CHAPTER IX
"Where am I?"
Jack Villiers opened his eyes slowly, only to shut them again. Duringthe first moments of returning consciousness he was aware of a dullthrobbing pain in the region of the nape of his neck--a pain thatbecame almost excruciating when he made an effort to rise.
It was some moments before he attempted to reopen his eyes. With hisbrain working slowly, he tried to account for his present state ofdiscomfort. Something was wrong--what? Had he been playing Rugger,and been carried off the field? No; it couldn't be that. He hadn'tplayed footer for months. Strafed by Huns? Wrong again: he realizedthat he had been "demobbed" and that there was no longer a war on.Yet he was on board ship. He could feel the steady pulsations of theengines and the thud of the propeller-shaft not so very far beneathhim. Odours of an unmistakably "shippy" nature assailed his nostrils.Yes, he was at sea. The _Titania_ was under way.
Yet that theory puzzled him. She wasn't ready for sea. Beverley andhe were sleeping on board, and----
With an effort he raised himself on one elbow and tried to shout hischum's name. But not a sound came from his parched throat. Histongue, feeling as if it had swollen to abnormal dimensions, seemedto press, hot and dry, against the roof of his mouth.
"Dash it all!" he ejaculated mentally. "Haven't I got a fat head?Where am I?"
By degrees he became more rational. He lay still, not daring to move.Even then every roll of the ship sent thrills of acute pain over hisbody.
At first when he opened his eyes everything appeared to be of adull-reddish tinge, but presently the lurid mist cleared away and hefound himself watching an oval-shaped patch of light that,penetrating a solitary scuttle, danced up and down the oppositebulkhead with every movement of the vessel.
"What cabin is this?" he thought. "It's not mine; proper sort of adog-box this. Who put me in here?"
It was indeed a sorry sort of place. The walls and ceiling werecovered with cork-cement that was dripping with moisture. At one timethe composition had been painted white. It was now a sickly yellowstreaked with iron-rust. On the floor was a ragged piece of oaklinoleum. Underneath the scuttle, which was closed and secured by atarnished brass butterfly nut, was a bunk on which a piece of oldcanvas had been placed to form a rough and ready mattress. And on thebunk, with his head supported by a folded coat--his own, lay JackVilliers.
Further investigation showed that he was dressed in his own trousers,socks, pants, and vest--and nothing more. His boots, shirt, andwaistcoat had gone.
"Good heavens!" he thought, as the full significance of his positioncame home to him like a flash. "I've been shanghaied. Yes, Iremember, a fellow called me about a telegram."
Slowly he raised his arm and, bringing his hand back, very gingerlyrubbed his skull. There was a raised bruise that felt as large as aduck's egg.
"Sandbagged!" he decided. "The rival crowd is one up. Well, I supposeI'll be able to find out now who the fellows are. Wonder why theysingled me out for their unwelcome attentions."
As a matter of fact it was a case of mistaken identity. On thatmomentous Saturday night one of the crew of the _Zug_--ex._Geier_--who was a past master in the art of speaking colloquialEnglish, hailed from the wharf-wall, fully expecting that Sir HughHarborough was one of the two persons on board the _Titania_. Thepseudo messenger was not alone. Skulking behind a rusty and condemnedship's boiler were three powerful men, one armed with a length ofrubber pipe filled with sand, and the others holding ropes and a gagin readiness should the persuasive methods of the loaded india-rubberpipe fail.
Unsuspecting and quite unprepared for foul play, Villiers was struckdown from behind. There was no need to gag and bind him. Quickly andsilently the four men carried their victim to a slipway, where a boatlay in readiness. It was quite a simple matter and almost devoid ofrisk. The night was dark, and even had there been any of the crews ofthe neighbouring vessels about, the statement that it was only adrunken man being taken off to his ship would have allayed suspicion.But, unseen and unchallenged, the emissaries of Kristian Borgenconveyed their senseless victim on board the _Zug_.
Kristian Borgen was waiting to receive them in the tramp's dingystate-room. Save for his own assertion and the fact that he spokeSwedish fluently and possessed credentials (forged, no doubt) fromStockholm, there was nothing Swedish about him. He was a Hun, and aPrussian at that. His real name was Kaspar von Giespert, and he hadbeen an Unter-Leutnant of the German light cruiser _Dresden_. He knewthe story of the _Fusi Yama's_ sunken gold, having heard it from abrother-officer serving on board the _N?rnburg_, but he was not atall sure of the actual position of the wreck. The _Dresden_ escapedthe fate that overtook her consorts in the engagement with Sturdeeoff the Falkland Islands, but afterwards met with an ignominious endby being sunk by her own crew at Juan Fernandez--Alexander Selkirk'sfamous island. On the approach of a British cruiser, von Giespert wasinterned by the Peruvian Government until the end of the war, andupon being released promptly returned to Germany with the object offitting out an expedition to search for the lost gold.
There were serious difficulties in his path. The partial surrender ofGermany's mercantile fleet had made it an impossible matter toprocure a ship in any German port. As a Hun, von Giespert knew that"his name was mud" in almost every important seaport on the Atlanticand Pacific shores. A nation cannot "run amok" and institute a policyof "sink everything without trace" and then expect to be treated on apre-war footing by the States whose flags she has wantonly floutedand insulted. So von Giespert, quick to realize that as a German hewas "down and out", had no qualms about renouncing, temporarily atall events, his nationality and becoming Kristian Borgen, a Swede.And as such he found little difficulty in taking up his abode inSouthampton, whence he could control his latest mercantile enterprisewith comparative ease.
