Part 1

This etext was transcribed by Les Bowler.

_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ HAPPY RASCALS

“A book such as this restores the hope that the spirit of humor has not wholly perished from the earth.”

—_Philadelphia Ledger_.

“Any reader who designs to have a most enjoyable time is urged to get hold of ‘Happy Rascals’.”

—_The New York Times_.

“A solid chunk of entertainment from cover to cover.”

—_The Literary Review_, _New York Evening Post_. E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

“STRICTLY BUSINESS”

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BY F. MORTON HOWARD

AUTHOR OF “HAPPY RASCALS,” ETC.

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[Picture: Decorative graphic]

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NEW YORK E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 681 FIFTH AVENUE

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Copyright, 1923 By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

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_All rights reserved_

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_Printed in the United States of America_

* * * * *

TO David Whitelaw

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CONTENTS

EPISODE PAGE I. “STRICTLY BUSINESS” 1 II. A WATCHING BRIEF 27 III. CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 53 IV. BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 75 V. A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 101 VI. “ALL’S FAIR—” 124 VII. HIDDEN TREASURE 144 VIII. A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 167 IX. THE GREEN EYES OF THE LITTLE BIRMINGHAM GOD 192 X. THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 215

_EPISODE I_ “STRICTLY BUSINESS”

In at least three inns, the landlords, on hearing the news, spoke words of grave warning to their assistants. More than one inexperienced tradesman, foolishly finding satisfaction in the tidings, began to rummage eagerly among old accounts. In the local police-station, the inspector instructed his subordinates to stand no nonsense. And the harbour-master removed his rabbits from outside his kitchen door to an apartment at the top of the house.

The “Jane Gladys,” after long absence, was back again in her home port.

Doomed to pleasant disappointment, however, were such good folks of Shorehaven as anticipated any spectacular ill-conduct that evening on the part of the returned crew. Before the rope fender of the despicable “Jane Gladys” had rubbed the sides of the quay for five minutes, an atmosphere of heavy gloom had settled upon the hardy mariners who peopled her, and this though they had arrived in port in the best of spirits, and were, moreover, furnished with several half-formulated plans of campaign which only awaited the inspiration of environment to touch success in the form of financial or liquid bonuses.

For the harbour-master, ever ready to placate the “Jane Gladys,” was waiting on the quay for her with such correspondence as had come addressed to her in her absence. And Captain Peter Putt, taking his mail and sorting through it perfunctorily, found his attention arrested by an envelope imperatively marked “Urgent.”

Ripping it open, he glanced rapidly through the missive it contained. This done, he pushed his cap to the back of his head with a helpless gesture, blowing stertorously, and then read the letter for a second time.

After that, he stared about the vessel for some while, blinking incredulously. At last, with a comprehensive sweep of his arm, he summoned his crew about him. Leaving their labours to be completed by indignant hands on the quay, they gathered round the plump little form of Captain Dutt.

“Boys,” announced the skipper, simply, “the show’s bust!”

There was a startled, perplexed silence, and then the voice of Mr. Joseph Tridge rose aggrievedly.

“What ’ave they been finding out about us now?” he wanted to know. “Some folks is never ’appy without they’re trying to make mischief. What are we supposed to ’ave done wrong now, eh?”

“It can’t be that chap we sold the fish to in Starcross,” declared Mr. Horace Dobb, the cook. “Because I saw ’im the night before we left, and ’e never said a word about it to me. Kept ’is ’ead turned stiff the other way all the time, in fact.”

“There was that chap in Teignmouth,” recalled the aged Mr. Samuel Clark, uncomfortably. “You know, what we sold the—the tobaccer to.”

“’Im?” returned Horace, the cook, with scorn. “’E ’asn’t got a leg to stand on. I never told ’im it was smuggled tobaccer, did I? I simply said it was stuff that ’adn’t paid duty. No more it ’ad! Serves ’im right for jumping to conclusions, just because a sailorman’s carrying a parcel on a dark night!”

“Yes, boys,” said the skipper, with a long, quivering sigh, as one awakening to cold reality from a happy dream, “it’s all over! All over! Itchybod!” he remarked, with sad satisfaction in finding the word. “Itchybod, that’s it!”

“And ’oo’s ’e?” truculently demanded Mr. Tridge. “What’s ’e got to say against us? Why, I’ll take my oath I ain’t ever even ’eard of ’im before!”

“It ain’t a ’im,” explained the skipper. “It’s a bit of clarsical learning I’ve picked up in Latin, and it means ‘the game’s up.’ Boys, prepare for the worst!”

