that had no calcium tank. I think it was Colonel Markson.”

‘“How extraordinary!” said Mr Lew Isaacs.

‘The captain had an inquiry next morning, and I told all that I’d heard. Mr Isaacs said he had never been on the boat deck, and so did Mrs Markson. All the life-buoys were examined, but none were found that had jewellery in the canister.

‘After the inquiry was over the captain had a talk with me.

‘“Two against one, Jenks,” he said. “This had better be an accident or a suicide, or anything you like. We don’t want this yarn of yours to get into the newspaper, do you understand?”

‘“Yes, sir,” I said.

‘“And don’t smoke on the boat deck, steward. If you want to smoke, come and have a pipe with me on the bridge.”

‘A very sarcastic person was the skipper of the
Beramic
.

‘I don’t think Captain Fairburn was as poor as Markson thought—even though his cheque was never presented.

‘The reason why I think this is because, when he came back to the
Beramic
about six months later, he had the honeymoon suite, and Mrs Fairburn (Miss Colport, that was) had the dandiest set of gold back brushes I’ve ever seen.’

__________________________________________

__________________________________________

‘Dick Donovan’ was the pseudonym and
alter ego
of J.E.P. Muddock (1843–1934), author of more than fifty mystery and detective volumes—many starring Donovan himself—and a frequent contributor to the
Strand
and most other popular magazines of the period. ‘Red Lily’ is taken from Donovan’s rare collection,
Tales of Terror
(1899).

O
n one of the wildest nights for which the Bay of Biscay is notorious, the sailing ship
Sirocco
was ploughing her way under close-reefed topsails across that stormy sea. The
Sirocco
was a large, full-rigged vessel, bound from Bombay towards England, her destination being London. She had a mixed cargo, though a large percentage of it was composed of jute. Four months had passed since she cleared from her port of lading, and was towed out of the beautiful harbour of Bombay in a dead calm. For many days after the tug left her the
Sirocco
did nothing but drift with the current. She was as ‘a painted ship upon a painted ocean’. No breath came out of the sultry heavens to waft her towards her haven in far away England. It was a bad beginning to the voyage. The time was about the middle of August, and all on board were anxiously looking forward to reaching their destination in time to spend Christmas at home. But as August wore out and September came in, and still the horrid calms continued, pleasant anticipations gave place to despair, for many a thousand leagues of watery wastes had to be sailed before the white cliffs of Albion would gladden the eyes of the wanderers.

The crew of the vessel numbered sixty hands all told, and in addition there were twenty saloon passengers. With two of these passengers we have now to deal. The one is a fair young girl, slender, tall, and delicate. She is exceedingly pretty. Her features are regular and delicately chiselled. Her hair is a soft, wavy, golden brown and her brown eyes are as liquid and gentle as a fawn’s. The pure whiteness of her neck and temples is contrasted by the most exquisite tinge of rose colour in the cheeks, which puts, as it were, a finish upon a perfect picture. The whiteness of her skin, the delicate flush in the face, the brown, flossy hair, the tall, slender, graceful figure were all so suggestive of the purest of flowers that her friends for many years had called her ‘Red Lily’. Her name was Lily Hetherington, and she yet wanted some months to the completion of her twenty-first birthday. Lily was the daughter of an officer of the Hon. East India Company’s Service—his only daughter, and by him worshipped. For many years he had been stationed in India, and at last, seeing no chance of returning to his wife and family, which consisted of two sons in addition to the girl, he requested them to join him in the East. This request was quickly and gladly complied with, and Mrs Hetherington and her children started on their journey. Mr Hetherington at that time was well off, for he had invested all his savings in the Agra and Masterman Bank, and held shares to a large amount in the concern, the stability of which, at that period, no one would have dared to have doubted. Indian officers throughout India swore by it, and they congratulated themselves, as they entrusted their hard-won money to the Bank, that they were making splendid provision for their wives and children when those wives and children should become widows and orphans.