NIGHT TIDE

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20484, 10 December 1934, Page 14

NIGHT TIDE

(Author of “The Mysterious Masquerade,” etc.

By

CHAPTER XXII. Strange Cargo. For two days John Macadam had been a prisoner in the cellar of that dockside warehouse, looked after in intermittent fashion by “Phoney” King, who, apparently taking his instructions from the Chief, had brought in food and drink to the prisoner and regaled him with such light banter as delighted “Phoney’s” heart. In those two 'lays, as a result of adroit questioning of his gaoler, John had managed to glean some insight of the racket into which he again found himself invojved. “Phoney” had returned the previous night somewhat the worse for wear. His garrulity had been astonishing even for so loquacious an individual as the little American. He had taken John (whom ho still knew as Stevens) into his “confidence.” “I’m to tell you, buddy,” he said, as ho sat watching John eating the bread and cheese and mug of cocoa which served as supper, “that the Chief lias forgiven you quitting over yonder,” and “Phoney” jerked his thumb over his shoulder in an indeterminate direction. “He’s a forgiving sort, the Chief,” he rambled on. “A heart of gold. Well, we’re sailin’ to-morrow night and you’re coming along as passenger. I guess that ought to please you. passage paid and all found. There’s been a spot of trouble I hear with the skipper. He suddenly discovered he’d got an appendix and it lure began to bite him. So now he’s in hospital, where they’ve taken something from him. Gee,” went on “Phoney” in tones of admiration, “I guess those surgeons are the only guys that ever took anything from the skipper without his knowing it.” “But what’s it all about?” asked John, still not clear in his mind. “Where are “You travel too fast, buddy,” complained “Phoney.” “I was coming to that. We’re bound for Morocco. But first we call at Ireland for a little spot of cargo.” The man winked a knowing eye at John. “Then off we go. We’ve got a reserve skipper down there.” “Who’s taking us out from Liverpool?” asked John. “You’re telling me,” smiled “Phoney.” “Some guy the Chief’s fixed up, I reckon. Oil, and I was forgetting. This skipper’s got to be treated swell. The Chief don’t want him roamin’ around the cargo see ?” John did not see, hut he suspected, and now his suspicions were considerably confirmed. “And what am I to be doing?’' he asked. “Oh, you’ll be a7l right. Won’t have the freedom of the ship, of course, for a day or two. But later, if you’re a good boy and don’t give pappa any trouble, you’ll be allowed to sit up a little and ask questions.” By which it was obvious that ‘PI101103',” garrulous though he might be, did not intend going into too many details for John’s benefit. When “Phoney” had gone, John began to think furiously and take stock of his position. He had not seen the “Big Shot” since that first night he had come down and asked those absurd questions about something having been stolen from his office. Evidently, John thought, he had formed the opinion that he was barking up the wrong tree. John did not sleep that night. He figured it out that they intended to keep him a, prisoner on the boat until after they had made the Irish port. After that, doubtless, be would be given his instructions. John felt that once on board the boat a chance of escape might more suitably present itself. Here in this cellar the chances were remote, because since the first night when the Chief had left him and “Phoney” alone, the ladder had been pulled up into the •warehouse above after each of Phoney’s visits to the place, so that even were he freed from the bonds that bound his arms and legs it would avail him nothing at all. But once aboard the Corsair things might be different, and John had worked out a plan which he intended to put into operation without delay. Throughout the night whatever rest lie might have sought was frequently disturbed by heavy sounds .overhead . . . sounds which told him that cargo—strange cargo—was being moved aboard the vessel. The hours dragged by, and it was difficult down there to tell when night ended and the day began. Only when “Phoney” came in with breakfast was John able to tell something approximating to the time of day. “Phoney” was in high spirits that morning, and John gathered that “Phoney” wanted to get clear of Liverpool for a reason he did not divulge in any great amount of detail. “Gives me the creeps, this place,” he told John, in his best confidential manner, as he unfastened the cords that had been biting into the young man’s wrists. “And wliat’s more. Sonny, something’s gone wrong with the Chief’s plans. He ain’t said as much to me, understand, but I knows the symptoms. He’s jumpy, and if you’re askin’ me, ‘The Corsair’ ain’t ever cornin’ back to the Mersey.” John ate his meal in silence. “I’ll be glad to get out of this, too,” John said, at last. “And when I do. . .” “You’ll be a good boy,” warned “Phoney” producing a weapon from his pocket with a movement that savoured of legerdemain. "No funny business, kid.” lie cautioned. “Life’s short enough without puttin’ a full stop where it don’t belong, accidentally like.” John realised that “Phoney” was deadly serious and not wishing to am tagonise the man he said: “You’re a good sort, ‘Phoney’ and I shouldn’t like to cause you any trouble, because I supjKDSe there would be trouble if anything should happen to me.” “Like hell there would,” muttered the American, sourly. What must have been many hours later “Phoney” returned for John. “Say goodbye to the l’le old shack,” smiled “Phoney.” “We’re about to leave the old homestead.” Ho bent over John and severed the oonds that secured his ankles. “Better stretch those shanks of yours before avc take a trip into the night air, though I don’t suppose it matters much if folk do see us. Wouldn’t be the first time ‘Phoney’ had helped a soused sailor aboard his ship.” He laughed quietly at the recol'ections that crowded into his elastic mind. John stood up, noting that no attempt was made to deal similarly with the cords at his wrists, which were fastened in front of him. His legs ached and now that he began to move fhem the cramped pain brought tears to his eyes.

