The Czars Spy | Page 3

thickset Scotsman from Dundee, with
a barely healed cicatrice across his left cheek, called at the Consulate at
two o'clock and made his report, which appeared to me to be a very

lame one. He struck me as being unworthy his certificate, for he was
evidently entirely out of his bearings when the accident occurred. The
owner and his friend Chater were in their berths asleep, when suddenly
he discovered that the vessel was making no headway. They had, in
fact, run upon the dangerous shoal without being aware of it. A strong
sea was running with a stiff breeze, and although his seamanship was
poor, he was capable enough to recognize at once that they were in a
very perilous position.
"Very fortunate it wasn't more serious, sir," he added, after telling me
his story, which I wrote at his dictation for the ultimate benefit of the
Board of Trade.
"Didn't you send up signals of distress?" I Inquired.
"No, sir--never thought of it."
"And yet you knew that you might be lost?" I remarked with recurring
suspicion.
The canny Scot, whose name was Mackintosh, hesitated a few
moments, then answered--
"Well, sir, you see the fishing-boat had sighted us, and we saw her
turning back to port to fetch help."
His excuse was a neat one. Probably it was his neglect to make signals
of distress that had aroused the suspicions of the Captain of the Port.
From first to last the story of the master of the Lola was, I considered, a
very unsatisfactory one.
"How long have you been in Mr. Hornby's service?" I inquired.
"Six months, sir," was the man's reply. "Before he engaged me, I was
with the Wilsons, of Hull, running up the Baltic."
"As master?"
"I've held my master's certificate these fifteen years, sir. I was with the

Bibbys before the Wilsons, and before that with the General Steam. I
did eight years in the Mediterranean with them, when I was chief
mate."
"And you've never been into Leghorn before?"
"Never, sir."
I dismissed the captain with a distinct impression that he had not told
me the whole truth. That cicatrice did not improve his personal
appearance. He had left his certificates on board, he said, but if I
wished he would bring them to me on the morrow.
Was it possible that an attempt had actually been made to cast away the
yacht, and that it had been frustrated by the master of the felucca, who
had sighted the vessel aground? There certainly seemed some mystery
surrounding the circumstances, and my interest in the yacht and its
owner deepened each hour. How, I wondered, had the captain received
that very ugly wound across the cheek? I was half-inclined to inquire of
him, but on reflection decided that it was best to betray no undue
curiosity.
That evening when the fiery sun was sinking in its crimson glory,
bathing the glassy sea with its blood-red light and causing the islands of
Gorgona and Capraja to loom forth a deep purple against the distant
horizon, I took a cab along the old sea-road to the port where, within
the inner harbor, I found the Lola, one of the most magnificent private
vessels I had ever seen. Her dimensions surprised me. She was painted
dead white, with shining brass everywhere. At the stern hung limply
the British flag, while at the masthead the ensign of the Royal Yacht
Squadron. The yellow funnel emitted no smoke, and as she lay calmly
in the sunset a crowd of dock-loungers and crimps leaned upon the
parapet discussing her merits and wondering who could be the rich
Englishman who could afford to travel in a small liner of his own--for
her size surprised even those Italian dock-hands, used as they were to
seeing every kind of craft enter the busy port.
On stepping on deck Hornby, who like myself wore a clean suit of

white linen as the most sensible dinner-garb in a hot climate, came
forward to greet me, and took me along to the stern where, lying in a
long wicker deck-chair beneath the awning, was a tall, dark-eyed,
clean-shaven man of about forty, also dressed in cool white linen. His
keen face gave one the impression that he was a barrister.
"My friend, Hylton Chater--Mr. Gordon Gregg," he said, introducing us,
and then when, as we shook hands, the clean-shaven man exclaimed,
smiling pleasantly--
"Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Gregg. You are not a stranger by
any means to Hornby or myself. Indeed, we've got a couple of your
books on board. But I had no idea you lived out here."
"At Ardenza," I said. "Three miles along the sea-shore. To-morrow I
hope you'll both come and dine with me."
"Delighted, I'm sure," declared Hornby. "To eat