“Which of us?” asked Mr. Horace Dobb, not without apprehension.

“All of us!” replied the skipper. “Our owner’s giving up business, and ’e’s goin to sell all ’is ships!”

Again there was a hush, and then, from the hinder spaces of this period of shock, there crept forth the voice of Mr. Horace Dobb, the cook, attuned to a sweet reasonableness.

“We’ll be all right,” he contended. “Just as if anybody would ever buy the old ‘Jane Gladys’!”

“Except,” slowly said Mr. Clark, “to break ’er up!”

As some ill-omened sound in the still watches of the night may paralyze its hearers into a cold, suffocating inaction, so did the grisly words of Mr. Clark bring his companions to silent, wide-eyed consternation. The debonair Mr. Peter Lock was the first to recover, but, though he roundly stigmatized Mr. Clark as being a gloomy old horror, there was no elasticity in his tone, and his effort to exhibit unconcern by lighting a cigarette was marred by the manifest shaking of his fingers.

“Well, there it is, boys,” presently said the skipper, with an unconvincing attempt at briskness. “It’s as much a surprise to me as it is to you. For myself, I shan’t go to sea again after the next trip. The owner’s fixing me up a bit of a pension. And as for you chaps well, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll start looking round for fresh jobs without delay.”

“And they’ll take some finding,” stated Mr. Horace Dobb. “’Oo is likely to engage us off the ‘Jane Gladys’ I’d like to know?” he asked the skipper, with some indignation.

“Some’ow the fact that we’ve sailed on the ‘Jane Gladys’ doesn’t seem to be a recommendation,” mentioned Mr. Clark, regretfully.

“Contrariwise!” said Mr. Tridge, tersely.

“She might be bought up and repaired and repainted and refitted,” ventured Captain Butt, but with no great hope.

“’Er new owners would never keep us on, though,” frankly opined Mr. Tridge. “They’ll ’ave ’eard too much about us.”

“Ho, hindeed?” said Horace, loftily. “Well, in that case, I don’t know as I’m anxious to sail under folks what listen to gossip.”

“Luckily, we’ve got a full week before we leaves ’ere again,” remarked the skipper. “That’ll give you time to keep your ears open, and, if any of you finds anything to suit you meantime, I shan’t stand in the way of you leaving when you want to. And it’ll be about two months before the ‘Jane Gladys’ is put up for auction, so you’ll ’ave plenty of time to go on looking round.”

“And so we shall after them two months,” dismally foretold Mr. Samuel Clark. “When first I come on this boat, twenty-seven years ago,” he told the skipper, reproachfully, “I was given to understand it was a permanent job. If I’d known—”

“Well, there it is,” said Captain Dutt, again rather lamely, “and it can’t be helped.”

He waited a little while, uncomfortably conscious of the unhappy visages of his crew. Then, with symptoms of commendable emotion, he scuttled to his cabin. The mate, hitherto silent, addressed to the crew a few words of sympathy with himself, and followed his superior.

The four sailormen of the “Jane Gladys,” bleakly regarding each other, expressed their feelings in this crisis in a sort of forceful, rumbling fugue. This done, they sulkily retired to their bunks, to lie down and meditate over the impending upheaval in their affairs.

But before long Mr. Clark began to snore challengingly, while Mr. Lock sought distraction of mind by rising and performing a number of arias on his melodeon, whereat Mr. Tridge, a slave to music, sat up and joined his voice to the harmony in a melancholy wail which he called “tenor.”

Mr. Horace Dobb, the cook, was a man of temperament, and he found himself keenly resenting these encroachments on his ruminations. A person who openly plumed himself on the possession of superior brain power, he now desired opportunity to explore this gift to the fullest. Also, he had in his pocket a shilling which he preferred to spend privily, rather than in the company of Mr. Clark, who had but ninepence, or of Mr. Lock, whose sole wealth was fourpence, or of Mr. Tridge, who had nothing at all.

Wherefore, then, Mr. Horace Dobb, crying aloud his utmost annoyance at this disturbal of his peace, bounced from his bunk and repaired to the bar-parlour of the “Jolly Sailors,” a discreet inn on the quayside which gave promise of being an excellent refuge where a man, equipped with a shilling, and an anxiety about an unsettled future, might commune comfortably with his thoughts.

In this sanctuary the cook of the “Jane Gladys” remained for some while, with his cogitations becoming lighter and lighter in texture with every lift of his glass, till presently he had reverted to the normal, and was once again looking on the world as nothing more formidable than a vast territory bristling with chances for a quick-witted sea-cook to grasp.

