The Pit Prop Syndicate by Freeman Wills Crofts (best big ereader .txt) 📖

Hilliard assented carelessly, remarked that if they started the following morning they could reach the Riviera by the following Friday, and let it go at that. He did not refer again to the subject until they reached the Coburns' door, when he asked quickly: “By the way, will you tell them we're leaving tomorrow or shall I?”

“I will,” said Merriman, to his relief.

The Girondin was loading props as they set out in the Ford car, and the work was still in progress on their return in the late afternoon. Mr. Coburn had excused himself from joining the party on the ground of business, but Captain Beamish had taken his place, and had proved himself a surprisingly entertaining companion. At the old chateau they had a pleasant alfresco lunch, after which Captain Beamish took a number of photographs of the party with his pocket Kodak.

Merriman's announcement of his and Hilliard's impending departure had been met with a chorus of regrets, but though these sounded hearty enough, Hilliard noticed that no definite invitation to stay longer was given.

The friends dined with the Coburns for the last time that evening. Mr. Coburn was a little late for the meal, saying he had waited on the wharf to see the loading completed, and that all the cargo was now aboard, and that the Girondin would drop down to sea on the flood tide in the early morning.

“We shall have her company so far,” Hilliard remarked. “We must start early, too, so as to make Bordeaux before dark.”

When the time came to say good-bye, Mr. Coburn and his daughter went down to the launch with their departing visitors. Hilliard was careful to monopolize the manager's attention, so as to give Merriman his innings with the girl. His friend did not tell him what passed between them, but the parting was evidently affecting, as Merriman retired to his locker practically in silence.

Five o'clock next morning saw the friends astir, and their first sight on reaching the deck was the Girondin coming down-stream. They exchanged hand waves with Captain Beamish on the bridge, then, swinging their own craft, followed in the wake of the other. A couple of hours later they were at sea.

Once again they were lucky in their weather. A sun of molten glory poured down from the clearest of blue skies, burnishing a track of intolerable brilliance across the water. Hardly a ripple appeared on the smooth surface, though they rose and fell gently to the flat ocean swell. They were running up the coast about four miles out, and except for the Girondin, now almost hull down to the north-west, they had the sea to themselves. It was hot enough to make the breeze caused by the launch's progress pleasantly cool, and both men lay smoking on the deck, lazily watching the water and enjoying the easy motion. Hilliard had made the wheel fast, and reached up every now and then to give it a slight turn.

“Jolly, I call this,” he exclaimed, as he lay down again after one of these interruptions. “Jolly sun, jolly sea, jolly everything, isn't it?”

“Rather. Even a landlubber like me can appreciate it. But you don't often have it like this, I bet.”

“Oh, I don't know,” Hilliard answered absently, and then, swinging round and facing his friend, he went on:

“I say, Merriman, I've something to tell you that will interest you, but I'm afraid it won't please you.”

Merriman laughed contentedly.

“You arouse my curiosity anyway,” he declared. “Get on and let's hear it.”

Hilliard answered quietly, but he felt excitement arising in him as he thought of the disclosure he was about to make.

“First of all,” he began, speaking more and more earnestly as he proceeded, “I have to make you an apology. I quite deliberately deceived you up at the clearing, or rather I withheld from you knowledge that I ought to have shared. I had a reason for it, but I don't know if you'll agree that it was sufficient.”

“Tell me.”

“You remember the night before last when I rowed up to the wharf after we had left the Coburns? You thought my suspicions were absurd or worse. Well, they weren't. I made a discovery.”

Merriman sat up eagerly, and listened intently as the other recounted his adventure aboard the Girondin. Hilliard kept nothing back; even the reference to Madeleine he repeated as nearly word for word as possible, finally giving a bowdlerized version of his reasons for keeping his discoveries to himself while they remained in the neighborhood.

Merriman received the news with a dismay approaching positive horror. He had but one thought—Madeleine. How did the situation affect her? Was she in trouble? In danger? Was she so entangled that she could not get out? Never for a moment did it enter his head that she could be willingly involved.

“My goodness! Hilliard,” he cried hoarsely, “whatever does it all mean? Surely it can't be criminal? They,”—he hesitated slightly, and Hilliard read in a different pronoun—“they never would join in such a thing.”

Hilliard took the bull by the horns.

“That Miss Coburn would take part in anything shady I don't for a moment believe,” he declared, “but I'm afraid I wouldn't be so sure of her father.”

Merriman shook his head and groaned.

“I know you're right,” he admitted to the other's amazement. “I saw—I didn't mean to tell you, but now I may as well. That first evening, when we went up to call, you probably don't remember, but after he had learned who we were he turned round to pull up a chair. He looked at you; I saw his face in a mirror. Hilliard, it was the face of a—I was going to say, a devil—with hate and fear. But the look passed instantly. When he turned round he was smiling. It was so quick I half thought I was mistaken. But I know I wasn't.”

