The Devil's Admiral

  CHAPTER IV

  I GO ABOARD THE "_KUT SANG_"

  Perhaps I should have told the policeman about Petrak, when I heard thecockney say he had seen a red-headed little man in a white navy-caprunning away from the Flagship Bar. But, if I had, I might have been heldas a witness and nothing come of it, for it developed that the cockneyknew nothing about the murder--as he said he had simply seen the littleman running away from the scene.

  I had other business beside aiding the police to find the murderer of asailor, and that business was to get to Hong-Kong as quickly as I couldin the _Kut Sang_. Even then it was time that I hasten to the dock andboard the steamer. I hailed a _cochero_ and, leaving the Manila police tosettle their own mysteries, got my baggage from the Oriente and rodethrough Binondo toward the waterfront.

  Now it occurs to me that I must set down in their order the events ofthat day in their proper sequence, which compels me to tell of my meetingwith Mr. Trego in the Hong-Kong-Shanghai Bank.

  It was not until the whole affair was ended that the significance of thatapparently casual meeting in the bank came upon me with its full force,and I saw the pattern of what was to become a tangled succession of themost queer happenings.

  There were papers at the bank which I must take with me, and on the wayto the docks I stopped there. As I went in there was a sallow-faced manstanding outside a grated window talking with a teller. He was smoking along Russian cigarette, and pulling with nervous fingers at a tiny blackmoustache. His malacca cane was leaning against the wall by his side. Irecognized him as the man who had driven the Rev. Luther Meeker out ofthe rear room of the bank, when the latter went in to seek alms, as hesaid.

  He stood aside as I approached the teller's window, and the clerk handedout the papers to me, with a smile and some trifling remark.

  "When are you leaving, Mr. Trenholm?" asked the clerk.

  "In an hour in the _Kut Sang_," I said, and the man with the cigaretteturned round and surveyed me with mild surprise. As I stepped to the doorhe went up to the window and whispered something to the clerk.

  "Mr. Trenholm! Just one minute, please, Mr. Trenholm!"

  The clerk called me and I halted, thinking that he had forgottensomething about my letter of credit, or wanted my signature again.

  "I want you to meet Mr. Trego," said the teller. "He will be with you inthe _Kut Sang_."

  I bowed, and Mr. Trego bowed, but his eyes were appraising me as helooked at me, although outwardly he had the excessive politeness of aLatin.

  "I am very glad to meet you," he said without the trace of an accent,although in that mechanical manner which makes the words sound as if theyhad been read many times out of a grammar or phrase-book. I took him fora Frenchman.

  "I must be going now, but I hope to meet you on board," I said, and webowed again and I left him.

  "He's all right," I heard the teller say as I went out, and understoodthat the bank-clerk had assured Trego that my character was good enoughfor him to be friendly with me on the passage to Hong-Kong.

  As we swung out of Calle San Fernando I saw the _Kut Sang_ tied up at theembankment of the Pasig River, with the Blue Peter at her foremast andheavy black smoke pouring from her funnel. She had the aspect of a vesselgetting ready for sea, and the last of her cargo was being put into herhold.

  It was then that I was attracted to a knot of natives and sailorsclustered about an organ, in front of the decrepit building which I knewfor the Sailors' Home, roaring out the chorus of "Rock of Ages" as thoughit were a chantey. There could be no mistaking the figure seated at thewheezy little organ--the Rev. Luther Meeker, with his battered helmet onthe back of his head and his goggles turned skyward as he wailed in ahigh-piped tenor the words of the old hymn.

  He was too busy to see me and was making hard going of the tune, for theassorted voices which followed his lead held to various keys. He may haveseen me from behind his goggles, but, if he did, he gave no sign, and Iurged the driver to whip up the horse and pass the group at a good clip.I had no desire to be annoyed by the old impostor, and was afraid that hemight have some new pretext to keep me from going in the _Kut Sang_.

  We were well clear of the congregation when I was startled to see Petrakemerge from the pack of staring natives about the organ, and run after mycarriage.

