Bab Bab 10 · 第10章

The End of the Islander

Our meal was a merry one. Holmes could talk exceedingly well when he

chose, and that night he did choose. He appeared to be in a state of

nervous exaltation. I have never known him so brilliant. He spoke on a

quick succession of subjects,—on miracle-plays, on mediæval pottery, on

Stradivarius violins, on the Buddhism of Ceylon, and on the war-ships

of the future,—handling each as though he had made a special study of

it. His bright humour marked the reaction from his black depression of

the preceding days. Athelney Jones proved to be a sociable soul in his

hours of relaxation, and faced his dinner with the air of a _bon

vivant_. For myself, I felt elated at the thought that we were nearing

the end of our task, and I caught something of Holmes’s gaiety. None of

us alluded during dinner to the cause which had brought us together.

When the cloth was cleared, Holmes glanced at his watch, and filled up

three glasses with port. “One bumper,” said he, “to the success of our

little expedition. And now it is high time we were off. Have you a

pistol, Watson?”

“I have my old service-revolver in my desk.”

“You had best take it, then. It is well to be prepared. I see that the

cab is at the door. I ordered it for half-past six.”

It was a little past seven before we reached the Westminster wharf, and

found our launch awaiting us. Holmes eyed it critically.

“Is there anything to mark it as a police-boat?”

“Yes,—that green lamp at the side.”

“Then take it off.”

The small change was made, we stepped on board, and the ropes were cast

off. Jones, Holmes, and I sat in the stern. There was one man at the

rudder, one to tend the engines, and two burly police-inspectors

forward.

“Where to?” asked Jones.

“To the Tower. Tell them to stop opposite Jacobson’s Yard.”

Our craft was evidently a very fast one. We shot past the long lines of

loaded barges as though they were stationary. Holmes smiled with

satisfaction as we overhauled a river steamer and left her behind us.

“We ought to be able to catch anything on the river,” he said.

“Well, hardly that. But there are not many launches to beat us.”

“We shall have to catch the _Aurora_, and she has a name for being a

clipper. I will tell you how the land lies, Watson. You recollect how

annoyed I was at being balked by so small a thing?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I gave my mind a thorough rest by plunging into a chemical

analysis. One of our greatest statesmen has said that a change of work

is the best rest. So it is. When I had succeeded in dissolving the

hydrocarbon which I was at work at, I came back to our problem of the

Sholtos, and thought the whole matter out again. My boys had been up

the river and down the river without result. The launch was not at any

landing-stage or wharf, nor had it returned. Yet it could hardly have

been scuttled to hide their traces,—though that always remained as a

possible hypothesis if all else failed. I knew this man Small had a

certain degree of low cunning, but I did not think him capable of

anything in the nature of delicate finesse. That is usually a product

of higher education. I then reflected that since he had certainly been

in London some time—as we had evidence that he maintained a continual

watch over Pondicherry Lodge—he could hardly leave at a moment’s

notice, but would need some little time, if it were only a day, to

arrange his affairs. That was the balance of probability, at any rate.”

“It seems to me to be a little weak,” said I. “It is more probable that

he had arranged his affairs before ever he set out upon his

expedition.”

“No, I hardly think so. This lair of his would be too valuable a

retreat in case of need for him to give it up until he was sure that he

could do without it. But a second consideration struck me. Jonathan

Small must have felt that the peculiar appearance of his companion,

however much he may have top-coated him, would give rise to gossip, and

possibly be associated with this Norwood tragedy. He was quite sharp

enough to see that. They had started from their head-quarters under

cover of darkness, and he would wish to get back before it was broad

light. Now, it was past three o’clock, according to Mrs. Smith, when

they got the boat. It would be quite bright, and people would be about

in an hour or so. Therefore, I argued, they did not go very far. They

paid Smith well to hold his tongue, reserved his launch for the final

escape, and hurried to their lodgings with the treasure-box. In a

couple of nights, when they had time to see what view the papers took,

and whether there was any suspicion, they would make their way under

cover of darkness to some ship at Gravesend or in the Downs, where no

doubt they had already arranged for passages to America or the

Colonies.”

“But the launch? They could not have taken that to their lodgings.”

“Quite so. I argued that the launch must be no great way off, in spite

of its invisibility. I then put myself in the place of Small, and

looked at it as a man of his capacity would. He would probably consider

that to send back the launch or to keep it at a wharf would make

pursuit easy if the police did happen to get on his track. How, then,

could he conceal the launch and yet have her at hand when wanted? I

wondered what I should do myself if I were in his shoes. I could only

think of one way of doing it. I might hand the launch over to some

boat-builder or repairer, with directions to make a trifling change in

her. She would then be removed to his shed or yard, and so be

effectually concealed, while at the same time I could have her at a few

hours’ notice.”

“That seems simple enough.”

“It is just these very simple things which are extremely liable to be

overlooked. However, I determined to act on the idea. I started at once

in this harmless seaman’s rig and inquired at all the yards down the

river. I drew blank at fifteen, but at the sixteenth—Jacobson’s—I

learned that the _Aurora_ had been handed over to them two days ago by

a wooden-legged man, with some trivial directions as to her rudder.

