Only seven were hanged
sure. The famous African diamond was before his eyes.
It looked like a piece of rough crystal, but Gore had seen uncut
stones many times and knew the value of his loot. He pushed the case
into his pocket as the first stroke of an ax fell on the panel of the
door--an ax wielded by an officer in the passage.
Gore's next movements were rapid. He snapped off the electric light
and put his gun into the hand of the dead purser, closing the
stiffening fingers over it. He grabbed a life-jacket from under a
locker. Without waiting to put it on, he jumped to the porthole just
as the bobbing masthead light was passing astern. Then he climbed
out.
Being a small man, it was not a very difficult matter. He dropped
into the sea, holding the life-jacket; and as he dropped he heard the
cabin door give way before the assaults of the officers. But he had
beaten them by less than a minute. They had not seen him.
Next instant the sea roared in his ears and he was whirled through a
cataract of boiling water.
He was a fair swimmer. As he slid out of the porthole he leaped far
out so that he might keep clear of the propellers. He made a few
powerful strokes outward as he was swung astern, but he was dragged
down into a vortex. When he came to the surface, lungs bursting, he
was considerably shaken by the turmoil; but the life-jacket gave him
buoyancy and as he gasped for air he saw the liner forging ahead.
Beyond the shaking, he was uninjured.
He clung to the life-jacket as he bobbed about on the troubled sea;
then, after recovering his breath, he tied the cork jacket in a rough
fashion around his body and floated easily. He expected the boat
containing Archer and Chicago Anne to bear down in his direction, and
he kept his gaze on the masthead light, watching for a flash message
from the vessel. To his surprise, the light did not move. No flash
came.
He did not doubt that Archer had recognized the ship, for that was
part of Archer's job. He and Anne were to hire a large fishing-boat
at Cowes, a boat with an auxiliary engine, and come down the Solent
and wait for the liner coming up. The spot of contact had been
agreed upon. Only that morning he had received a code message to say
all was well. The rendezvous was well defined.
Gore swam easily toward the light. The sea was fairly calm. He was
not in any danger of sinking, but the water was cold and numbing.
The liner from which he had dropped was now far ahead. It had not
slackened its speed. All this was very satisfactory to Gore. He
chuckled as he pictured the expression of the captain when he entered
the purser's room.
Indeed, the actual facts were even more in favor of Gore than he
dreamed. The captain and his officers had seen the dead purser, in
whose hand was the discharged gun. They had come to the conclusion
that the purser had come to his room, had seen the safe rifled, had
pressed the alarm, and had shot himself in despair. Not knowing that
Gore had gone out of the porthole, they presumed the thief was still
aboard and that they would get him at the landing-stage. They were
already wirelessing to the shore authorities.
As for Gore, he anticipated that he and his confederates would be on
French soil before the police had moved sufficiently to prevent them.
The rest was easy.
It was not until he was near the swaying light that Gore realized
that this was not the boat he expected to reach. This was a big
vessel. She lay high in the water. Not a light showed on her save
the one at her masthead and another he could now see at what was
either her stern or her stem. Was it possible Archer was on this
ship? The single light--that was the signal.
Gore had to get out of the water. He was beginning to feel the drag
of his clothes. He was tiring rapidly. He swam desperately for the
ship, his mind busy with a false story he could present to her people
if Archer were not there. He could leave the getting away to such
opportunity as presented itself. For the time being his tale would
be that he had fallen overboard from a private yacht.
"Ahoy! Ahoy!"
He hailed repeatedly.
No answering hail came to him. He called again and again. No sound
replied to his calls. He toiled laboriously toward her heavy anchor
chains and rested until he felt strong enough to climb. He climbed
like a cat out of the sea.
By the time he reached the deck he was faint with exhaustion. He
stumbled over the bulwarks and shouted once more. Not a soul was to
be seen, not a light on the deck. He picked his painful way among
the planks. There were holes here and there and what seemed broken
gear. The door of the deckhouse was open, swinging on its hinges.
He entered, calling for some one to come to him. There was no
answer. The truth struck him like a blow. He had swum to a deserted
ship, a hulk anchored well out from the shore.
At first he was wild with rage at the mistake, but his anger died
down quickly. What was a better hiding-place until the morning, or
until Archer came? He sat down and wrung the water from his clothes
as best he could, at the same time keeping his eyes on the ocean now
and then to pick out Archer's craft. But Archer did not come, though
a few ships passed at a distance. Once he thought he saw Archer's
boat. It sailed slowly down and turned again. Yes, that was Archer
all right, plying up and down for him. But the boat was too far off
for Archer to hear his voice. Well, Archer would keep plying up and
down until dawn. He had got the message all right. Archer knew him
better than conclude that he would drown. No, Nathaniel Gore was not
the man to drown with a fortune in his pocket! This was his vanity
speaking again.
