and also with being in possession of four similar notes. Do you wish to say anything in answer to this charge? You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but whatever you say will be taken down in writing and may be used in evidence.’
McParsons screwed up his weather-beaten face. ‘But I tellt yer the whorl lot, sir — I gi’ed ye all the evidence to prove I’m an honest man… what more do yer want noo?’
‘It isn’t evidence,’ snapped the super, ‘we didn’t take it down and we’re prepared to forget it. Think carefully, McParsons. You’re in trouble, quite a lot of trouble, and the tale you told me down at the docks won’t impress a jury — I can assure you of that. My advice to you is to forget it. The truth will help you a lot more, especially if it enables us to arrest the counterfeiters.’
‘But losh, man, it was the truth! I canna make up tales out of my heid.’
‘Stop!’ interrupted the super sharply. ‘All you say now is evidence.’
‘Then Gordamighty, let it be so — I’ll noo complain o’ ye puitin fause words into my mouth. It’s jist the way I tellt it, nae more and nae less, so yer may as well scratch it doon on yer paper — it’s all the evidence Andy McParsons can gi’ ye.’
The super drilled at the same Andy McParsons for ten acetylene-edged seconds before replying… quite a feat, thought Gently, who was a connoisseur of superlatives. Then he snapped off a ‘Right!’ which seemed to suggest every bit of ten years and opened the file Copping had brought. The pages rustled accusingly.
‘Starmouth Branch of the City amp; Provincial Bank… US banknote of one hundred dollar denomination, etc, etc… paid in by Joseph William Hackett, licensee of the “Ocean Sun”… see preceding report. Hackett on being questioned deposed that he changed the note for a seaman, a stranger to him… sparely built man, about five feet ten, aged about fifty, dressed in navy-blue suit and cap, fresh complexion etc… Scots accent. Detective Sergeant Haynes questioned Andrew Carnegie McParsons, Skipper of the steam-drifter Harvest Sea, at the yard of Wylie- Marine, where the said steam-drifter was undergoing a refit… denied all knowledge, etc-’
Gently coughed loudly and the super broke off to throw him a sharp stare. ‘You had something to say, Inspector?’
‘The name of the yard,’ murmured Gently apologetically, ‘could you repeat it, please?’
‘Wylie-Marine, Inspector.’
‘Thank you. I thought it sounded familiar.’
The super snorted and returned to his recitation.
‘Afternoon of the fifteenth Hackett reported having seen aforementioned seaman in the neighbourhood of the yard of Wylie-Marine
… proceeded to the same yard… Hackett picked out McParsons… McParsons admitted changing the note and was taken into custody… four similar notes of one hundred dollar denomination found in McParsons’s possession.’
The super paused again and smoothed out the nicely typed report sheet.
‘Now,’ he said bitingly, ‘we come to your story, McParsons.’
‘But ye’ve had it a’ready,’ replied the disconsolate skipper, ‘hoo often maun I tell it to yer?’
‘What you told us before you were charged will not be used as evidence. If you want to make a statement, now is the time.’
‘Och, aye… ye’re all for doing it by the buik, I ken that. Well, jist pit doon I had the notes fra ain Amurrican body… I see fine yer dinna believe a word of it.’
The super signalled to the shorthand constable. ‘Begin at the beginning, McParsons. If this story of yours is to go on record we want the whole of it.’
McParsons sighed feelingly to himself. ‘Aweel… ye’ll have your way, there’s noo doot. It was on the Tuesday then, the Tuesday last but one… we’d been in Hull a week, y’ken, wi’ the boiler puffin’ oot steam fra every crook an cranny… the engineer had puit in his report lang since, but auld Mucklebrowse is awfu’ canny aboot runnin’ up bills for repair… then awa’ comes a wire to the agent tellin’ us to puit out for Wylie’s, me ainself to stay wi’ the ship and the crew to take train back to Frazer. Sae we jist tuik aboard ain or twa necessaries and hung waitin’ there for the evenin’ tide. Noo the crew bodies was all ashore takin’ their wee drap for the trip and Andy McParsons had jist come awa’ fra the agent’s, when along happens this Amurrican I tellt ye of… “Captain,” says he (and morst respectful, the de’il take him!), “is that your ain ship lyin’ there with steam up?” “It is,” says I, “sae long as the rivets stick in the boiler.” “Then ye’re aboot goin’ to sea,” says he. “Aye,” says I, “jist as soon as the laddies get back, which’ll noo be a great while.” “And you’ll be goin’ a long trip?” says he, gi’en a luik ower his shoulder. “Jist drappin’ down the coast,” says I, “we’ll be sittin’ tight in Starmouth before breakfast-time.”
