“I believe what you say,” remarked the Rev. Mr. Bootle, after a short pause; “and after you have heard all there is to say on our side, you will, I am sure, be even more ready than at present to help us.”
Then followed a recapitulation of all the details already familiar to the reader, and it was as Mr. Bootle had surmised. Captain Gerard became greatly excited, and vowed that he would do all he could in the cause of justice, even if it became imperative to work openly, and thus lose the favour of his employers, who were Cochrane’s relations.
“And you say that Riddell’s brother sailed as steward in the ‘Merry Maid’ last voyage? Depend upon it, he must have betrayed his identity in some way or other. And I will tell you why I think so. There has been some whispering aboard the ship about the late steward’s disappearance. If this steward was the man you say, his disappearance is no longer mysterious. He was murdered. And, what’s more, I will try to prove it.”
CHAPTER XII.
BAITING THE TRAP.
“You would like to know my reasons for believing that your friend has met with foul play,” said Captain Gerard, after the first horror and surprise of his hearers was over. “Well, here they are. It was only yesterday that our second mate, who is new to the ship, related a conversation he had had with the bo’sun. The latter asserts that on the night that saw the last of the man supposed to be William Trace, it was so unbearably stuffy down below that he coiled himself up beside the winch, between the third and after hatch, and went to sleep there. He says that it must have been approaching morning, when he suddenly awoke with a sensation of danger, such as we all experience at times when our sleep is disturbed. With his senses all on the alert, he looked about him, without at first noting anything. Then it struck him that the sound he had heard was a splash, and a moment after he saw Messrs. Cochrane and Torrens creeping stealthily towards the companion, down which they vanished. Shortly afterwards he fell asleep again, and did not connect the steward’s disappearance with the splash he had heard, or with the skipper’s stealthy movements, until he heard different members of the crew whispering their suspicions of foul play. Had the weather been bad, or had the steward been an unsteady man, it might have been supposed that he had fallen overboard while drunk, as the ship was not rolling. But the man was as steady as the weather was fine, and he could not have fallen overboard without deliberately trying to do so. The inference, therefore, is in favour of his having been pitched over. You may not think this much proof of my belief that he was murdered. But our Chippy stumbled upon a motive, or what would have struck a keen observer as a good equivalent for one. He was ordered by the captain to repair sundry holes which had been made in the wainscoting by the steward. Since I know who the steward was, I am sure these holes had been made for purposes of espionage; that he discovered collusion between Cochrane and the passenger; that they, in their turn, discovered who he was, and deliberately negatived his evidence against them by murdering him. There are also many other corroborative little incidents to be unearthed, I am sure, and I promise you that by the time the ‘Merry Maid’ has finished this voyage, there will have been gathered by me all the information possible concerning this suspected murder. Meanwhile, your best course will be to return to England, and try to secure Cochrane. He lives in Disraeli Road, Forest Gate, London. Before we separate I will give you his complete address.”
“Is he married?”
“He has been, but his wife is dead. Since her death he has placed his son under the care of a sister, and he makes her house his home also when in port. Only secure him, and you will learn enough to liberate your friend from gaol. Cochrane will tell all he can about Stavanger to screen himself. He is notoriously of a sneakish disposition. If money is no object, I would suggest that you cable to somebody in England to see that the fellow does not give you the slip. And now I guess I had better be moving, as soon as you have given me an address that will always find you. We are going on to Bombay from here. Should I come across Stavanger, you may bet your bottom dollar that I will ensure his arrest.”
A few weeks after the above conversation, an elderly gentleman in clerical garb was having a somewhat heated discussion with a private detective.
“How in the world could you bungle so seriously as to let the man slip through your fingers? I telegraphed the importance of his capture to you, warning you always to keep him in sight. And yet I find, on arriving here myself, that you have lost all trace of him.”