The King and Captain O'Shea/Chapter 2
CHAPTER II.
A ROYAL VICTIM OF LAND SHARKS.
Next morning they carefully scrutinized the "Court Circular" of the London Times, and were more at sea than ever at discovering that the only visiting royalty comprised an unimportant cousin of the house of Hanover from a German duchy, and the dusky ruler of a native state of India. That a full-fledged king and a minister of his cabinet, both indubitably Englishmen, could be strolling about London unnoticed by the newspapers, and unknown to the public, was fairly incredible; and yet no mention could anywhere be found of the illustrious patrons of the Jolly Mermaid, although O'Shea bought the morning journals by the fistful. For the present they had to set aside the episode as prodigiously odd and inexplicable.
O'Shea took it in his head to pay a call at a ship brokers' office down in Leadenhall Street, and Johnny Kent rode with him on top of a bus. They had made the acquaintance of the managing partner of the firm under the palms of a Venezuelan seaport, and he had cherished a strong friendship for this pair of adventurous rovers. He was anxious to find a ship for O'Shea, and the latter dropped in now and then in search of news.
The comrades twain were about to dodge through the traffic of Leadenhall Street and enter the office of their friend, when O'Shea plucked Johnny Kent by the sleeve and pulled him back into an adjacent doorway. A brisk, sandy-haired young man was also doubling among the stream of vehicles which roared from curb to curb, and aiming his course for the ship brokers' office.
"'Tis the minister of finance, Johnny," cautiously spoke O'Shea. "Look at him. There he goes, right into Tavistock & Huntley's, the same destination as ours."
"Why not go in and meet him? Maybe George Huntley will introduce us, and we can slip in a few questions."
"Because I do not like this sprightly right bower of royalty, Johnny. I took a violent dislike to the Baron Frederick Martin Strothers at first sight. And my hunches about people are worth heeding when they take hold of me as strong as this one did."
From their strategic place of observation, they waited while O'Shea came to the conclusion that the brisk young man would bear a deal of watching. Flanking them, and across the narrow street, were the offices of steamship lines sailing to every part of the watery-globe, the windows emblazoned with the house flags and names of companies familiar to the ports of the Orient, Australasia, and South America. This stretch of old Leadenhall Street, down in the quaint, labyrinthian City, was one of the cosmopolitan four corners of civilization. Surely with all these fleets of steamers whose business was dispatched in the low gray buildings, there was one that needed as skilled and resourceful men as Captain O'Shea and Johnny Kent. These gentlemen of fortune thought otherwise, however, and took little interest in the companies whose ships voyaged over the regular, orderly routes of traffic.
They surmised that the brisk young man with the red waistcoat must have business to transact with Tavistock & Huntley, for he remained inside for a good half hour. Then the watchers caught no more than a farewell glimpse of him as he hastily emerged and popped into a passing hansom. Thereupon they sauntered into the ship brokers' office, and were cordially greeted by George Huntley, managing partner, a stocky, bald-headed person with mutton-chop whiskers, who looked as substantial as a brick house. The spirit of romance was in him, however, and he secretly envied O'Shea his illogical pursuit of hazards for sheer love of them.
Steering them into a small private room, he plumped himself into the chair at the desk, waved them to a leather-covered lounge, and inquired, with much gusto:
"And how are my disreputable friends this morning? Anything in the wind?"
"'Tis still blowing a dead calm for us, but the weather is suspicious in one quarter of the compass," answered O'Shea, who was never one to beat about the bush. "Tell me, George, what do you know about the young man that just now whisked out of here—the fancy lad with the loud vest and the high-steppin' manner? If it is not meddling with your private affairs, I should like to get a line on him."
Huntley tilted his chair, clasped his hands across a comfortable waistband, and replied, in his deliberate way:
"I have laid eyes on him only twice. His name is Strothers, I believe, and he calls himself a baron. One of those Continental titles, I fancy. This day of last week he came into our place with Captain Handy, who used to sail in the Blue Anchor service."
"Got in trouble with his owners, didn't he?" interrupted O'Shea at a guess.
"Yes. He lost a steamer in the Bay of Biscay, and the evidence went to show that he was drunk at the time. His certificate was taken away or suspended. I forget the details. He has had no ship since then. A rather shabby lot is Handy. As I was about to tell you, O'Shea, the pair of them—Captain Handy and this spruce young man, Strothers—came in to ask our cash selling price for the Tyneshire Glen, which is laid up in the East India Docks. We have no interest in the vessel beyond representing the owners, who want to get rid of her."
"And did you give the precious pair of two-spots a price on her?" blandly inquired O'Shea, as pleased as a kitten with a saucer of cream. He was fitting together a few pieces of the puzzle, and felt confident that they were about to dovetail very neatly.
