The Pit Prop Syndicate Part 10

They pa.s.sed round the deckhouse and Hilliard could not hear the reply.

When they returned Captain Beamish was speaking.

"--thinks it would about double our profits," Hilliard heard him say.

"He suggests a second depot on the other side, say at Swansea. That would look all right on account of the South Wales coalfields."

"But we're getting all we can out of the old hooker as it is," Bulla objected. "I don't see how she could do another trip."

"Archer suggests a second boat."

"Oh." The engineer paused, then went on: "But that's no new SUGGESTION.

That was proposed before ever the thing was started."

"I know, but the circ.u.mstances have changed. Now we should--"

Again they pa.s.sed out of earshot, and Hilliard took the opportunity to stretch his somewhat cramped limbs. He was considerably interested by what he had heard. The phrase Captain Beamish had used in reference to the proposed depot at Swansea--"it would look all right on account of the coalfields"--was suggestive. Surely that was meaningless unless there was some secret activity--unless the pit-prop trade was only a blind to cover some more lucrative and probably more sinister undertaking? At first sight it seemed so, but he had not time to think it out then. The men were returning.

Bulla was speaking this time, and Hilliard soon found he was telling a somewhat improper story. As the two men disappeared round the deckhouse he heard their hoa.r.s.e laughter ring out. Then the captain cried: "That you, Coburn?" The murmur of voices grew louder and more confused and immediately sank. A door opened, then closed, and once more silence reigned.

To Hilliard it seemed that here was a chance which he must not miss.

Coming out from his hiding place, he crept stealthily along the deck in the hope that he might find out where the men had gone, and learn something from their conversation.

The captain's cabin was the probable meeting place, and Hilliard slipped silently back to the window through which he had glanced before. As he approached he heard a murmur of voices, and he cautiously leaned back against the bridge ladder and peeped in round the partly open curtain.

Three of the four seats the room contained were now occupied. The captain, engineer, and Mr. Coburn sat round the central table, which bore a bottle of whisky, a soda siphon and gla.s.ses, as well as a box of cigars. The men seemed preoccupied and a little anxious. The captain was speaking.

"And have you found out anything about them?" he asked Mr. Coburn.

"Only what I have been able to pick up from their own conversation,"

the manager answered. "I wrote Morton asking him to make inquiries about them, but of course there hasn't been time yet for a reply. From their own showing one of them is Seymour Merriman, junior partner of Edwards & Merriman, Gracechurch Street, Wine Merchants. That's the dark, square-faced one--the one who was here before. The other is a man called Hilliard. He is a clever fellow, and holds a good position in the Customs Department. He has had this launch for some years, and apparently has done the same kind of trip through the Continental rivers on previous holidays. But I could not find out whether Merriman had ever accompanied him before."

"But you don't think they smell a rat?"

"I don't think so," he said slowly, "but I'm not at all sure. Merriman, we believe, noticed the number plate that day. I told you, you remember.

Henri is sure that he did, and Madeleine thinks so too. It's just a little queer his coming back. But I'll swear they've seen nothing suspicious this time."

"You can't yourself account for his coming back?"

Again Mr. Coburn hesitated.

"Not with any certainty," he said at last, then with a grimace he continued: "But I'm a little afraid that it's perhaps Madeleine."

Bulla, the engineer, made a sudden gesture.

"I thought so," he exclaimed. "Even in the little I saw of them this evening I thought there was something in the wind. I guess that accounts for the whole thing. What do you say, skipper?"

The big man nodded.

"I should think so," he admitted, with a look of relief. "I think it's a mare's nest, Coburn. I don't believe we need worry."

"I'm not so sure," Coburn answered slowly. "I don't think we need worry about Merriman, but I'm hanged if I know what to think about Hilliard.

He's pretty observant, and there's not much about this place that he hasn't seen at one time or another."

"All the better for us, isn't it?" Bulla queried.

"So far as it goes, yes," the manager agreed, "and I've stuffed him with yarns about costs and about giving up the props and going in for paving blocks and so on which I think he swallowed. But why should he want to know what we are doing? What possible interest can the place have for him--unless he suspects?"

"They haven't done anything suspicious themselves?"

"Not that I have seen."

"Never caught them trying to pump any of the men?"

"Never."

Captain Beamish moved impatiently.

"I don't think we need worry," he repeated with a trace of aggression in his manner. "Let's get on to business. Have you heard from Archer?"

Mr. Coburn drew a paper from his pocket, while Hilliard instinctively bent forward, believing he was at last about to learn something which would throw a light on these mysterious happenings. But alas for him!

Just as the manager began to speak he heard steps on the gangway which pa.s.sed on board and a man began to climb the starboard ladder to the upper deck.

Hilliard's first thought was to return to his hiding place under the boat, but he could not bring himself to go so far away from the center of interest, and before he had consciously thought out the situation he found himself creeping silently up the ladder to the bridge. There he believed he would be safe from observation while remaining within earshot of the cabin, and if anyone followed him up the ladder he could creep round on the roof of the cabin to the back of the chart-house, out of sight.

The newcomer tapped at the captain's door and, after a shout of "Come in," opened it. There was a moment's silence, then Coburn's voice said:

"We were just talking of you, Henri. The skipper wants to know--" and the door closed.

Hilliard was not long in slipping back to his former position at the porthole.

"By Jove!" Bulla was saying. "And to think that two years ago I was working a little coaster at twenty quid a month! And you, Coburn; two years ago you weren't much better fixed, if as well, eh?"

Coburn ignored the question.

"It's good, but it's not good enough," he declared. "This thing can't run for ever. If we go on too long somebody will tumble to it. What we want is to try to get our piles made and close it down before anything happens. We ought to have that other ship running. We could double our income with another ship and another depot. And Swansea seems to me the place."

"Bulla and I were just talking of that before you came aboard," the captain answered. "You know we have considered that again and again, and we have always come to the conclusion that we are pushing the thing strongly enough."

"Our organization has improved since then. We can do more now with less risk. It ought to be reconsidered. Will you go into the thing, skipper?"

"Certainly. I'll bring it before our next meeting. But I won't promise to vote for it. In our business it's not difficult to kill the goose, etcetera."

The talk drifted to other matters, while Hilliard, thrilled to the marrow, remained crouching motionless beneath the porthole, concentrating all his attention on the conversation in the hope of catching some word or phrase which might throw further light on the mysterious enterprise under discussion. While the affair itself was being spoken of he had almost ceased to be aware of his surroundings, so eagerly had he listened to what was being said, but now that the talk had turned to more ordinary subjects he began more or less subconsciously to take stock of his own position.

He realized in the first place that he was in very real danger. A quick movement either of the men in the cabin or of some member of the crew might lead to his discovery, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he might pay the forfeit for his curiosity with his life. He could imagine the manner in which the "accident" would be staged. Doubtless his body, showing all the appearance of death from drowning, would be found in the river with alongside it the upturned boat as evidence of the cause of the disaster.

And if he should die, his secret would die with him. Should he not then be content with what he had learned and clear out while he could, so as to ensure his knowledge being preserved? He felt that he ought, and yet the desire to remain in the hope of doing still better was overpowering.

But as he hesitated the power of choice was taken away. The men in the cabin were making a move. Coburn finished his whisky, and he and Henri rose to their feet.

"Well," the former said, "There's one o'clock. We must be off."