‘There ain’t naught amiss with her rudder,’ said the foreman. ‘There

she lies, with the red streaks.’ At that moment who should come down

but Mordecai Smith, the missing owner? He was rather the worse for

liquor. I should not, of course, have known him, but he bellowed out

his name and the name of his launch. ‘I want her to-night at eight

o’clock,’ said he,—‘eight o’clock sharp, mind, for I have two gentlemen

who won’t be kept waiting.’ They had evidently paid him well, for he

was very flush of money, chucking shillings about to the men. I

followed him some distance, but he subsided into an ale-house: so I

went back to the yard, and, happening to pick up one of my boys on the

way, I stationed him as a sentry over the launch. He is to stand at

water’s edge and wave his handkerchief to us when they start. We shall

be lying off in the stream, and it will be a strange thing if we do not

take men, treasure, and all.”

“You have planned it all very neatly, whether they are the right men or

not,” said Jones; “but if the affair were in my hands I should have had

a body of police in Jacobson’s Yard, and arrested them when they came

down.”

“Which would have been never. This man Small is a pretty shrewd fellow.

He would send a scout on ahead, and if anything made him suspicious lie

snug for another week.”

“But you might have stuck to Mordecai Smith, and so been led to their

hiding-place,” said I.

“In that case I should have wasted my day. I think that it is a hundred

to one against Smith knowing where they live. As long as he has liquor

and good pay, why should he ask questions? They send him messages what

to do. No, I thought over every possible course, and this is the best.”

While this conversation had been proceeding, we had been shooting the

long series of bridges which span the Thames. As we passed the City the

last rays of the sun were gilding the cross upon the summit of St.

Paul’s. It was twilight before we reached the Tower.

“That is Jacobson’s Yard,” said Holmes, pointing to a bristle of masts

and rigging on the Surrey side. “Cruise gently up and down here under

cover of this string of lighters.” He took a pair of night-glasses from

his pocket and gazed some time at the shore. “I see my sentry at his

post,” he remarked, “but no sign of a handkerchief.”

“Suppose we go down-stream a short way and lie in wait for them,” said

Jones, eagerly. We were all eager by this time, even the policemen and

stokers, who had a very vague idea of what was going forward.

“We have no right to take anything for granted,” Holmes answered. “It

is certainly ten to one that they go down-stream, but we cannot be

certain. From this point we can see the entrance of the yard, and they

can hardly see us. It will be a clear night and plenty of light. We

must stay where we are. See how the folk swarm over yonder in the

gaslight.”

“They are coming from work in the yard.”

“Dirty-looking rascals, but I suppose every one has some little

immortal spark concealed about him. You would not think it, to look at

them. There is no _a priori_ probability about it. A strange enigma is

man!”

“Some one calls him a soul concealed in an animal,” I suggested.

“Winwood Reade is good upon the subject,” said Holmes. “He remarks

that, while the individual man is an insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate

he becomes a mathematical certainty. You can, for example, never

foretell what any one man will do, but you can say with precision what

an average number will be up to. Individuals vary, but percentages

remain constant. So says the statistician. But do I see a handkerchief?

Surely there is a white flutter over yonder.”

“Yes, it is your boy,” I cried. “I can see him plainly.”

“And there is the _Aurora_,” exclaimed Holmes, “and going like the

devil! Full speed ahead, engineer. Make after that launch with the

yellow light. By heaven, I shall never forgive myself if she proves to

have the heels of us!”

She had slipped unseen through the yard-entrance and passed behind two

or three small craft, so that she had fairly got her speed up before we

saw her. Now she was flying down the stream, near in to the shore,

going at a tremendous rate. Jones looked gravely at her and shook his

head.

“She is very fast,” he said. “I doubt if we shall catch her.”

“We _must_ catch her!” cried Holmes, between his teeth. “Heap it on,

stokers! Make her do all she can! If we burn the boat we must have

them!”

We were fairly after her now. The furnaces roared, and the powerful

engines whizzed and clanked, like a great metallic heart. Her sharp,

steep prow cut through the river-water and sent two rolling waves to

right and to left of us. With every throb of the engines we sprang and

quivered like a living thing. One great yellow lantern in our bows

threw a long, flickering funnel of light in front of us. Right ahead a

dark blur upon the water showed where the _Aurora_ lay, and the swirl

of white foam behind her spoke of the pace at which she was going. We

flashed past barges, steamers, merchant-vessels, in and out, behind

this one and round the other. Voices hailed us out of the darkness, but

still the _Aurora_ thundered on, and still we followed close upon her

track.

“Pile it on, men, pile it on!” cried Holmes, looking down into the

engine-room, while the fierce glow from below beat upon his eager,

aquiline face. “Get every pound of steam you can.”

“I think we gain a little,” said Jones, with his eyes on the _Aurora_.

“I am sure of it,” said I. “We shall be up with her in a very few

minutes.”

