Chapter 5 #2
“What are we looking for?” Alex inquired as they stepped aboard a rental hack and Brodie gave the driver instructions to take them to the East India docks.
The name of the murdered man—Caspian, who was captain of a merchant vessel that was moored at the East India Docks.
The East India Company had ceased to exist some twenty years earlier. Yet it was still used by other merchants for shipments of tea and coffee, and patrolled by the MET.
Caspian had boasted that he would be able to quit the sea trade and perhaps go to the Caribbean, and in his drunken condition had mentioned a lucrative cargo.
Brodie had asked Mr. Cavendish, who knew the docks well, to make inquiries about such a merchant vessel. Those inquiries had brought information in that note tucked in his pocket.
The docks at Blackwall had once been very nearly three miles long on the banks of the Thames, from just below Blackwall and opposite Woolwich. From the docks, built specifically for trade with the Far East, ships were launched that served the East India Company.
There were two docks, one for imported goods and another for export, connected to the River Thames by a series of gates and locks from where ships were moored and cargos unloaded.
With the closure of the East India Trading Company a decade before, the docks were managed by Currie & Company.
A man Brodie had served with at the MET, Mr. Conner, had the watch at the docks years before, and told stories about the various crews that arrived from Australia, the Falkland Islands, China, and India
Mr. Cavendish had information from the dock steward at dock Number Ten. The man was familiar with the man who was rumored to have been murdered, his ship still in port.
It was that man Brodie wanted to speak with now.
He knew the way of the docks as well. The men who worked out of the small buildings that lined each dock, making schedules for arrivals and departures, then passing the information on to the person who scheduled transport to the warehouses that loomed up out of the darkness.
Lights glowed from deep inside several warehouses as men worked into the night unloading cargoes for ships scheduled to depart before first light the next morning for their next port of call.
The main entrance to the docks was still open and he had the driver take them to the small building at Number Ten, with light that glowed from the window.
The manager’s name was Helmsley, a rough sort who had spent decades on the docks and with the East India Company in the past.
“It’s like I told Cavendish, the Celeste Marie is at the end of the dock, put into port four days ago, captain by the name of Caspian. He paid the usual fee and said he would be here for that amount of time, perhaps a while longer.”
A steamship. That meant it most likely hadn’t been a long trip. Possibly no farther than across the channel.
“What about cargo? Or passengers?” Brodie inquired as Alex listened with sharp attention.
“That was the odd part of it. Neither one. He said he was waiting for a shipment to arrive.”
“Did he mention what the shipment was? Who was sending it?”
Helmsley shook his head. “Not a word. Only that he was to wait here for the cargo.”
And now Caspian was dead.
What might the crew know about the cargo they were to acquire?
“Are the crew aboard now?”
Helmsley shook his head. “Not since they put in, and just the four of ’em including the captain. I haven’t seen any of ’em return as yet. You might try the taverns along the quay.”
What else might be learned aboard the boat?
“I need to go aboard, Mr. Helmsley,” Brodie informed him.
The man shook his head. “I need written permission from the harbor master or yer to be accompanied by the owner. Or it’s me job.”
That would be a little difficult now, and Brodie wasn’t of a mind to await the harbor master for permission. The fewer who knew about the inquiries they were making, the greater the possibility of finding out what Caspian had referred to as gold that he expected to come into.
When Alex would have spoken up, no doubt to inform Helmsley that they didna need permission, Brodie simply nodded.
“I thank ye for yer time.” He signaled to Alex that it was time to leave.
“We might be able to learn something. What is to be done now?” the young man inquired with obvious frustration as they left the dock manager’s shack.
“We wait,” Brodie replied.
“Wait? You know as well as I that the owner will not be returning.”
“Aye,” Brodie replied, then pulled him into the shadows beyond the watery glow of the streetlamp at the end of the dock.
They did not have to wait long, as the light that glowed from the window of the shack was suddenly extinguished. Helmsley briefly appeared and locked the door. He walked past, unaware that they waited just outside the main gate. He locked it.
