CHAPTER XI
The Old Man is Disturbed
Captain Antonius Bullock had turned in for the night. He had receivedthe reports of the officer of the watch and the engineer of the watch,the time signals and weather reports from the Wireless Officer, and wasnow free from the cares of command until such time as his stewardcalled him. He might be called within the next minute; but with luckhe hoped to remain undisturbed until six bells in the morning watch.
It was now 1 a.m. The _West Barbican_ had passed Ushant twenty milesto port, and was entering the Bay of Biscay.
The weather was still cold, but the wind had moderated considerably,coming off the land. The Bay was on its best behaviour, andconsequently the passengers, who were beginning to find their sea-legs,were wandering farther afield than the limited expanse between thesaloon and their respective cabins.
The notice on the Old Man's door, "Don't knock, come in", haddisappeared. Captain Bullock had seen to that. It served its purposewhen the ship was getting ready for sea, but once the passengers cameon board the brusque invitation vanished.
Although the air without was raw it was cosy and warm inside the cabin.The radiators, heated by steam from the boilers, kept the apartment atan even temperature, while, as a concession to appearances, a fireglowed in a polished, brass-mounted grate. Only no heat came from thatfire: it was a dummy, composed of coloured paper rolled into looseballs and packed around an electric-light bulb. It had a comfortinglook, and frequently visitors to the Old Man's cabin stood on thehearthrug enjoying the heatless glow in utter ignorance of the factthat no fire burned in that polished brass grate.
Over the door and scuttles the dark-blue baize curtains had been drawn.The electric light had been switched off, and only the red glow fromthe grate faintly illuminated the cabin.
Captain Bullock lay in his bunk, raising his head occasionally to sipat a stiff glass of special Scotch. From early morn to midnight he wasa rigid teetotaller Even at dinner the decanters passed by himuntouched, but every night, even in the hottest weather, his stewardmixed a uniformly strong glass of whisky, hot water, and lemon.
Generally the Old Man was quickly asleep, but to-night he felt wakeful.Not as a rule a deep thinker--he was essentially a man of action--hefound himself pondering over various matters.
He was beginning to realize that this was his last voyage. On the_West Barbican's_ return to London he was to relinquish his command andretire on pension. How he hated the idea! The sea was part of hisbeing. No one knew the call of the deep more than he. True, at times,he had been "fed up" with the sea, but those were only passing moods.Some men looked forward to superannuation from the time they enteredseriously into the battle of life. They had visions of peaceful if notluxurious retirement, living happily and contentedly on theirhard-earned pensions. "And usually," thought Captain Bullock, "theyare dead in a couple of years--rusted out through sheer idleness."
No, he hated the idea of having to "go on the beach" for the rest ofhis life. Settling down in the country and keeping fowls did notappeal to him in the slightest. He might get a job as harbour-masterin some minor port, but these ports are limited in number. Besides, hedid not take kindly to the idea of being badgered by a petty HarbourBoard, the members of which were probably coal-dealers and corn-factorswho knew nothing about the sea.
"Here I am, as hard as nails, sound as a bell, and a better skipperthan I was twenty years ago," he soliloquized. "Why can't the Companykeep masters on till they show signs of cracking? They'd get somethingfor their money instead of paying it out in pensions."
Then his thoughts reverted to the lost opportunity of the_Passionflower_ salvage job. True, there was the business of theoil-tanker _Bivalve_ as a set-off, but he wondered what his ownerswould think when they read of the case in the _Shipping Gazette_.
Suddenly his reveries were interrupted by the sound of the cabin doorlock being turned very cautiously. The sound was barely audible abovethe varied noises without.
By this time Captain Bullock was in a drowsy state. Without raisinghis head from the pillow, he was dimly aware that some one had enteredthe cabin. It was unusual. Sometimes his steward had occasion toenter during the night. Occasionally the officer of the watch or theWireless Officer brought a report, and in any case they explained theirpresence verbally.
"Perhaps he thinks I am asleep and doesn't want to disturb me," thoughtthe drowsy man, and, without attempting to fix the intruder's identity,he lay still, apathetically watching the other's movements.
The intruder crossed the cabin silently yet without hesitation. Hestood at the writing-desk for a brief instant and then withdrew.
"'Spose it's Anstey with a chit," decided Captain Bullock, and,satisfied with his own explanation, he fell asleep.
At 6 a.m. the Chief Steward mustered his staff preparatory to the usualroutine. There was an absentee: the Captain's steward.
"Anyone seen Wilkins?" demanded the Chief Steward.
No one had. Some one dispassionately volunteered the information thatWilkin's bunk had not been slept in. Men roused from slumber toperform the irksome routine are apt to be apathetic before breakfast.
The Chief Steward dismissed his staff to their various duties, andproceeded to search for the missing man.
He found Wilkins fully dressed and fast asleep on the floor of thepantry. On a shelf stood an empty tumbler that smelt of whisky.
The Chief Steward stirred the sleeping man with his boot.
"Come along," he exclaimed. "Show a leg, there! Skipper's waiting tobe called."
Beyond a protesting grunt Wilkins showed no sign of recognition.
"Drunk as a lord," commented the Chief Steward. "Come on, man!" headded sternly. "Pull yourself together. You've been after the OldMan's whisky-bottle."
A friendship existed between the two men. The Chief Steward hadobtained Wilkins's post for him. In consequence the former madeallowances, which he would not have done in the case of another of hissubordinates.
Holding Wilkins under the arms the Chief Steward dragged himunceremoniously along the deserted alley-way, and bundled him into hisown cabin. There he would be safe from detection.
Locking the door, the Chief Steward returned to the pantry, washed outthe tell-tale tumbler, and then summoned an assistant steward.
"Wilkins is ill," he announced briefly. "Take on Captain's steward'sduties until he's fit again."
At five minutes to seven Assistant Steward Scott, bearing a can of hotwater and a cup of tea, tapped at the Old Man's cabin door.
Captain Bullock, as fresh as a proverbial daisy, eyed the deputycoldly. Any alteration of routine jarred him.
"Where's Wilkins?" he demanded.
"On the sick list, sir."
"Humph. Bath ready?"
"Yes, sir."
The Old Man donned his bridge coat over his pyjamas before makingtracks for the bathroom.
Suddenly he turned to his servant:
"So you were the man who came into my cabin during the middle watch?"
Scott stammered and went very red in the face. He was a meek,inoffensive man, and stood in deep awe of those set in authority overhim.
"No, sir. Please, sir, I didn't," he protested. "I only took on atfour bells."
Captain Bullock made no audible comment. He went to the writing-deskto see if anyone had left a chit there. There was none. He gave aswift, comprehensive glance at the book-shelf where, among othervolumes, were the three separate code-books by which the owners andconsignors were able to communicate with the ship. They were in theirusual places.
The Old Man smiled grimly as he put a hastily formed suspicion from hismind.
"All right," he said gruffly. "Carry on."