A ROMANTIC STORY OF A GREAT SEAPORT

J. R. WILMOT

"tome on,” ordered “Phoney,” “yon Hop up first,” indicating fhe ladder. “You can hold on all right with both hands. I’m watching you. You won’t fall, Buddy.” John never remembered a greater agony than struggling up that ladder. Every movement was a torture. At last with a heave from below from “Phoney” he found himself on the floor of the warehouse, from which most of the cargo of a few nights ago had disappeared. “Phoney” carefully adjusted the trap and pulled a nearby crate into position over it. Then he took John by the arm and led him half staggering towards an aperture, from whence came a cool, penetrating breeze. It was but a matter of moments before they had crossed the gangway of “The Corsair” and disappeared below. As they went along a narrow alleyway they encountered the tall fellow who had driven the car when John had been taken away from the city streets. “In there,” he beckoned to “Phoney,* indicating a small cabin. And in they went. “Phoney” carefully closed the door behind them and slipped the catch in the spring lock. “You’ll he as cosy as a bug in here,” he intimated, “and you’re damn lucky, too. I’ve -got work to do before we sail. Didn’t I tell you, you were to be a firstclass passenger. Here,” he went on, “sit down on that bunk over there while I ties up yer tootsies.” John felt that there was no sense in creating a scene. Any attempt to regain his liberty until after the ship had sailed would be against the odds. So John obeyed without question. When the man had loft him sitting awkwardly on the side of the bunk John listened to the squeak of the winch gear overhead and he shuddered. Winch gear reminded him too sharply of the days he had grown to hate with a deep and unrepentant loathing. “Well,” he thought, idly, “I suppose we’ll be sailing before long and I’d better be making a start too.” During his hours of captivity ashore ho had been straining at the cords with every ounce of his strength and he now believed that they were sufficiently pliable for his purpose. Added tc that, when “Phoney” had last trussed up his wrists, John had adroitly contrived to insert his thumb into a loop of cord without “Phoney’* being aware of what lie was doing. It had been painful when the man had drawn the cord tightly around his wrists., but John knew that it would be worth it. Now he began to wriggle his hands together in a grim and determined effort to get his thumb free from the loop. He had considered it would be an easy matter, but John had not reckoned with “Phoney’s” thoroughness in pulling tight the cords. Instead of being easy John found it difficult, so difficult that after half an hour’s effort he began to despair. But to John Macadam at that moment failure was unthinkable. He must succeed. For an hour he continued his efforts and at last, the continued straining on the cords told their talc, and by dint of manoevring, during which he nearly dislocated his thumb, he managed to slip it from the loop. Immediately he was conscious of a- slackening, of the cords that confined his wrists. For a few moments lie remained sitting 011 the edge of the bunk staring down at his hands as though they fascinated him. He was exhausted. But there was s-till another problem and another danger to be faced. What if* “Phoney” should return with some food for him? A cold fear shook him and lie felt his forehead grow moist. He told himself that if that should happen there was only one thing to be done. He must hit “Phoney” well and hard before the American realised that lie Slipping the cords from his wrists and quickly untying thoee that bound his feet, John cautiously searched the cabin for a