CHAPTER X

DEEP SEA GEAR

He put his hand to his breast pocket and drew out the envelope on the back of which Sam had scribbled the address of the deep-sea diving outfit company. The great firm that supplies all the pearl fisheries of the world with their diving equipment, to say nothing of the harbour boards.

Truly Behrens was right when he spoke of the importance of men and the importance of being able to choose men, for Bobby might have been days wandering about on this diving-dress business, and gone, perhaps, to some second-hand dealer, but for Hackett.

There is one thing you must not skimp money over, and that is diving equipment.

He reached Bermondsey at ten minutes to four o'clock, and at four found himself at the works, which are situated in the Grange Road.

By five o'clock he had made his purchases: a three-cylinder air pump, a helmet and gun-metal corselet, two diving dresses of bark-tanned twilled cloth, three fifty feet lengths of rubber floating air hose tested to two hundred and fifty pounds to the square inch, boots, signal line, lead weights, special underclothing, and all sorts of sundries from spare helmet glasses to wrist rings--the total cost under a hundred and fifty pounds, also packing-cases. The whole to be packed and despatched to him on board the _Lorna Doone_ at Miller's Quay, Poole, Dorset.

Then he came West, well satisfied with his day's work, dined at a restaurant, went home and fell asleep, waking next morning to find a letter from Hackett, sent by the last post from Bournemouth. Sam's handwriting, despite his public school and Oxford education, was that of a school-boy, but the letter itself was full of fire and passion. It might have been the letter of a lover describing his mistress.

"When I left you," wrote Sam, "I went back to the _Sandfly_ and tinkered about, but I couldn't help going back to the _Lorna_ and having a look round. What possessed Purbeck to part with her, I don't know. Jim was off her, so I had her to myself. You can't get at the innards of a boat unless you're alone on her, with no one to bother and take one's mind off business. Of course, I knew she was good when I recommended you to buy, but I did not know _how_ good she was. There's not a square inch of dry rot anywhere. How could there be? It's all teak, and though she was built somewhere before the war, she's better than new. The auxiliary engine wants nothing done to it, and the sails in the sail-room are in good condition; but there's no try-sail. We must have a try-sail. That brute Purbeck mishandled her. Nothing much, but coming in last time he touched on the West Point sandspit and she wants a new bobstay. He must have been drunk. Adams, one of the crew he had, told me of it this afternoon. Well, no more at present.

"Yours, "SAM HACKETT.

"P.S.--I have thought of the men we'll want for a crew, and _I believe I have got you a skipper_."

The last eight words were heavily underlined. Bobby laughed as he put the letter back in its envelope and started to dress. Sam must evidently have sent a special messenger or gone himself to Bournemouth to get it off by the last post. He was keen as paint and his keenness had been born of his sudden love for the _Lorna Doone_.

From half a lifetime's study of small-yachtsmen, I can say that cases like that of Sam are not uncommon. I have seen a man making a fool of himself over a boat, waste his money over her clothes in the form of sails, and her jewellery, in the form of extra-patent, sure-to-stick-at-the-last-moment gadgets, only to be let down by her in a squall off the Needles because she was not honest. I have seen a boat come between a man and his wife, and have seen a "triangle" of a man and a girl and a boat--and the girl get the worst of it.

Sam had dreamt of the _Lorna Doone_, and after an early breakfast he was on board her making notes of things that required looking to at the same time that Bobby, having left his rooms, was making for White Lion Court.

He found Martia just arrived at the office.

It was as though she had turned into another person. The look of tiredness had gone from her. She had more colour. Her eyes were brighter and she laughed as she greeted him.

"I'm coming," said Martia. "I never, never thought I could do it, but Mr. Behrens has taken things in hand. He's making me go. Not that I wanted much making, but still, he's settled things."

"I know," said Bobby. "I saw him and he told me, and I've got the boat."

He explained, telling how by good luck he had got a man to look after things and find not only the boat but a crew.

"What's his name?" asked Martia.

"Hackett. He was up with me at Oxford. He's an awfully good chap, and what he doesn't know about boats isn't worth knowing."

"Is his other name Samuel?"

"Yes."

"Oh!"

"D'you know him?"

"I knew a Samuel Hackett once, but I don't suppose it's the same. And it doesn't matter," replied Martia. "And now, go on and tell me. You've got the boat and the crew--how many men are there in the crew?"

"I don't know. Sam will see to all that."

"And a captain--for you don't know anything about sailing a boat, do you?"

"How do you know that?"

"I didn't. I only guessed."

"Well, I don't know much, as a matter of fact. But Sam will get us a captain."

"And stores and things?"

"Oh, Sam----I mean, we'll see to that," replied Bobby, sick of Sam and the fact that Sam was really, and as far as things had gone, running this expedition. "I've got the diving rig-out."

"You _have_ been busy. Where did you get it?"

"Place in Bermondsey." He had forgotten the name and he took from his breast pocket the envelope on the back of which Hackett had pencilled the name.

The envelope was addressed in a large clear hand to "S. Hackett, Esq., The Yacht _Sandfly_, Poole." He saw that she had taken in the fact.

"Sam gave it to me," said he as he put the envelope back in his pocket. "And now tell me. Would you be ready to start in a fortnight if we have the boat and everything ready?"

"I could start to-morrow," said Martia.

"Well, we'll hurry up things. You'll like the boat. There's a cabin aft you can have, and the main cabin is large and comfortable, and there's a bath-room. The only bother is the Bay, if we have rough weather."

"Oh, I don't mind weather," said Martia. "I'm never ill."

"I only thought if you cared to escape the Bay you might go overland to Marseilles and pick us up there."

"In a stuffy French train? Never! No, I'll be ready to start whenever you are. Are you going back to Poole?"

"Yes, to-day, after seeing Behrens. I've done everything I want in London and I'll stick down there till we start. Meanwhile I'll keep you informed as to how we are getting on."

She accompanied him through the outer office to the top of the stairs to say good-bye, and then he found himself in Fleet Street, making for Behrens.

He felt dissatisfied and a bit upset. Bobby was always finding out unsatisfactory things about himself, which is a hopeful sign in a young man.

He had started from home that morning quite satisfied with himself and the world, feeling in fact that he had acted pretty smartly in this affair and had overcome difficulties that would have floored many another man. Then, all of a sudden, in his interview with Martia, yet without a word from her, he had discovered that he had done next to nothing, that Hackett had done the whole business and that he, Bobby, had only acted the part of a marionette. Also, he felt vaguely that right from the start he had been the pawn, not the player--the moved one, not the mover.

Martia had introduced him to Behrens, Behrens had put him into the affair, Hackett was practically running it. So he thought, quite forgetting that the real hook upon which everything hung was his own act in closing at once on Behrens' offer. That act showed courage and determination and daring. The three things that make a man, even though he be wanting in nearly everything else.

He did not see this. He felt cheap. And in the omnibus that took him to Museum Street another thing troubled him. What did Martia know of Hackett? Why did she drop the subject so quickly? Evidently she had known him in the past. Had there been anything between them?

He got out at Oxford Circus and walked to Behrens' carrying with him this riddle unsolved.