The blue scarab
“This’ll do your trick, mister. Here comes a Customs cruiser.”
Instantly the two fishermen bent to their oars to meet the oncoming
craft, and in a few minutes we were alongside, Badger hailing like a
bull of Bashan. A brief explanation to the officer in charge secured a
highly sympathetic promise of help. We all scrambled up on deck; the
boat was dropped astern at the scope of her painter; the engine-room
bell jangled merrily, and the smart, yacht-like vessel began to forge
ahead.
“Now then,” said the officer, as his craft gathered way, “give us a
description of this barge. What is she like?”
“She’s a small stumpy,” the senior fisherman explained, “flying light;
wants paint badly; steers with a wheel; green transom with _Bluebell,
Maldon_, cut in and gilded. Seemed to be keeping along the north
shore.”
With these particulars in his mind, the officer explored the western
horizon with a pair of night-glasses, although it was still broad
daylight. Presently he reported: “There’s a stumpy in a line with the
Blacktail Spit buoy. Just take a look at her.” He handed his glasses
to the fisherman, who, after a careful inspection of the stranger,
gave it as his opinion that she was our quarry. “Probably makin’ for
Southend or Leigh,” said he, and added: “I’ll bet she’s bound for
Benfleet Creek. Nice quiet place, that, to land the stuff.”
Our recent painful experience was now reversed, for as our swift
little vessel devoured the miles of water, the barge, which we were
all watching eagerly, loomed up larger every minute. By the time we
were abreast of the Mouse Lightship, she was but a few hundred yards
ahead, and even through my glasses, the name _Bluebell_ was clearly
legible. Badger nearly wept with delight; the officer in charge smiled
an anticipatory smile; the deck-hands girded up their loins for the
coming capture and the plain-clothes men each furtively polished a
pair of handcuffs.
At length the little cruiser came fairly abreast of the barge--not
unobserved by the two men on her deck. Then she sheered in suddenly
and swept alongside. One hand neatly hooked a shroud with a grappling
iron and made fast while a couple of preventive officers, the
plain-clothes men and the inspector jumped down simultaneously on to
the barge’s deck. For a moment, the two bawley men were inclined to
show fight; but the odds were too great. After a perfunctory scuffle
they both submitted to be handcuffed and were at once hauled up on
board the cruiser and lodged in the fore-peak under guard. Then the
chief officer, the two fishermen and I jumped on board the barge and
followed Badger down the companion hatch to the cabin.
It was a curious scene that was revealed in that little cupboard-like
apartment by the light of Badger’s electric torch. On each of the two
lockers was stretched a man, securely lashed with lead-line and having
drawn over his face a knitted stocking cap, while on the little
triangular fixed table rested an iron-bound box which I instantly
identified by my recollection of the description of the bullion case
in the ship’s manifest. It was but the work of a minute to liberate
the skipper and his son and send them up, wrathful but substantially
uninjured, to refresh on the cruiser; and then the ponderous
treasure-chest was borne in triumph by two muscular deck-hands, up the
narrow steps, to be hoisted to the Government vessel.
“Well, well,” said the inspector, mopping his face with his
handkerchief, “all’s well that ends well; but I thought I had lost the
men and the stuff that time. What are you going to do? I shall stay on
board as this boat is going right up to the Custom House in London;
but if you want to get home sooner, I dare say the chief officer will
put you ashore at Southend.”
I decided to adopt this course, and I was accordingly landed at
Southend Pier with a telegram from Badger to his head-quarters; and at
Southend I was fortunate enough to catch an express train which
brought me to Fenchurch Street while the night was still young.
When I reached our chambers, I found Thorndyke seated by the fire,
serenely studying a brief. He stood up as I entered and, laying aside
the brief, remarked:
“You are back sooner than I expected. How sped the chase? Did you
catch the barge?”
“Yes. We’ve got the men and we’ve got the bullion. But we very nearly
lost both;” and here I gave him an account of the pursuit and the
capture, to which he listened with the liveliest interest. “That
Customs cruiser was a piece of sheer luck,” said he, when I had
concluded. “I am delighted. This capture simplifies the case for us
enormously.”
“It seems to me to dispose of the case altogether,” said I. “The
property is recovered and the thieves are in custody. But I think most
of the credit belongs to Badger.”
Thorndyke smiled enigmatically. “I should let him have it all,
Jervis,” he said; and then, after a reflective pause, he continued:
“We will go round to Scotland Yard in the morning to verify the
capture. If the package agrees with the description in the bill of
lading, the case, as you say, is disposed of.”
“It is hardly necessary,” said I. “The marks were all correct and the
Customs seals were unbroken--but still, I know you won’t be satisfied
until you have verified everything for yourself. And I suppose you are
right.”
It was past eleven in the following forenoon when we invaded
Superintendent Miller’s office at Scotland Yard. That genial officer
looked up from his desk as we entered and laughed joyously. “I told
you so, Badger,” he chuckled, turning to the inspector, who had also
looked up and was regarding us with a foxy smile. “I knew the doctor
wouldn’t be satisfied until he had seen it with his own eyes. I
suppose that is what you have come for, sir?”
“Yes,” was the reply. “It is a mere formality, of course, but, if you
don’t mind----”
“Not in the least,” replied Miller. “Come along, Badger, and show the
doctor your prize.”
