Christopher Quarles: College Professor and Master Detective Page 9

  CHAPTER IX

  THE CONUNDRUM OF THE GOLF LINKS

  I have wondered sometimes whether I have ever really liked ChristopherQuarles; at times I have certainly resented his treatment, and had hebeen requested to make out a list of his friends, quite possibly myname would not have figured in the list unless Zena had written it outfor him. Some remark of the professor's had annoyed me at this time,and I had studiously kept away from Chelsea for some days, when onemorning I received a telegram:

  "If nothing better to do, join us here for a few days.--Quarles, Marine Hotel, Lingham."

  I did not even know they were out of town, for Zena and I never wroteto each other, and I had a strong suspicion the invitation meant thatthe professor wanted my help in some case in which he was interested.Still, there would be leisure hours, and I had visions of pleasantrambles with Zena. If I could manage it, some of them should be whenthe moon traced a pale gold path across the sleeping waters. I may sayat once that some moonlight walks were accomplished, though fewer thanI could have wished, and that, although there was no business behindthe professor's invitation, my visit to Lingham resulted in thesolution of a mystery which had begun some months before and hadbaffled all inquiry ever since.

  Lingham, as everybody knows, is a great yachting center, and as Ijourneyed down to the East Coast I wondered if yachting interestedQuarles, and, if not, why he had chosen Lingham for a holiday.

  The professor was a man of surprises. I have seen him looking so oldthat a walk to the end of the short street in Chelsea might reasonablybe expected to try his capacity for exercise; and, again, I have seenhim look almost young; indeed, in these reminiscences I have shownthat at times he did not seem to know what fatigue meant. When he metme in the vestibule of the Marine Hotel he looked no more thanmiddle-aged, and as physically fit as a man could be. He was dressedin loose tweeds, and wore a pair of heavy boots which, even to lookat, almost made one feel tired.

  "Welcome, my dear fellow!" he said. "But why bring such infernalweather with you? It began to blow at the very time you must have beenleaving town, and has been increasing ever since. It has put a stop toall racing."

  "I didn't know you took an interest in yachting."

  "I don't. Golf, Wigan! At golf I am an enthusiast. There's a goodsporting course here, that's why I came to Lingham. You've broughtyour clubs, I see."

  "Chance. You did not say anything about golf in your wire."

  "Why should I? Useless waste of money. I remembered your telling meonce that you never went for your holiday without taking your clubs.We shall have grand sport."

  He laughed quite boisterously, and a man who was passing through thehall looked at me and smiled. I recollected that smile afterward, buttook little notice of it just then, because Zena was coming down thestairs.

  Before dinner that evening it blew a gale, and from windowsoverlooking the deserted parade we watched a sullen, angry seapounding the sandy shore and hissing into long lines of foam, whichthe wind caught up and carried viciously inland.

  "Isn't that a sail--a yacht?" said Zena suddenly, pointing out to sea,over which darkness was gathering like a pall.

  It was, and those on board of her must be having a bad time, not tosay a perilous one. She was certainly not built for such weather asthis, but she must be a stout little craft to stand it as she did, andthey were no fools who had the handling of her.

  "Blown right out of her course, I should think," said Quarles. "Theyachts shelter in the creek to the south yonder. I should not wonderif that boat hopes to make the creek which lies on the other side ofthe golf course."

  "She's more likely to come ashore," said a man standing behind us, andhe spoke with the air of an expert in such matters. "There's noanchorage in that creek, and, besides, a bar of mud lies right acrossthe mouth of it."

  As the curved line of the sea front presently hid the yacht from ourview the gong sounded for dinner--a very welcome sound, and I, forone, thought no more about the yacht that night.

  Before morning the gale had subsided, but the day was sullen andcloudy, threatening rain, and we did not attempt golf until afterlunch.

  It was an eighteen-hole course, and might be reckoned sporting, but itwas not ideal. There was too much loose sand, and a great quantity ofthat rank grass which flourishes on sand dunes. It said much for themanagement that the greens were as good as they were.