And, therefore, when the door opened to admit Captain Simon Gooster, of the “Alert,” it was but natural that Horace’s bouyant imagination should present to him the bulky figure of the new-comer as not being alone, but as stalking in arm-in-arm with smiling Opportunity.

“Evening, sir,” said Horace, very respectfully. Captain Gooster nodded, glanced at the measure which Horace had hastily emptied, and then, disappointedly, glanced away again. Mr. Dobb ventured to commend the weather, to which Captain Gooster responded, absently, and, indeed, somewhat fretfully.

Horace at once conceded that doubtless Captain Gooster was right, but the skipper of the “Alert,” passing on, selected a seat in a remote corner and there posed unsociably.

Mr. Dobb, dissembling his irritation, entered into casual talk with another patron, who, it transpired, had a precocious child at home, an infant whose sallies so diverted Mr. Dobb that soon his glass was being refilled for him by order of the gratified parent. Immediately after, Horace’s interest in the prodigy seemed suddenly to wane, though this was due less to thankfulness than to the fact that he had perceived Captain Gooster to be looking at him in a concentrated and speculative manner.

The captain’s stare fascinated Horace, and continually his eyes roved back to the skipper of the “Alert,” and each time he accorded Captain Gooster a more ingratiating leer on meeting his gaze. At last Captain Gooster beckoned authoritatively and patted the empty chair beside him, whereat Mr. Dobb readily sprang to his feet and took the indicated place, leaving the sire of the infant prodigy indignantly helpless in the very middle of a family anecdote.

“You’re the cook of the ‘Jane Gladys,’ ain’t you?” opened Captain Gooster.

“At present, sir,” said Mr. Dobb.

“I’ve ’eard about you,” remarked Captain Gooster.

“I dare say you ’ave, sir,” guardedly returned Mr. Dobb.

“You’re the one they call ’Orace,” continued the other.

“Mostly, sir,” agreed Mr. Dobb.

“Mind you, I ain’t the kind of man ’oo’s fool enough to believe all he hears,” said the skipper of the “Alert.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Horace, gratefully.

“I’ve ’eard Cap’n Putt say you’re a real smart, sharp, clever chap.”

“Ah, well, of course ’e does know what ’e’s talking about, sir,” observed Horace, with the air of one making a concession.

“I’ve ’eard old Peter Dutt keep on by the hour about your cleverness and artfulness,” said Captain Gooster. “’E swears you’re a wonder, and, if ’alf ’e says about you is true, so you are.”

Mr. Dobb, nodding his head, modestly refrained from speech. Captain Gooster, as though he had satisfactorily disposed of all preliminaries, sat back and stroked his chin in thought for some moments.

“I’m glad I came across you to-night, ’Orace,” he said, at length. “A man with a ’ead-piece—that’s what I’m looking for.”

“Well, that _is_ lucky!” declared Horace. “I’m looking out for another job and the ‘Alert’ would just suit me.”

“Yes, I ’eard about the ‘Jane Gladys,’” said Captain Gooster, slowly. “But I wasn’t looking out for a man for my crew. It’s just a private matter. You ’elp me, if you can, and as far as a pint or two goes—”

“You’ll excuse me, sir,” interrupted Mr. Dobb, with dignity, “but brain work ain’t bought with pints, nor quarts, neither. I’m looking for a job, not a evening out.”

“Well, we’ll see,” temporized the master of the “Alert.” “If you needs a job and does me a good turn, I ain’t the man to forget it.”

“Thank you, sir; and a gentleman’s word is good enough for me!” stated Mr. Dobb, profusely. “And you won’t ever regret taking me on the ‘Alert.’ And I can start this week with you, if you like.”

“Steady!” begged the startled captain. “Why, you ain’t even ’eard what the trouble is yet.”

“I’ll soon settle it, sir, whatever it is,” vaunted Horace. “Just you tell me about it, and leave the rest to me.”

“Well, then,” said Captain Gooster, confidentially, “to begin with, you must know I’m a widower.”

“Ah, I see! You’ve been a-carrying on,” diagnosed the cook, cheerfully. “Well, we’ll soon choke ’er off. I reckon, on the ‘Alert,’ you ought to pay me—”

“A widower!” repeated Captain Gooster, frowning at Mr. Dobb’s precipitancy. “And I don’t mind confessing to you that I was disappointed in my marriage. You see, I married for love.”

“Oh, well—” commented Horace, shrugging his shoulders.

“And she married me for my money.”

