Part 5 (2/2)
Jaures swallowed a big chunk of bread and stole cautiously to the door. For a few seconds he listened lest there should be anyone eavesdropping without.
”Yes,” he admitted. ”My mother was German. But don't speak so loudly.”
”From what town came she?” enquired his companion.
”From Lubeck,” he replied.
”And I come from Immeristadt. I am a Swabian and my name is Otto Freising,” announced the German. ”What are you doing here?”
”I am not here of my own free will,” said Jaures, guardedly. He was rather inclined to shut up like an oyster, but his semi-compatriot was persistent.
”I suppose these Englishmen will hang me,” remarked Otto. ”My one regret is that I did not succeed in my attempt.”
”What attempt?” asked Enrico, innocently. As a matter of fact he knew, having watched the shooting affray.
Otto told him.
”The trouble is,” he added, ”I've been paid for this business. Ten thousand Egyptian piastres. I have a banker's order for that amount in my pocket. Will they search me?”
”Without a doubt,” replied Enrico, whose knowledge of British criminal courts was of a first-hand order. ”But in a way you are lucky. You were paid--I was not. I succeeded--you failed.”
The German raised his eyebrows, but forbore to elicit further information concerning Jaures' motives.
”My difficulty,” resumed Otto, ”is what I am to do with this banker's order. I undertook the business because I was hard up, and should I be hanged or even imprisoned my family will not benefit because the money will be confiscated.”
He paused. Enrico eyed him thoughtfully. He would willingly rob anybody. Now was a chance of enriching himself at the expense of his semi-compatriot.
”These English cannot keep me in captivity much longer,” he observed. ”They can prove nothing against me. When I regain my liberty I propose paying a visit to my mother's relations in Lubeck. Perhaps I might be able to render you a service by handing that draft to your relatives.”
Otto showed no great eagerness to close with the offer. His hesitation increased his companion's cupidity.
”Rest a.s.sured that the money will eventually reach a safe destination,” he urged enigmatically. ”Better even to run the risk of its being lost than to let it fall into the hands of these Englishmen.”
”That is so,” agreed Otto. ”At any rate I can entrust it in your keeping for the next few days until I know what they propose doing with me. You will, of course, be paid well for your trouble.”
Enrico waved his hands deprecatingly, swearing by his patron Saint Enrico of Guadalajara that it would be a pleasure and a duty to a.s.sist a German in distress.
”Very well, then,” agreed Otto, producing a paper from the double crown of his tarboosh.
The Rock Scorp, craftily concealing his delight at the success of his plan, took the doc.u.ment and glanced at the amount written thereon. As he did so he uttered an exclamation.
”Dios!” he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed.
”What is it?” enquired Otto.
”The signature--Hans von Effrich. I know the man. He was at Barcelona when the U-boats were busy. I helped him to--”
He broke off abruptly, realising, perhaps, that there were limits to an exchange of confidences.
”Von Effrich--I have never met him,” declared Otto. ”All I know is that he is now an agent for Count Karl von Sinzig.”
”Where is he now?” enquired Jaures.
”Who?--von Sinzig or von Effrich?”
”Von Effrich.”
”He is usually to be found in Corinth,” replied Otto. ”Why do you ask?”
”Because he might also pay me what von Sinzig owes me,” replied Enrico. ”We apparently are engaged on similar tasks.”
”To cripple or delay this airs.h.i.+p,” added Otto. ”Up to the present we have not made much of a success of it. My prospects are not at all bright, but my one hope is that when we arrive at Singapore von Blicker will be there. A clever fellow, von Blicker. I met him at von Effrich's house just before I left Corinth for Alexandria--a month ago.”
”What is he going to do?” asked Enrico.
”I believe he'll---- S's.h.!.+ someone coming.”
CHAPTER XIII.
--THE TAIL OF A CYCLONE.
”Hanged if I like the look of things one little bit,” declared Fosterd.y.k.e, frankly. ”Gla.s.s dropping as quickly as if the bottom of it had fallen out, and on top of it all we get this.”
”This” was a wireless from Point de Galle announcing that a terrific cyclone was raging west of the Maldive Islands, its path being a ”right-hand circle.” That meant that unless the ”Golden Hind” made a radical alteration of course she would encounter the full force of the wind.
It was the fourth day of the race. The ”Golden Hind” had pa.s.sed over Socotra at daybreak and was on her way across the Arabian Sea, her next scheduled landing-place being Colombo.
”If we carry on we'll hit the tail of the cyclone,” said Kenyon, consulting a chart of the Indian Ocean.
”Yes, but what is worse we'd pa.s.s through the dangerous storm-centre, and then more than likely get a nose-ender on the other side, if we were lucky enough to weather the centre,” replied Fosterd.y.k.e. ”It's too jolly risky, Kenyon. At fifteen thousand feet it may be as bad or worse than at five hundred feet up. Call up Murgatroyd, and ask what petrol there is in the tanks.”
Kenneth went to the voice tube and made the necessary enquiry of the engineer.
”By Jove, we'll risk it!” declared Fosterd.y.k.e, when he received the desired information. ”We'll go south a bit, and then make straight for Fremantle.”
Kenyon was taken aback with the audacity of the proposal. The distance between Socotra and Western Australia was a good 5000 miles, or thirty-six hours of uninterrupted flight. At 140 miles an hour there was sufficient fuel on board for forty hours, which meant a reserve of four hours only in case of anything occurring to protract the run.
”Oh, we'll do it,” said Fosterd.y.k.e, confidently, as he noticed his companion's look of blank amazement. ”Better run the risk of cutting things fine than to barge into a cyclone. Sou'-east by south is the course.”
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