“I saw fear on his face when he recognized you that same evening,” Hilliard replied. “We needn't blink at it, Merriman. Whether willingly or unwillingly, Mr. Coburn's in the thing. That's as certain as that we're here.”

“But what is it? Have you any theory?”

“No, not really. There was that one of brandy smuggling that I mentioned before. I suggest it because I can suggest nothing else, but I admit I saw no evidence of it.”

Merriman was silent for several minutes as the boat slid over the smooth water. Then with a change of manner he turned once more to his friend.

“I suppose we couldn't leave it alone? Is it our business after all?”

“If we don't act we become accessories, and besides we leave that girl to fight her own battles.”

Merriman clenched his fists and once more silence reigned. Presently he spoke again:

“You had something in your mind?”

“I think we must do one of two things. Either continue our investigations until we learn what is going on, or else clear out and tell the police what we have learned.”

Merriman made a gesture of dissent.

“Not that, not that,” he cried. “Anything rather than the police.”

Hilliard gazed vacantly on the long line of the coast.

“Look here, old man,” he said, “Wouldn't it be better if we discussed this thing quite directly? Don't think I mean to be impertinent—God knows I don't—but am I not right in thinking you want to save Miss Coburn all annoyance, and her father also, for her sake?”

“We needn't talk about it again,” Merriman said in a hard voice, looking intently at the stem of the mast, “but if it's necessary to make things clear, I want to marry her if she'll have me.”

“I thought so, old man, and I can only say—the best of luck! As you say, then, we mustn't call in the police, and as we can't leave the thing, we must go on with our own inquiry. I would suggest that if we find out their scheme is something illegal, we see Mr. Coburn and give him the chance to get out before we lodge our information.”

“I suppose that is the only way,” Merriman said doubtfully. After a pause Hilliard went on:

“I'm not very clear, but I'm inclined to think we can do no more good here at present. I think we should try the other end.”

“The other end?”

“Yes, the unloading of the ship and the disposal of the pit-props. You see, the first thing we're up against is that these people are anything but fools, and the second is that they already suspect us and will keep a watch on us. A hundred to one they make inquiries and see that we really do go through the Canal du Midi to the Riviera. We can't hang about Bordeaux without their knowing it.”

“That's true.”

“Of course,” Hilliard went on, “we can see now we made a frightful mess of things by calling on the Coburns or letting Mr. Coburn know we were about, but at the time it seemed the wisest thing.”

“It was the only thing,” Merriman asserted positively. “We didn't know then there was anything wrong, and besides, how could we have hidden the launch?”

“Well, it's done anyway. We needn't worry about it now, except that it seems to me that for the same reason the launch has served its purpose. We can't use it here because the people at the clearing know it, and we can't use it at the unloading end, for all on board the Girondin would recognize it directly they saw it.”

Merriman nodded without speaking and Hilliard continued:

“I think, therefore, that we should leave the launch at Bordeaux tonight and go back to London overland. I shall write Mr. Coburn saying we have found Poste Restante letters recalling us. You can enclose a note to Miss Coburn if you like. When we get to town we can apply at the Inquiry Office at Lloyd's to find out where the Girondin calls in England. Then let us go there and make inquiries. The launch can be worked back to England some other time. How does that strike you?”

“Seems all right. But I should leave the launch at Bordeaux. We may have to come back, and it would furnish us with an excuse for our presence if we were seen.”

Hilliard gave a little sigh of relief. Merriman's reply took a weight off his mind, not because of the value of the SUGGESTION—though in its way it was quite useful—but because of its indication of Merriman's frame of mind. He had feared that because of Miss Coburn's connection with the affair he would lose his friend's help, even that they might quarrel. And now he saw these fears were groundless. Thankfully he recognized that they would co-operate as they had originally intended.

“Jolly good notion, that,” he answered cordially.

“I confess,” Merriman went on slowly, “that I should have liked to stay in the neighborhood and see if we couldn't find out something more about the lorry numbers. It may be a trivial point, but it's the only direct and definite thing we know of. All the rest are hints or suspicions or probabilities. But here we have a bit of mystery, tangible, in our hands, as it were. Why were those number plates changed? It seems to me a good point of attack.”

“I thought of that, too, and I agree with every word you say,” Hilliard replied eagerly, “but there is the question of our being suspects. I believe we shall be watched out of the place, and I feel sure our only chance of learning anything is to satisfy them of our bona fides.”

Merriman agreed, and they continued discussing the matter in detail, at last deciding to adopt Hilliard's SUGGESTION and set to work on the English end of the mysterious traffic.

About two that afternoon they swung round the Pointe de Grave into the estuary of the Gironde. The tide, which was then flowing, turned when they were some two-thirds of the way up, and it was well on to seven o'clock when they made fast to the same decaying wharf from which they had set