The Poisoned Pen(Fiscle Part-3) by Arthur B. Reeve (top 10 motivational books .txt) 📕

Sail In One Of Lang's Motor-Boats And He Would Be Unable,  Of

Course,  To Follow Them Further.

For The Remainder Of The Afternoon Kennedy Remained Pondering The

Case. At Last An Idea Seemed To Dawn On Him. He Found Herndon

Still At His Office And Made An Appointment To Meet On The

Waterfront Near La Montaigne's Pier,  After Dinner. The Change In

Kennedy's Spirits Was Obvious,  Though It Did Not In The Least

Enlighten My Curiosity. Even After A Dinner Which Was Lengthened

Out Considerably,  I Thought,  I Did Not Get Appreciably Nearer A

Solution,  For We Strolled Over To The Laboratory,  Where Craig

Loaded Me Down With A Huge Package Which Was Wrapped Up In Heavy

Paper.

We Arrived On The Corner Opposite The Wharf Just As It Was Growing

Dusk. The Neighbourhood Did Not Appeal To Me At Night,  And Even

Though There Were Two Of Us I Was Rather Glad When We Met Herndon,

Who Was Waiting In The Shadow Of A Fruit Stall.

But Instead Of Proceeding Across To The Pier By The Side Of Which

La Montaigne Was Moored,  We Cut Across The Wide Street And Turned

Down The Next Pier,  Where A Couple Of Freighters Were Lying. The

Odour Of Salt Water,  Sewage,  Rotting Wood,  And The Night Air Was

Not Inspiring. Nevertheless I Was Now Carried Away With The

Strangeness Of Our Adventure.

Halfway Down The Pier Kennedy Paused Before One Of The Gangways

That Was Shrouded In Darkness. The Door Was Opened And We Followed

Gingerly Across The Dirty Deck Of The Freight Ship. Below We Could

Hear The Water Lapping The Piles Of The Pier. Across A Dark Abyss

Lay The Grim Monster La Montaigne With Here And There A Light

Gleaming On One Of Her Decks. The Sounds Of The City Seemed Miles

Away.

"What A Fine Place For A Murder," Laughed Kennedy Coolly. He Was

Unwrapping The Package Which He Had Taken From Me. It Proved To Be

A Huge Reflector In Front Of Which Was Placed A Little Arrangement

Which,  Under The Light Of A Shaded Lantern Carried By Herndon,

Looked Like A Coil Of Wire Of Some Kind.

To The Back Of The Reflector Craig Attached Two Other Flexible

Wires Which Led To A Couple Of Dry Cells And A Cylinder With A

Broadened End,  Made Of Vulcanised Rubber. It Might Have Been A

Telephone Receiver,  For All I Could Tell In The Darkness.

While I Was Still Speculating On The Possible Use Of The Enormous

Parabolic Reflector,  A Slight Commotion On The Opposite Side Of

The Pier Distracted My Attention. A Ship Was Coming In And Was

Being Carefully And Quietly Berthed Alongside The Other Big Iron

Freighter On That Side. Herndon Had Left Us.

"The Mohican Is Here," He Remarked As He Rejoined Us. To My Look

Of Inquiry He Added,  "The Revenue Cutter."

Kennedy Had Now Finished And Had Pointed The Reflector Full At La

Montaigne. With A Whispered Hasty Word Of Caution And Advice To

Herndon,  He Drew Me Along With Him Down The Wharf Again.

At The Little Door Which Was Cut In The Barrier Guarding The Shore

End Of La Montaigne's Wharf Kennedy Stopped. The Customs Service

Night Watchman--There Is Always A Watchman Of Some Kind Aboard

Every Ship,  Passenger Or Freighter,  All The Time She Is In Port--

Seemed To Understand,  For He Admitted Us After A Word With

Kennedy.

Threading Our Way Carefully Among The Boxes,  And Bales,  And Crates

Which Were Piled High,  We Proceeded Down The Wharf. Under The

Electric Lights The Longshoremen Were Working Feverishly,  For The

Unloading And Loading Of A Giant Trans-Atlantic Vessel In The Rush

Season Is A Long And Tedious Process At Best,  Requiring Night Work

And Overtime,  For Every Moment,  Like Every Cubic Foot Of Space,

Counts.

Once Within The Door,  However,  No One Paid Much Attention To Us.

They Seemed To Take It For Granted That We Had Some Right There.

We Boarded The Ship By One Of The Many Entrances And Then

Proceeded Down To A Deck Where Apparently No One Was Working. It

Was More Like A Great House Than A Ship,  I Felt,  And I Wondered

Whether Kennedy's Search Was Not More Of A Hunt For A Needle In A

Haystack Than Anything Else. Yet He Seemed To Know What He Was

After.

We Had Descended To What I Imagined Must Be The Quarters Of The

Steward. About Us Were Many Large Cases And Chests,  Stacked Up And

Marked As Belonging To The Ship. Kennedy's Attention Was Attracted

To Them Immediately. All At Once It Flashed On Me What His Purpose

Was. In Some Of Those Cases Were The Smuggled Goods!

Before I Could Say A Word And Before Kennedy Had A Chance Even To

Try To Verify His Suspicions,  A Sudden Approach Of Footsteps

Startled Us. He Drew Me Into A Cabin Or Room Full Of Shelves With

Ship's Stores.

"Why Didn't You Bring Herndon Over And Break Into The Boxes,  If

You Think The Stuff Is Hidden In One Of Them?" I Whispered.

"And Let Those Higher Up Escape While Their Tools Take All The

Blame?" He Answered. "Sh-H."

The Men Who Had Come Into The Compartment Looked About As If

Expecting To See Some One.

"Two Of Them Came Down," A Gruff Voice Said. "Where Are They?"

