‘They’ll never get me back inside that place,’ vowed O’Gara.
‘Nor me,’ said Dagg.
‘It ought to be burnt to the ground – and Captain Shortland with it.’
‘I’d enjoy dancing round the blaze.’
‘So would I, Moses.’
O’Gara was a sturdy Irish-American in his late twenties with a mop of dark hair and a fringe beard. He’d rubbed his face, arms and hands liberally with dirt so that he could be concealed in the part of the prison where the black sailors had been segregated. One of them, Moses Dagg, had been his shipmate when their vessel was captured. Both had been kept in custody in Plymouth before being transferred to Dartmoor. Conditions had been so appalling there that O’Gara acted as a spokesman for the other prisoners, voicing his demands with such insistence that he aroused the ire of the governor. Instead of winning concessions, therefore, O’Gara was promptly sent off to the Black Hole, a punishment cell made entirely of stone blocks. There was no natural light and only a tiny grille for ventilation. O’Gara was forced to sleep on the bare floor. The sparse rations were poked in through an aperture in the reinforced metal door. Though the maximum sentence was ten days in the Black Hole, the vindictive governor kept him in there for a fortnight. Instead of breaking his spirit, however, all that Captain Shortland did was to strengthen O’Gara’s will to resist.
‘Someone should be told the truth,’ said Dagg.
‘They will be.’
‘But who would listen to us?’
‘We have to make them listen, Moses.’
‘How do we do that?’
‘First of all, we have to get well clear of Devon,’ said O’Gara. ‘We’ll have to steal to eat here. The best place for food and protection is London. I’ve a cousin there who’ll take us in.’
‘He may take you in, Tom, but do I look like an Irishman?’
‘Yes – I’ll tell them you’re a lad from Killarney who caught too much sun.’
Dagg shook with mirth and punched his friend playfully on the shoulder. Adversity had deepened the bonds between them. Dagg was a solid young man with bulging muscles and a ready grin. When O’Gara’s persistent protests had aroused the governor’s ire, he put himself in grave danger. He became Shortland’s scapegoat and was blamed for every sign of unrest. Dagg had sheltered his friend in the segregated area and thereby saved his life.
‘Well,’ said Dagg, chuckling, ‘if you can be a black man, then I can be an Irish leprechaun. How do we get to London, Tom?’
‘We’ll do what we know best.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘We’re sailors, aren’t we?’
‘Yes, we are.’
‘Then let’s get afloat. When we reach the coast, we’ll steal a boat and plot a course to London. Once we have a refuge, we can tell the truth about Dartmoor.’
‘Who will we speak to?’
‘Well, it won’t be the Transport Office,’ said O’Gara, vehemently. ‘They’re supposed to look after prisoners of war but they answer to the British Admiralty and we’ve seen the way they treat us.’
‘Yes, they put that monster, Shortland, in charge of Dartmoor.’
‘We’d never get fair treatment from the Royal Navy so we’ll have to go above their heads. We’ve got a tale to tell, Moses, and we must tell it loud and clear. The person who really needs to hear it is the Prime Minister himself.’
CHAPTER FOUR
After a busy morning teaching the noble art of self-defence to a couple of young blades, Gully Ackford adjourned to the room at the rear of the shooting gallery and sat down gratefully behind the desk. Within minutes there was a respectful tap on the door then it opened so that Jem Huckvale could usher a stranger into the room before slipping out again. The newcomer was a stout, pale-faced individual of middle years with an air of prosperity about him. He introduced himself as Everett Hobday.
‘I need your help, Mr Ackford.’
‘With respect, sir,’ said Ackford, noting the man’s paunch, ‘you are not exactly built for the boxing ring. It would be folly on my part to attempt to persuade you otherwise. I take it, therefore, that you seek instruction of another kind.’
‘I’ve come to engage the services of your detectives.’
‘Ah, I see.’
‘I read the newspaper report of their latest success and decided that they are the men for me. I want the best and I’m prepared to pay accordingly.’
‘How can we be of assistance to you?’
Hobday explained that he was leaving London the following day and was taking the servants to his country residence. The last time he did that, his town house in Mayfair had been burgled. He needed someone to look after it while he was away. His request was not unusual. Peter and Paul Skillen had acted as night watchmen before in some of the more opulent houses. The difference this time was that their payment would be unduly generous. Hobday was well spoken and plausible. As proof of his honesty, he offered an appreciable deposit.