"When was this done?" asked the doctor, looking at the wound.
"More than a week ago," replied Wicks, thinking singly of his log.
"Hey?" cried the doctor, and he raised his hand and looked the captain in the eyes.
"I don't remember exactly," faltered Wicks.
And at this remarkable falsehood, the suspicions of the doctor were at once quadrupled.
"By the way, which of you is called Wicks?" he asked easily.
"What's that?" snapped the captain, falling white as paper.
"Wicks," repeated the doctor; "which of you is he? that's surely a plain question."
Wicks stared upon his questioner in silence.
"Which is Brown, then?" pursued the doctor.
"What are you talking of? what do you mean by this?" cried Wicks, snatching his half-bandaged hand away, so that the blood sprinkled in the surgeon's face.
He did not trouble to remove it. Looking straight at his victim, he pursued his questions. "Why must Brown go the same way?" he asked.
Wicks fell trembling on a locker. "Carthew's told you," he cried.
"No," replied the doctor, "he has not. But he and you between you have set me thinking, and I think there's something wrong."
"Give me some grog," said Wicks. "I'd rather tell than have you find out. I'm damned if it's half as bad as what any one would think."
And with the help of a couple of strong grogs, the tragedy of the Flying Scud was told for the first time.
It was a fortunate series of accidents that brought the story to the doctor. He understood and pitied the position of these wretched men, and came whole-heartedly to their assistance. He and Wicks and Carthew (so soon as he was recovered) held a hundred councils and prepared a policy for San Francisco. It was he who certified "Goddedaal" unfit to be moved and smuggled Carthew ashore under cloud of night; it was he who kept Wicks's wound open that he might sign with his left hand; he who took all their Chile silver and (in the course of the first day) got it converted for them into portable gold. He used his influence in the wardroom to keep the tongues of the young officers in order, so that Carthew's identification was kept out of the papers. And he rendered another service yet more important. He had a friend in San Francisco, a millionaire; to this man he privately presented Carthew as a young gentleman come newly into a huge estate, but troubled with Jew debts which he was trying to settle on the quiet. The millionaire came readily to help; and it was with his money that the wrecker gang was to be fought. What was his name, out of a thousand guesses? It was Douglas Longhurst.
As long as the Currency Lasses could all disappear under fresh names, it did not greatly matter if the brig were bought, or any small discrepancies should be discovered in the wrecking. The identification of one of their number had changed all that. The smallest scandal must now direct attention to the movements of Norris. It would be asked how he who had sailed in a schooner from Sydney, had turned up so shortly after in a brig out of Hong Kong; and from one question to another all his original shipmates were pretty sure to be involved. Hence arose naturally the idea of preventing danger, profiting by Carthew's new-found wealth, and buying the brig under an alias; and it was put in hand with equal energy and caution. Carthew took lodgings alone under a false name, picked up Bellairs at random, and commissioned him to buy the wreck.
"What figure, if you please?" the lawyer asked.
"I want it bought," replied Carthew. "I don't mind about the price."
"Any price is no price," said Bellairs. "Put a name upon it."
"Call it ten thousand pounds then, if you like!" said Carthew.
In the meanwhile, the captain had to walk the streets, appear in the consulate, be cross-examined by Lloyd's agent, be badgered about his lost accounts, sign papers with his left hand, and repeat his lies to every skipper in San Francisco: not knowing at what moment he might run into the arms of some old friend who should hail him by the name of Wicks, or some new enemy who should be in a position to deny him that of Trent. And the latter incident did actually befall him, but was transformed by his stout countenance into an element of strength. It was in the consulate (of all untoward places) that he suddenly heard a big voice inquiring for Captain Trent. He turned with the customary sinking at his heart.
"YOU ain't Captain Trent!" said the stranger, falling back. "Why, what's all this? They tell me you're passing off as Captain Trent--Captain Jacob Trent--a man I knew since I was that high."
"O, you're thinking of my uncle as had the bank in Cardiff," replied Wicks, with desperate aplomb.