“Bombay, March 19.
“The Italian steamer Andrea Sforzia, arriving yesterday from Cape Town and Durban, reports having picked up on the 10th about one hundred miles N. E. of Cape Amber, a boat containing First Mate Burke, of the steamer Clara McClay, of Philadelphia. He stated that his ship foundered in deep water in the Mozambique Channel by reason of heavy weather and shifting of cargo, and believes himself to be the only survivor. He was almost unconscious, and nearly dead of thirst when rescued.
“The Clara McClay was an iron steamer of 2,500 tons, built at Greenock in 1869, and has been for some years engaged in the East and West African coast trade. She was owned by S. Jacobs and Son, of Philadelphia, and commanded by Captain Elihu Cox.”
The two men read this item, and Elliott, glancing up, saw his mystification reflected on Hawke’s face. What new development did it indicate that Bennett and the mate should have told the same falsehood about the sinking of the Clara McClay, and certainly without collusion? Henninger meanwhile was carefully copying the paragraph into a note-book, and when he had finished, he gathered up the papers, returned them to the librarian’s desk, and led the way out of the building.
“We’ve got a line on it at last,” he said, when they were in the open air, and there was a keen eagerness in his usually impassive voice.
“It’s clear that the mate was saved, but it don’t help us to find the island, so far as I can see,” Hawke objected.
“Oh, the island—confound it!” as they came into the crowds of Church Street. “Let’s go somewhere where we can talk.” And he shut his mouth and did not open it again till they were placed comfortably in a small German café, which happened to be almost empty.
“You don’t seem to understand,” he then resumed. “The mate lied,—said the ship sunk in deep water, didn’t he? He told the same story as Bennett. Why? For the same reason. He must have known the bullion was there, after all. He took chances on being the only survivor of the wreck, and he wanted to choke off any inquiry. There’s never any search for a wreck that goes down in a hundred fathoms.”
“But there were other survivors,” said Elliott. “There were others in that boat with him when Bennett saw them sailing away. That must have been the mate’s boat, and what became of the others?”
“Ah, yes,—what?” replied Henninger, grimly. “He was alone when he was picked up.”
There was a moment’s silence at this sudden apparition of the crimson thread in the tangle.
“This is the way I see the story,” said Henninger. “That mate—what’s his name—Burke?—knew the gold was on board. How he found out, I don’t know. Whether he accidentally ran the steamer out of her course that night, or whether he piled her up intentionally, I don’t know, either. He may have done it by reason of his jag, or he may have tanked up to give himself courage to carry it through. I suspect it was the latter. Anyhow, when she was smashed, he saw his chance, for he reckoned that his was the only boat to get away safe. He had several men with him, but they seem to pass out of the story. He was picked up, carried to Bombay; he lied about the wreck.