The Isle of Devils (42 page)

Dunkley turned to me and held out his hand. “The slipper please, Doctor.”

My mouth was suddenly dry. “I am afraid that it is no longer in my room,” I stammered.

Dunkley frowned at me, as if he could not credit my statement. “I see,” he eventually said, following a pregnant pause. “Then pray be seated, Doctor.”

Although my legs were taught with emotion, I could not fail to obey his command and I sank into the nearest chair. Glancing at Lucy Dubois, I imagined that I saw a hint of pity in her eyes.

Dunkley shook off this setback. “No matter, there is already too much evidence for my taste. The trick is to recognize, out of a number of clues, which are incidental and which are vital.” He waved his
hand
over the table. “The vast majority of these items have no bearing whatsoever upon what I will term the Globe Hotel Mystery. They are merely distractions from the true reason that Mr. Dumas was murdered. In fact, there are only three items on this table that are of any assistance. The first are these interesting coins.” He picked up the silver coins and twirled them between his fingers. “These are coins not commonly seen in Bermuda. In fact, as the Marquesa so helpfully pointed out, these are coins from the days when the great heavily-laden treasure fleets still sailed from the Americas back to Spain. Many of those ships never reached their home shores, but instead lie littered upon the ocean floor after losing their way in one of many terrible storms. And what else comes from those wrecked ships? Why sea-glass! It always bothered me why these bits of glass were left upon the landing table. But the key of the whole matter was this crude note.” He reached over, and held it up for the inspection of the crowd. “Due to all of your kindly assistances, I have studied the writing of every man in this room, and I am confident that none of you, no matter how well you might have disguised your hand, could have possibly written this note. And yet the note explains Mr. Dumas’ reason for being in St. George’s. He was summoned her
e
. Or, to be more precise, he was summoned to ‘the place of the barrel.’ This strange phrase gave me much pause. And then a statement by Mr. Warburton made it all clear.”

I looked over at the English naturalist and noted that he appeared considerably astonished at the constable’s words. But Dunkley was not finished. “Mr. Warburton informed me that the unfortunate Mr. Dumas was highly interested in the art of dowsing. There is only one locale on
Bermuda that might be referred to as ‘the place of the barrel.’ That is Cooper’s Island. Cooper’s Island
lays
very close to here on the other side of St. David’s, the large island just across the harbor from where we stand. If you will be so kind as to listen, I will now tell you the tale of Cooper’s Island and Christopher Carter.” 

He paused and nodded in my direction. “Four days ago, the Doctor and I were fortunate enough to witness the recovery of a great lump of ambergris. At that time, I related to him the story of the Three Kings of Bermuda. With his permission, I will repeat it now.” He glanced over at me, and I gave him a silent assenting nod. The account that he proceeded to relate to the assembled company did not differ from the one I had recently heard. However, once it was complete he continued to describe what occurred after the confiscation of the men’s ambergris. “Rumors differ about what happened next. It is most probable that Carter betrayed his fellows Waters and Chard and gave evidence that they were solely responsible for the crimes committed. While the latter two may have been deported in chains, it is clear that Carter was allowed to remain on Bermuda, becoming its first permanent citizen. Furthermore, it was decided that Carter would be compensated for his share of the ambergris. It may be hard to fathom today with so many people crowded upon these isles, but in 1612 he was reportedly offered the entirety of massive St. David’s Island! Even more difficult to conceive, Carter supposedly rejected St. David’s in favor of the far smaller Cooper’s Island, which was readily granted to him. It is said that he spent the remainder of his days digging on that island. But what could he have been digging for?”

Dunkley raised his eyebrows suggestively. “The answer is obvious, of course. The treasure fleets had been returning from the New World since shortly after its discovery in 1492. There is definitive evidence that either the Spanish, or the Portuguese,” here his gaze swung over to Senhor Cordeiro, “landed upon Bermuda as early as 1543, for they carved it into the rugged surface of a rock over in Smith’s Parish. And it is said that on Cooper’s Island there were obvious signs of previous brief visitations. Most notable of these were a triangular pile of stones, too unnatural to be anything but the work of men, and a large inscribed metal plate affixed to one of the smooth-barked yellow-wood trees that once grew in the rocky woodlands of the isles. A plate that was not hung by English hands. Only two years later, two Spanish ships were spotted by Governor Moore approaching the east of the island – where Cooper’s lies, mark you – only to be repulsed by the garrison that he had established on Castle Island. The garrison had fired its very last shot when the Spanish finally turned their tails and fled, a fortunate occurrence or this island might today be
known as
Las Bermudas
and answer to a different monarch,” he nodded with mock regret at the Marquesa as he said these words. “It was clear in everyone’s minds that the Spanish ships were returning for one thing only – to reclaim their previously buried treasure, which they had marked with the stones and plate. These legends were enhanced when an old white-bearded Spanish sailor was interviewed in England. He told a tale of how he and his companions had brought ashore gold and treasure, burying it under repurposed wooden ship’s hatches between two sandy bays in a valley of what would become known as Ireland Island, where the Royal Navy’s Dockyard now resides. On certain days of the year when the sun rose unimpeded by clouds, the cross that was raised on the island across from this horde was clearly intended to point towards the repose of this still un-located fortune. And if you were to discount these tales as nothing but baseless rumors, you would be mistaken, for parts of the treasure have been unearthed! This was first proven in 1709, when a man named
John Hilton dug up
a hundred and fifty
ounces of Spanish Silver
not far from here
.
And then, in 1726 a Spanish jar came to light on Cooper’s Island, its innards stuffed with gold plate, golden tankards, and doubloons. Is there more to be discovered? Only time will tell.”