  I had just played two holes with the professor before I remembered theman who had smiled in the hall of the hotel yesterday. CertainlyQuarles was an enthusiast. In all the etiquette of the game he wasperfect, but as a player he was the very last word. He persisted indriving with a full swing, usually with comic effect; he was providedwith a very full complement of clubs, and was precise in always usingthe right one; but he seemed physically incapable of keeping his eyeon the ball, and constantly hit out, as if he were playing cricket;yet the bigger ass he made of himself the greater seemed hisenjoyment. He never lost his temper. Other men would have emptiedthemselves of the dregs of their vocabulary; Quarles only smiled,cheerfully explaining how he had come to top a ball, or why he hadtaken half a dozen shots to get out of a bunker. No wonder the man inthe hotel had laughed.

  There was one particularly difficult hole. The bogey was six. Itrequired a good drive to get over a ridge of high ground; beyond was abrassey shot, then an iron, and a mashie on to the green. To the leftlay a creek, a narrow water course between mud. My drive did not reachthe ridge, on the top of which was a direction post; and the professorpulled his ball, which landed perilously near the mud. It took himthree shots to come up with me, and when at last we mounted the ridgewe saw there was a man on the distant green, which lay in a hollowsurrounded by bunkers, behind which was the bank of the curving creek.

  "Fore!" shouted Quarles.

  I almost laughed. It was certain the man would have ample time to getoff the green before the professor arrived there. Quarles waited for amoment, but the man ahead took no notice, possibly had not heard him.

  The professor took a fall swing with his brassey, and, for a wonder,the ball went as straight and true as any golfer could desire.

  "Ah! I am getting into form, Wigan," he exclaimed. "What is that fooldoing yonder? Fore!"

  This time the man looked round and waved to us to come on, which wedid slowly, for Quarles's form was speedily out again.

  The man on the green was a curiosity. Thirty-five or thereabouts, Ijudged him to be; a thin man, but wiry, with a stiff figure and animmobile face, which looked as if he had never been guilty of showingan emotion. His eyes were beady, and fixed you; his mouth gave theimpression of being so seldom used for speech that it had becomepartially atrophied. His costume, perhaps meant to be sporting, missedthe mark--looked as if he had borrowed the various articles fromdifferent friends; and he was practicing putting with a thin-facedmashie, very rusty in the head, and dilapidated in the shaft.

  He stood aside and watched Quarles miss two short puts.

  "Difficult," he remarked. "I'm practicing it."

  Quarles looked at the speaker, then at the mashie.

  "With that?"

  "Why not?" asked the man.

  "Why?" asked Quarles.

  "If I can do it with this I can do it with anything," was the answer.

  "That's true," said the professor, making for the next tee. There wasno arguing with a man of this type.

  The tee was on the top of the creek bank.

  "I was right," said Quarles. "Look, Wigan, they did make for thishaven last night."

  It was almost low water. The bank on the golf course side was steep,varying in height, but comparatively low near the tee, and anirregular line of piles stuck up out of the mud below, the tops ofhalf a dozen of them rising higher than the bank. On the other side ofthe creek the shore sloped up gradually from a wide stretch of mud.

  In the narrow waterway was a yacht, about eighteen tons, I judged.That she was the same we had seen laboring in the gale last night Icould not say, but certai
nly she was much weather-marked and lookedforlorn. She had not had a coat of paint recently, the brasswork onher was green with neglect, and her ropes and sails looked old andbadly cared for. Yet her lines were dainty, and, straining at herhawser, she reminded me of a disappointed woman fretting to freeherself from an undesirable position.

  A yacht is always so sentient a thing, and seems so full of consciouslife.

  Quarles appeared to understand my momentary preoccupation.

  "Don't take any notice of her," he said. "We're out for golf. I alwaysmanage a good drive from this tee."

  This time was an exception, at any rate, and, in fact, for theremainder of the round he played worse than before, if that werepossible. But he was perfectly satisfied with himself, and talkednothing but golf as we walked back, until we were close to the hotel,when he stopped suddenly.

  "Queer chap, that, on the green."

  "Very."

  "Do you think he came from the yacht?"

  "I was wondering whether he hadn't escaped from an asylum," Ianswered.

  "I wonder what he was doing on the green," Quarles went on. "I saw noone else playing this afternoon, so he had the green to himself,except for the little time we disturbed him. When I first saw him itdidn't seem to me that he was practicing putting, and I thought hewatched us rather curiously."

