THE NOVELIST

Otago Witness, Issue 3806, 22 February 1927, Page 62

THE NOVELIST

FLOTSAM OF THE LINE.

By

OTTWELL BINNS.

(Copyright.—For the

Otago Witness.)

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTER. CHAPTER I.—Pat Marchington, yotlng, handsome, rich, and romantic, sailing at random on board the Mangkassar, decides one morning to land at a tropical Eastern town instead of going to Macassar, his planned destination. The captain, Mynheer Gisbert, strongly disapproves, and points out all sorts of possible dangers; but Pat persists, and is finally sent ashore, the captain promising to call for him again in two months. Pat goes to a guest house, rests for a while, and then goes for a walk to the beach, where he notices a bottle floating in the water, and immediately retrieves it. It contains a piece of sketching paper, on which is painted the vivid face of a beautiful girl. Some faint lettering and the three letters S.O.S. cause Pat’s pulse to quicken and his heart to thrill. CHAPTER 11. — THE ADVENTURE BEGINS. The message was not easy to decipher, having been written, as he guessed, in the juice of some berry or fruit, and with a makeshift pen. But word by word as far as possible he spelled it out. “The Banjermasin . . . wrecked . . . island . . . Ceram S . . . on . . . . , . old fort visible from sea . . . the east . . . four other survivors . . wick . . , scoundrels. Whoever finds this . . . to . . . Governor at Batav — . . . all speed.—Lola Anoaster.”

It required very little thought to fill in the blanks; and after the first perusal he read again, supplying the missing words or most of them and completing the broken message. “The Banjermasin was wrecked on an island in the Caram Sea on There : s an old fort. visible from sea on the east. I here are four other survivors, wicked scoundrels. Whoever finds this please send to the Governor at Batavia with all speed.—Lola Ancaster.”

It was clear to him that behind this message was some tragedy of the sea. At some, unnamed place iii the cloud of islands to the eastward, a ship named the Banjermasin had been cast away, and there o n an island to be identified ’by an old fort, visible from the east, were' the survivors, an English woman—Lola was surely a feminine name, and Ancaster was uncompromisingly British—and four men wliom she described as wicked scoundrels. tie thought for a moment, conceiving- her situation the peril in which she stood then with an abrupt movement he turned the sheet over and again considered the ,h “ e with iij” • " a " M a " d il

“n L r" ! nil"'! r' 1 ”"' il ,l ” K- C. That discovery left him without any doubt. The original of the portrait was surely that girl whose message had come to him from the sea, and who was marooned somewhere on one of the countless islands or islets away to the eastward. And other circumstances apart, she was plainly in a situation of some peril, the extra perilous clement being represented by the four scoundrels to whom the message made reference. As he thought of them and looked at the portraithe was aware of a sudden apprehension in his heart. How long the message had been adrift in the sea he did not know, for the date of the wreck was part of the message that had suffered obliteration. Remembering the numerous currents and cross-currents abounding in these seas the swirl of water that rushes through the various straits, he reflected that the bottle might have been driftin' l, weeks, months, even years. Tiffs S.O.S* might long ago. have become unnecessary' or if not that it might have come to him too late for him to be of service to the sender. .The tragedy inherent in the situation into which she had been jerked by wreck of the Banjermasin might long ago have overtaken this girl of such gay and challenging mien.

But somehow he was assured, that it had not. He had a feeling that here was the explanation of the impulse which had moved him to forsake the Mangkassar at almost a moment’s notice. It was not an idle whim, after all, that had led to that abandonment. It had been a fated thing. Some occult influence had been at work, bringing him not only to this port, but to this forsaken beach to receive this message that had drifted unseen through hundreds of miles of gleaming seas. He had not a doubt of that. The inspiration hunch of which he had spoken so jestingly to Kapiten Gisbert—diad been a rc ?L Hnns; one of those impacts of spiritual forces which arc often of decisive import. This message, this portrait, was the proof. To him out of all the myriads of men in the world had come Lola Ancaster’s S.O.S. . . Rolling the portrait carefully, he slipped it in his pocket, and with all speed began to make his way in the direction of the port. There "was one thought supreme in his mind as he climbed the torrent bed and made his way along the enchanting lane and past

