"Have you seen anything of the 'Hippodrome's' boat?" inquired Billy of a petty officer on duty on the jetty.
"'Hippodrome's' boat, sir?" repeated the man. "Why, the 'Hippodrome' got under way a couple of hours ago, along with the Seventh Destroyer Division, The Ninth's just off, sir."
Barcroft rapidly reviewed the situation. Experience had taught him that there are often two ways of doing things in the Service—the official and the non-official. To be strictly in accord with the precedent he should have reported himself to the Admiral, giving his reasons why he missed his ship and getting a smart "rap over the knuckles." On the other hand he might be able to enlist the sympathies of one of the officers of the Ninth Destroyer Division and get a passage—provided the boats were proceeding to the same rendezvous. He resolved to put the latter proposition into effect; failing that, he would have to fall back upon the official routine.
His luck was in. As he hurried across the caisson on his way to the jetty where the destroyers were berthed he overtook a lieutenant commander, whom he recognised as Terence Aubyn, a particular friend of Flight-lieutenant Fuller.
"By all means," replied Aubyn when Barcroft had explained the circumstances and requested a passage. "We're pretty certain to fall in with the 'Hippodrome,' although I have as yet no idea of the position of the rendezvous. In fact, I have a couple of her men on board now. They got adrift in a copper punt last night, and were only picked up after the ship had left."
"No further news of Fuller, I'm afraid?" remarked Barcroft.
"Not a whisper," replied the lieutenant-commander as he ran briskly up the steeply sloping "brow" to the quarter-deck of the destroyer "Audax."
And thus Flight-sub-lieutenant Barcroft found himself on board one of the newest type of destroyers bound for an unknown rendezvous somewhere in the North Sea.
ON being hauled on board the German submarine Fuller and Kirkwood were sternly ordered to go below, their captors indicating a small hatchway fifteen feet for'ard of the conning-tower.
The prisoners had no option. They descended the almost vertical steel ladder and found themselves in practically the bow compartment of the vessel. It was the crew space of the submarine mine-layer, for the craft, on which was painted the number UC49, was not fitted with torpedo tubes, nor did she carry guns of the "disappearing mountings" type. Her part was to sneak out of the Elbe, cruise on the surface whenever practicable, diving only when any strange vessel hove in sight. Her cargo had consisted of forty metal cylinders stowed aft—mines of the most recent type—but having sown her harvest of death and destruction, regardless whether an enemy or a neutral vessel fell a victim to the deadly peril, she was on her way back to the Fatherland.
The compartment in which Fuller and his companion found themselves was about thirty feet in length and fifteen at its maximum diameter, which was at the after end. For'ard it tapered, at first gradually, then sharply, until it terminated at a bulkhead close to the bows. In the lower part of the recess were the anchors and cables, capable of being lowered or hauled by means of elaborate mechanism which was controlled from within. The upper portion of the bow compartment consisted of a large fresh-water tank. Round the crew space were lockers that served a double purpose: besides containing the effects of the men they were used as seats. Hooks were bolted to the cambered deck-beams in order to sling hammocks—in fact, half a dozen hammocks were at that time occupied—and mess-tables.
Against the after bulkhead was a small partitioned-off place that served as the cook's galley, the stove being heated by electricity. While running awash the fumes were carried off by means of a funnel that projected a few inches above the deck, which was fitted with a watertight cover that could be operated from the conning-tower when the submarine was trimmed for diving. Yet in spite of the ventilation the place reeked vilely of a variety of odours. Fuller wondered what the atmosphere must be like when UC49 was submerged.
In addition to the sleeping occupants of the hammocks, who by their restlessness even in slumber showed signs of the mental strain, the crew space was occupied by three fairhaired, fresh-featured Frisians, who regarded the captives with scant curiosity and, after the first five minutes, seemed to ignore the Englishmen entirely.
"May as well make the best of things," remarked Fuller. "I know the ropes a bit—been through it before. Take your wet clothes off, old man. Keep a tight hold of your personal gear. We'll see if we can't persuade that fat chap in the galley to put our things to dry."
"They would dry on us in this hot show," observed Kirkwood. "Suppose we are sent for?"
"Then we are," added the flight-lieutenant grimly. "We'll have to grin and bear it. All the same, I'm not going to act as a human clothes horse while my gear is drying, so here goes."