The two officers conducted us to a room, which the superintendent
unlocked, and which contained a small table, a measuring standard, a
weighing machine, a set of Snellen’s test-types, and the now historic
case of bullion. The latter Thorndyke inspected closely, checking the
marks and dimensions by his notes.
“I see you haven’t opened it,” he remarked.
“No,” replied Miller. “Why should we? The Customs seals are intact.”
“I thought you might like to know what was inside,” Thorndyke
explained.
The two officers looked at him quickly and the inspector exclaimed:
“But we do know. It was opened and checked at the Customs.”
“What do you suppose is inside?” Thorndyke asked.
“I don’t suppose,” Badger replied testily. “I know. There are four
bars of gold inside.”
“Well,” said Thorndyke, “as the representative of the Assurance
Company, I should like to see the contents of that case.”
The two officers stared at him in amazement, as also, I must admit,
did I. The implied doubt seemed utterly contrary to reason.
“This is scepticism with a vengeance!” said Miller. “How on earth is
it possible--but there, I suppose if you are not satisfied, we should
be justified----”
He glanced at his subordinate, who snorted impatiently: “Oh, open it
and let him see the bars. And then, I suppose, he will want us to make
an assay of the metal.”
The superintendent retired with wrinkled brows and presently returned
with a screwdriver, a hammer and a case-opener. Very deftly he broke
the seals, extracted the screws and prized up the lid of the case,
inside which were one or two folds of thick canvas. Lifting these with
something of a flourish, he displayed the upper pair of dull, yellow
bars.
“Are you satisfied now, sir?” demanded Badger. “Or do you want to see
the other two?”
Thorndyke looked reflectively at the two bars, and the two officers
looked inquiringly at him (but one might as profitably have watched
the expression on the face of a ship’s figurehead). Then he took from
his pocket a folding foot-rule and quickly measured the three
dimensions of one of the bars.
“Is that weighing machine reliable?” he asked.
“It is correct to an ounce,” the superintendent replied, gazing at my
colleague with a slightly uneasy expression. “Why?”
By way of reply Thorndyke lifted out the bar that he had measured and
carrying it across to the machine, laid it on the platform and
carefully adjusted the weights.
“Well?” the superintendent queried anxiously, as Thorndyke took the
reading from the scale.
“Twenty-nine pounds, three ounces,” replied Thorndyke.
“Well?” repeated the superintendent. “What about it?”
Thorndyke looked at him impassively for a moment, and then, in the
same quiet tone, answered: “Lead.”
“What!” the two officers shrieked in unison, darting across to the
scale and glaring at the bar of metal. Then Badger recovered himself
and expostulated, not without temper, “Nonsense, sir. Look at it.
Can’t you see that it is gold?”
“I can see that it is gilded,” replied Thorndyke.
“But,” protested Miller, “the thing is impossible! What makes you
think it is lead?”
“It is just a question of specific gravity,” was the reply. “This bar
contains seventy-two cubic inches of metal and it weighs twenty-nine
pounds three ounces. Therefore it is a bar of lead. But if you are
still doubtful, it is quite easy to settle the matter. May I cut a
small piece off the bar?”
The superintendent gasped and looked at his subordinate. “I suppose,”
said he, “under the circumstances--eh, Badger? Yes. Very well,
Doctor.”
Thorndyke produced a strong pocket-knife, and, having lifted the bar
to the table, applied the knife to one corner and tapped it smartly
with the hammer. The blade passed easily through the soft metal, and
as the detached piece fell to the floor, the two officers and I craned
forward eagerly. And then all possible doubts were set at rest. There
was no mistaking the white, silvery lustre of the freshly-cut surface.
“Snakes!” exclaimed the superintendent. “This is a fair knock-out!
Why, the blighters have got away with the stuff, after all! Unless,”
he added, with a quizzical look at Thorndyke, “you know where it is,
Doctor. I expect you do.”
“I believe I do,” said Thorndyke, “and if you care to come down with
me to the London Docks, I think I can hand it over to you.”
The superintendent’s face brightened appreciably. Not so Badger’s.
That afflicted officer flung down the chip of metal that he had been
examining, and, turning to Thorndyke, demanded sourly: “Why didn’t you
tell us this before, sir? You let me go off chivvying that damn barge,
and you knew all the time that the stuff wasn’t on board.”
“My dear Badger,” Thorndyke expostulated, “don’t you see that these
lead bars are essential to our case? They prove that the gold bars
were never landed and that they are consequently still on the ship.
Which empowers us to detain any gold that we may find on her.”
“There, now, Badger,” said the superintendent, “it’s no use for you to
argue with the doctor. He’s like a giraffe. He can see all round him
at once. Let us get on to the Docks.”
Having locked the room, we all sallied forth, and, taking a train at
Charing Cross Station, made our way by Mark Lane and Fenchurch Street
to Wapping, where, following Thorndyke, we entered the Docks and
proceeded straight to a wharf near the Wapping entrance. Here
Thorndyke exchanged a few words with a Customs official, who hurried
away and presently returned accompanied by an officer of higher rank.
The latter, having saluted Thorndyke and cast a slightly amused glance
at our little party, said: “They’ve landed that package that you spoke
about. I’ve had it put in my office for the present. Will you come and
have a look at it?”