“Ah, women’ll do anything for money,” said Mr. Dobb.

Captain Gooster, sitting suddenly erect, dissected the observation in silence.

“I can see what a disappointment it must ’ave been for both of you,” continued Horace. “’Owever, let’s ’ope you ’ave better luck next time, sir.”

“I mean to!” asserted Captain Gooster. “Marrying for love is a snare and a sham and a deloosion. I’ve learned wisdom. ‘Strictly business!’ that’s my motter in future.”

“And it ain’t a bad motter, neither, sir,” approved Mr. Dobb, thoughtfully. “Strictly business!” he repeated, nodding his head over it. “It’s a jolly good motter.”

“Yes, and next time,” went on Captain Gooster, “I marries for money. And I may add, what’s more, that I’ve got my eye on a certain lady already.”

“’As she got ’er eye on you, though?” queried Horace, sagely.

“She ’as. In fact, not to beat about the bush, both of ’em ’as!”

“Both of ’em?” queried Horace.

“There’s two parties,” explained the master of the ‘Alert.’ “I’m keeping my eye upon both of ’em.”

“Once I ’ad my eye on two parties at the same time,” recalled Mr. Dobb. “One day they got introduced to each other. And I went ’ome in a cab.”

“My two ’ave known each other all their lives.”

“Well, they won’t go on knowing each other much longer,” acutely prophesied Mr. Dobb.

“And they lives together in the same ’ouse.”

“If you’ll excuse me saying so,” observed Horace, civilly, “you’ve got a dashed sight more pluck than sense. Two in the some town is bad enough for the ’eart, with all the excitement you get in turning a corner when you’re out with one of ’em. But two in the same ’ouse—”

“It’s mother and daughter, you see,” elucidated Captain Gooster. “Goffley is the name. Mrs. Goffley is a widow, and Ann’s ’er daughter. They live in Shorehaven ’ere.”

“First I’ve ’eard of ’em,” said Horace.

“Ah, they’re new-comers. They bought that little second-’and shop what Meyers used to keep at the corner of Fore Street. A snug little business. It only wants a man be’ind it, and it’ll be a little copper-mine.”

“And you’ve chosen yourself to be the man be’ind it? Good luck to you, sir!”

“What with my little bit saved up, and my job on the ‘Alert,’ and the little shop earning profits at ’ome, I shan’t be doing so badly for my old age,” stated Captain Gooster, complacently. “But there’s just one little drawback—I shall ’ave to marry one of them two females, and each time I imagine myself married to one, I finds myself wishing it ’ad been the other. You’ve only to see ’em both, and you’d understand.”

“Well, which of ’em’s got the money?” asked Mr. Dobb. “That ought to settle the question easy enough.”

“That’s just the trouble. I can’t find out for certain which of ’em ’as got the cash. I’ve ’eard rumours that old Goffley left all ’is money to ’is daughter, with instructions to ’er to look after ’er ma. And then I’ve ’eard rumours that ’e’s left everything to ’is wife, with instructions to look after ’er daughter. Far as I can see,” disconsolately ended Captain Gooster, “whichever of them females I marries, I shall always ’ave the other as a burden round my neck.”

“Which of ’em gives all the orders?” inquired Mr. Dobb. “’Oo is the boss of the two?”

“They both bosses,” returned the skipper of the “Alert.” “And they both tries to boss each other, most independent. That’s what makes it so difficult. I’ve tried all ways to find out which is the one I ought to make up to, but I can’t. And that’s where I want your ’elp.”

“I see,” said Horace, softly. “That’s what you’re going to give me a job on the ‘Alert’ for, eh?”

“Well, you get this job settled satisfactory for me, and you won’t ’ave no cause to complain,” promised Captain Gooster. “You be ’elpful to me and you’ll be ’elpful to yourself.”

“Well, suppose you was to ask ’em straight out, sort of joking like, which one of ’em ’ad got the money,” suggested Horace, but with no great confidence.

“Tried that!” retorted Captain Gooster, curtly. “No good.”

“Which of ’em seemed most annoyed at the question?” asked Mr. Dobb, shrewdly. “_She’d_ be the one ’oo ’adn’t got any.”

“They neither of them said nothing. They just looked at me, and I began to talk about the weather.”

Horace, leaning back, folded his arms and tightly closed his eyes. Captain Gooster realizing that his companion was thus incubating thought, forbore from offering further speech, but sat waiting in some anxiety for demonstration of Mr. Dobb’s ingenuity.

