In White Raiment

I heard the skipper shouting violently, and a couple of the crew started in pursuit; but, taking to my heels I soon outdistanced them, and after some little time found myself walking in a large handsome street lined with fine shops and showy cafés. I was in Christiania.

I inquired in French of several persons the whereabouts of the British Consulate, and about an hour later found myself in the private office of the representative of her Majesty, a tall, good-looking man in a cool suit of white linen.

To him I related the whole circumstances. He listened, but smiled now and then with an air of incredulity. I told him of the murder, of the manner in which my life had been twice attempted, and of the remarkable circumstances of my abduction.

“And you say that you were taken on board the Petrel,” he said reflectively. “I know Captain Banfield quite well. He is a strict disciplinarian, an excellent sailor, and is held in high esteem by his men. We must hear his explanation of the affair at once. If what you have said is true, it is certainly most remarkable.”

I drew the trinket with the golden chain from my pocket, together with the crumpled note, and showed them to him.

“Strange,” he remarked. “Most extraordinary! I’ll send down to the docks for Banfield at once;” and, calling a clerk, he dispatched him in a cab.

In the meantime, in response to his questions, I gave him the most minute details of the startling affairs, as well as the ingenious manner in which Beryl Wynd had been murdered. I knew that the story when related sounded absolutely incredible; but it was equally certain that the Consul, at first inclined to doubt my statement, had now become highly interested in it.

I remarked upon the extraordinary mystery, and its features which seemed to stagger belief.

“But you are a medical man of considerable attainment, I notice from your card,” he resumed. “I have no reason to doubt your story. It is rather a matter which should be strictly inquired into. Any person abducted from England, in the manner you have been, has a right to seek protection and advice of his consul.”

And we continued chatting until, after a lapse of nearly half an hour, the captain of the Petrel, wearing his shore-going clothes, was ushered in.

“Good morning, sir!” he exclaimed, addressing the representative of the Foreign Office, but taking no notice of my presence. “You’ve sent for me?”

“Yes, Captain,” the Consul responded rather severely. “Kindly sit down. There is a little matter upon which you can throw some light. You know this gentleman?” – and he indicated myself.

“Yes, sir. I know ’im.”

“Well, he has lodged a very serious complaint against you, namely, that you have held him a prisoner on board your ship without any just cause; and, further, that contrary to the regulations of the Board of Trade, you carried him from port while in an unconscious condition.” The skipper remained quite unabashed.

“Well, sir,” he answered, “as I’ve already told the gentleman, I’ve only acted under strict orders from my owners. I suppose they’ll take all the responsibility?”

“No; the responsibility rests upon yourself. You’ve held a master’s certificate a good many years, and you are fully acquainted with the Board of Trade regulations.”

“Of course, I don’t deny that,” the other responded.

“But my orders were quite precise.”

“And now, tell me, how came this gentleman on board your ship?”

“To tell the truth, sir, I don’t know exactly. We were lying in the St. Katherine Docks, and my last evening ashore I spent at home with my wife, over at Victoria Park. We were to sail at four o’clock in the morning, but I didn’t get aboard before about ten past four. When I did so, orders from the owners were put into my hand, and I was told that there was a passenger who’d been brought aboard, lying asleep below. ’Ere’s the letter;” and he drew it from his pocket and handed it to the Consul.

The latter read it through, then, with an exclamation of surprise, handed it over to me.

It certainly increased the mystery, for it was from the office of the owners, Messrs Hanway Brothers, in Leadenhall Street, ordering that I should be taken on the round voyage to the Baltic, well cared for, but kept looked in a cabin, as I had developed homicidal tendencies.

“The gentleman, whose name is Doctor Colkirk,” continued the letter, “is subject to fits, in which he remains unconscious for some hours; therefore there is no cause for alarm if he is not conscious when he reaches you. He is under an hallucination that he has been witness of some remarkable crime, and will, no doubt, impress upon you the urgent necessity of returning to London for the prosecution of inquiries. If he does this, humour him, but on no account allow him to go on deck, or to hold conversation with any one. The gentleman is a source of the greatest anxiety to his friends, and, we may add, that if the present orders are strictly carried out, the gentleman’s friends have promised the payment of a handsome bonus to yourself. We therefore place him on board the Petrel, in preference to any other vessel of our fleet, because of the confidence we entertain that you will strictly carry out your orders.”

The letter was signed by the firm.

“It seems very much as though the owners had some object in sending you aboard,” observed the Consul.

Then, turning to the skipper, he asked, “How was the gentleman brought on board?”

“He was brought in a private carriage about six o’clock in the evening, my men say. Two gentlemen carried him on board. The dock police stopped them, but they told the constable that the gentleman was drunk.”

“And when you received this letter, what did you do?”

“Well, I put him in the second mate’s cabin, and left him alone till two days later, when he came to. Then I just carried out my orders.”

“Where are you bound for?”

“The round trip – Stockholm, Riga, St. Petersburg, Drammen, Christiansund, and home.”

“That means a month.”

“More – six weeks.”

“Your owners, therefore, were anxious that the doctor should be absent from England during that time. There is some mystery here, on the face of it. Doctor Colkirk has related to me a very remarkable story, and the most searching inquiry should be instituted.”

“Well, sir,” Banfield said apologetically, “I hope you don’t consider my conduct bad. I’ve only carried out my orders to the letter. You see I didn’t know that the gentleman was on board until we’d actually left the quay; and the letter says, quite distinctly, that he’s subject to fits, therefore I let him remain quiet until he regained consciousness.” Then, turning to me, he added, “I trust, sir, that you’ll accept my apology.”

“That’s all very well,” interposed the Consul; “but you know that you did entirely wrong in sailing with an unconscious stranger on board.”

“I admit that. But you see I had my orders, sir.”

“Who delivered them to you?” I inquired.

“The two gentlemen who brought you on board,” he responded.

“Have any of your men described them to you?”

“They only said that they were both well dressed, and about middle age.”

They were, without doubt, the Tempter and his accomplice. The conspiracy had been conceived and carried out with amazing ingenuity.

“And they brought the doctor on board and delivered this letter?”

“Yes, sir. They afterwards re-entered the carriage and drove away.”

“Well,” said the Consul, “the only course I see is for the doctor to take this letter, return to London, and seek an explanation of your owners.”

“No, sir, I shan’t give up the letter. It’s written to me,” demurred the captain.

“But it is in my hands,” responded the Consul. “I am making inquiries into this affair, and I shall act as I think best in the interest of all parties concerned. The letter is your property, certainly; but recollect that this affair may prove very awkward for your owners. Therefore, take my advice, Captain, and assist this gentleman in his inquiries.”

“I protest against you keeping the letter.”

“Very well, I will see that your protest is forwarded to your owners,” replied the Consul; and he handed me the letter, saying —

“Your best course. Doctor, is to return by the Wilson boat to Hull. She sails this afternoon at four. Then go down to Leadenhall Street and, make inquiries – it seems a strange affair, to say the least.”