  "A theory, professor?" I asked with a smile.

  "No, no; just wonder. By the way, don't say anything to that expertwho was so certain that the yacht couldn't get into the creek. Hemightn't like to know he was mistaken."

  After dinner that evening Zena and I went out. There was no moon;indeed, it was not very pleasant weather, but it was a pleasant walk,and entirely to my satisfaction.

  When we returned I found Quarles in a corner of the smoking roomleaning back in an armchair with his eyes closed. He looked upsuddenly as I approached him.

  "Cold out?" he asked.

  "Nothing to speak of."

  "Feel inclined to go a little way with me now?"

  "Certainly."

  "Good! Say in a quarter of an hour's time. I shall get out of thisdress and put on some warmer clothes. I should advise you to do thesame."

  I took his advice, and I was not surprised when he turned to me assoon as we had left the hotel and said:

  "That yacht, Wigan; we'll go and have a look at her."

  "It's too dark to see her."

  "She may show a light," he chuckled. "Anyway, we will go and have alook."

  We started along the front in the direction of the golf course, but atthe end of the parade, instead of turning inland as I expected, tocross the course to the creek, Quarles led the way on to the sands.Here was a favorite bathing place, and there were many small tentsnestling under the sandhills, looking a little the worse for lastnight's gale. At this hour the spot was quite deserted.

  "Getting toward high water," said the professor, "and a smooth seato-night. Can you row, Wigan?"

  "An oarsman would probably say I couldn't," I answered.

  "There's a stout little boat hereabouts--takes swimmers out for a diveinto deep water. We'll borrow it, and see what you can do."

  Always there was something in Quarles's way of going to work which hadthe effect of giving one a thrill, of stringing up the nerves, andmaking one eager to know all that was in his mind. You were satisfiedthere was something more to learn, and felt it would be worthlearning. I asked no questions now as I helped to push a good-sizeddinghy into the water. Oars were in it, and a coil of rope.

  "Anyone might go off with it," said Quarles. "I noticed the other daythat the boatman did not trouble to take the oars out. I suppose hebelieves in the honesty of Lingham."

  If I am no great stylist, I am not deficient in muscle, and, with theset of the tide to help me, we were not long in making the mouth ofthe creek.

  "The yacht is some way up, Wigan, and maybe there are sharp ears onher. Tie your handkerchief round that rowlock, and I'll tie mine roundthis. You must pull gently and make no noise. The tide is stillrunning in, and will carry us up. By the way, when you're on holidaydo you still keep your hip pocket filled?"

  "Yes, when I go on expeditions of this sort."

  "Good! Keep under the bank as much as possible, and don't stick on themud."

  I did little more than keep the boat straight, was careful not to makeany noise, and in the shadow of the bank we were not very likely to beseen. A heavy, leaden sky made the night dark, and there was a sullenrush in the water.

  "Steady!" whispered Quarles.

  We were abreast of the first of the piles which I had noticed in themorning. Now it was standing out of water instead of mud.

  "She shows no light," said Quarles. "We'll get alongside."

  With the incoming tide the yacht had swung around, and was strainingat the hawser which held her, the water slapping at her bows withfretful insistency. Quarles held on to her, bringing us with a slightbump against her side. Keen ears would have heard the contact, but novoice challenged.

  We had come up on the side of the yacht which was nearest the golfcourse.

  "There's no boat fastened to her, Wigan," said Quarles. "Probablythere is no one on board. Let's go round to the other side."

  There we found the steps used for boarding her.

  "If there's anyone here, Wigan, we're two landlubbers who've gotbenighted and have a bad attack of nerves," whispered Quarles. "Hitchone end of that coil of rope to the painter, so that when we fastenour boat to the stays on the other side of the yacht she'll float farastern. When they return they are almost certain to come up on thisside to the steps, so will not be likely either to see the rope or ourboat in the dark."

  I fastened the rope to the painter as Quarles suggested, and climbedon to the yacht after him. Then I let the tide carry our boat astern,and, crossing the deck, tied the other end of the rope securely to thestays on the other side.