  "Take your luggage aboard for a peseta, sir!" he cried, grasping the sideof the vehicle and keeping pace with it.

  I confess that I suspected some game, and that Meeker had waylaid me. Itlooked like a bold move to block me at the last minute, and I was ratheramused at the idea of watching their game and seeing what might be thetactics.

  The little fellow had changed his appearance a trifle. His red head wascovered now with a black cloth cap, making him look more like a stokerthan a seaman. His ratlike visage was covered with a coppery stubble, butits colour was not apparent at first glance, for his face was smearedwith coal-dust and grease.

  "I'm nigh dead for a drink," he whined. "Let me take your luggage aboard,sir--just a peseta, sir. I've had jungle fever and was shipwrecked--inthe _H.B. Leeds_ it was that went down in a typhoon. I can't get a shipout of this blasted place. I'm an honest sailor if some hard on thedrink--just a peseta, sir, and I'll put your dunnage down in your cabinslick as a whistle."

  "I have a mind to turn you over to the police," I told him, expecting himto take alarm and run away, for I was not so sure he had not had a handin the murder of the sailor in the Flagship Bar.

  The _cochero_ had pulled up his horse on the mole in the thick of thescattered cargo, and Petrak still clung to the stanchion supporting thecanvas-top of the carriage.

  "And for why?" he demanded with a touch of arrogance, giving me a shrewdlook. "What have I been doin' of, sir?"

  "That little cutting in the Flagship Bar."

  "The squarehead? Not me, sir. The bobbies got that chap right enough--oneof his mates out of this wessel right alongside what you're goin' aboardof. Just a peseta, sir, and I'll handle your luggage."

  "They have got the fellow who stabbed the man in the Flagship Bar?"

  "Slick as a whistle, some two hours back. One of his mates, he was, thatdid the cuttin'--lampman out of this wessel. Take your luggage."

  "Take it along, then, and see that you don't drop it," I told him,convinced that the little villain could have had no hand in the murder,even if he had been on the scene.

  He shouldered my bag and went up the gangway and I followed him closely.I looked in at the door of the saloon where I saw the old captain seatedat the table, with a litter of papers about him, arguing with a tallrawboned New Englander, whom I knew to be the mate. He was complainingabout something.

  "I say we ain't goin' to git out to-night, Cap'n Riggs," he said. "Thebo'sun has went and got hisself stabbed and four of the white hands aremissin', and we ain't got nobody to work ship but the chinks."

  "We've got to have a crew, Mr. Harris, and that's all there is to it,"said Captain Riggs. "You say the Greek got cut?"

  "Dead as a door-nail, cap'n. Went out for lamp-wicks and got hisself slitopen in a gin-mill, the fool! We're turrible short-handed, cap'n."

  "Who cut him?"

  "Hanged if I know. The police say the lampman, but the lampman didn'tleave the ship until after the bo'sun was done for, near as I can make itout. But the police have the lampman locked up for it, and I'm too busyto bother my head. First we know they'll want all the crew for witnesses.There's some monkey-business goin' on, too."

  "Now, what do you mean?" demanded the captain, losing patience.

  "Just what I'm sayin' of--thar's a furriner sittin' on the dock watchin'everything that goes over the side. Looks like a Rooshan Finn to me. Whatsort of a charter we got, cap'n? This ain't no blockade-runnin' game, isit? You got orders for Port Arthur? If you have, I'm out--I don't want noJaps blowin' me up unless I'm paid for it."

  "Mr. Harris, you are talking nonsense. We are chartered for Hong-Kong. Myorders are to get to sea to-night, no matter how I do it, and you oughtto be able
to scrape up a crew at the Sailors' Home for the asking. We'llmanage all right with the chinks on deck, if we can get some goodhelmsmen. You can't expect to get out with a battleship crew this trip.Get the cargo in her and send the Dutchman ashore for men who can takethe wheel."

  The mate went out, and I stepped into the saloon and presented my ticketto the captain. I was rather surprised to find such an old man incommand, for he was gray and stooped, but he surveyed me over his glasseswith kindly eyes, although I knew he was being harassed with difficultiesin getting routine established on board the _Kut Sang_, for she had beenin dry-dock and everything seemed topsyturvy.

