Part 3

“That fight. A fake of Quayle and me, in case Cray suspected us of working together, as he did, eh? Just a precaution. It bothered him, as other things did, too. His problem was twofold. Those stories, you see; the wireless messages he was making up--they worked on him in the end, as well as on you. He almost believed them, believed that they might have some accidental truth in them. And, of course, he wanted his loot back. Safety and loot; two ends to gain. If you had it, it was as good as his, for he’s smooth and you--well, the thing’s plain, isn’t it? Notice how he gave in at the end? No gunplay. Clever men don’t go in for that. Amateurish, that sort of thing. Watch the papers later on and you’ll see how Cray fights through his mouthpiece. Good criminal lawyers are rich men.”

“But why all this?” the captain growled. “You knew in mid-Atlantic that he was your man. You had the stuff and could have nabbed him easily then and there.”

“In my game a man never stops learning,” Drake told him. “You may believe me, or not. Your ship said, ‘Hush.’ I wanted to make her talk, and Cray did it for me, eh? I wanted to see what he’d do and how he’d do it. A clever rogue he proved, but too imaginative.”

“So you raised hell with us, with me. Let me run round like a fool.”

The captain of the _Cora_ bit his lip, for who was he, standing in a slippery place, to antagonize this detective. Drake looked at him pityingly for a moment.

“You’re worried. You’re saying, ‘Now Drake’ll begin on me.’ The answer is, of course, Drake won’t. I’ve known and the Yard’s known, for years. If we’d wanted to, we could fill a gaol with you and your like; but what’s it to us if now and then some petty thief gets away? Men like that Liverpool rat. It’s the big, fat, long whiskered, clever rats we’re after. When they come drifting along, flying the country, we know where to look.”

He turned toward the door.

“You run our rat trap, Captain. Why in the world should we spring it?”

The door opened as he put his hand on the knob. The fat engineer, M’Ginley, crowded in. He laid something that gleamed and glittered on the little table. Beside this he methodically piled brown paper, broken wax seals, bits of cut and knotted string.

“Ye’ll bear witness,” said M’Ginley to the captain, “ye’ll bear witness, I’m an honest man. There it all is, Mr. Drake, everything ye gave me. I’m an honest man; and besides, there’s a ship comin’ up astern flyin’ the blue ensign, with the Canadian coat-of-arms in the fly of it. I’m an honest man. When they board us, ye’ll tell ’em so, doubtless?”

But Drake was not listening. Bending over the table, he was brushing coal dust from the Varnavosk necklace.

THE END

[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the November 15, 1927 issue of _Adventure_ magazine.]