The German cook seemed anxious to oblige, in spite of a muttered protest from one of the crew.
"My broder on der 'Blucher' vos," he explained. "Englische him pick up and well treat. Him write an' tell me so. Thus your clothes make dry."
Although the hatchway was closed and secured the submarine was still running awash, lifting sluggishly as she forged ahead at a modest fifteen knots. A couple of hours passed, and no attempt was made on the part of the vessel's officers to interrogate their prisoners.
"For one thing we are clothed and, let us hope, in our right minds," observed Fuller as the pair redressed in their now dry clothing, dispensing, however, with their leather jackets, which were as stiff as a board and white with sea-salt.
"Much more of this would drive me out of my mind," protested Kirkwood. "Give me the freedom of the air any day. Suppose this old hooker bumps into a mine?"
"Pull yourself together, man," said the flight-lieutenant sharply. "It's all one big risk, I admit, but for heaven's sake don't give these fellows a chance to think we've cold feet!"
The A.P. stiffened his upper lip.
"By Jove, I won't!" he exclaimed.
"The youngster has good cause for concern," soliloquised Fuller. "This old tub wouldn't stand a cat's chance if anything went wrong. She's one of those craft that's made by the fathom and cut off where required, I should imagine. Never saw such rough work in all my life. And no sign of air-locks or any lifesaving devices. I suppose such details don't worry the German Admiralty. Those leaking joints remind me of the old Tower Hill subway. A coat of whitewash and gas jets instead of the electric light would make the illusion complete."
His reveries were interrupted by a sliding door in the after bulkhead being opened. The German seamen sprang to their feet and stood rigidly at attention as a young, heavily-built unter-leutnant appeared and beckoned the prisoners to follow him.
Stepping over the sill of the watertight door Fuller and his companion found themselves in the officers' quarters—a compartment extending the whole width of the vessel, and separated from the engine-room by another bulkhead. The cabin was plainly furnished but with a certain degree of comfort. On either side were two curtained bunks. A swinging table occupied the centre of the floor, with four revolving arm-chairs, the feet of which were clamped to prevent them being capsized in heavy weather. Against the after bulkhead were two bookshelves and a folding wash-basin, while between them was a ladder communicating with the conning-tower. On the for'ard bulkhead were voice-tubes and telephones for conveying orders to various parts of the vessel, also gauges of various descriptions similar to those in the conning-tower, so that the commander, when not on duty, could know what was going on without having to hail the navigating officer. In the arched ceiling was an illuminated tell-tale compass.
"North 88 east," said Fuller to himself, as he read the magnetic bearing. "She's making for the Elbe or the Weser, I'll swear."
"There is no need for you to trouble about the course," said a broad-shouldered officer dressed in the uniform of a kapitan- leutnant of the Imperial German Navy. "That is our affair. Now, tell me—no lies, mind—what is your name?"
Fuller met the penetrating eye of his examiner without flinching, yet he realised he was "up against" a sharp Teuton, who, by his command of the English language, had evidently an intimate and first-hand knowledge of his enemy's country.
It was, Fuller knew, futile to dissemble. The fact that Kirkwood and he were missing would be revealed by the British Admiralty casualty list. Neither would any good purpose be attained by refusing to reply to any questions that could be answered without giving useful information to the Huns.
"John Fuller, flight-lieutenant, H.M.S. 'Hippodrome,'" he replied promptly.
"So? Then let me offer my congratulations at you again becoming the guest of the Imperial German Government," rejoined the kapitan-leutnant sarcastically. "I do not think you will escape again, Mr. Fuller. Since Sylt was too easy a place of captivity you will most a certainly be sent inland when we arrive in harbour—somewhere a very long way from the convenient neutral port of Esbjerg. Now, I suppose it is of no use asking you under what circumstances you were brought down?"
"Engine failure owing to the petrol tank being perforated."
"Ach! How far from the coast? And what part of the coast? Did you ascend from a ship or from a harbour?"
Fuller shook his head.
"I cannot say," he replied.
The German took the refusal quite in good part.
"I do not blame you for refusing," he remarked. "Any brave man, be he German or English, would do the same. Now, sir, am I to have any better luck with you? Your name?"
The A.P. told him his name and rank, but resolutely declined to commit himself on other points. His captor merely grunted with the air of a man who has been given information of little or no interest. Kirkwood had not broken out of a German prison. Compared with the redoubtable Fuller he was a nonentity in the eyes of the kapitan-leutnant.
