CHAPTER XXIX
SCARVELL'S CUT
The quiet place was a narrow alley, which opening out of the MarketSquare in which the car had come to a halt, suddenly twisted away into alabyrinth of ancient buildings that lay between the centre of the townand the river. Not until Spurge had conducted Copplestone quite away fromtheir late companions did he turn and speak; when he spoke his words wereaccompanied by a glance which suggested mystery as well as confidence.
"Guv'nor!" he said. "What's going to be done?"
"Have you pulled me down here to ask that?" exclaimed Copplestone, alittle impatiently. "Good heavens, man, with all these complicationsarising--the gold gone, the Squire dead--why, there'll have to be apretty deep consultation, of course. We'd better get back to it."
But Spurge shook his head.
"Not me, guv'nor!" he said resolutely. "I ain't no opinion o'consultations with lawyers and policemen--plain clothes or otherwise.They ain't no mortal good whatever, guv'nor, when it comes to horsesense! 'Cause why? 'Tain't their fault--it's the system. They can'tdo nothing, start nothing, suggest nothing!--they can only do thingsin the official, cut-and-dried, red-tape way, Guv'nor--you and mecan do better."
"Well?" asked Copplestone.
"Listen!" continued Spurge. "There ain't no doubt that that gold wascarried off early this morning--must ha' been between the time I left Jimand sun-up, 'cause they'd want to do the job in darkness. Ain't noreasonable doubt, neither, that the motor-car what they used came hereinto Norcaster. Now, guv'nor, I ask you--where is it possible they'd makefor? Not a railway station, 'cause them boxes 'ud be conspicuous and easytraced when inquiry was made. And yet they'd want to get 'em away--assoon as possible. Very well--what's the other way o' getting any stuffout o' Norcaster? What? Why--that!"
He jerked his thumb in the direction of a patch of grey water which shonedully at the end of the alley and while his thumb jerked his eye winked.
"The river!" he went on. "The river, guv'nor! Don't this here river,running into the free and bounding ocean six miles away, offer the bestchance? What we want to do is to take a look round these here docks andquays and wharves--keeping our eyes open--and our ears as well. Come onwith me, guv'nor--I know places all along this riverside where you couldhide the Bank of England till it was wanted--so to speak."
"But the others?" suggested Copplestone. "Hadn't we better fetch them?"
"No!" retorted Spurge, assertively. "Two on us is enough. You trust tome, guv'nor--I'll find out something. I know these docks--and all that'salongside 'em. I'd do the job myself, now--but it'll be better to havesomebody along of me, in case we want a message sending for help oranything of that nature. Come on--and if I don't find out before noon ifthere's any queer craft gone out o' this since morning--why, then, Iain't what I believe myself to be."
Copplestone, who had considerable faith in the poacher's shrewdness,allowed himself to be led into the lowest part of the town--low in morethan one sense of the word. Norcaster itself, as regards its ancientand time-hallowed portions, its church, its castle, its officialbuildings and highly-respectable houses, stood on the top of a lowhill; its docks and wharves and the mean streets which intersected themhad been made on a stretch of marshland that lay between the foot ofthat hill and the river. And down there was the smell of tar and ofmerchandise, and narrow alleys full of sea-going men and raucous-voicedwomen, and queer nooks and corners, and ships being laden and shipsbeing stripped of their cargoes and such noise and confusion andinextricable mingling and elbowing that Copplestone thought it was aslikely to find a needle in a haystack as to make anything out relatingto the quest they were engaged in.
But Zachary Spurge, leading him in and out of the throngs on the wharves,now taking a look into a dock, now inspecting a quay, now stopping toexchange a word or two with taciturn gentlemen who sucked their pipes atthe corners of narrow streets, now going into shady-looking public housesby one door and coming out at another, seemed to be remarkably wellsatisfied with his doings and kept remarking to his companion that theywould hear something yet. Nevertheless, by noon they had heard nothing,and Copplestone, who considered casual search of this sort utterlypurposeless, announced that he was going to more savoury neighborhoods.
"Give it another turn, guv'nor," urged Spurge. "Have a bit o' faith inme, now! You see, guv'nor, I've an idea, a theory, as you might term it,of my very own, only time's too short to go into details, like. Trust mea bit longer, guv'nor--there's a spot or two down here that I'm fairkeen on taking a look at--come on, guv'nor, once more!--this isScarvell's Cut."
He drew his unwilling companion round a corner of the wharf which theywere just then patrolling and showed him a narrow creek which, hemmed inby ancient buildings, some of them half-ruinous, sail-lofts, and shedsfull of odds and ends of merchandise, cut into the land at an irregularangle and was at that moment affording harbourage to a mass of smallvessels, just then lying high and dry on the banks from which the tidehad retreated. Along the side of this creek there was just as muchcrowding and confusion as on the wider quays; men were going in and outof the sheds and lofts; men were busy about the sides of the small craft.And again the feeling of uselessness came over Copplestone.
"What's the good of all this, Spurge!" he exclaimed testily. "You'llnever--"
Spurge suddenly laid a grip on his companion's elbow and twisted himaside into a narrow entry between the sheds.