"I offered them the Tyneshire Glen for twenty-four thousand pounds as she stands," replied Huntley. "It's all she's worth. She is a big steamer, almost five thousand tons, but she will need a lot of repairs. Captain Handy claimed that he had found a possible buyer in whose interests young Strothers was acting. Of course, we were willing to pay Handy a decent commission if the deal went through."
O'Shea looked sidewise at Johnny Kent, who on occasions was bright enough to see through a hole in a grind- stone. They kept their thoughts to themselves, and O'Shea commented noncommittally:
"Of course Captain Handy is entitled to a commission if he finds you a customer for the steamer, George. 'Tis an honest chance for the poor devil to pick up a few dollars. And so the young man—Strothers—came back this morning? Do I show too much curiosity in asking what he had to say?"
"You are welcome to all I know. He told me that the gentleman whose interests he represented had inspected the Tyneshire Glen yesterday, and thought she would answer his purpose. The price was satisfactory, and he would like a three days' option, which I was very willing to give him."
"And the price was still twenty-four thousand pounds?" violently put in Johnny Kent, with a snort as if his steam were rising.
"Precisely twenty-four thousand pounds, or one hundred and twenty thousand dollars of your Yankee currency, or thereabouts. Are you thinking of buying her yourself, Johnny?" said Huntley, with a broad smile.
"God forbid!" was the fervent response. "I'd be afraid to sneeze on board of her in the docks for fear her rivets would fly off."
"Oh, she isn't as bad as all that. A well-built steamer is the Tyneshire Glen, with lots of service in her."
"What she needs is a new hull, boilers, and engines," grunted Johnny. "Say, George Huntley, did this young man Strothers mention anything about buyin' the steamer for a king that is roamin' around London without any tag to him"
"A king!" ejaculated the ship broker, blinking like an astonished owl. "Are you chaps ragging me?"
"No. Maybe the joke is on us, or else this English bitter beer ain't agreein' with us, and Cap'n Mike and me have been seein' visions and hearin' things that ain't so."
Huntley cast an appealing glance at O'Shea, who said:
"'Tis evident that you are not acquainted with our particular king, George. You do not move in royal circles. You are not in our class. We will tell you about it later. About this young man that calls himself a baron—did he leave any address behind him?"
"Yes. He is staying at the Carleton, but I shall have no occasion to communicate with him. If the option expires I shall take it for granted that he doesn't want the steamer. If he pays down the cash I shall be ready to make out the papers and give Captain Handy his commission. Now you ought to tell me why you are so keen on knowing all about the business. If you refuse to explain, you are a worthless pair of blighters, and no friends of mine."
O'Shea hauled Johnny Kent to his feet, and remarked:
"We thank you kindly, George. You are a good-natured man, and we have made nuisances of ourselves. 'Tis the honest truth that we know very little more about this young man and the Tyneshire Glen than ye know yourself. But what we do know we will first investigate."
"You are conspirators born and bred," laughed Huntley, rather pleased to have what seemed an ordinary business transaction wrapped in romantic mystery. "Come and dine with me as soon as you have unraveled the plot."
They agreed to this, and straightway betook themselves to the nearest public house, where in a quiet corner a council of war was convened. Lengthy exposition of the facts was unnecessary. It was obvious that they had run athwart a scheme to defraud the confiding purchaser of the Tyneshire Glen. And their sympathies went out strongly to the royal victim. Whether or not he was a real king was beside the mark. He was very much the gentleman, and he had trusted too much in the loyalty and integrity of that enterprising young man who was called the minister of finance.
"'Tis as plain as the big nose on that red face of yours, Johnny," exclaimed O'Shea. "The two crooks are standing in together. Captain Handy recommends the ship as all right. This Baron Frederick Martin Strothers backs him up, and advised his majesty to buy her. The two blackguards get a price of twenty-four thousand pounds from George Huntley, and they tell this innocent potentate that the price is thirty thousand pounds. The difference is six thousand pounds, thirty thousand dollars, which this pair of land sharks will split up and stick in their own pockets. And they will doctor the bill of sale so the poor, deluded monarch will never know what happened to him."
"That was what we heard 'em say in the Jolly Mermaid, Cap'n Mike. The price was thirty thousand pounds. And these Britishers call us a nation of Yankee grafters!"
"'Tis my opinion that a minister of finance like this one could bankrupt a kingdom, give him time enough," said O'Shea. "He is working the game for all it's worth. He will loot the treasury as long as it looks safe and easy, and then he will resign his what-do-ye-call-it—his portfolio—and leave his bunkoed majesty to figure out the deficit."
"That poor king deserves to be delivered from his lovin' friends," replied Johnny Kent, "or he'll have to hock the crown jewels to pay for his board and washin'. What's the orders now?"
"We will ring up full speed ahead, and find this king. If the minister of finance is at the Carleton Hotel, 'tis a good bet that his majesty is not far away. That busy young man will not separate himself from a good thing."