The North Shore Mystery by Henry Fletcher - HTML preview

CHAPTER XXX
 THE ‘SOUTHERN CROSS’

WHEN Soft Sam left him in Hyde Park, Huey Gosper stood for a time stock still, as still and moveless as the monument of Captain Cook close at hand.

What should he do? Give up all, and fly like a child in a moment of panic? Was it not the action of a fool? And his plans so well laid, too! He was certain nothing could be traced to him. Had he not worked a lone hand—no accomplice to split on him? No; he would stop and brave it out. And then he should lose Bertha! Was life worth having without her after he had risked so much for her sake? Yes, he would stop.

But then, again, Soft Sam had always been right—right even when he (Huey) had felt most confident. Was he not right over the Sydney Cup? Had he not said that of The Vengeance and Bertha, Bertha was a trifle the better horse? And had not Sam made Alec’s fortune for him, and would he not have made one equally as good for himself—he, Huey Gosper, if he had only followed the old man’s advice?

And now it was no question of money. It was liberty, life, that was at stake, and Soft Sam said go. Clearly the old man knew all; what was there he did not know? And perhaps he knew that others knew, or suspected, and so his warnings. It was good of the old chap, but just like him. Yes, he had better go. When the old man gave the word it was no time to linger. He had said “At once.” He would stand not on the order of his going, but go.

Hurriedly Huey walked to his lodgings, and packed up his most portable valuables in a small hand-bag. His money he put in a belt round his waist. Most of his money was, to his regret, in New South Wales bank-notes. What would be the good of them in a foreign country? He went down to the wharves and shipping offices, and inquired as carelessly as possible what ships were starting.

There was no boat going from Sydney to South America, but one would leave in about a week from Newcastle. There was a ship out in the stream that would sail that night for Batavia, and a schooner the following day for the South Sea Islands.

Huey did not half care for going to the Dutch Colony; the South Seas seemed to him a more inviting spot. Amidst those thousands of islands it would surely not be difficult for him to hide his trail, as good, or perhaps better, than South America.

He decided on the schooner, which he found was called the Southern Cross. This would also give him time in the morning to change his notes into gold.

* * * * *

Together with another officer, and armed with a warrant, Constable Hobbs proceeded the following morning to the residence of Huey Gosper, but he was not at home, had not slept there that night, the landlady said. Nevertheless, Hobbs entered his room, which was all turned over and littered about. There was every outward sign of a hasty departure—clothing, books, and toilet articles littered about in a disorder not even to be excused in a bachelor’s department.

“The bird has flown?” muttered Hobbs. “Just my luck!”

Hastily they proceeded to overhaul the various articles left behind. A small portmanteau attracted the constable’s attention, and on opening it, was found to contain a bundle of fine rope, which, being unfolded, revealed itself as a rope ladder with two claw hooks at one end.

“That’s the trick, was it?” said Mr. Hobbs, contemplatively; “but how the dickens did he fix it? Those hooks would hang nicely on the iron bars of the window, but how did he get them there, and getting them there, take them down?”

The answer was not long in coming. In the corner of the room stood, what looked like a Malacca walking-cane. On careful examination it was found to be an article that is sold at Japanese stores as a telescope fishing-rod. The last, or weakest, joint had been removed, and two implements were found in the pocket of an old coat hanging on the door that fitted in the hole intended for the last joint. One was simply a T-shaped piece of iron, with its upper points bent upwards. This Hobbs saw in a moment would readily hook on and unhook the ladder.

The other tool was not so simple—a lump of lead, weighing perhaps four or five pounds. It also had a staple to fit the rod top. It was in shape oblong and round, and in the centre of its smallest end was a diamond-shaped opening, big enough for a pea to drop in. With a long needle Hobbs measured the depth of this opening; it was four inches. To Constable Hobbs it stood revealed as a leaden handle without a blade.

“Here,” said he, speaking unintelligibly to his companion, “is my boy’s clothes-prop. With a narrow knife fixed in such a weapon, one could, with a little practice, easily stab a man ten feet away, particularly if that man was asleep. But it would be far more difficult to withdraw the blade; the weight of the lead from a good drop would drive it in, but there would be little power to withdraw it.

“So the blade fitted the handle loosely, and came away when it had done its work.

“All that is clear to me now—this that the old man saw with a single glance of his eye from a scratch in the paint! We have the evidence. Now for the man! Fortunately you cannot leave Australia by express train, and if he is ashore I will have him.”

Constable Hobbs’s first care was to go to the quays and shipping offices. Here he learned that a ship had sailed the previous evening for Batavia, besides several inter-colonial steamers.

“If he has had a good scare, as he seems to have had, he will try to go as far off as possible, likely enough he is on his way to the East Indies in the ship that sailed last night.”

And Hobbs felt his spirits sink with disappointment. To have got so far and to be beaten in the last step of his progress was humiliating, disgusting. He gained a little more hope, when he was told at the office that the Batavia ship had taken no passengers. If Gosper had gone by her it must have been as a stowaway.

Hobbs did not think this probable. A man with a pocketful of money would hardly resort to such means of escape.

At the last moment he learned, in answer to a chance inquiry, that a schooner had cleared that morning for the South Sea Islands, but they could not say if she had sailed.

Full of a fresh-born hope, Hobbs went to the telegraph office and wired the signalling office at South Head—

“Has schooner Southern Cross passed outwards?”