his lodging place to the town. If the Banjermasin had been a vessel habitually trading in these seas it would be easy to obtain information about her, and to learn approximately the date on which she had been cast away. To seafaring men and to others whose business is with those who go down to the sea the tragedies of the sea are of greater interest than those of the land, and a missing ship more than a missing wife. The agent of the K.F.M. would be bound to know of the vessel; and if she had been reported lost she must have furnished a theme for gossip in a port that had known her. IVhen he reached the narrow streets the cooking fires of evening were smudging the diamond air, and strange appetising whiffs came from the open doorways of the little houses. More than one of the unhurrying loiterers in the street turned to look at him, and occasionally* a Chinese shopkeeper smiled his slovv smile at the madness of this Englishman, who, though sweat was dropping on his drill tunic like rain, had not the wit to understand that it was foolish to hurry in a place that was almost directly on the Line. Once he caught a murmuring voice, and glancing to the right saw a flower-like face, with soft gazelle eyes which wooed him with laughter. He did not even give it acknowledgment, bub kept his hurrying pace until he reached the wharf where the agent’s office was situated. There were more loiterers here than there had been at the time of his landing, the screaming lories seemed to be legion, and between the garments of the loiterers, the flaming hue of the parrots, the lapislazuli of the sea with the white godowns the place seemed a riot of colour; but for the moment it did not appeal to him.

Disregarding the wonder- of the loiterers, straight as a bird he made for the offices, over which was a sign— KOINKLIJKE FAKET VAART MAATSHAPPIJ. Then disappointment became his lot—the office was closed. He wiped the sweat from his face and looked around. An elegant young Chinaman .who stood regarding him with Oriental impassivity caught his eye, and taking the chance that the man would know English, to him he appealed. “ Can you tell me where I can find th agent of the K.P.M. ?” The other smiled blandly and gave information in the lingua franca of the East. “You findee him mebbe in Cafe of Clio Seng.” “And where is the Cafe of Clio Seng?” The Chinaman gave directions, and without delay Marchington began his quest. Presently he arrived at a building which bore for sign a gilded sun—a structure with porticoes, strange gables, and cornices and curlicues that might have been conceived in some mad opium dream. It was not a pretty place, and the searcher wondered that any man with any other place to go to should frequent it. At the entrance, basking in the evening sun, smoking a cigarette, was a fat Chinaman whose air of proprietorship was unmistakable. He was dressed in the fashion of his native land, and his almond eyes surveyed the newcomer with a bland indifference and lack of curiosity which was a little surprising to Marchington, who promptly- accosted him.

“I want to find the agent of the K.P.M., and was directed here. Can you tell me if he is within?” I he lips with the cigarette between them scarcely moved, but a reply was forthcoming. “Neeu I Him was not here. Him go-ee home.” Marchington was conscious of acute disappointment, but asked, “where is that ?” The Chinaman moved his head slightly. The direction indicated seemed to be across the town. “Longee way.” His interrogator was still considering this information when round a hi«h screen emerged a man, young, tall, and unmistakably of his own race. The man came forward smiling affably. “Pardon me,” he said; “I heard your question. Van Sachson has been gone this hour. He lives across the water. Do you want him badly?” “I want some information,” replied Marchington. “I expect he will have ir._ But perhaps you can help me.” “Willingly,” answered the other. “Come in and have a peg.” e ’ Marchington accepted the invitation and passed inside to a room yvhere the odour of food mingled with the heavy odour of opium. The shabby gaudiness of the chamber both in decoration and