  The sky seemed to have become heavier and more leaden; it was too darkto see anything clearly. There was little wind, yet a subdued andghostly note sounded in the yacht's rigging, and the water swirling ather bows seemed to emphasize her loneliness. So far as I could see,she was in exactly the same condition as when I had seen her from thegolf course. No one was on deck, and no sound came from below.

  "Queer feeling about her, don't you think?" said Quarles. "We're justdeadly afraid of the night and spooks, that's what we are if there isanyone to question us."

  I followed him down into the cabin. At the foot of the companionQuarles flashed a pocket electric torch. It was only a momentaryflash, then darkness again as he gave a warning little hiss.

  Three glasses on the table was all I had seen. I supposed theprofessor had seen something more, but I was wrong.

  After standing perfectly motionless for a minute or so, he flashedthe light again, and sent the ray round the cabin. The appointmentswere faded, the covering of the long, fixed seats on either side ofthe table was torn in places. One of these seats had evidently servedas a bunk, for a pillow and folded blanket were lying upon it. All thepaint work was dirty and scratched. Forward, there was a door into thegalley; aft, another door to another cabin.

  "A crew of three," said Quarles. "Three glasses, plenty of liquor leftin the bottle in the rack yonder, a pipe and a pouch, and aconundrum."

  He let the light rest on a sheet of paper lying beside the glasses. Onit was written: "S. B. Piles--one with chain--9th link. N. B. Direct.Mud--high water--90 and 4 feet."

  "A conundrum, Wigan. What do you make of it?"

  He held out the paper to me, a useless thing to do, since he allowedthe ray from the torch to wander slowly round the cabin again.

  "We must look at the pile with the chain," he muttered in adisconnected way, as though he were thinking of something quitedifferent.

  "And at the ninth link of the chain," I said.

  "Yes, at the ninth link. A conundrum, Wigan. A----"

  He stopped. His eyes had suddenly become fixed upon some object behindme. The electric ray fe
ll slanting close by me, and when I turned Isaw that the end of it was under the cushioned seat on one side of thetable. The light fell upon a golf club--a rusty mashie.

  "That man on the green was one of the crew, Wigan," said Quarles; andthen when I picked up the club we looked into each other's eyes.

  "Did I not say the yacht had a queer feeling about her?" he said in awhisper.

  I knew what he meant. The mashie had something besides rust on it now,something wet, moist and sticky.

  Quarles glanced at the door of the galley as he put the paper on thetable, careful to place it in the exact position in which he had foundit; then he went quickly to the cabin aft.

  On either side of a fixed washing cabinet there was a bunk, and in oneof them lay the man we had seen on the green. The wound upon his headtold to what a terrible use the club had been put since he had playedwith it that afternoon. He had been fiercely struck from behind, andthen strong fingers had strangled out whatever life remained in him.He was fully dressed, and there had been little or no struggle. Hiswould-be sportsmanlike attire was barely disarranged, and even indeath his pose was stiff, and his set face exhibited no emotion.Quarles lifted up one of his hands and looked at the palm and at thenails. He let the light rest upon the hand that I might see it. Thenhe pointed to a straight mark across the forehead, just below thehair, and nodded.

  We were back in the saloon-cabin again when I touched the professor'sarm, and in an instant the torch was out. I had caught the sound ofsplashing oars.

  "Put the club back under the seat," said Quarles, and then, withmovements stealthy as a cat's, he led the way to the galley door. Wewere in our hiding place not a moment too soon.

  Two men came hurriedly down the companion. A match was struck, butthere was not a chink in the boarding through which we could see intothe cabin. It seemed certain they had not discovered our dinghy, andhad no suspicion that they were not alone upon the yacht.

  "It's plain enough. There's no other meaning to it." The speaker had aheavy voice, a gurgle in it, and I judged the heavier tread of the twowas his. "Ninety feet, it says, captain; and we measured that stringto exactly ninety feet."

  "Feet might only refer to the four, and not to both figures," was theanswer in a sharp, incisive voice.

  "He said it was both."

  "And I'm not sure he lied," returned the man addressed as captain."The distance was originally paced out no doubt, and pacing out ninetyfeet ain't the same as an exact measurement."

  "We made allowances," growled the other.

  "We'd been wiser to go on looking instead of coming back. You're tooprevious, mate."

  "You didn't trust him any more'n I did."

