The weeks passed without further news of the ship, and T. B. was beginning to worry, for good reasons. He had an elaborate chart supplied to him by the Admiralty, which showed him, from day to day, the amount of provisions and coal such a ship as the Maria Braganza would require, and he knew that she must be running short. Then, one morning, he received a clue.
A telegram came to Scotland Yard, which began:
"Officer commanding Gibraltar reports that his wireless station had been intercepting messages in code which bear some resemblance to those of N.H.C. Full messages have been forwarded here for decoding. Some of them are unintelligible, but one portion of a message we have been able to make read: '... Accept your assurance and explanation; we have still splendid field for enterprise; I will join you at Lolo with shipload of provisions and collier on June 1st. In meantime, if you do as I suggest, we can make terms with Governments and, moreover, find employment for agents who are at present discontented...' Message beyond this undecipherable with exception of words 'destruction,' 'easily obtainable,' and 'insure.' This message obviously between Poltavo and Maria Braganza—'Commander Fleet, Gibraltar, has sent H.M.S. Duncan, Essex, Kent, with six destroyers, into Atlantic pick up Maria Braganza!"
T. B. read the message again, folded it carefully, and placed it in his breast pocket. There was one word in Poltavo's message that revealed, in a flash, the nature of the new terror with which the Nine Men of Cadiz threatened the world.
CHAPTER XXIX
A MATTER OF INSURANCE
You pass up a broad stone staircase at one end of the Royal Exchange, and come to a landing where, confronting you, are two big swing-doors that are constantly opening and closing as bare-headed clerks and top-hatted brokers go swiftly in and out.
On the other side of the doors is a small counter where a man in uniform checks, with keen glance, each passer-by. Beyond the counter are two rooms, one leading to the other, shaped like the letter "L," and in the longer of the two sit, in innumerable pews, quiet men with fat notebooks. From desk to desk flutter the brokers bargaining their risks, and there is a quiet but eager buzz of voices through which, at intervals, boom the stentorian tones of the porter calling by name the members whose presence is required outside.
A stout man made a slow progress down one of the aisles, calling at the little pews en route, making notes in a silver-mounted book he held in his hand.
He stopped before the pew of one of the biggest underwriters. "Taglan Castle?" he said laconically, and the underwriter looked up over his spectacles, then down at the slip of paper the man put before him.