A gong clanged noisily in the conning-tower, its verberations outvoicing the pulsations of the oil-fed motors. Without a word the submarine's commander sprang to the ladder and, ascending, left Fuller and his companion in misfortune standing at the foot of the table.
A hoarse order, followed by the heavy pattering of sea,—boots upon the deck and the metallic clash of water-tight hatches being closed, denoted that UC49 was being trimmed for diving.
Fuller felt a hand tap him on the shoulder.
"Get you outside!" ordered the young unter-leutnant, indicating the for'ard compartment.
Barely had the prisoners regained their place of confinement than the bulkhead door was shut, a slight yet distinctly perceptible list announcing that the submarine was diving. The fore-peak was now uncomfortably crowded, for the "watch on deck," unable to remain any longer on deck, had come below at the order to trim ship for diving. One and all looked drawn and anxious. Unlike their brethren in the non-mine-laying submarines they had practically nothing to do. The excitement of being able to launch a torpedo at a British ship, be she naval vessel or merchantman, was denied them. They were, in fact, nothing more than passive individuals cooped up in the shell of a submerged craft, unable to see what was going on without, and helpless to save themselves in the event of the submarine being rammed.
For quite a minute the obliquely downward plunge was maintained, the vessel the while turning sharply to starboard. Then, pitching slightly to the violent displacement of a volume of water, she resumed her normal trim at a depth of ten fathoms beneath the surface.
The action of porting helm had undoubtedly saved the mine-laying submarine. An alert British patrol boat had sighted her from afar, and at a rate resembling that of a train had charged down upon the spot where UC49 had disappeared, while trailing astern at the end of an insulated cable was an explosive grapnel of sufficient power to shatter the submarine's hull like an egg-shell.
The skipper of the patrol boat had made due calculations to ensure, as he thought, the destruction of his prey, but he had not reckoned upon the UC49 changing course as she dived. As it was, the explosive grapnel passed within a couple of yards of the submerged vessel's beam.
Of this Fuller and his companion knew nothing. Perhaps, for their state of mind, it was as well. A man will bravely face death at the hands of his foe, but he will jib at the idea of being "snuffed out" by his own side.
Slowly the minutes passed. UC49 was still running submerged, increasing the depth to twenty fathoms and maintaining a zig-zag course in order to baffle her pursuer. The German seamen were beginning to breathe more freely. The worst part of the business—the great risk of being rammed as she dived—was over, and although under the enormous pressure jets of water were hissing through the faulty joints the men realised that they stood more than a fighting chance of evading destruction.
For perhaps five hours UC49 blindly made her way under the waves. The captives had lost all count of time. Their watches had stopped owing to their immersion when the seaplane was sunk; there was no clock in the fore compartment nor were the bells struck in the customary style on board. But at length, after a seemingly interminable interval, the order was given to empty the auxiliary water ballast tanks. Simultaneously the floor assumed a list—this time in a contrary direction.
Then, without warning, the fairly regular throb of the electric motors gave place to a discordant jar that shook the hull from end to end.
"Main shaft gone, for a dead cert," exclaimed Kirkwood. "I remember the same thing occurring on the 'Tremendous's' picket-boat Yes, they're switching off."
The mine-layer was helpless. Without means of propulsion there were only two courses open to her—to float or sink to the bottom. It was impossible to keep submerged to a certain depth simply by means of admitting a certain quantity of water ballast. Once the reserve of buoyancy was overcome she would sink to the bed of the North Sea, in all probability collapsing under the terrific pressure on her hull long before she arrived there. It is only by means of the diving rudders acting in conjunction with her diving trim that a submarine can remain submerged to a required depth; and since the kapitan-leutnant of UC49 had no desire to make the acquaintance of the floor of the ocean other than by means of an "armed" lead-line, he chose the other alternative and rose to the surface.
The moment the fore hatch was removed the watch rushed on deck. There was a lot of scuffling and shouting of orders, accompanied by the clanking of the auxiliary motors actuating the bilge pumps. When the main shaft fractured—the submarine had only one "screw"—the propeller had flown off, taking with it the broken tail shaft and straining the stuffing-box to such an extent that water poured through the glands. The pumps were just able to cope with the inrush. Should they choke or otherwise get out of order the vessel would promptly founder.