weapon. Under the bunk he found a heavy spanner. Doubtless this cabin haa, at one time, been occupied by one of the engineers who had hidden the instrument there for a purpose best known to himself. The noise overhead increased, and John gathered that the Corsair was ready for sailing. The winches rattled Again and then clattered into reluctant silence. He could, by straining his senses, hear orders being given. Then came the throb of the vessel’s screws as they churned the water. Slowly, he became conscious of the ship’s quiet, unhurried movement. With the spanner grasped in his hand lie waited, but he did not wait on the bunk where “Phoney” had left him. John secreted himself beside the door. Half an hour later he judged it would be when he heard footsteps in the allevwa.y beyond, and he gripped his weapon until the knuckles on his hand grew white. There came a grating 0 f a°kev in the lock, and the door was pushed cautiously open. It was “Phoney” sure enough and he a trav of food and for that John thanked 'all his lucky stars, for a tray might have attracted unwelcome attention. John raised the ugly-looking spanner above his head and “Phoney” turned a fraction too late. The spanner descended on the man’s head and without so much as a »Toa 11 he sagged to the cabin floor. The young man closed the door hurriedly and gazed for a moment at the man’s unconscious figure. He examined the head and was glad that the Hat face of the spanner had struck the blow. Quickly he .fetched the cord that had lately bound his own wrist and ankles and secured it around the corresponding parts of “Phoney” King. “Phoney” was 110 light weight, but John managed to drag him up into the bunk and was about to cover him with blankets when, he remembered something. In an expert manner lie rail his fingers over “Phoney’s” clothes and located his gun. Extracting it, he broke it open and saw that the chamber was fully equipped. Then he completed his task and anyone entering the cabin might only have noticed a pile of blankets in j the bunk. For a moment John hesitated. Then lie returned to the man in the bunk and fastened a handkerchief tightly across the man’s mouth. John smiled. Ii had been easier than he had planned. Cautiously he opened the door and peered out. There was no one in sight. A light burned at the further end of the alley-way so John decided to make his exit from the darkened end.

It did not take him Tong to reach the deck and keeping to the shadows he crept along under the bridge in the direction of one of the ship’s boats that swung on its davits and rested lightly on the deck. In the shadow of the boat he gazed across the river and saw the lights of New Brighton promenade astern with the lights of Seaforth and Blundellsands on the port side. A desperate plan filled John’s mind. Near the starboard boat he caught sight of a lifebelt gleaming strangely white and ghostly in the dark, but to reach it meant that he would have to cross the deck in full view of the bridge. It was liis only chance and .Tolm determined to take it. If he was discovered, lie argued, he would probably be able to reach the belt before lie could be intercepted, aiul being a strong swimmer reckoned that he could strike out for the Lancashire shore with a reasonable chance of making it considering that only a mild tide was running. He moved across the stretch of intervening deck like a wraitli. For a moment he paused. Why he never knew, when he looked back on the episode. Yet look back be did. As he did so the man on the bridge struck a match to kindle liis pipe and John strangled a cry that rushed into his throat. The man on the bridge was his father —Captain Macadam. (To be continued daily.)