“You’ll ’ave to take me up there and let me see ’em,” said Horace, at length. “Introdooce me to ’em as the new cook you’re signing for the ‘Alert.’ That’ll be the truth, so it’ll be quite all right.”

“What? A skipper introdooce ’is new cook—”

“Well, if they seems surprised at all, you can tell ’em what a superior young man I am really, and ’ow I’m an old friend of yours, and so on. It’s the only way I can do anything—I must see ’em personal. Suppose I was to start making inquiries off the neighbours, for instance. The fat would soon be in the fire then, wouldn’t it?”

“Matter of fact,” confessed the skipper, with reserve, “there ’as been more gossip about already than I care for.”

“Let me see ’em and keep my eyes open and ask a question ’ere and there, most innocent, and I’ll find out the truth quick enough,” boasted Mr. Dobb. “It won’t be too late to call on ’em to-night, will it? Just about right, I should think; with luck, we ought to catch ’em just at supper-time. You wait ’ere, and I’ll run back and tidy myself a bit.”

“All right. I should think that’s the best thing that can be done,” said Captain Gooster, ambiguously.

Mr. Dobb took a swift departure to the “Jane Gladys,” finding an empty fo’c’sle, and thus being able to garb himself for ceremony without loss of time in answering questions. Returning to the “Jolly Sailors,” his improved appearance won a grunt of approval from Captain Gooster, and then, together, the two men repaired to their objective in Fore Street.

They found Mrs. Goffley and her daughter amid the ordered confusion of the little second-hand shop. Captain Gooster made Horace known to the ladies as an old acquaintance unexpectedly encountered in the town. Introductions thus achieved, the gentlemen were hospitably conducted to partake of supper amid the more congenial surroundings of the back parlour.

Mr. Dobb claimed but little prominence in the talk, and, indeed, seemed bent on eliminating himself as far as possible from the interest of his hostesses, and this was rendered the more easy for him by the fact that both ladies appeared to concentrate their attentions on the skipper of the “Alert.” Mr. Dobb, however, was vigilant towards all that was going forward, and when once or twice the ladies bickered, he plainly submitted every word of their spirited utterance to the closest analysis.

And when at length they left the house, Horace had arrived at certain deductions, which he hastened to lay before Captain Gooster.

“It’s the old gal what’s got the money,” he stated. “She done the carving, for one thing. And, for another, it was ’er that put the coal on the fire. Besides, I ask you, ain’t it only reason that ’er late ’usband would ’ave left ’er everything, knowing from the look of ’er that she couldn’t ever really ’ope to get married again? No, I bet that rumour you ’eard was right—’e’s left ’is money to ’is wife, with instructions to look after ’er daughter. P’r’aps she’s to ’ave it after the old gal’s popped off,” propounded Horace, delicately.

“Ah, but that’s just what I’m frightened of,” said Captain Gooster. “Suppose I married the old lady, and one day she pegs out and the daughter gets the lot? A nice return that ’ud be to me for all my kindness, wouldn’t it?”

“But there’s nothing to prevent the old lady ’anding over the money to ’er second ’usband while she’s alive, to speckylate with, is there? And once it’s in your name—”

“’Orace, if I could only think ’alf as clear as you,” remarked Captain Gooster, “I’d be driving my own carriage and pair by now!”

He halted, gazed back at the Goffley abode, and patently came to decision.

“Wait ’ere for me,” he directed. “I’m going to strike while the iron is hot. I’m going to propose to the old geezer now and get it over!”

He traced his way to the shop, knocked, and was admitted. Scarce five minutes had elapsed ere he was again at Horace’s side. Captain Gooster’s reply, in response to an interested question, took the form of a fierce growl of wrath.

“What, she wouldn’t ’ave you?” asked Horace, in surprise.

“Oh, yes, she ’ad me right enough!” exclaimed Captain Gooster, with extreme bitterness. “Oh, she’s ’ad me proper! And _you’ll_ get a job with me on the ‘Alert,’ I don’t think! Clever? Ha! Smart? Ha, ha! Sharp? Oh, ha, ha, ha! Why, I believe your brains must be more like a wool mat than anything else!”

“But if she’s accepted you—”

“Accepted me?” bellowed Captain Gooster, passionately. “She jumped at me! Put ’er arms round my neck and made such a noise a-kissing of me that ’er daughter come ’urrying in from the kitchen at it! And Ann said it was ridic’lous, and Mrs. Goffley said it was love, and Ann crinkled ’er nose sarcastic, and told ’er mother that I was simply marrying ’er for ’er money, as any one could see.”

“There you are!” cried Mr. Dobb. “You picked the right one, anyway.”