He had succeeded in getting a picked crew of twenty-two Germanseamen--men who in pre-war days had served in the British MercantileMarine, where frequently 75 per cent of a crew sailing under the RedEnsign were either "Dagoes" or "Dutchies". And these men could allspeak English as spoken on shipboard, and most of them, with theHun's versatility in learning languages, were equally at home withSwedish.
Von Giespert had a firm hold upon his band of desperadoes. For onething he paid them well and made fair promises of a substantial shareof the treasure, if and when it were recovered. Anyone possessingcapital could do that, but von Giespert, being a Hun, went further.The men he picked carefully from the crews of certain U-boats whoserecord of piracy was of the blackest--men who had carried outinfamous orders with alacrity when they thought Germany was winning,and who had not hesitated to mutiny and assault their officers whenthey discovered the long-hidden truth that all was lost.
Von Giespert knew how to trade upon their fears. He told them thatthey were "wanted" by the British Government for their past crimes,and that the only safe course for them was to take the bull by thehorns, become Swedish subjects, and accept employment in the countrythat was their former enemy, where, by their audacity, they wouldfling dust into the eyes of the hated English. The _Zug's_ crewaccepted the statement and acted with corresponding discretion.
For the present he had no intention of sailing on the s.s. _Zug_ forthe Pacific. He was content to allow the vessel to proceed in thecharge of Siegfried Strauss, who had been a quarter-master in theNorth German Lloyd Line before serving in the Imperial navy. Strausswas under orders to navigate the _Zug_ by a circuitous route roundthe Cape of Good Hope and pick up his employer at Batavia.
"Donnerwetter! Who is this?" inquired von Giespert angrily, as theunconscious Villiers was unceremoniously dumped at his feet. "This isnot Harborough."
The kidnappers cowered before the wrath of their Prussian pay-master.
"This is the man who has been on board for the last four or fivenights, Herr Kapitan," replied one.
"He seemed in authority."
"You've blundered," declared von Giespert, "and you cannot undo yourmistake. Let us hope that his absence will
throw that fellowHarborough's plans out of gear. Herr Strauss, are you all ready toproceed?"
"The pilot will not be on board before six tomorrow," repliedStrauss. "Those were your instructions."
"Very good," rejoined von Giespert. "We must have a pilot, of course.Now when you drop him, steer eastwards to a point roughly ten milesbeyond the Nab Lightship. Then you know the rest. Keep this fellowwell out of sight. If he gives no trouble, carry him on to Las Palmasand land him there. If he kicks, then drop him overboard. In any casehoodwink him and try to find out our rivals' programme."
Forty-eight hours had elapsed since then, and Jack Villiers wasrecovering his scattered senses. In that respect he was not helpedwhen the door of his cabin was opened and two men entered.
One--Strauss--was rigged out in a blue-serge suit with gilt buttonsand a double line of gold braid round his cuffs. The other man wasdressed in a pale-blue shirt, open at the neck, and a pair of canvastrousers.
"So you are recovering," observed Strauss in an almost faultlessEnglish accent.
Villiers tried to reply, but his parched throat gave no sound.
"Bring some brandy," ordered Strauss, turning to his subordinate.
The strong spirit had the effect of reviving Jack considerably. Hefound his tongue.
"Where am I?" he demanded.
"On the s.s. _Zug_," was the reply. "We picked you up seven milessouth of St. Catherine's."
"Oh!" ejaculated Villiers, taken aback by this astonishingintelligence. "How----"
"Don't talk," protested Strauss, with mock sympathy. "You're veryweak. I'll tell you. It was two days ago. We are bound from Malmo toMonte Video, and this is a Swedish ship. Two days ago, I say, we werestanding down Channel when we sighted a ship's lifeboat drifting. Wealtered our course, and on approaching we found you lying unconsciouson the stern-gratings. We did not touch at an English port, nor didwe sight any vessel bound up-Channel; so it seems as if you mustenjoy our hospitality until we reach Las Palmas."
"Haven't you wireless?" inquired Villiers.
The acting skipper of the _Zug_ shook his head.
"Otherwise we would be able to oblige you," he added. "But I will seethat you are made comfortable. Do you wish for anything to eat?"
Villiers felt far from wanting food. His throat was still painful,and his head ached fearfully.
"I'm thirsty," he replied.
The two men went out, returning in a few minutes with a hair mattressand pillow and a basin of hot soup.
"Take this and go to sleep," said Strauss, when the fresh bedding hadbeen substituted for the canvas sacking. "I will look in again inhalf an hour or so."
Villiers managed to finish the soup, although every spoonful requiredan effort to swallow. Then he lay back, wondering and pondering overthe brief story that the _Zug's_ master had just told him.
"Boats cost money, especially nowadays," he soliloquised. "Wonder whyI was cast adrift in a lifeboat when they might have dumped me intothe ditch? That would have saved them a lot of expense and would havecovered their tracks. Well, here I am, able to sit up and takenourishment, but beyond that---- And Beverley, how's he taking it? Isuppose they didn't sandbag him, too?"
Still puzzling his tired brain over his strange predicament, Villiersdropped into a fitful slumber.