Another order was given. Those of the crew who still remained below hurriedly collected their personal belongings and went on deck, while their place was taken by their companions who, following their example, set to work to "pack up" their scanty bundles. In five minutes the crew space was untenanted save by Fuller and Kirkwood.
"It strikes me very forcibly that we had better be clearing out of this rat-hole," suggested the former, "If we don't we'll be overlooked, and I don't suppose the Huns will mind that."
The two chums ascended the ladder and gained the platform in front of the conning-tower. Here were about a dozen of the crew, a similar number being stationed aft. The officers were grouped amidships, their attention fixed upon some distant object which they were examining through their glasses. The chug-chug of the pumps continued, showing that some of the engine-room staff were still standing by the auxiliary machinery.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Kirkwood. "A couple of our destroyers. No German prison for us this trip."
Several of the German seamen hearing the exclamation regarded the A.P. angrily; otherwise they offered no objection to the prisoners being on deck. The kapitan-leutnant, also overhearing Bobby's expression of satisfaction, lowered his binoculars and glared at the irrepressible Briton. Then he raised the glasses again and scanned the horizon, finishing up his scrutiny by keeping the on-coming craft under observation.
For half a minute he looked steadfastly at the approaching destroyers, then he gave an order to a man standing by the diminutive mast.
Promptly the sailor hoisted the Black Cross Ensign, but whether as a token of defiance or otherwise the British officers were unable to decide. But they were not long left in ignorance.
"You are a little too hasty in your surmise, Mr. Englishman," sneered the kapitan-leutnant. "You will yet sample the joys of a German prison. These are two of our torpedo-boats."
A DULL, reverberating crash roused Flight-sub-lieutenant Barcroft from his temporary bunk on board H.M. torpedo-boat destroyer "Audax."
"Eight bells," midnight, had just gone—silently, for the destroyer was ploughing through the waves at break-neck speed, without navigation lights and as steadily as possible. So well were her oil-fed furnaces tended that no tell-tale sparks escaped from her four squat funnels. In spite of the heavy seas she was cleared for action; life-lines took the place of the stanchion rails and afforded the only means of preventing the bluejackets being swept overboard by the green seas that poured completely over the raised fo'c'sle. Around the four-inch guns men hung on, ready at the first alarm to open fire, while the deadly torpedoes had been launched into their tubes to be let loose at the word of command upon the first unit of the German Navy—be she large or small—that had the temerity to try conclusions with the alert British destroyer.
There had been signs of activity in Hun naval circles—activity forced upon them by prompt and vigorous measures of the sea-dogs under the White Ensign. Zeebrugge was getting too hot to hold the German torpedo-boat flotillas that for months had existed under nerve-racking conditions in that Belgian port. Constant bombardments from the sea and from the air had made the Huns' new base so insecure that the German ocean-going torpedo-boats (craft that compare in point of size with destroyers, although the term destroyer does not figure in Hun naval reports) had been compelled to make a dash for the neutral defences of the Elbe, Weser and Jade. Existing conditions made it undesirable to sneak through Dutch territorial waters, and the only other way was by a circuitous course rendered necessary by the presence of a vast British minefield.
The British Admiralty, out of consideration for neutral shipping, had advertised the limits of the danger zone, which was an aggressive minefield rather than a defensive one—in other words its base was situated close to the German coast, while its apex stretched westward far across the North Sea. Round this apex the German torpedo craft had to make their way.
Knowledge of the attempted dash had reached the ears of the British Commander-in-Chief, and strong flotillas of destroyers were patrolling the length and breadth of the North Sea, their search assisted in broad daylight by seaplanes sent up from attendant parent ships. At night the difficulty of maintaining the cordon was enormously increased. A German boat might slip through in the darkness, while, even if discovered, her attackers would be under the disadvantage of making sure that she was not one of their consorts before opening fire.
The "Audax" was operating in the high latitudes of the North Sea. In fact, if she held on the course for another five hours she would run ashore somewhere in the close proximity of The Naze of Norway.
Two miles ahead and astern of her were other vessels of the same class, the line being continued until the chain of destroyers stretched across the North Sea from Scotland almost to Scandinavia. The Straits of Dover were similarly patrolled, while auxiliary destroyers swept the seas between the northern and southern limits, ready to head off the fugitives or bring them to action.