  "No; but he had the name right enough," answered the captain, "and thetime--a year last February. I always put that job down to Glider.Let's get back while the dark lasts."

  "Come to think of it, it's strange Glider should have made a confidantof him," said the other.

  "Sized him up, and took his chance for the sake of the missus,"returned the captain.

  "I'm not going back until I've seen whether he's got other papersabout him."

  "He chucked his clothes overboard," said the captain.

  "He'd keep papers tied round him, maybe. I'll soon find out."

  There was a heavy tread, and the opening of the door of the cabinaft. There was the rending of cloth, and the man swore the whole time,perhaps to keep up his courage for the horrible task.

  "Nothing!" he said, coming back into the saloon-cabin. "Say, captain,supposing it's all a plant--a trap!"

  There was a pause and my hand went to my revolver. If the suggestionshould take root, would they not at once search the galley?

  "He'd a mind to get the lot, that was his game," said the captain.

  They went on deck, we could hear them stamping about overhead. Thencame an oath, and a quick movement. I thought they were coming downagain, but a moment later there was the soft swish of oars, followedby silence.

  "Carefully!" said Quarles, as I fumbled at the galley door. "One ofthem may have remained to shoot us from the top of the companion."

  He was wrong, but it was more than probable that such an idea hadoccurred to them. They had discovered our dinghy! It had been cutadrift, and the scoundrels had escaped, leaving us isolated on theyacht. I snapped out a good round oath.

  "Can you swim, Wigan?" asked the professor.

  At full tide the creek was wide, and the sullen, rushing water had ahungry and cruel sound.

  "Not well enough to venture here, and in the dark," I said.

  "And I cannot swim at all," said Quarles. "We are caught until morningand low-water. It's cold, and beginning to rain. With all its defectsI prefer the cabin."

  He went below and declared that he must get a little sleep. Whetherhe did or not, I cannot say; I know that I never felt less inclined toclose my eyes. We had been trapped, that made me mad; and I could notforget our gruesome companion behind the door of the aft cabin.

  There was a glimmer of daylight when Quarles moved.

  "This is nearly as good a place to think in as my empty room atChelsea, Wigan. What do you make of the mystery?"

  "A trio of villains after buried treasure."

  "Which they could not find; and two of them are scuttling away to savetheir necks."

  "So you think the dead man yonder fooled them?"

  "No. I think there is some flaw in the conundrum. By the way, why is agolf course called links?"

  "It's a Scotch word for a sandy tract near the sea, isn't it?"

  "But to an untutored mind, Wigan, especially if it were not Scotch,there might be another meaning, one based on number, for instance. Asa chain consists of links, so a golf course, which has eighteen links.It is a possible view, eh?"

  "Perhaps."

  "I see they have taken the paper," said Quarles; "but I dare say youremember the wording. S. B., that means south bank; N. B., north bank.I have no doubt there is a pile with a chain on it, whether with nineor ninety links does not matter. It was on the green of the ninth holethat the man was practicing. For the word "link" substitute "hole,"and you get a particular pile connected with the ninth hole, which, ofcourse, has a flag, and so we get a particular direction indicated.From the high-water line of mud on the north bank we continue thisascertained direction for ninety feet, and then we dig down fourfeet."

  "And find nothing," I said.

  "Exactly! There is a flaw somewhere, but the treasure is there," saidQuarles. "The rascals who have given us an uncomfortable nightevidently believed that the man they called Glider had told the truth;more, they had already put the job down to him, you will remember.Now, how was it Glider gave his secret away to the man in yondercabin? Obviously he couldn't come and get the treasure himself."

  "A convict," I said, "who gave information to a fellow convict aboutto be released."

  "I don't think so," said Quarles. "As a convict, these men, who havebeen convicts themselves, or will be, would have had sympathy withhim. They hadn't any. They were afraid of him. They felt it wasstrange that Glider should have confided in him, and could only findan explanation by supposing that Glider had sized him up and taken hischance for the sake of the missus. We may assume, therefore, thatGlider had trusted a man no one would expect him to trust. Thissuggests urgency, and I fancy a man, nicknamed Glider, has recentlydied in one of His Majesty's prisons--Portland I should guess.Probably our adventurers sailed from Weymouth. Now, Glider could nothave been in Portland long. A year last February he was free to do thejob with which this expedition is connected, and of which I shouldimagine he is not suspected by the police. Probably he was taken forsome other crime soon after he had committed this one. He had noopportunity to dig up the treasure he had buried, which he certainlywould have done as soon as possible. Yet Glider must have been longenough in prison to size up the dead man yonder--a work of some time,I fancy. You noticed his hands. Did they show any evidence of hishaving worked as a convict? You saw the mark across the forehead
. Thatwas made by a stiff cap worn constantly until a day or two ago. Ithink we shall find there is a warder missing from Portland."

  "A warder!"

  The idea was startling, yet I could pick no hole in the professor'sargument.

  "Even a warder is not free from temptation, and I take it this man wastempted, and fell. Glider, no doubt, told him of the captain and hismate. He had worked with them before, probably, and trusted them;also, he might think they would be a check upon the warder. Ishouldn't be surprised if the warder were the only one of the threewho insisted that the widow should have her share, and so came by hisdeath. The flaw in the riddle keeps the treasure safe. Perhaps I shallsolve it during the day. By the way, Wigan, it must be getting nearlow-water."

  It was a beastly morning, persistent rain from a leaden sky. The tidewas out, only a thin strip of water separating the yacht from the mud.

  "I fear there will be no golfers on the links to-day to whom we mightsignal," said Quarles; "and I could not even swim that."

  "I can," I answered.

  "It would be better than spending another night here," said theprofessor. "Send a boat round for me, and inform the police. I amafraid the captain and his mate have got too long a start; but don'tleave Lingham until we have had another talk. While I am alone I mayread the riddle."

  The ducking I did not mind, and the swim was no more than a fewvigorous strokes, but I had forgotten the mud. As I struggled throughit, squelching, knee-deep, Quarles called to me:

  "They must have landed him at high-water yesterday, Wigan, and thencrossed over and taken the direction from him. I thought he wasfeeling about with the flag when we first saw him on the green. Nodoubt he made some sign to the others across the creek to lie low whenhe saw us coming. They marked the place in daylight and went at nightto dig."

  I sank at least ten inches deeper into the mud while he was speaking.He got no answer out of me. I felt like hating my best friend justthen.

  After changing my clothes at the hotel, where I accounted for mycondition by a story, original but not true, I told Zena shortly whathad happened, then sent a boat for the professor. I then told theLingham police, who wired to the police at Colchester, and I alsotelegraphed to Scotland Yard and to Portland Prison.

  I did not see Quarles again until the afternoon.

  "Have you solved the riddle?" I asked.

  "I think so. We'll go to that ninth hole at once. The police arecontinuing the excavations begun by our friends. I've had a talk tothe professional at the golf club. They move the position of the holeson a green from time to time, you know, Wigan; and with theprofessional's help I think we shall be able to find out where it wasa year last February. He is a methodical fellow. That will give us adifferent direction on the north bank of the creek. It was a naturaloversight on the convict's part. Were I not a golfer I might not havethought of the solution."

  We found the treasure a long way from where the other digging hadbeen done. It consisted of jewels which, in the early part of theprevious year, had been stolen from Fenton Hall, some two milesinland. The theft, which had taken place when the house was full ofweek-end visitors, had been quickly discovered, and the thief, findingit impossible to get clear away with his spoil, had buried it on thedesolate bank of the creek, marking the spot by a mental line drawnthrough the chained pile and the flag on the golf course. He must haveknown the neighborhood, and knew this was the ninth hole, or link ashe called it, or as the warder had written it down. For Quarles wasright, a warder was missing from Portland, and was found dead in thataft cabin.

  The yacht was known at Weymouth, and belonged to a retired seaman, aCaptain Wells, who lived at a little hotel when he was in the town. Hewas often away--sometimes in his yacht, sometimes in London--and therewas little doubt that his boat had often been used to take stolenproperty across to the Continent. Neither the captain nor his matecould be traced now, but it was some satisfaction that they had notsecured the jewels.

  As I have said, I did manage to get some moonlight walks with Zena,but not many, for a week after we had recovered the Fenton Hall jewelsI was called back to town to interview Lord Leconbridge.