fittings matched the exterior of the place, and it held something like a dozen men’ most of whom yvere congregated round a fan-tan table, from yvhich came a chink of Chinese cash, as the bankc. emptied a small bowlful on the table. Near the gamblers, Marchington’s guid Near by the gamblers, Marchington’s guide indicated a small table, waved towards one of the chairs, and as the other took it, clapped his hands. A soft-footed Chinese yvaiter appeared from behind a screen, received ah order, padded ayymy, and almost immediately returned bearing a lacquered tray, on which reposed a couple of glasses and a bottk of golden liquid. He placed them on s tabte, and for a very brief time stood as if waiting for payment. The strangei nodded carelessly, and the waiter padded . For some reason that nod put Marchington on his guard; perhaps because it proclaimed the man an habitue ?*■ I, place yvhich did not commend itself as a resort of clean-living men. The man lifted the bottle. ‘.‘Cho Seng’s speciality,” he said with a laugh. There’s no match for it between here and Batavia.” . Marchington looked at him yvith measuring eyes. The man yvas handsome, an Englishman of the dark type, with light blue eyes, about which, however, there were te l-tale signs of dissipation. The land yvhich held the bottle was a very tme one. long and shapely, the hand of an artist. Say when ! ’ broke in the man on his scrutiny and Pat Marchington responded immediately. “Now!” The portion which his neyv-found friend poured out for himself was much more generous than that of.his guest, and as . luted i„ there was a certain gleam m his eyes which betrayed his interest tn the liquor itself. “Your health, Mr er ” ‘‘Marchington is my name.” “Mine s Carleton. Roger at the christening,” laughed the man, and took a long puff at his glass. When he set 'A>- a ,fc ru as a !" lost empty, and he asA.ed cheerfully: There was something wa nted to knew?” ° “Yes,” answered Marchington. “Do you know when the Banjermasin was « recKeai firE e - ‘°? had been a Distol sllnt fired point blank at him Carleton could scarcely have been more startled. t-L Ted i U L amazem ent at the man who asked it. Then he broke out: “The £?XS ! berr r T ” M! w ‘^° thi s g L ex ’ ce P t tllat sl,e has b «en cast avay and that.there are survivors l ” still “ho??” 1 ” , PCh ° ed the other - his eves still betraying how startled he was. " 163-'I 63 -' , . an< t four men.” A girl?” There was a sharp note in the speaker’s voice yvhich Pat Marchington could not help but notice, a look on his face that as closely akm f 0 apprehension, and as he answered the question he watched the man closely. ‘Yes, Lola Ancaster ” “The devil |”

Carlton rose sharply to his feet, so sharply as to attract the attention of the fan-tan players. He yvas no longer the genial hail-fellow stranger that he had been, but there was something almost wolfish in the gleam of his eyes. For a moment he stood staring "down at Marchington; a man startled into selfbetrayal; then he asked in a hoarse voice, Hoyy the blazes do you knoiv that she • . . that she—” He did not finish the question, hut waited for the Answer, his face now eager for the reply. But Fat Marchington was in no hurry to oblige him. The utterly unexpected outcome of his question made him yvary. He looked up at the other's changed face, marked the mingled eagerness and apprehension which it betrayed, and, sure that there was more in the business than had first appeared, he countered quietly. “I think you are forgetting my question, aren’t you? I asked you yvhen the Banjermasin yvas yvrecked, if you remember.” Carleton laughed abruptly, harshly, and resumed his seat yvith a jerk. “So you did! So you did!” he said with an obvious attempt to return to his previous genial manner. “As you say. I yvas forgetting. The Banjermasin yvas last spoken 11 yveeks ago, someyvhere in the Jilolo Strait, and not a yvord of her has been heard since, and she has been posted missing yvith all hands and three passengers! Her disappearance yvas rather more than a nine days’ yvonder, being a complete mystery. But you seem- to have got hold of something, discovered something that nobody else knows! So turn about, Marchingtori. What have you learned?” The man spoke quietly, but his eyes yvere burning, and that he had more than a curious interest in the matter was clear. Marchington yvas on his guard. He replied slowly, giving little more information than he had already spoken. “That there are five survivors—a girl called Lola Ancaster and four men—Carleton’s face indexed varying emotions, astonishment, perplexity, apprehension, and he cried impatiently: “But hoyv the blazes do you knoyv?” “I retrieved a bottle from the sea. It had a message —” “Let me see—” The request was broken half way, as his eyes lifting from the other’s face yvarned someone behind him. The look yvas not lost on Marchington, who turned very deliberately to learn the occasion of it. A Chinaman who had plainly been making toyvards them was just turning aside, and almost certainly the yvarning look had been meant for him. Conscious

