CHAPTER VI
THE CAPSIZED BOAT
Next morning I could hardly persuade myself that what I had seen the night before had not been all a dream. In the bright sunshine and in the active work-a-day life of the city, the ghastly business seemed impossible. But the effect of my experience lay heavy on my mind. I felt I could do nothing. As a State affair it was no business of mine to interfere; I could not decide even whether I should tell Von Lindheim what I knew. I was to see him late that afternoon, and had the greater part of the day at my disposal. Thinking that exercise would be the best means of shaking off my depression, I determined to revert to an old sport of mine, rowing. Accordingly, after a late breakfast, I hired the lightest sculling boat I could find, and went for a pull up the river. A picturesque stream, the Narvo, when once you get clear of the wharves, mills, warehouses, and like unromantic accessories; but the worst piece of water for a steady pull that I had ever dipped oar into, and I had tried a good many, from the Wensum to the Danube. No sooner did I get into my swing and the craft began to slip along, than I had to hold her up for an eyot, or a patch of aggressive water lilies, varied by what answers in those parts for a weir, or a superfluous, if picturesque waterfall.
But the clearing of the obstacles was all in the day’s work. I was not bound against time for the source of the river, so pushed, hauled, and punted energetically, thinking the change of working muscles no bad thing. As a reward for my perseverance I presently got away from all signs of the town; the banks grew higher and, with their overhanging bushes, something like our Wye, shut out the hideous chimneys and other unromantic evidences of Buyda’s commercial prosperity. As I pulled leisurely up a comparatively clear reach, my train of thought was snapped by the bow of my boat striking against some light object. I looked round and saw I had run against a floating scull. I took it into my boat, thinking some one might have let it slip and been unable to recover it, an awkward mishap not uncommon with duffers; then I rowed on, thinking to come across the owner before long. The sound of rushing water warned me that I was approaching another of the weirs, of which just then I was getting rather tired, since they meant haulage. Beyond a sharpish bend the river widened considerably, the current became stronger, and, looking ahead, I could see an obstacle, half weir, half natural waterfall, with the usual rotten posts and dilapidated rails. I pulled on, undecided whether to take the trouble of carrying my craft round or to return, when a stroke took me beyond, and so in sight of an object lying caught in the sedge outside the current.
A capsized boat.
I did not like the look of it. “That accounts for the scull,” I said, and pulled round to examine her. No one was to be seen on the banks, which were flat and open here. I ran my boat alongside the overturned craft. With some difficulty I righted her. A row-boat, similar to mine, she was of course empty, except that, jammed under the thwarts was a walking-stick, an ordinary bamboo with a hook handle and the usual silver band. This I threw into my boat, and then got ashore. Not a soul was in sight. I walked up a good way past the fall, giving an occasional shout, but there was no sign of any human being, dead or alive, and the one seemed now as much to be looked for as the other.
So I returned to my boat without having got nearer to the mystery, and now determined to pull homewards, for the river up higher did not promise much reward for my exertions. As I went back, however, I looked sharply about for any further evidences of a boating accident, but found none. It looked to me very much as though the boat had gone over the fall, and the walking-stick decidedly pointed to someone having been in her. But I came to the conclusion that even then if the fellow could swim and had kept his head he would probably have got off, with an extremely unpleasant ducking, as the fall was not great, and the water below clear of obstacles and fairly deep.
At the landing-stage I told my story, but the capsized boat did not belong to the owner of mine, and the subject consequently lacked interest for him. There had been accidents over the falls, he told me; but it was people’s own fault and stupidity. One of his men, however, thought he had seen a gentleman rowing up earlier in the day, but did not recognize him, or know where the boat had been hired. That was all; so not seeing what more I could be expected to do, I went back to the hotel, calling, however, at the police office on my way to give information of what I had found. The officer in charge phlegmatically assured me that the matter should be looked into, and bowed me out.
Having changed my clothes, I went on to Von Lindheim’s. He had not returned home, although it was past his usual hour, but shortly after my arrival he made his appearance. He seemed in better spirits, and I was glad to notice that the cloud of the previous evening had passed away. He had been detained at the Chancellerie, he said, by extra work; D’Urban was away, whether on leave or through illness he had not been able to find out.
“It was rather hard on me,” Von Lindheim said, “but I had to stay over a stupid protocol, although I told Krause, our chief, that I was taking an English friend to the theatre. However, we have just time for a short dinner, and the coffee we can get between the acts.”