The Cheyne mystery

by Freeman Wills Crofts

“Well, go on and get it over anyway.”

Dangle once more smilingly shrugged his shoulders, lit his cigar and began:

“My tale commences as before with our mutual friend, Arnold Price, and once again it goes back to the year 1917. In February of ’17 Arnold Price was, as you know, third mate of the Maurania, and I was on the same ship in command of her bow gun—she had guns mounted fore and aft. I hadn’t known Price before, but we became friends—not close friends, but as intimate as most men who are cooped up together for months on the same ship.

“In February ’17, as we were coming into the Bay on our way from South Africa, we sighted a submarine. I needn’t worry you with the details of what followed. It’s enough to say that we tried to escape, and failing, showed fight. As it chanced, by a stroke of the devil’s own luck we pumped a shell into her just abaft the conning tower after she rose and before she could get her gun trained on us. She heeled over and began to sink by the stern. I confess that I’d have watched those devils drown, as they had done many of our poor fellows, but the old man wasn’t that way inclined and he called for volunteers to get out one of the boats. Price was the first man to offer, and they got a boat lowered away and pulled for the submarine. She disappeared before they could get up to her, and we could see her crew clinging to wreckage. The men in the boat pulled all out to get there before they were washed away, for there was a bit of a sea running, the end of a southwester that had just blown itself out. Well, some of the crew held on and they got them into the boat; others couldn’t stick it and were lost. The captain was there clinging on to a lifebelt, but just as the boat came up he let go and was sinking, when Arnold Price jumped overboard and caught him and supported him until they got a rope round him and pulled him aboard. I didn’t see that myself, but I heard about it afterwards. The captain’s name was Otto Schulz, and when they got him aboard the Maurania and fixed up in bed they found that he had had a knock on the head that would probably do for him. But all the same Price had saved his life, and what was more, had saved it at the risk of his own. That is the first point in my story.”

Dangle paused and drew at his cigar. As he had foretold, Cheyne was already interested. The story appealed to him, for he knew that for once he was not being told a yarn. He had already heard of the rescue; in fact he had himself congratulated Price on his brave deed. He remembered a curious point about it. A day or two later Price had been hit in an encounter with another U-boat, and he and Schulz had been sent to the same hospital—somewhere on the French coast. There Schulz had died, and from there Price had sent the mysterious tracing which had been the cause of all these unwonted activities.

“We crossed the Bay without further adventures,” Dangle resumed, “but as we approached the Channel we sighted another U-boat. We exchanged a few shots without doing a great deal of harm on either side, and when a destroyer came on the scene Brother Fritz submerged and disappeared. But as luck would have it one of his shells burst over our fo’c’sle. Both Price and I were there, I at my gun and he on some job of his own, and both of us got knocked out. Price had a scalp wound and I a bit of shell in my thigh; neither very serious, but both stretcher cases.

“We called at Brest that night and next morning they sent us ashore to hospital. Schulz was sent with us. By what seems now a strange coincidence, but what was, I suppose, ordinary and natural enough, we were put into adjoining beds in the same ward. That is the second point of my story.”

Again Dangle paused and again Cheyne reflected that so far he was being told the truth. He wondered with a growing thrill if he was really going to learn the contents of Price’s letter to himself and the meaning of the mysterious tracing, as well as the circumstances under which it was sent. He nodded to show he had grasped the point and Dangle went on:

“Price and I soon began to improve, but the blow on Schulz’s head turned out pretty bad and he grew weaker and weaker. At last he got to know he was going to peg out, as you will see from what I overheard.

“I was lying that night in a sort of waking dream, half asleep and half conscious of my surroundings. The ward was very still. There were six of us there and I thought all the others were asleep. The night nurse had just had a look round and had gone out again. She had left the gas lit, but turned very low. Suddenly I heard Schulz, who was in the next bed, calling Price. He called him two or three times and then Price answered. ‘Look here, Price,’ Schulz said, ‘are those other blighters asleep?’ He talked as good English as you or me. Price said ‘Yes,’ and then Schulz went on to talk.