, or deepening mystery, his decision was , made suddenly. Carleton leaned forward L eagerly. - You will let me see this sea-borne 1 message ?” i “No,” was the quiet reply. ,“I am sending it to the Governor of Batavia, • as the finder is requested to do.” But, my good felloyv, yvhat can it “ matter if you shoyv —” Nothing, I dare say,” interrupted l Marchington coolly. “But that’s mv little ■ programme.” Carleton laughed noisily, possibly to i cover his disappointment, and poured - himself more arrack. ‘ “Secretive sort of beggar, aren’t you? ’ But tell me one thing. Does the "inesI sage mention latitude and longitude?” 5 Marchington shook his head. “No! You would scarcely expect a girl to , knoyv those things, vou know ” [ “True!” agreed the other, then he > asked abruptly, “Do you know the Banjermasin yvas oyvned here?” i It was Marchington’s turn to be surprised. “No,” he cried. But she yvas,” Carleton ansyvered, and then added, yvith smiling urgency*, “And ’ under the circumstances you yvill scarcely , object to the owner having a glimpse at the message?” There was, however, a vein of stubbornness in Marchington yvhich hardened under these repeated urgings, and yvhich, linked with the mysterious elements that he had sensed, dictated the answer. “It goes to the Governor! It is no one else’s affair!” Carleton’s exasperation displayed itse’f openly. He rose from his seat," his face working yvith vexation. “Of all the stubborn fools—” He broke off as he caught the look in the other’s eye, then, without another word, turned on his heel and stalked out of the room. Pat Marchington, yvith smiling eyes, watched him go, and observed the jerk of the head as he | passed the Chinaman who at his silent warning had turned aside. Tovin<» with his glass, he waited, watchful, "very sure of yvhat yvould folloiv. For a time the Oriental did not move. A full five minutes passed before he rose from his | seat, and at the moment Marchington I transfered his gaze to a mirror yvhich reflected a section of the room, includingthe dooryvay. As the Chinaman passed out, he sayv him turn and direct a long scrutinising look at himself. Conscious of possibilities that mi-ht develop, Marchington whistled softly*°to umselr, and sat there considering the situation. The dusk of evening invaded the gaudy room, and some unseen hand turned on the electric lights concealed in the paper lanterns that dangled from the ceiling. Almost immediately there was a sharp hand-clapping at tlie doorway, and five of the fan-tan players hurried from the table and passed "outside. The others, with a single exception, did not so much as look up from their game. The one man yvho did so, followed them with his eves as they went, and then flashed on the Emrlishman a glance that seemed to be one of covert warning. Fat Marchington realised suddenly that it yvas time to leave. In a place such as _ this anything might happen, and out m the narroiv streets under the cover of night He did not finish the thought. Nodding understanding to the fan-tan player yvho had a European face he passed outside ; the impassive Chinese proprietor at the dooryvay betraying by not so much as the flicker of an eyelid any* recognition of his departing guest. In the soft darkness overhead the stars were like gieat gems, and the dusk of the narroiv streets yvas partly banished by the light t colating through the slats of the shacks, and by the hanging lanterns of the Chinese shops. As he passed one of these a bundle of canes caught his eyes. He stopped and selected one with a knob of silver, which, as its yveight told him, yvas heavily loaded. The price asked was extortionate, but without stopping to barter, he paid and continued on his yvay, holding the cane ready for action. He had no assurance that anything was likely to happen, but foreiiarncd was forearmed, and the cane yvas just a measure of precaution. The streets yyeie full. Malay, Chinese, natives, yvhose frizzy hair proclaimed their true fatherland lay further east, jostled him in the welter, but watchful thoirrh he yvas he sayv nothing to cause alarm. Presently he passed from the narroyv streets and moved up the hilly road towards the guest house. Except'for the hum of the toivn and the song of nightflying insects all was quiet here, and though under the trees the darkness yvas noticeable, in the open places the light of the stars yvas sufficient to show the road, and he had no difficulty in finding his ivay. As he passed through one of the dark patches he thought he caught the sound of furtive feet behind him, and stood still to listen. The sound —if sound it yvas—was not repeated, and he resumed his yvay, and yvithout incident reached the point where the entrance to the guest house was shadowed by the trees. Then yvithout yvarning the attack came. He caught the pad of sandalled feet, running, and scarcely had the sound reached him when a figure launched itself at him in the darkness. He sensed rather than sayv the attacker coming, and slipping aside struck blindly yvith his loaded cane. The blind blow reached home, and he heard the attacker collapse at his feet, and in the same second