In a few minutes answer came—“Southern Cross anchored in Watson’s Bay, awaiting change in wind.”

* * * * *

Half-an-hour later Hobbs, on board the police steam launch, was proceeding rapidly down the harbour.

Would they never get there? The launch seemed to him to crawl. Past Cremorne, past Bradley’s Head, past the islands that dotted the blue lake with their olive-green foliage and ruddy sandstone rocks, past Rose Bay with its long-stretched fringe of silver sand, and then out into full view of Watson’s Bay, nestled in snug security under the mighty cliffs of South Head.

Yes? The Southern Cross was still at anchor, resting like a lifeless thing upon the water. A pair of anxious eyes watched the approach of the launch from its deck. And, as the little steamer curved round and drew alongside, and a policeman from its bows hastily climbed on to the deck of the schooner, a loud splash was heard on the further side of the boat.

Hobbs was just in time to see the man he wanted disappear with a dive off the bulwarks. Without a moment’s hesitation he doffed his coat and helmet, and with a rush and a spring he too was in the water.

The constable quickly came to the surface, but the watchers on the schooner could see no sign of Huey Gosper. Twenty pair of eyes at least scanned the surface of the sea in every direction, but no re-appearance was visible. Hobbs vainly called for directions; a lowered boat vainly rowed to and fro. No sign of the man but his floating hat was to be found.

That he had dived a quarter of a mile to the shore and climbed up the rocks unperceived was hardly credible.

Hobbs felt sure he was not far off. Perhaps in diving he had struck a rock and got stunned. Even then he should have floated.

With the courage of despair, Hobbs dived and dived again where Huey had disappeared. With the skill of a pearl diver he felt over the bottom, or as near the bottom as he could reach. Finally he came to the surface panting, waving his hand for help.

The boat came, and strong arms soon lifted on to the schooner’s deck the senseless form of Hubert Gosper. Striking a rock appeared to have stunned him, and a heavy belt of gold around his waist kept him from floating.

“Just my luck!” cried Hobbs, with a melancholy growl, as he shook the water off himself like a shaggy Newfoundland dog. “Just my luck!”

“But you’ve got him after all,” said his companion.

“Got him!” replied Hobbs sarcastically. “What’s the good of a dead criminal to a live policeman?”

* * * * *

The following day Bertha left Darlinghurst triumphantly on the arm of Professor Norris, who had come to meet her. The Crown abandoned her prosecution, and Soft Sam, having removed the embargo on his revelations, Bertha was free to relate those particulars of the crime that had so far remained a mystery.

“Soft Sam saw how it was done at once, Pro,” Bertha said. “After getting to the window and killing my husband in the way Hobbs suggested, he must have hooked Alec’s trousers off the chair where he had left them, taken the key out of the pocket, got an impression in wax, replaced the trousers, closed the window, gone home, filed out a duplicate key, and then robbed the office safe. Who would ever have thought it of him? He was passionate, I know, and dreadfully jealous. Do you remember the wonderful character you gave him, Pro, when you examined his head at Windsor?”

“And I stick to my character even now,” said the Professor. “A great criminal or a great man! What is the difference? The circumstances of his environment, an accident of life, a disappointed love, or a baulked ambition. We have all the potential power for the greatest good or the greatest evil if circumstances so will it, and the greater the brain the greater the power. The Demon of Avarice destroyed Hubert Gosper as surely as it is destroying thousands of hopeful lives every day. It first demoralized, then brutalized him. But he paid the penalty, as every one must inevitably pay.

“You cannot rob your brother of silver without at the same time robbing your own mind of gold. There is no usury like it. Thou shalt not steal from yourself your honour, your self-respect, your love of your fellow-man; for in that moment the light of true guidance shall go from you, and all shall be darkness.”

“Pro, you ought to have been a parson, with a beautiful long black coat, a white fence round your neck, and a shovel hat. Then I could have come and ‘sat under’ you—that is what they call it, I think—and made slippers and smoking-caps for you.”

“The truth cannot be sold, my dear, or dispensed day by day like butcher’s meat. They who hawk salvation for pay are bartering their own souls. But let that pass. Now you are free, what are you going to do for Police-Constable Hobbs? I hear he is to be promoted to sergeant.”

“I will give him five hundred pounds to buy a house of his own. Do you think that will do?”

“I thought you would do no less, my dear. Mr. Hobbs, when he hears it, will be the happiest man in the police force.”

* * * * *

Twelve months later Bertha startled the Professor by a resolution she seemed suddenly to have arrived at.

“I have been thinking, Pro.”

“What about, my dear? A new bonnet?”

“Now don’t be a quiz! It’s not in your line, as the theatrical people say. You are more suited for the ‘heavy’ business. I have decided to go to Paris. You know how I love to get you to talk about that place. And now I mean to see it for myself. I have heaps of money, which, as you will not help me to spend it, I must try and do myself.”

“And are you going alone?”

“That depends. I had thought”—looking slyly at the Professor—“that you might like the trip yourself.”

“Then I must marry you,” replied the Professor.

“Would that be so very dreadful?”

“You know I am yours, Bertha, to do what you will with. That which a man may do with honour for the woman he loves, that will I do for you now and ever more.”

* * * * *

Amongst its departing list of passengers by the following Messageries Maritime mail steamer Marseilles, en route for Paris, the Evening Times announced the names of Professor and Mrs. Norris.

THE END