  "Glad to meet ye, Mr. Trenholm," he said. "I'm up to my scuppers withbusiness. Maybe we'll sail to-night and maybe we won't, but your room isNo. 22, starboard side, well aft, all to yourself. Two more passengers tocome yet, according to the list. Didn't know I was to have passengersthis trip, so I can't tell what the accommodation will be, but we'll tryand make things homelike if they ain't like a liner. You got a valley?"He pointed to Petrak, who stood behind me with my baggage on hisshoulder.

  "Hardly that," I laughed. "He says he's a sailor with a Manila thirst inhis throat and no job."

  Petrak swung his burden to the deck and squared his shoulders, making agesture, which he intended as a salute to the captain.

  "Petrak's my name, sir," he said, addressing Captain Riggs. "I've beenbo'sun, sir, discharged out of the _Southern Cross_ when she was sold inSingapore, and shipped out in the _H.B. Leeds_ that went down in atyphoon. Junk picked us up, sir, what was left of us, and I lost all mydischarges and can't get a ship out of here. I'm smart, sir, and strong,if I do look small. It's because I ain't had no wictuals to speak of,sir."

  "Ever handle steam-wheel?"

  "Aye, sir. One trip out of Cardiff to Delaware Breakwater in the_Skipton Castle_. Stood wheel--"

  "See the mate," said Captain Riggs, and Petrak went out, deserting mybaggage.

  A black boy in a scarlet _sarong_ took my bag away to my stateroom, but Iwent up to the hurricane-deck, where I found a grass-chair under anawning and sat down to enjoy a cigar.

  Just above where the _Kut Sang_ lay was the Bridge of Spain, presenting amoving panorama of the many races that mingle in the Philippine capital.The river itself was alive with _cascoes_ being poled about by half-nakednatives, the families of the crews doing the cooking and primitivehousekeeping on the half-decks, while the family fighting-cocks struttedon the roofs of the boats and crowed defiance to each other.

  On the opposite side of the river was the walled city and the moss-grownwalls of Fort Santiago, and on both banks were steamers and river-craft,making a colourful and noisy scene.

  The Rev. Luther Meeker was preaching to the group before the Sailors'Home, and I watched him until he closed the service and started towardthe dock, two men carrying his little street-organ behind him.

  Mr. Harris, the mate, was doing the final work of getting the steamerready to sail, and was preparing to cast off the lines, when a dray,loaded with boxes, pulled up alongside the vessel.

  "What ye got there?" demanded Harris. "That ain't for this packet--gitout the way thar!"

  Just then a man in white darted out of the office of the harbour-policestation, and, holding up his hand, cried to Harris:

  "One minute--one minute!"

  "One minute yer grandmother!" retorted Harris angrily. "Who be you tohold up this ship! Vamose!" he roared to the driver of the dray.

  The man in white ran up the gangplank with a paper in one hand and amalacca cane in the other, and I recognized him as Mr. Trego, the man towhom I had been introduced in the bank. He met Harris at the foot of theladder to the hurricane-deck, and they were right below me, so I couldnot avoid hearing what took place between them.

  "Call the captain, Mr. Mate," said Trego hurriedly, and, with his voicelowered, "Here are my papers--get those boxes off the wagon, eef youplease. I am supercargo for the owners. I hold the charter for thesesheep. Queeck--on deck with those boxes of the machinery."

  "Oh, cap'n!" called Harris, after he had taken a quick glance at thepaper which Trego thrust before him, and Captain Riggs came out of thesaloon.

  "What's up now?" he demanded. "What's this?"

  Harris waved his hand toward the paper, and Trego put it before CaptainRiggs.

  "Read it," said Trego. "Here are your orders from the company." He leanedagainst his cane and twirled his moustache, while Captain Riggs adjustedhis glasses and scanned the papers.

  "Get that stuff aboard, lively," said Captain Riggs to Harris, and themate gave orders to have the slings thrown outboard.