caught the tinkle of a knife on the stones.

There were others. He heard them coming through the darkness, and retreating instinctively, seeking something that would protect his back. In the very act he cannoned against a man who grappled him, and who promptly felt for his throat. In a sebond he was fighting for his life. The man with whom he struggled was lithe and strong and very supple. Try as he would, he could get no effective grip of the mau, and whilst he was still trying, the groping hand found his throat, and began to squeeze it mercilessly. He felt himself choking, spots of fire danced before his eyes, and he knew that if he did not loosen that grip he was lost. Suddenly he released his hold of the man, and at the same time jerked his knee sharply unward. It caught the man in the abdomen, eliciting a groan, and breaking the death-clutch. But in the same second the other rushed for him. He had lost his cane, but he struck out with his fists. One man went down like a sack suddenly emptied, as a chance blow found him, but another struck in the darkness, and Marchington was conscious of sharp burning sensations in his shoulder, which told him that he had suffered a knifeslash.. Not lenowing the number of his assailants, he cried for help, heard a voice speaking imperatively in Chinese, -and saw several shado’w-like forms closing on him.

He fought desperately, then just when it seemed that he must go down, amid the pad of sandals there came to him the ■sound of booted feet hurrying. He cried desperately. ‘•Help! for God's sake ” For one second the attack was stayed, and he guessed that his assailants had also heard the oncoming man. Then again a Chinese voice barked an order, and the attack was resumed, a rhoment too late, however, for in the same instant another joined in the fray, roaring as lie did so. “Scoot, ye blackguards !” A flashlight flamed, and a yellow face, eyes dazzled and blinking in the light, leaped into view. In the same tick of time something swept downward, a club as Marchington guessed, and the yellow face was obliterated, its owner crashing to the ground. There was a yell from the assailants, who fell back. For the third time an order was shouted in Chinese, and instantly the flashlight was switched off. But a fleeting radiance came again with the crack of a pistol, and Marchington felt something sear his temple. For a second he stood swaying. “My God, would ye?” It was the voice of a man who had come to his help ; ferocious beyond words. He saw shadows which danced and leaped about him ; cries of consternation pierced the fog which scorned to be settling on his senses; the earth beneath him seemed to be twisting so that he could not maintain his balance. Lights flashed in the trees apparently from npwhere; then the lights, the shadow-like trees, and the straggling forms about him danced grotesquely in a mad whirl, and with a confused babel ’of voices that was like the sound of clashing waters iu his ears, he slid suddenly to his knees, and an instant later collapsed face foremost in the dust. (To be continued.)