‘Noo ye maun believe this, Supereentendent, or ye maun not — it’s a’ ain to the truth — but I hadna been gabbin’ five minutes with this smooth-spaken cheil when he was jawin’ me into stowin’ him awa’ in the Harvest Sea. “But wit’s the trouble?” says I, “is it the police ye have stuck on yer sternsides?” “Naethin’ of that, I swear,” says he, “it’s a private matter, an like to be the dearth of me if I canna get clear of this dock wi’out walkin’ back off it. I’ll pay ye,” says he, “it’s noo a question of money — but for the luve of the A’mighty let’s gae doon into the cabin,” and the puir loon luikit sae anxious I hadna the heart tae refuse.
‘Weel, the short and the lang o’t was we struck a bargain — twa hundred dollars and nae questions asked. I couldna take less, says I, since the crew maun be squared on tap, and in ony case it was a wee bit inconvenient tae get it in dollar notes, and sich big ains at that. “Och, but the crew mauna ken!” says he, “ain body’s ower muckle — I canna bide more.” “Then I doot the deal’s off,” says I, “for de’il a bit can ye be stowed awa’ in sich a corckle-shell as this wi’out the crew being privy, not,” says I, “unless we pop yer into a herring-bunker, where ye’ll be wantin’ a stomach lined wi’ galvanized sheet to say the least o’t.” “Let it be sae,” says he, “I’ve sleepit in places as bad or worrse.” “Mon,” says I, “if ye’ve nae been jowed around in a herring-bunker on the North Sea ye havena lived up till noo, sae dinna gae boastin’. Take yer ease in the cabin, where yell nose a’ the fish ye’ll be wantin’ if there’s a wee swell ootbye.”
‘But listen he wouldna, sae it was agreed he should ship in a bunker — though had I kent then whit I ken noo it’d been into the dorck wi’ him, and nae mair argument — and he paid up his twa hundred dollars… not mentioning some wee discount business on three ither notes (I’d ta’n a bodle o’ cash fra the agent and it rubbed against the grain tae say nay, ye understand). “Keep an eye lifted for strangers,” says he, as I clappit him doon under the hatch, “dinna let a soul aboard ither than the crew bodies.” “Dinna fash yersel,”says I, “I ken fine how to earn twa hundred dollars.”
‘Weel, there ye have it, Supereentendent. We drappit down here owernight and fetchit up at Wylie’s before the toon was astir. I paid aff the crew bodies and saw them awa’ to the station, then I lifted the hatch and huiked out the cargo. He wasna in the best o’ shape, ye ken — it gi’es me a deal o’ consolation thinkin’ o’t — but I gar him ha’ a wash, whilk he did, and a swig at the borttle, whilk he didna, and betwixt doin’ the ain and not doin’ t’ither he was sune on his legs agin and marchin’ off doon the quay. And that’s the spae, evidence or testament of Andy Carnegie McParsons, the truth of whilk is kenned by him on the ain part and his creator in pairpetuity, whatever doots may occur in the more limited minds of his accusers.’
Saying which he folded his arms independently and returned the super some measure of that worthy’s police- issue stare.
‘And you expect to have this colourful account believed?’ fired the latter corrosively.
‘Och, noo! It’s naethin’ but the naked truth,’ returned the Scot ironically, ‘I dinna expec’ the police to believe sich simple things.’
‘I see nothing simple about it, McParsons. It has all the marks of being deliberately contrived. First this hypothetical American meets you just as you’re about to put to sea — and when you’re alone. Then, for reasons the most vague, he elects to spend a night on the North Sea immured in a herring-bunker rather than show himself to the crew. And finally he takes his leave when, once more, there are no witnesses. It’s pretty thin, McParsons. It’ll be cut to ribbons in court. If I were you I’d stop trying to shield whoever it is behind this racket and try to be helpful — we shall get them in the long run, you can depend on that.’
‘Then for Gord’s sake get them, Supereentendent, and dinna waste any mair time! Ye’re noo the ain half sae anxious aboot it as I am sittin’ here.’
‘So you’re sticking to your story?’
‘Aye — onless ye can puit me up tae some lees whilk will suit yer better.’
The super glanced down at the file with something which might have been a low sigh. ‘Very well,’ he said dangerously, ‘if you insist on having it that way… describe the man!’