“What’s to be done?” Alex asked after Hemsley disappeared down the waterfront. “I suppose we might climb over.”
“That willna be necessary,” Brodie replied as he took out the narrow leather case he carried along with the revolver and removed a slender tool. He inserted the tip into the lock mechanism.
“Oh, I say, that is quite handy,” Alex commented as the lock clicked open. “However did you learn of it?”
“Practice,” Brodie replied.
“You shall have to show me how it is done.”
They reached the far end of the dock and the slip where the Celeste Marie was moored.
“There’s a first time for everything,” Alex commented as he followed Brodie across that gap of water to the deck of the Celeste Marie. He let out a sigh of relief as he stepped down onto the deck.
“I wasn’t looking forward to a tumble in the Thames with the other things usually found there. Although I am a fair swimmer.” They made their way to the captain’s cabin.
“What are we looking for?”
“The ship’s manifest,” Brodie replied. “It should tell us where he made port last, and may also tell us something about any cargo. I’m going below deck to see if there is anything to be learned there.”
Alex nodded and turned on a handheld light he carried.
Brodie found the companionway, then took the narrow stairs down into the hold of the Celeste Marie.
It was not large by comparison to other merchant ships and wouldn’t have carried a large cargo—a small shipment of coffee or tea, perhaps, but of an amount that would not provide enough to send the captain to the Caribbean for retirement.
Brodie passed the beam of the handheld light along the hull.
There was no cargo waiting to be loaded ashore, just as Mr. Hemsley told them.
What reason then would Caspian take his boat out with no cargo? Or was it something else?
Presumably a short run across the channel, as the Celeste Marie was not a deep-draft vessel capable of putting to sea for long weeks or months at a time.
Wot then was the reason she was there? Wot cargo was she to pick up, then take...where and for whom?
He returned topside and made his way to the main cabin.
Alex looked up as he entered, squinting into the beam of Brodie’s handheld.
“The captain was fairly meticulous about keeping a record.”
“What did ye find?”
“He left Calais three days ago. Before that, the manifest shows the Port of Antwerp in Belgium.” He looked up.
“For someone who carries no cargo and appears to have no means, he has travelled to many places.”
Brodie nodded. “Aye. We need to find out wot he was doing in Calais. And wot cargo he was waiting to take on.”
He had been to Calais with Mikaela and knew the port well. What might Caspian have been doing in Calais? To pick up a cargo? Or to meet someone?
He thought then of the statement taken from the witness at the tavern and the man’s claims that he would be able to retire, perhaps to an island. That would take a certain amount of money, and he had spoken of something as ‘good as gold.’
“I found this as well,” Alex added. “It was tucked inside the manifest and dated a week earlier. It’s a telegram, but I cannot make out the message.” He handed the telegram to him.
“I do believe it might be in German. I wasn’t able to translate it.”
Nor could Brodie, but there was someone who might be able to.
“Aye.”
“What are we to do now?”
“We need to go, before the watch makes their rounds and finds that gate open.”
They returned to the office in Parliament House, then parted for the night. Others had left as well.
Light gleamed through the mist at the entrance to the townhouse at Cadogan Square.
Brodie stepped inside the darkened foyer and caught the movement of a slender shadow, followed by a low warning growl.
“Mikaela...?”
The overhead fixture suddenly glowed and lit up the entrance.
“Good evening, sir.” Mrs. Ryan also appeared, a sight in her gown and robe, her hair concealed under a bedcap.
“Will you be taking supper?”
“If it’s no trouble, Mrs. Ryan.”
“Not at all,” she replied and turned toward the kitchen beyond.
“You might have made a telephone call that you would be returning tonight,” Mikaela commented, in her dressing gown that left little to his imagination, with the long braid of her hair over one shoulder, the hound at her feet. She slowly lowered the revolver.
“I might have shot you.”
“A pleasure to see ye as well,” he told her.