"That's the good!" he answered in an exulting voice. "Look there,guv'nor! Look at that North Sea tug--that one, lying out there! Whoseface is, now a-peeping out o' that hatch? Come, now?"
Copplestone looked in the direction which Spurge indicated. There, lyingmoored to the wharf, at a point exactly opposite a tumble-down sail-loft,was one of those strongly-built tugs which ply between the fishing fleetsand the ports. It was an eminently business-looking craft, rakish for itsclass, and it bore marks of much recent sea usage. But Copplestone gaveno more than a passing glance at it--what attracted and fascinated hiseyes was the face of a man who had come up from her depths and waslooking out of a hatchway on the top deck--looking expectantly at thesail-loft. There was grime and oil on that face, and the neck whichsupported the unkempt head rose out of a rough jersey, but Copplestonerecognized his man smartly enough. In spite of the attempt to look like atug deck-hand there was no mistaking the skipper of the _Pike_.
"Good heavens!" he muttered, as he stared across the crowded quay."Andrius!"
"Right you are, guv'nor," whispered Spurge. "It's that very same, and nomistake! And now you'll perhaps see how I put things together, like. Nodoubt those folk as sent Sir Cresswell that message did see the _Pike_going east last evening--just so, but there wasn't no reason, consideringwhat that chap and his lot had at stake why they shouldn't put him andone or two more, very likely, on one of the many tugs that's to be metwith out there off the fishing grounds. What I conclude they did,guv'nor, was to charter one o' them tugs and run her in here. And Iexpect they've got the stuff on board her, now, and when the tide comesup, out they'll go, and be off into the free and open again, to pick the_Pike_ up somewhere 'twixt here and the Dogger Bank. Ah!--smart 'uns theyare, no doubt. But--we've got 'em!"
"Not yet," said Copplestone. "What are we to do. Better go back and gethelp, eh?"
He was keenly watching Andrius, and as the skipper of the _Pike_ suddenlymoved, he drew Spurge further into the alley.
"He's coming out of that hatchway!" whispered Copplestone. "If he comesashore he'll see us, and then--"
"No matter, guv'nor," said Spurge reassuringly. "They can't get out o'Scarvell's Cut into the river till the tide serves. Yes, that's Cap'nAndrius right enough--and he's coming ashore."
Andrius had by that time drawn himself out of the hatchway and nowrevealed himself in the jersey, the thick leg-wear, and short sea-bootsof an oceangoing man. Copplestone's recollection of him as he showedhimself on board the _Pike_ was of a very smartly attired, ratherdandified person--only some deep scheme, he knew, would have caused himto
assume this disguise, and he watched him with interest as he rolledashore and disappeared within the lower story of the sail-loft. Spurge,too, watched with all his eyes, and he turned to Copplestone with a gleamof excitement.
"Guv'nor!" he said. "We've trapped 'em beautiful! I know that place--I'veworked in there in my time. I know a way into it, from the back--we'llget in that way and see what's being done. 'Tain't worked no longer, thatsail-loft--it's all falling to pieces. But first--help!"
"How are we to get that?" asked Copplestone, eagerly.
"I'll go it," replied Spurge. "I know a man just aback of here that'llrun up to the town with a message--chap that can be trusted, sure andfaithful. 'Bide here five minutes, sir--I'll send a message to Mr.Vickers--this chap'll know him and'll find him. He can come down with therest--and the police, too, if he likes. Keep your eyes skinned, guv'nor."
He twisted away like an eel into the crowd of workers and idlers, andleft Copplestone at the entrance to the alley, watching. And he had notbeen so left more than a couple of minutes when a woman slipped past themouth of the alley, swiftly, quietly, looking neither to right nor left,of whose veiled head and face he caught one glance. And in that glance herecognized her--Addie Chatfield!
But in the moment of that glance Copplestone also recognized somethingvastly more important. Here was the explanation of the mystery of theearly-morning doings at the old tower. The footprints of a woman who worefashionable and elegant boots? Addie Chatfield, of course! Was she notold Peter's daughter, a chip of the old block, even though a femininechip? And did not he and Gilling know that she had been mixed up withPeter at the Bristol affair? Great Scott!--why, of course. Addie was anaccomplice in all these things!
If Copplestone had the least shadow of doubt remaining in his mind as tothis conclusion, it was utterly dissipated when, peering cautiously roundthe corner of his hiding-place, he saw Addie disappear within the oldsail-loft into which Andrius had betaken himself. Of course, she had goneto join her fellow-conspirators. He began to fume and fret, cursinghimself for allowing Spurge to bring him down there alone--if only theyhad had Gilling and Vickers with them, armed as they were--
"All right, guv'nor!" Spurge suddenly whispered at his shoulder. "They'llbe here in a quarter of an hour--I telephoned to 'em."
"Do you know what?" exclaimed Copplestone, excitedly. "Old Chatfield'sdaughter's gone in there, where Andrius went. Just now!"
"What--the play-actress!" said Spurge. "You don't say, guv'nor? Ha!--thatexplains everything--that's the missing link! Ha! But we'll soon knowwhat they're after, Mr. Copplestone. Follow me--quiet as a mouse."
Once more submitting to be led, Copplestone followed his queer guidealong the alley.