At that moment, however, as our evil fate would have it, a tug with

three barges in tow blundered in between us. It was only by putting our

helm hard down that we avoided a collision, and before we could round

them and recover our way the _Aurora_ had gained a good two hundred

yards. She was still, however, well in view, and the murky uncertain

twilight was setting into a clear starlit night. Our boilers were

strained to their utmost, and the frail shell vibrated and creaked with

the fierce energy which was driving us along. We had shot through the

Pool, past the West India Docks, down the long Deptford Reach, and up

again after rounding the Isle of Dogs. The dull blur in front of us

resolved itself now clearly enough into the dainty _Aurora_. Jones

turned our search-light upon her, so that we could plainly see the

figures upon her deck. One man sat by the stern, with something black

between his knees over which he stooped. Beside him lay a dark mass

which looked like a Newfoundland dog. The boy held the tiller, while

against the red glare of the furnace I could see old Smith, stripped to

the waist, and shovelling coals for dear life. They may have had some

doubt at first as to whether we were really pursuing them, but now as

we followed every winding and turning which they took there could no

longer be any question about it. At Greenwich we were about three

hundred paces behind them. At Blackwall we could not have been more

than two hundred and fifty. I have coursed many creatures in many

countries during my checkered career, but never did sport give me such

a wild thrill as this mad, flying man-hunt down the Thames. Steadily we

drew in upon them, yard by yard. In the silence of the night we could

hear the panting and clanking of their machinery. The man in the stern

still crouched upon the deck, and his arms were moving as though he

were busy, while every now and then he would look up and measure with a

glance the distance which still separated us. Nearer we came and

nearer. Jones yelled to them to stop. We were not more than four boat’s

lengths behind them, both boats flying at a tremendous pace. It was a

clear reach of the river, with Barking Level upon one side and the

melancholy Plumstead Marshes upon the other. At our hail the man in the

stern sprang up from the deck and shook his two clinched fists at us,

cursing the while in a high, cracked voice. He was a good-sized,

powerful man, and as he stood poising himself with legs astride I could

see that from the thigh downwards there was but a wooden stump upon the

right side. At the sound of his strident, angry cries there was

movement in the huddled bundle upon the deck. It straightened itself

into a little black man—the smallest I have ever seen—with a great,

misshapen head and a shock of tangled, dishevelled hair. Holmes had

already drawn his revolver, and I whipped out mine at the sight of this

savage, distorted creature. He was wrapped in some sort of dark ulster

or blanket, which left only his face exposed; but that face was enough

to give a man a sleepless night. Never have I seen features so deeply

marked with all bestiality and cruelty. His small eyes glowed and

burned with a sombre light, and his thick lips were writhed back from

his teeth, which grinned and chattered at us with a half animal fury.

“Fire if he raises his hand,” said Holmes, quietly. We were within a

boat’s-length by this time, and almost within touch of our quarry. I

can see the two of them now as they stood, the white man with his legs

far apart, shrieking out curses, and the unhallowed dwarf with his

hideous face, and his strong yellow teeth gnashing at us in the light

of our lantern.

It was well that we had so clear a view of him. Even as we looked he

plucked out from under his covering a short, round piece of wood, like

a school-ruler, and clapped it to his lips. Our pistols rang out

together. He whirled round, threw up his arms, and with a kind of

choking cough fell sideways into the stream. I caught one glimpse of

his venomous, menacing eyes amid the white swirl of the waters. At the

same moment the wooden-legged man threw himself upon the rudder and put

it hard down, so that his boat made straight in for the southern bank,

while we shot past her stern, only clearing her by a few feet. We were

round after her in an instant, but she was already nearly at the bank.

It was a wild and desolate place, where the moon glimmered upon a wide

expanse of marsh-land, with pools of stagnant water and beds of

decaying vegetation. The launch with a dull thud ran up upon the

mud-bank, with her bow in the air and her stern flush with the water.

The fugitive sprang out, but his stump instantly sank its whole length

into the sodden soil. In vain he struggled and writhed. Not one step

could he possibly take either forwards or backwards. He yelled in

impotent rage, and kicked frantically into the mud with his other foot,

but his struggles only bored his wooden pin the deeper into the sticky

bank. When we brought our launch alongside he was so firmly anchored

that it was only by throwing the end of a rope over his shoulders that

we were able to haul him out, and to drag him, like some evil fish,

over our side. The two Smiths, father and son, sat sullenly in their

launch, but came aboard meekly enough when commanded. The _Aurora_

herself we hauled off and made fast to our stern. A solid iron chest of

Indian workmanship stood upon the deck. This, there could be no

question, was the same that had contained the ill-omened treasure of

the Sholtos. There was no key, but it was of considerable weight, so we

transferred it carefully to our own little cabin. As we steamed slowly

up-stream again, we flashed our search-light in every direction, but

there was no sign of the Islander. Somewhere in the dark ooze at the

bottom of the Thames lie the bones of that strange visitor to our

shores.

“See here,” said Holmes, pointing to the wooden hatchway. “We were

hardly quick enough with our pistols.” There, sure enough, just behind

where we had been standing, stuck one of those murderous darts which we

knew so well. It must have whizzed between us at the instant that we

fired. Holmes smiled at it and shrugged his shoulders in his easy

fashion, but I confess that it turned me sick to think of the horrible

death which had passed so close to us that night.