“Not much room for doubt, Commander,” Samuel Stanley said. “Tricky Dick was killed with a Nagant to distract us while the Sons stole The Two Georges, and people here are posting Nagants down to New Liverpool. That would want looking into even if we left the painting out of the bargain.”
“It certainly would,” Felix Crooke said. The expert on the Sons of Liberty went on, “This is a smuggling avenue about which we haven’t had to concern ourselves before. Have you had much trouble along those lines?”
“Smuggling, you mean?” Hairston said. “Never firearms, at least never that I knew till now. We do have men with small boats sneaking down from Alaska every now and again, but we’ve never caught them with anything worse than Russian vodka, the kind that’s strong enough to kick off the top of your head. I suspect they pass off more of that to fishermen on the high seas, too, but it’s all bloody difficult to prove, as you must know.”
“Commander, I am not accusing you of being derelict in your duties,” Bushell said quickly. “This plot must have been a long time hatching, and closely concealed.” His lips twisted in a bitter smile. “It certainly took me by surprise.”
“Mm, yes.” Hairston sent him a sympathetic look. “I asked you once in a general way, but now I’ll be more specific: what can I do to help you?”
“Do you have one particular judge likely to issue a speedy search warrant?” Bushell asked. He still had the blank but signed ones he’d got down in New Liverpool, but he wanted to save those if he could. Commander Hairston surprised him by throwing back his head and letting out a Jovian laugh. “My dear fellow, the Queen Charlotte Islands are in their entirety a military reservation, under the direct jurisdiction of the Royal Navy and Royal North American Navy. If we do something altogether outrageous, the judges in Prince Rupert will quash it, but you seem on most solid ground here.”
“The next time I feel on solid ground in this case will be the first,” Bushell said. “Most criminals are bloody stupid.” Hairston and both RAMs nodded at that. Bushell went on, “Whoever’s behind this theft, though, he’s no fool. But never mind that. All right, Commander - you have the jurisdiction.” The desk clerk at the hotel had told him as much; he should have thought through the implications. “What help can you give me?”
“How would you like a couple of squads of Royal Marines first thing tomorrow morning?” Hairston asked. Seeing Bushell’s flabbergasted expression, the Navy man laughed again. “Colonel, this isn’t supposed to be a fair fight. If we’ve got four villains out by Buckley Bay, the idea is to make them give up without a fight or make damned sure we win it. Good heavens, man, did you even bring weapons with you from New Liverpool?”
“We have three pistols,” Bushell answered. “If we needed anything more, we expected we’d be able to draw it from you.”
“Good for you, then,” Commander Hairston said. “From what I’ve seen of a lot of civil police, they forget the nasty chaps can get very nasty, indeed.”
“I would have,” Felix Crooke said. “Colonel Bushell didn’t let me.” He smoothly made the change back to formal address. Bushell sent him an approving glance. Crooke hadn’t had to admit his own naiveté, but he’d done it - a man of integrity.
“If you want rifles, you may certainly have a couple of ours,” Hairston said. “I wouldn’t care to carry anything less, I’ll tell you that.”
Bushell and Stanley both nodded right away. Crooke said, “It’s been so many years since I had a rifle in my hands, I expect I’d be more dangerous to my friends than to the villains. I’ll stick to my revolver, if it’s all the same to you; I’m familiar with it, which counts.”
“However you like, Lieutenant-Colonel,” Hairston said with a shrug of his wide shoulders. He got up from his desk and stood beside the large-scale map of the Queen Charlotte Islands on the wall behind it.
“How do you gents have in mind getting to Buckley Bay? There are no roads on the western shore of Masset Inlet. No reason to have ‘em - hardly anybody lives there. You can go by road to Port Clements, here on the eastern side of the inlet. From there, the road up from Skidegate heads due north to Masset.”
“We don’t want to take a boat straight across the inlet to Buckley Bay, I shouldn’t think,” Bushell said.
“If they saw us coming, they’d just fade back into the woods, and then your Marines might have a hard time running them to earth.”
“I’m afraid you’re right about that,” Hairston said mournfully. “If they’ve been living as trappers and hunters, they’ll know the land in that area better than my men will. How’s this, then: suppose you sail across the inlet from Port Clements to a point, oh, five miles north of the old logging town? Your men won’t think anything’s amiss even if they do see the boat. You can move down to Buckley Bay and nab them at your convenience.”
“That sounds good to me, Commander,” Samuel Stanley said. “Coming at villains from a direction they don’t expect is always a good idea.”
“I agree,” Bushell said, and Felix Crooke nodded again. That Stanley thought well of the plan was in itself recommendation enough for Bushell. Ever since his army days, he’d had reason to admire his adjutant’s tactical sense.
“We’ll do it that way, then,” Hairston said. “Have you brought along clothing and shoes that will stand up to a five-mile hike through woods and brush?”
“I haven’t,” Crooke said. “I took clothes suitable for New Liverpool when I came out from Victoria. I’m afraid the Queen Charlottes are both cooler and damper than I was prepared for.”
“Yes, they would be, if you came from New Liverpool.” Nathan Hairston glanced at Bushell and Stanley. “You two have what you need? I’m impressed. Lieutenant-Colonel Crooke, we’ll send you off to the quartermaster and outfit you as a Royal Marine. You gents are out at the Skidegate Lodge? I’ll send a driver round for you at half past four, then.”
Samuel Stanley looked martyred. “After three mornings in a row of getting up ungodly early, I should be growing used to it. But I’m not - all I’m growing is old, too bloody fast.”
“Think of it this way, Sam,” Bushell said helpfully: “if you’re awake all the time, you’ll seem to live longer.” By Stanley’s expression, that offered insufficient consolation. Crooke went off to be outfitted, and returned to Hairston’s office a little later with khaki tunic and trousers, a rubberized cape of the same color, a webbing belt in Royal Marine red, stout boots with rawhide lacings, and a slouch hat. “Thank you very much for your help, Commander Hairston,” he said.
“My pleasure,” the Skidegate security chief answered. “I’ll give you chaps a lift back to the Lodge, too. Colonel, Captain, we’ll have the rifles waiting for you here when you set out, if that’s all right. You won’t want to have to explain how you came by them when you walk through the lobby.”
“That’s true,” Bushell said. “In fact, if you can get a bag - a civilian-style bag - for that uniform, it would help. And I hope you’ll take us to and from the hotel in civilian steamers. We don’t want word of who we are and what we’re about getting to Buckley Bay ahead of us.”
“I like the way you think, Colonel,” Commander Hairston said with a brusque nod. “Just being in this business makes us take a good many chances. You don’t seem to take any you needn’t.”
A young sailor, grinning from ear to ear at the chance to wear mufti, however briefly, drove the three RAMs back into Skidegate in Hairston’s personal steamer. “Here you are, sir,” he said to Bushell as he pulled up in front of the Skidegate Lodge. “Now to get back before the commander figures I’ve wrapped it around a tree.” Still grinning, he sped away.