Part 14

“I don’t know,” Charon answered, blandly. “I haven’t seen the transfer-books lately.”

“But you know that you did own every share of it, and that you haven’t sold any, don’t you?” put in Hamlet.

Charon was puzzled for a moment, but shortly his face cleared, and Sir Walter’s heart sank, for it was evident that the old fellow could not be cornered.

“Well, it’s this way, Sir Walter, and your Highness,” he said, “I—I can’t say whether any of that stock has been transferred or not. The fact is, I’ve been speculating a little on margin, and I’ve put up that stock as security, and, for all I know, I may have been sold out by my brokers. I’ve been so upset by this unfortunate occurrence that I haven’t seen the market reports for two days. Really you’ll have to be content with my offer or go without the Gehenna. There’s too much suspicion attached to high corporate officials lately for me to yield a jot in the position I have taken. It would never do to get you all ready to start, and then have an injunction clapped on you by some unforeseen stockholder who was not satisfied with the terms offered you; nor can I ever let it be said of me that to retain my position as janitor of your organization I sacrificed a trust committed to my charge. I’ll gladly lend you my private launch, though I don’t think it will aid you much, because the naphtha-tank has exploded, and the screw slipped off and went to the bottom two weeks ago. Still, it is at your service, and I’ve no doubt that either Phidias or Benvenuto Cellini will carve out a paddle for you if you ask him to.”

“Bah!” retorted Raleigh. “You might as well offer us a pair of skates.”

“I would, if I thought the river’d freeze,” retorted Charon, blandly.

Raleigh and Hamlet turned away impatiently and left Charon to his own devices, which for the time being consisted largely of winking his other eye quietly and outwardly making a great show of grief.

“He’s too canny for us, I am afraid,” said Sir Walter. “We’ll have to pay him his money.”

“Let us first consult Sherlock Holmes,” suggested Hamlet, and this they proceeded at once to do.

“There is but one thing to be done,” observed the astute detective after he had heard Sir Walter’s statement of the case. “It is an old saying that one should fight fire with fire. We must meet modern business methods with modern commercial ideas. Charter his vessel at his own price.”

“But we’d never be able to pay,” said Hamlet.

“Ha-ha!” laughed Holmes. “It is evident that you know nothing of the laws of trade nowadays. Don’t pay!”

“But how can we?” asked Raleigh.

“The method is simple. You haven’t anything to pay with,” returned Holmes. “Let him sue. Suppose he gets a verdict. You haven’t anything he can attach—if you have, make it over to your wives or your fiancées.”

“Is that honest?” asked Hamlet, shaking his head doubtfully.

“It’s business,” said Holmes.

“But suppose he wants an advance payment?” queried Hamlet.

“Give him a check drawn to his own order. He’ll have to endorse it when he deposits it, and that will make him responsible,” laughed Holmes.

“What a simple thing when you understand it!” commented Raleigh.

“Very,” said Holmes. “Business is getting by slow degrees to be an exact science. It reminds me of the Brighton mystery, in which I played a modest part some ten years ago, when I first took up ferreting as a profession. I was sitting one night in my room at one of the Brighton hotels, which shall be nameless. I never give the name of any of the hotels at which I stop, because it might give offence to the proprietors of other hotels, with the result that my books would be excluded from sale therein. Suffice it to say that I was spending an early summer Sunday at Brighton with my friend Watson. We had dined well, and were enjoying our evening smoke together upon a small balcony overlooking the water, when there came a timid knock on the door of my room.

“‘Watson,’ said I, ‘here comes some one for advice. Do you wish to wager a small bottle upon it?’

“‘Yes,’ he answered, with a smile. ‘I am thirsty and I’d like a small bottle; and while I do not expect to win, I’ll take the bet. I should like to know, though, how you know.’

“‘It is quite simple,’ said I. ‘The timidity of the knock shows that my visitor is one of two classes of persons—an autograph-hunter or a client, one of the two. You see I give you a chance to win. It may be an autograph-hunter, but I think it is a client. If it were a creditor, he would knock boldly, even ostentatiously; if it were the maid, she would not knock at all; if it were the hall-boy, he would not come until I had rung five times for him. None of these things has occurred; the knock is the half-hearted knock which betokens either that the person who knocked is in trouble, or is uncertain as to his reception. I am willing, however, considering the heat and my desire to quench my thirst, to wager that it is a client.’

“‘Done,’ said Watson; and I immediately remarked, ‘Come in.’

“The door opened, and a man of about thirty-five years of age, in a bathing-suit, entered the room, and I saw at a glance what had happened.

“‘Your name is Burgess,’ I said. ‘You came here from London this morning, expecting to return to-night. You brought no luggage with you. After luncheon you went bathing. You had machine No. 35, and when you came out of the water you found that No. 35 had disappeared, with your clothes and the silver watch your uncle gave you on the day you succeeded to his business.’

“Of course, gentlemen,” observed the detective, with a smile at Sir Walter and Hamlet—“of course the man fairly gasped, and I continued: ‘You have been lying face downward in the sand ever since, waiting for nightfall, so that you could come to me for assistance, not considering it good form to make an afternoon call upon a stranger at his hotel, clad in a bathing-suit. Am I correct?’

“‘Sir,’ he replied, with a look of wonder, ‘you have narrated my story exactly as it happened, and I find I have made no mistake in coming to you. Would you mind telling me what is your course of reasoning?’