The assembled company stared at Constable Dunkley intently when he completed this extraordinary narrative. There was little sound in the room, as if the group was holding its collective breath, wondering what came next. The constable studied them for a moment, and then continued. “Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, it is my belief that Mr. Dumas came to our island in order to search for the remainder of the great Spanish Treasure Trove. This explains why he was staying in out-of-the-way St. George’s, rather than the more central comforts of Hamilton. In order to avoid the heavy taxes imposed by the government on any recovered loot, any treasure recovery would have necessitated great secrecy. There are still plenty of men here who recall the great wealth that blockade running once provided, and who would not be much perturbed to risk some clandestine treasure-hunting. Some of them are former wreckers, and no better than out-and-out pirates. Clearly, Mr. Dumas contacted some of these men, one whose name begins with a ‘B.’ Unfortunately for hi
s future health
,
he
eventually must have had a falling out with the gang of thieves, quarreling over the division of some of the recovered treasure. This explains the grotesque placement of the Spanish coins upon his eyes. It was obviously intended to serve as a warning to others not to betray the group over monetary disputes. One of the infernal rouges must have set the ladder up against the house, an event unlikely to be noticed under the cover of the distracting storm.”

Although I had ben entranced by the almost mythical quality of Dunkley’s tale there were many parts that bothered me, and I finally decided to speak up. “But how did they drug the wine?”

Dunkley turned to me and nodded sagely. “Clearly one of the gang must have entered the hotel earlier that day, once it became apparent that a great storm was brewing, and had been in hiding ever since. I suspect that he must have slipped into the upstairs W.C. Any guest attempting to utilize it during the day would have naturally assumed that it was occupied by another guest at the moment, and would have repaired to the one by the kitchen instead. This man must have been an expert in picking locks, for he absconded with the hypodermic syringe of Dr. Nemcek, one of Mr. Dubois’ pistols, and some of Mr. Aicardi’s paints. He then fled via the previously arranged ladder into the garden, clambered over the low wall, and took refuge in a bolt hole prepared by one of his fellow thieves.”

I shook my head. “That would have taken more than a cool hand and an iron nerve. It would have taken extraordinary luck. Surely such excursions would have been noted by someone?” I protested.

“Not if they occurred while the guests were assembled below. Did you not say that everyone gathered to listen to Mrs. Dubois playing the violin? What better time to carry out his schemes?”

“And the sea-glass? What part did it play?”

Dunkley shook his head. “I cannot say for certain. But I will tell you my theory. I think it was sent to Dumas earlier that day as a final warning to play fair with the rest of the gang. That is something that secret societies are wont to do. And he would have recognized the implications of the sea-glass due to the locale of the treasure. One of the overwhelming arguments against the continued existence of Spanish treasure upon Bermuda is the question of the location of its whereabouts. So much of the isles have been exhaustively explored, especially Cooper’s. One possibility is that it is secreted in a cave. We know that at least a few exist on the isles, especially in the porous limestone that comprises much of Hamilton Parish, and there are continued rumors that others remain to be found. So what reason could exist why a cave might remain undiscovered to this day? What if it was submerged?” He said triumphantly.

“But if it was submerged, how could they recover any treasure from it?”

“Ah, that is why the men here required a foreign partner. Or to be more precise, why they needed a French partner. You see, Doctor, last night I carefully examined the receipted accounts that we found in the murdered man’s room. Most of them did not appear to have any bearing upon this case, but one puzzled me. It was a reference to a book published by a Frenchman named Bert and
entitled
La Pression Ba
rométrique
.
I had little idea what the book was about, but I sent this information to my chief,
Superintendent Clarke
, and he made inquiries amongst the learned in Hamilton. Imagine my surprise to learn that this book dealt with a method of how to safely pump air through a hose into a transparent helmet so that a man could operate for an extended period of time underwater. It then all became clear. The local villains can barely read English. They would have needed someone to translate the book without questioning how they intended to employ their newfound knowledge.”

The assembled company was silent as they appeared to ponder this. After a span of about a minute, Mr. Sims finally ventured to ask a question. “Constable, who do you then intend to charge for the crime?”

Dunkley shrugged. “I will round up the usual rouge’s gallery of ne’er-do-wells. With the proper pressure, it is exceedingly possible that one of them will crack like a nut and spill all, implicating his collaborators in the hopes of sparing his own miserable hide. If not, then I will have to recommend to the jury that they bring a verdict of murder by persons unknown.”

As if a spigot had been turned and a great pressure released, the room erupted in a great babble of conversation. Each man turned to the fellow next to him with a flurry of laughs and handshakes. Even the dour Marquesa appeared to crack a sardonic grin. I alone sat quietly, unhappy with this explanation. I must confess that I was out of my depths. It was still all dark to me, but I felt that the constable had failed to provide a spark to illuminate the murky quagmire of Dumas’ murder. It was then that someone new arrived upon the scene, with a banging upon the front door. To my great surprise, when Mrs. Foster opened it, she encountered Lieutenant Thurston with a telegram in his hand. He eagerly scanned the room until his gaze alighted upon me.

“Ah, Doctor,” exclaimed the soldier, breathlessly. “You brother sent me here in all haste, as he was certain that you would want to see this wire from Dockyard.” He handed it to me, and I read it eagerly. The text was short. It ran:
‘The symbol you describe in conjunction with the
suggestive initials can only pertain to one entity, the
Légion étrangère
, better known in the Queen’s tongue as the French Foreign Legion. I hope this may be of assistance with your inquiry. I remain your obedient servant, etc. etc. Dr. Edward Lewton Penny.’