“Where from?” he asked.
“From Lerwick.”
“Where to?”
“We are going to sell our herrings. We are respectable people, Herr major.”
“Where are you going to sell your herrings?”
“Where we can. The skipper has gone to Breskens. He intended to be back soon.”
Heideck looked round. The smack had put to in a little bay, where the water was quiet. The village of Breskens and the little watering-place, Kadzand, were both so near that the lighted windows could be seen. It was nine o’clock—rather late for the business which Maaning Brandelaar intended to transact at Breskens.
Heideck sent the marines on deck with orders to see that no one left the ship before the captain returned. He then ordered a lantern to be lighted to examine below. It was a long time before the lantern was ready, and it burned so dully that Heideck preferred to use the electric lamp which he always carried with him as well as his revolver. He climbed down the stairs into the hold and found that the smell of pickled herrings, which he had noticed on deck, was sufficiently explained by the cargo. In the little cabin two men were sitting, drinking grog and smoking short clay pipes. Heideck greeted them courteously and took a seat near them. They spoke English with a broad Scotch accent, and used many peculiar expressions which Heideck did not understand. They declared they were natives of the island of Bressay. Heideck gathered from their conversation that the smack belonged to a shipowner of Rotterdam, whose name they appeared not to know or could not pronounce. They were very guarded and reserved in their statements generally. Heideck waited half an hour, an hour—but still no signs of the captain. He began to feel hungry, and throwing a piece of money on the table, asked whether they could give him anything to eat.
The fishermen opened the cupboard in the wall of the cabin and brought out a large piece of ham, half a loaf of black bread, and a knife and fork. Heideck noticed two small white loaves in the cupboard amongst some glasses and bottles. “Give me some white bread,” said he. The man who had brought out the eatables murmured something unintelligible to Heideck and shut the cupboard again without complying with his request. His behaviour could not help striking Heideck as curious. He had, as a matter of fact, only asked for white bread because the black was old, dry, and uncommonly coarse; but now the suspicion forced itself upon him that there was some special meaning behind the rude and contemptuous manner in which his request had been received.
“You don’t seem to have understood me,” he said. “I should like the white bread.”
“It belongs to the captain,” was the reply; “we mustn’t take it.”
“I will pay for it. Your captain will certainly have no objection.”
The men pretended not to hear.
Heideck repeated his request in a stern and commanding tone. The men looked at each other; then one of them went to the cupboard, took out the white bread, and set it on the table. Heideck cut it and found it very good. He ate heartily of it, wondering at the same time why the men had been so disobliging about it at first. When he took up the bread again to cut himself off a second piece, it occurred to him that it was remarkably heavy. He cut into the middle and, finding that the blade of the knife struck on something hard, he broke the loaf in two. The glitter of gold met his eyes. He investigated further and drew out, one after the other, thirty golden coins with the head of the Queen of England upon them. Thirty pounds sterling had been concealed in the loaf.
“Very nourishing bread of yours,” said he, looking keenly at the men, who merely shrugged their shoulders.
“What has it to do with us how the captain keeps his money?” said one of them.
“You are quite right. What has it to do with you? We will wait till the captain comes. There, put the bread and the money back into the cupboard, and then make a nice glass of grog for my men, the poor fellows will be frozen. Here are three marks for you.”
The men did as they were asked. One of them went upstairs with the smoking jug, bringing it back empty some time afterwards, with the thanks of the Herr major’s men.
A few minutes later one of the soldiers appeared at the cabin door and announced that two men were approaching from land. “Good,” said Heideck; “keep quiet, till they are on deck; then don’t let them go down again, but tell them to come here.”
Almost immediately steps and voices were heard above, and in a few minutes two men entered the cabin. The first, who wore the dress of a skipper, was of unusually powerful build, broad-shouldered, bull-necked, with a square weather-beaten face, from which two crafty little eyes twinkled. The second, considerably younger, was dressed rather foppishly, and wore a beard trimmed in the most modern style.
“Mynheer Brandelaar?” queried Heideck.
“That’s me,” replied the man with the broad shoulders, in a brusque, almost threatening tone.
“Very glad to see you, mynheer. I want to speak to you on a matter of business; I have been waiting for you more than an hour. May I ask you to introduce me to this gentleman?”
The Dutchman was slow in answering. It was evident that he was in a very bad temper and did not quite know what to do. The officer’s quiet, somewhat mocking tone obviously disconcerted him.
He signed to the two sailors to withdraw, then turned to Heideck.
“This gentleman is a business friend. And I should like to know what I and my affairs have got to do with you at all. I am here to sell my herrings. I suppose that isn’t forbidden?”
“Certainly not. But if you have your business, mynheer, I have mine. And I think it would be pleasantest for both of us if we could settle the matter here at once without having to row over to the Gefion.”
“To the Gefion? What’s the meaning of that? What right have you to use force with me? My papers are in order; I can show them to you.”
“I should like to see them. But won’t you be kind enough to tell me this gentleman’s name? It is really of interest to me to make your business friend’s acquaintance.”
The second visitor now thought it advisable to introduce himself.
“My name is Camille Penurot,” said he; “I am a grocer in Breskens. Maaning Brandelaar has offered to sell me his cargo, and I have come with him to inspect the goods.”
“And no doubt night is the best time for that,” rejoined Heideck in a sarcastic tone, but with an imperturbably serious air. “Now let me see your papers, Mynheer Brandelaar.”
Just as he had expected, the papers were in perfect order. The fishing smack Bressay, owner Maximilian van Spranekhuizen of Rotterdam, sailing with a cargo of pickled herrings from Lerwick. Captain, Maaning Brandelaar. Attested by the English harbour officials at Lerwick. Everything perfectly correct.
“Very good,” said Heideck. “Rear-Admiral Sir Frederick Hollway of Dover has not endorsed them, but that was not necessary at all.”
These words, uttered with perfect calmness, had an astounding effect upon the two men. Penurot’s pale face turned almost green; Brandelaar’s hard features were frightfully distorted in a grimace of rage. Half choking in the effort to keep down a furious curse, he drew a deep breath, and said—
“I don’t know any Admiral Hollway, and I have never been in Dover in my life.”
“Well, well! Let us talk about your business—or yours, M. Penurot. Of course the cargo of herrings which you want to buy is not meant to be sold at Breskens, but to some business friend at Antwerp? isn’t it so?”
No answer was given. Heideck, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, turned to the cupboard and, before the others had grasped his intention, took out the second white loaf and broke it in two. This time a folded paper came to light. Heideck spread it out and saw that it was covered with a long list of questions written in English.