From The Noise I Inferred That There Must Be Four Or Five Men,  And

From The Ease With Which They Shifted The Cases About Some Of Them

Must Have Been Pretty Husky Stevedores.

"I Don't Know," A More Polished But Unfamiliar Voice Answered.

The Door To Our Hiding-Place Was Opened Roughly And Then Banged

Shut Before We Realised It. With A Taunting Laugh,  Some One Turned

A Key In The Lock And Before We Could Move A Quick Shift Of

Packing Cases Against The Door Made Escape Impossible.

Here We Were Marooned,  Shanghaied,  As It Were,  Within Sight If Not

Call Of Herndon And Our Friends. We Had Run Up Against

Professional Smugglers,  Of Whom I Had Vaguely Read,  Disguised As

Stewards,  Deckhands,  Stokers,  And Other Workers.

The Only Other Opening To The Cabin Was A Sort Of Porthole,  More

For Ventilation Than Anything Else. Kennedy Stuck His Head Through

It,  But It Was Impossible For A Man To Squeeze Out. There Was One

Of The Lower Decks Directly Before Us While A Bright Arc Light

Gleamed Tantalisingly Over It,  Throwing A Round Circle Of Light

Into Our Prison. I Reflected Bitterly On Our Shipwreck Within

Sight Of Port.

Kennedy Remained Silent,  And I Did Not Know What Was Working In

His Mind. Together We Made Out The Outline Of The Freighter At The

Next Wharf And Speculated As To The Location Where We Had Left

Herndon With The Huge Reflector. There Was No Moon And It Was As

Black As Ink In That Direction,  But If We Could Have Got Out I

Would Have Trusted To Luck To Reach It By Swimming.

Below Us,  From The Restless Water Lapping On The Sides Of The Hulk

Of La Montaigne,  We Could Now Hear Muffled Sounds. It Was A Motor-

Boat Which Had Come Crawling Up The River Front,  With Lights

Extinguished,  And Had Pushed A Cautious Nose Into The Slip Where

Our Ship Lay At The Quay. None Of Your Romantic Low-Lying,  Rakish

Craft Of The Old Smuggling Yarns Was This,  Ready For Deeds Of

Desperation In The Dark Hours Of Midnight. It Was Just A Modern

Little Motor-Boat,  Up-To-Date,  And Swift.

"Perhaps We'll Get Out Of This Finally," I Grumbled As I

Understood Now What Was Afoot,  "But Not In Time To Be Of Any Use."

A Smothered Sound As Of Something Going Over The Vessel's Side

Followed. It Was One Of The Boxes Which We Had Seen Outside In The

Storeroom. Another Followed,  And A Third And A Fourth.

Then Came A Subdued Parley. "We Have Two Customs Detectives Locked

In A Cabin Here. We Can't Stay Now. You'll Have To Take Us And Our

Things Off,  Too."

"Can't Do It," Called Up Another Muffled Voice. "Make Your Things

Into A Little Bundle. We'll Take That,  But You'll Have To Get Past

The Nightwatchman Yourselves And Meet Us At Riverledge."

A Moment Later Something Else Went Over The Side,  And From The

Sound We Could Infer That The Engine Of The Motor-Boat Was Being

Started.

A Voice Sounded Mockingly Outside Our Door. "Bon Soir,  You Fellows

In There. We're Going Up The Dock. Sorry To Leave You Here Till

Morning,  But They'll Let You Out Then. Au Revoir."

Below I Could Hear Just The Faintest Well-Muffled Chug-Chug.

Kennedy In The Meantime Had Been Coolly Craning His Neck Out Of

Our Porthole Under The Rays Of The Arc Light Overhead. He Was

Holding Something In His Hand. It Seemed Like A Little Silver-

Backed Piece Of Thin Glass With A Flaring Funnel-Like Thing Back

Of It,  Which He Held Most Particularly. Though He Heard The

Parting Taunt Outside He Paid No Attention.

"You Go To The Deuce,  Whoever You Are," I Cried,  Beating On The

Door,  To Which Only A Coarse Laugh Echoed Back Down The

Passageway.

"Be Quiet,  Walter," Ordered Kennedy. "We Have Located The Smuggled

Goods In The Storeroom Of The Steward,  Four Wooden Cases Of Them.

I Think The Stuff Must Have Been Brought On The Ship In The Trunks

And Then Transferred To The Cases,  Perhaps After The Code Wireless

Message Was Received. But We Have Been Overpowered And Locked In A

Cabin With A Port Too Small To Crawl Through. The Cases Have Been

Lowered Over The Side Of The Ship To A Motor-Boat That Was Waiting

Below. The Lights On The Boat Are Out,  But If You Hurry You Can

Get It. The Accomplices Who Locked Us In Are Going To Disappear Up

The Wharf. If You Could Only Get The Night Watchman Quickly Enough

You Could Catch Them,  Too,  Before They Reach The Street."

I Had Turned,  Half Expecting To See Kennedy Talking To A Ship's

Officer Who Might Have Chanced On The Deck Outside. There Was No

One. The Only Thing Of Life Was The Still Sputtering Arc Light.

Had The Man Gone Crazy?

"What Of It?" I Growled. "Don't You Suppose I Know All That?

What's The Use Of Repeating It Now? The Thing To Do Is To Get Out

Of This Hole. Come,  Help Me At This Door. Maybe We Can Batter It

Down."

Kennedy Paid No Attention To Me,  However,  But Kept His Eyes Glued

On The Cimmerian Blackness Outside The Porthole.

He Had Done Nothing Apparently,  Yet A Long Finger Of Light Seemed

To Shoot Out Into The Sky From The Pier Across From Us And Begin

Waving Back And Forth As It Was Lowered To The Dark Waters