The Complete Detective Sgt. Elk Series (6 Novels in One Edition). Edgar Wallace

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СКАЧАТЬ her riding lights,” said the other laconically.

      Those two riding lights stopped the destroyer; it stopped six other destroyers, far out of sight, six obedient cruisers came to a halt, and, a hundred miles or so away, the combined French and German fleets became stationary.

      All through the night the watchers lay, heaving, rolling, and pitching, like so many logs, on the troubled seas. Dawn broke mistily, but the lights still gleamed. Day came in dull greyness, and the young officer, with his eyes fastened to his binoculars, looked long and earnestly ahead.

      “I can see a mast,” he said doubtfully, “but there’s something very curious about it.” Then he put down his glasses suddenly, put out his hand, and rang his engines full ahead.

      He turned to the quartermaster at his side.

      “Get the Commodore by wireless,” he said rapidly; “the Doro has gone.” Gone, indeed, was the Doro — gone six hours since.

      They found the lights. They were still burning when the destroyer came up with them. A roughly built raft with a pole lashed upright, and from this was suspended two lanterns. Whilst the fleet had watched this raft, the Doro had gone on. Nailed to the pole was a letter. It was sodden with spray, but T.B. had no difficulty in reading it.

      “Cher ami,” it ran, “much as I value the honour of a naval escort, its presence is embarrassing at the moment. I saw your destroyer this morning through my glasses, and guessed the rest. You are ingenious. Now I understand why you allowed me to escape.

      “My respectful salutations to you, oh, most admirable of policemen!”

      It was signed, “POLTAVO.”

      *

      The court-martial held on Lieutenant-Commander George Septimus Marchcourt, on a charge of “neglect of duty, in that he failed to carry out the instructions of his superior officer,” resulted in an honourable acquittal for that cheerful young officer. It was an acquittal which had a far-reaching effect, though’at the time it did not promise well.

      T.B. was a witness at the trial, which was a purely formal one, in spite of the attention it excited.

      He remained at Gibraltar, pending further developments. For the affair of the Nine Men had got beyond Scotland Yard — they were an international problem.

      T.B. was walking over from La Linea, across the strip of neutral ground which separated Gibraltar from Spain, with Van Ingen, when he confessed that he despaired of ever bringing the Nine to justice.

      “The nations cannot stand the racket much longer,” he said; “these Nine Men are costing civilisation a million a week! Think of it! A million pounds a week! We must either capture them soon or effect a compromise. I am afraid they will make peace on their own terms.”

      “But they must be caught soon,” urged the other.

      “Why?” demanded T.B. irritably. “How can we hope to capture one of the fastest war vessels afloat when the men who control her have all the seas to run in?”

      They had reached the waterport, and T.B. stopped before his hotel.

      “Come in,” he said suddenly. The two men passed through the paved vestibule and mounted the stair to T.B.’s room. “I’m going to look again at our clue,” he said grimly, and extracted from his portfolio the drawing of the little cross with the circular ends.

      T.B. himself does not know to this day why he was moved to produce this disappointing little diagram at that moment. It may have been that, as a forlorn hope, he relied upon the application of a fresh young mind to the problem which was so stale in his, for Van Ingen had never seen the diagram.

      He looked and frowned.

      “Is that all?” he asked, without disguising his disappointment.

      “That is all,” responded T.B.

      They sat looking at the diagram in silence. Van Ingen, as was his peculiarity, scribbled mechanically on the blotting pad before him. He drew flowers, and men’s heads, and impossible structures of all kinds; he made inaccurate tracings of maps, of columns, pediments, squares, and triangles. Then, in the same absent way, he made a rough copy of the diagram.

      Then his pencil stopped and he sat bolt upright.

      “Gee!” he whispered.

      The detective looked up in astonishment.

      “Whew!” whistled Van Ingen. “Have you got an atlas, Smith?”

      The detective took one from his trunk. Van Ingen turned the leaves, looked long and earnestly at something he saw, closed the book, and turned a little white, but his eyes were blazing.

      “I have found ‘Lolo,’” he said simply.

      He took up his pencil and quickly sketched the diagram:

      “Look,” he said, and added a few letters:

      “Longitude, nought; latitude nought — L.0, L.0!” whispered the detective. “You’ve hit it, Van Ingen! By Jove! Why, that is off the African coast.”

      He looked again at the map.

      “It is where the Greenwich meridian crosses the Equator,” he said. “It’s ‘nowhere’! The only ‘nowhere’ in the world!”

33. At “Lolo”

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      Under an awning on the quarterdeck of the Maria Braganza, George T. Baggin was stretched out in the easiest of easychairs in an attitude of luxurious comfort.

      Admiral Lombrosa, passing on his way to his cabin, smacked him familiarly upon the shoulder — an attitude which epitomised the changed relationships of the pair.

      The Maria Braganza was steaming slowly eastward, and, since it was the hour of siesta, the deck was strewn with the recumbent forms of men. Baggin looked up with a scowl.

      “Where is Poltavo?” he asked, and the other laughed.

      “He sleeps, Senor Presidente,” said the “Admiral.” — There had been some curious promotions on board the Maria Braganza.—” He is amusing, your count.”

      Baggin wriggled uncomfortably in his chair, but made no answer, and the other man eyed him keenly.

      Baggin must have felt rather than observed the scrutiny, for suddenly he looked up and caught the sailor’s eye.

      “Eh?” he asked, as though to some unspoken question. Then, “Where is Grayson?”

      Again the smile on the swart face of the Brazilian.

      “He is here,” he said, as a stout figure in white ducks shuffled awkwardly along the canting deck. He came opposite to Baggin; and, drawing a chair towards him with a grunt, he dropped into it СКАЧАТЬ