"I'm coming to it now," replied Parker sulkily. "It's you as keeps putting me off with interruptions. There's a club what they call 'The Millionaires' Club.' There aren't many in it—seven, I think the Dumpling said; but they're all millionaires, and all of 'em was quite poor men once, poor as me and Smudgy. Now they've got millions, and live in mansions in Park Lane, and has ten-course dinners off gold and silver plates. But I say, Mr. Grant, can't I be untied now? I'm numb with cold and with lying here so long. I've very nearly finished my story, and, if you'll loose me, I'll promise to finish it faithful to the end."
"There's no reason why you shouldn't have your ankles free and sit up," I said, hauling in the sculls and laying them alongside as I stooped to unfasten the rope that was lashed about Parker's feet. "We'll talk about taking the handcuffs off when you've done. Go on—I'm listening. This knot here's rather tight, but I can hear what you say while I'm undoing it."
"Once a month," continued Parker, whilst I was tugging at the knot, "these millionaires meet secretly in the back parlour in a public-house out Shadwell way, and have a feed o' tripe and onions, or pigs' trotters or chitlings or faggots, or stewed eels or fried fish, or something of that sort, and drink four half out of pint pots, and smoke shag tobacco in clay pipes, and play shove-ha'penny and pitch-and-toss for coppers. It's coming off to-night, this Crœsus bean-feast and blow-out, as the Dumpling calls it; and he's planned to kidnap one of 'em on their way home, and make him pay a thumping big sum for ransom money. The place was to be—— Hi! Look out, there! There's a big ship coming out of the fog just behind you. My God! She's on us. And me tied up like this! Let me loose, for Christ's sake! It's murder. It's——"
Simultaneously with a sudden crash—under the impact of which the boat seemed to shiver like a live thing—the blurred fog-blinded lights on the river banks broke into zigzagging globes of yellow light that shot backwards and forwards, upward and downward and sideways before my eyes, as gnats dart and dance and dodge among themselves on a summer eve. Then these lights all ran together into a streak of yellow fire. The boat seemed to leap forward and to rise under us, as a horse which has staggered to its knees, when hit by a bullet, strives to struggle forward and to its feet under its rider; and the next instant the frail craft went to pieces and fell away from under us.
In that instant I saw the ghastly face of Parker staring up horror-stricken at what looked like the high and perpendicular side of a house which was about to fall upon us, and that, in the act of overtoppling, seemed momentarily to hang and hover and brood gloatingly above our head. Then there came the deadly and numbing chill of ice-cold and rushing water that sucked us down and under, as if to the falling house's very foundations.
CHAPTER VII.
I AM SNUBBED BY SCOTLAND YARD.
It was "murder," as Parker had said. Even as I went down I was conscious of the horror, of the inhumanity, of letting a poor devil, tied hand and foot like a dog in a sack, go to his doom with never a chance of making a fight for his life. For myself, being a fair swimmer, and accustomed to a cold dip in rough seas, winter and summer, I was in no such fear as entirely to lose my presence of mind. The danger lay, of course, in my being sucked under the ship's bottom and drowned before I could make my way to the surface; but as the steamer was going very slowly and had taken us side-on, rather than with the prow, I managed in a very few seconds to get clear of her wash, and up, with open eyes, on the top of the water. Apparently no one on board the steamer was aware that she had struck and sunk a rowing boat, for she went slowly but steadily on her way, as if nothing had happened. Had we not chanced to enter a fog bank a few minutes before the collision, and had I not been engaged in loosening Parker's bonds, the probability is that the accident would not have occurred. What most concerned me, however, was not the cause of the mishap, but the whereabouts of poor Parker. Again and again I crossed and re-crossed the subsiding wash of the vessel's wake; again and again I halloed and called the unhappy man by name; but all, alas, to no purpose. Except for the answering bark of a dog from a barge in-shore, the hooting of the steamer's fog-horn, and the washing of the water, there was no reply, and, being somewhat exhausted, I gave up the search and struck out for the nearest shore. It had been slack water for the last half-hour, and the tide was, fortunately for me, only just upon the turn; so, without being carried far out of my course, I was able to reach the river's bank in safety. Wet as I was, I could not walk the streets without attracting attention, but, luckily for me, the very first vehicle which came along was a doctor's carriage. I shouted to the driver to stop, and explaining my plight to his master by saying I had been run down in the fog while on the river, asked him to be so very good as to drive me to the police station. He not only consented, but plied me with a restorative of some sort which he had in his bag; and when I reached the station I was, except for a shivering fit, not very much the worse for my wetting. There, while I was having a rub down and changing into the clothes—a policeman's uniform—which was provided for me, I told my story. The superintendent was very civil. He said he was aware of the existence of the opium den in question, but otherwise knew of nothing criminal in connection with it, but would at once send a sufficient number of men to raid the place. He also rang up the river police on the telephone, suggesting that a boat should be sent out in search of Parker's body, and instructed a plain-clothes officer to accompany me in a cab to the address which I gave as my lodging. Whether this was done in order to verify the address, and because he suspected the truth of my story, I did not know, and did not care. It was a reasonable enough precaution to take, and, having nothing to conceal, I did not resent his taking it, and, indeed, was not sorry to have a companion upon my journey, for, now that the excitement which had buoyed me up was passing, I began to feel somewhat exhausted.
Next morning I took cab to Scotland Yard, where I sent in my name and business, and was at once received in audience by one of the heads. He greeted me courteously, heard my story out, interpolating a few shrewd and pointed questions now and then, and occasionally making a note.
When I had come to an end of my narrative he bowed gravely, and said: