"Not a bite. I had no time to think of it."
"And how have you succeeded?"
"Well."
"You have a clue?"
"I have them in the hollow of my hand. Young Openshaw shall notlong remain unavenged. Why, Watson, let us put their own devilishtrade-mark upon them. It is well thought of!"
"What do you mean?"
He took an orange from the cupboard, and tearing it to pieces hesqueezed out the pips upon the table. Of these he took five andthrust them into an envelope. On the inside of the flap he wrote"S. H. for J. O." Then he sealed it and addressed it to "CaptainJames Calhoun, Barque 'Lone Star,' Savannah, Georgia."
"That will await him when he enters port," said he, chuckling."It may give him a sleepless night. He will find it as sure aprecursor of his fate as Openshaw did before him."
"And who is this Captain Calhoun?"
"The leader of the gang. I shall have the others, but he first."
"How did you trace it, then?"
He took a large sheet of paper from his pocket, all covered withdates and names.
"I have spent the whole day," said he, "over Lloyd's registersand files of the old papers, following the future career of everyvessel which touched at Pondicherry in January and February in'83. There were thirty-six ships of fair tonnage which werereported there during those months. Of these, one, the 'Lone Star,'instantly attracted my attention, since, although it was reportedas having cleared from London, the name is that which is given toone of the states of the Union."
"Texas, I think."
"I was not and am not sure which; but I knew that the ship musthave an American origin."
"What then?"
"I searched the Dundee records, and when I found that the barque'Lone Star' was there in January, '85, my suspicion became acertainty. I then inquired as to the vessels which lay at presentin the port of London."
"Yes?"
"The 'Lone Star' had arrived here last week. I went down to theAlbert Dock and found that she had been taken down the river bythe early tide this morning, homeward bound to Savannah. I wiredto Gravesend and learned that she had passed some time ago, andas the wind is easterly I have no doubt that she is now past theGoodwins and not very far from the Isle of Wight."
"What will you do, then?"
"Oh, I have my hand upon him. He and the two mates, are as Ilearn, the only native-born Americans in the ship. The others areFinns and Germans. I know, also, that they were all three awayfrom the ship last night. I had it from the stevedore who hasbeen loading their cargo. By the time that their sailing-shipreaches Savannah the mail-boat will have carried this letter, andthe cable will have informed the police of Savannah that thesethree gentlemen are badly wanted here upon a charge of murder."
There is ever a flaw, however, in the best laid of human plans,and the murderers of John Openshaw were never to receive theorange pips which would show them that another, as cunning and asresolute as themselves, was upon their track. Very long and verysevere were the equinoctial gales that year. We waited long fornews of the "Lone Star" of Savannah, but none ever reached us. Wedid at last hear that somewhere far out in the Atlantic ashattered stern-post of a boat was seen swinging in the troughof a wave, with the letters "L. S." carved upon it, and that isall which we shall ever know of the fate of the "Lone Star."
ADVENTURE VI. THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP
Isa Whitney, brother of the late Elias Whitney, D.D., Principalof the Theological College of St. George's, was much addicted toopium. The habit grew upon him, as I understand, from somefoolish freak when he was at college; for having read DeQuincey's description of his dreams and sensations, he haddrenched his tobacco with laudanum in an attempt to produce thesame effects. He found, as so many more have done, that thepractice is easier to attain than to get rid of, and for manyyears he continued to be a slave to the drug, an object ofmingled horror and pity to his friends and relatives. I can seehim now, with yellow, pasty face, drooping lids, and pin-pointpupils, all huddled in a chair, the wreck and ruin of a nobleman.
One night--it was in June, '89--there came a ring to my bell,about the hour when a man gives his first yawn and glances at theclock. I sat up in my chair, and my wife laid her needle-workdown in her lap and made a little face of disappointment.
"A patient!" said she. "You'll have to go out."
I groaned, for I was newly come back from a weary day.
We heard the door open, a few hurried words, and then quick stepsupon the linoleum. Our own door flew open, and a lady, clad insome dark-coloured stuff, with a black veil, entered the room.
"You will excuse my calling so late," she began, and then,suddenly losing her self-control, she ran forward, threw her armsabout my wife's neck, and sobbed upon her shoulder. "Oh, I'm insuch trouble!" she cried; "I do so want a little help."
"Why," said my wife, pulling up her veil, "it is Kate Whitney.How you startled me, Kate! I had not an idea who you were whenyou came in."