  "Where do they go?" asked Harris.

  Captain Riggs looked at Trego inquiringly.

  "In the storeroom below--right under the feet of me," said Trego,stamping his foot.

  "Cargo in the storeroom," said Captain Riggs in surprise.

  "Eet ees for you to obey," snapped Trego excitedly. "You will please tosee from my papers that I am the commander of all. Read eet again eef youdo not know!" And he shook his malacca cane in the air.

  "Get that cargo aboard and stow as this gentleman--Mr.--what is it,Trego?--as Mr. Trego says. Move navy-style! Keep clear of the sidethere, you! Can't you see we've got cargo coming over there!"

  "My dear sirs, I beg your pardon," said a familiar voice, and I steppedto the rail and looked over to see the Rev. Luther Meeker standing at theedge of the embankment, within a few feet of where Trego, Riggs, andHarris stood.

  "Get out the way!" bawled Riggs to him.

  "No offence, I hope," said the missionary, "but is this the steamer_Kut Sang_?"

  "It is," said Riggs, and turned his attention to Harris and Trego, whowere giving orders to the Chinese at the winch.

  "Then all is well," said Meeker, and he turned away toward the gangplank,where the two men were standing with his organ between them, awaiting hisorders.

  "Go right on board with it, my good men," he said to them. "This is myship, sure enough," and he preceded them up the gang.

  Captain Riggs came up the ladder from the foredeck in time to see the menbringing the organ aboard, although Meeker was out of his sight by thetime the captain reached a position where he had a view of the gang.

  "Here. Where are you chaps going?" he shouted to the porters.

  They stopped and looked up at him.

  "Gear for a passenger," said the taller of the two.

  "What passenger?" demanded Riggs, in surprise.

  "A parson," said the spokesman, and as he said it Meeker himself came upthe after-ladder.

  "Ah, the captain," he said. "I am the Rev. Luther Meeker," he explained,presenting his ticket. "I am going to Hong-Kong, and, if I am notmistaken, this is the good ship _Kut Sang_"

  "That your baggage? All right, you men--come aboard and look sharp."

  "That is my hymnal organ," said Meeker, looking over the side. "Comeright along with it, my good men, but leave it below. How do you do, mydear Mr. Trenholm? Captain, those two men are sailors who are looking fora ship, if--"

  "I'll meet you below in a minute in the saloon," said Captain Riggs,handing back the ticket. "Mind that you stay aboard, because we sail atonce, sir."

  Meeker bowed to me again, and hurried aft, twirling his shell crucifixbetween his fingers in a nervous manner.

  "Hang a parson, anyway," growled Riggs, grinning at me. "They always makea fuss--like as not he'll sing his way to Hong-Kong, with that oldmelodeon of his. Oh, Mr. Harris! There are two men below with a parsonwho say they are sailors. Have the Dutchman sign them on if they are ablehands."

  He went down the ladder again to the fore-deck, and I went down to mystateroom to see that my baggage was safe.

  "Smart job, my man; smart job!" I heard the Rev. Luther Meeker saying asI stepped into the passage.

  He was in the stateroom next to mine, but the door was open.

  "Who's that?" asked somebody cautiously. Then, in a louder tone: "We gotyour dunnage stowed all snug, sir."


  I stepped into my room, and, after a minute's whispered consultation, Iheard some one step into the passageway and run forward. Looking out Isaw the little red-headed man scurrying away.

  "Single her up!" called Captain Riggs from the bridge, and I knew we wereletting go of Manila as the winches drew in the mooring-lines, and thewhistle blew a farewell blast.

  The nose of the _Kut Sang_ fell away from the embankment and into thecurrent of the Pasig, which swung her toward Manila Bay and the ChinaSea.

  I could hear Meeker humming a tune and arranging his baggage. I stood foran instant and pondered over the situation, not sure that I would not bewiser to remain in Manila rather than sail in the _Kut Sang_. I shiveredas I sensed danger about me, as one feels the presence of an intruder inthe dark that cannot be seen.

  Then I laughed at myself, and opened my bag for my pistols.