The Dumpling : $b A detective love story of a great labour risingKernahan, Coulson
General
The Dumpling : $b A detective love story of a great labour rising
Kernahan, Coulson
Detective and mystery stories; English fiction -- 20th century
It was "murder," as Parker had said. Even as I went down I was
conscious of the horror, of the inhumanity, of letting a poor devil,
tied hand and foot like a dog in a sack, go to his doom with never
a chance of making a fight for his life. For myself, being a fair
swimmer, and accustomed to a cold dip in rough seas, winter and summer,
I was in no such fear as entirely to lose my presence of mind. The
danger lay, of course, in my being sucked under the ship's bottom and
drowned before I could make my way to the surface; but as the steamer
was going very slowly and had taken us side-on, rather than with the
prow, I managed in a very few seconds to get clear of her wash, and up,
with open eyes, on the top of the water. Apparently no one on board the
steamer was aware that she had struck and sunk a rowing boat, for she
went slowly but steadily on her way, as if nothing had happened. Had we
not chanced to enter a fog bank a few minutes before the collision,
and had I not been engaged in loosening Parker's bonds, the probability
is that the accident would not have occurred. What most concerned me,
however, was not the cause of the mishap, but the whereabouts of poor
Parker. Again and again I crossed and re-crossed the subsiding wash of
the vessel's wake; again and again I halloed and called the unhappy
man by name; but all, alas, to no purpose. Except for the answering
bark of a dog from a barge in-shore, the hooting of the steamer's
fog-horn, and the washing of the water, there was no reply, and, being
somewhat exhausted, I gave up the search and struck out for the nearest
shore. It had been slack water for the last half-hour, and the tide
was, fortunately for me, only just upon the turn; so, without being
carried far out of my course, I was able to reach the river's bank in
safety. Wet as I was, I could not walk the streets without attracting
attention, but, luckily for me, the very first vehicle which came
along was a doctor's carriage. I shouted to the driver to stop, and
explaining my plight to his master by saying I had been run down in
the fog while on the river, asked him to be so very good as to drive
me to the police station. He not only consented, but plied me with a
restorative of some sort which he had in his bag; and when I reached
the station I was, except for a shivering fit, not very much the worse
for my wetting. There, while I was having a rub down and changing into
the clothes--a policeman's uniform--which was provided for me, I told
my story. The superintendent was very civil. He said he was aware
of the existence of the opium den in question, but otherwise knew
of nothing criminal in connection with it, but would at once send a
sufficient number of men to raid the place. He also rang up the river
police on the telephone, suggesting that a boat should be sent out
in search of Parker's body, and instructed a plain-clothes officer
to accompany me in a cab to the address which I gave as my lodging.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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