The small boat passed out of sight and Gore prepared to snatch an
hour's sleep. He was very tired and must have rest. He curled
himself up in a corner of the deck; but he did not sleep well. In
spite of every effort to be warm he remained cold. He went down a
companionway and reached a lower deck. He felt his way along,
hearing rats running from before his advance. He reached what he
thought was the galley. There seemed to be a stove, but he had no
matches. But he found a pile of shavings, and he carried several
armfuls up to the deck and made a sort of rough bed for himself. He
lay down and closed his eyes.
Dawn awoke him with a brightness that cheered him wonderfully. He
sat up and gazed about the ship. It puzzled and amused him. It was
the strangest vessel he had ever seen. Bags of shavings were piled
around the stern. A heap of them lay in the bows. The deck was
cracked and broken. The ironwork was red with rust.
The sun came out from behind a cloud and flooded the sea with warm
rays. Gore sat on the crazy deck and examined the diamond he had
stolen. He was now a rich man, so rich that it intoxicated him to
think of it. If only Archer would come now!
A faint droning sound caused him to look toward the land. A headland
jutted out in the distance from the main line. He jumped to his
feet. That headland! He knew it. There could be no question about
that headland. He knew every line of the coast that stretched into
the morning mist. He was not facing the rendezvous. He was facing
Portland Bill!
How had he come to make such an error in his calculations? He had
the ship's speed down to a mathematical fraction. She was due to
dock at a certain hour. He had worked it out carefully. He had
traced it on a chart; every day so much; every day so much. And then
it occurred to him. He had worked out the speed and the distance,
but had forgotten to look at the log for corroboration. The storm in
the Bay of Biscay had delayed the liner!
His thoughts were interrupted by the droning sound he had heard. It
was louder now, like the hum of an automobile. He looked upward.
Coming up over the headland he saw several airplanes, rising rapidly
against the heavens like wasps. The sun flashed on their wings. He
watched them as they came out to sea swiftly--one, two, three, four,
five, six--forming an arrow-head shape of remarkable evenness.
Now they flew higher still. They were over him now, droning louder
than ever. Battle formation! They hovered for a moment, circled,
shut off their engines and swooped. A sudden spark burst from the
first plane, and Nathaniel Gore's brain cleared. He leaped to the
side of the ship and threw himself over just as a falling bomb hit
the deck and exploded in a thunderous roar that shook the world.
Nathaniel Gore just saved his life by that small fraction of time;
but he was terribly injured. One of the observers of the planes
spotted him as he went overboard. He was picked up and carried
ashore. In the hospital they found the diamond in his pocket.
The ship on board which he had climbed, you see, was an old hulk
which had been towed out and anchored so that the Air Force might
sink her in bombing practice.
CHAPTER VII
_The Walter States His Third Case_
"Congratulations!" exclaimed the waiter, clapping his hands
noiselessly together. "My lord, your dramatic sense is springing to
life! I doubt if I could have told that case more effectively."
"You seem to have a high estimate of your abilities," retorted the
judge, frigidly.
"On the contrary, I have--or had--a low one of yours."
"You are damnably impertinent, sir!"
The waiter bent forward and his face assumed a severe expression. He
shook his forefinger at the judge.
"Another word of such language and I shall commit you for contempt of
court!" he cried. "It is intolerable that the dignity of this
assembly should be lowered by the vulgar parlance of the taproom. I
give you an opportunity to apologize to ourselves before I send you
to a place where you shall have leisure to reflect on your
indiscretion!"
No wonder the judge gasped. The words thus addressed to him were his
own--the very warning he had uttered to a prisoner but recently in
his own court!
He experienced a sensation that made a chill run down his spine. The
very manner of uttering the warning was his. That poised forefinger!
That out-thrust chin! Those slitted eyelids!
He trembled, though he tried to control his limbs.
"I am sorry if I have, in the heat of the moment, given way to my
feelings," he stammered. "I withdraw the offending words."
"Excellent!" cried the waiter. "Excellent! My lord, you are
becoming almost human!"
Once more the judge experienced that chilling sensation. He had
unconsciously made exactly the same apology that the prisoner had
made to him!
The perspiration rolled down his face. He drew out his handkerchief
and mopped his brow.
"Pray, sir," he forced himself to say, "how is it that you seem to
have such an intimate knowledge of legal procedure?"
"Ah, it may be heredity, my lord. Or it may be that I am a criminal.
Or it may be both."
The judge fixed his eyes on the waiter.
"You seem to know my court very well. Yet I cannot recollect ever
seeing you in the dock."
"You see so many that your memory cannot retain every face. I will
admit, however, that you have never sentenced me. I have,
nevertheless, attended your court often enough and have listened to
your learned summing up of the law. I have generally been in the
public gallery."
There was a silence.
The waiter had regained his buoyancy of spirit. His resentment at
the judge's outburst had entirely disappeared. He was almost
smiling. The judge felt a little more comfortable.
"As it is now my turn to state a case for the prosecution of the
prisoner and the views he holds," said the waiter--and at the words
the judge's heart fluttered a bit--"I wish, in the very first place