Rolling fully dressed out of his bunk—for under these conditions it would be folly to turn in otherwise—Billy dashed on deck, followed by the Engineer-lieutenant, who happened to be the only officer in the ward-room not on watch.
Wriggling through the partly-closed hatchway, dubbed by courtesy the "companion," and receiving a greeting in the form of a cold douche—the tail end of a particularly vicious comber—Barcroft stood still until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. Then, grasping the life-line, he made his way for'ard, often knee-deep in water, until he gained the doubtful shelter afforded by the rise of the fo'c'sle. Here, clustered round the two guns abreast the for'ard funnel, were a dozen men in "lammy" suits, oilskins and sou'-westers, all peering through the darkness in the direction in which the "Audax" was now proceeding.
"What was the explosion, Mr. Black?" inquired Barcroft of the gunner.
"We don't know, sir," replied the warrant officer. "A mighty big flash and a brute of a report. We've wirelessed the commodore to ask permission to investigate, and now we're off to see, judging by the alteration of course."
The young officer thanked him for the information, vague though it might be, and ascending the bridge ladder took up his stand in front of the after guard-rail of the bridge.
Lieutenant-commander Aubyn and three of his officers were standing with their backs turned to him, oblivious of his presence. Actually Barcroft had no right there, save on sufferance and by the courtesy of the skipper. The executive officers were crouching behind the storm-dodgers—the force of the wind and the sting of the icy spray made it impossible to withstand the full force of the elements unless protected by these canvas screens—and were directing their attention mainly on some as yet invisible object dead ahead. At intervals one or other of the officers would scan the seas abeam, as if expecting to see a dark and swiftly-moving vessel—to wit, an enemy craft pelt through the blackness of the night on her dash for safety.
The skipper remained as rigid as a statue, the personification of silent alertness; but the lieutenant and sub of the "Audax" were conversing, raising their voices in order to make themselves understood above the roar of the wind and the crashing of the waves as they flew over the fore-deck of the destroyer and hurtled against the bridge. Scraps of the discussion wafted to Barcroft's ears.
"A neutral, I think," remarked the sub. "Swede or Norwegian.... Bumped on a mine."
"Torpedo," declared the lieutenant. "I distinctly saw one flash ... before the big blaze... second explosion; yet, it points to it."
Billy caught enough of the conversation to read the lieutenant's theory. Evidently he believed that the victim was one of the British armed liners patrolling this section of the North Sea. Torpedoed, in the darkness and in spite of the heavy seas, she had been blown up by the detonation of her magazine.
Suddenly Aubyn straightened himself and sprang to the telegraph indicator communicating with the engine-room.
Following the double clang of the bell the destroyer's engines were promptly stopped and quickly reversed. The skipper's keen eye had discerned a raft crowded with men as the "Audax" swept past at a distance of less than twenty yards.
Aubyn gave a brief glance at the raging seas and held up his hand. The gesture was understood by the men already standing in expectancy at the falls. It meant "Stand fast." No boat could live in such a turmoil of angry waves, yet there were heroes ready and willing to risk their lives in a vain attempt at rescue.
The "Audax" was about to make an effort by other means, but first the raft had to be found again, for before way had been taken off the destroyer the handful of survivors of the ill-fated ship were lost in the darkness and in the wash of water astern.
Nor could the searchlights be switched on without grave risk to the all-important task of rounding-up the German torpedo-boats. The "Audax" had to grope round like a blind man in the hope of falling in with the drifting raft.
"Shoutin' dead to wind'ard, sir, right on the starboard beam," shouted half a dozen voices. "There they are, sir, a cable's length off."
In a patch of phosphorescent foam, as it lifted dizzily on the crest of a broken wave, could be discerned the object of the search. The next instant it had vanished in the trough of the seas.
"Hard a-port!" roared the skipper.
"Hard a-port, sir," repeated the quartermaster,
Turning, the "Audax" slowed down, coming to a standstill, save for the motion created by the scend of the seas and the leeward drift caused by the strong wind, at a few yards to windward of the raft, which on nearer acquaintance proved to be a number of deck planks still adhering to the fractured beams.
Under the lee of the destroyer the raft floated in comparatively smooth water, and the work of transferring the handful of well-nigh exhausted men commenced. Five or six were hauled on board by means of bowlines; three were incapable of stirring a hand to help themselves, and since their comrades made no effort to assist in their rescue several of the destroyer's hands went overboard and, grasping the unconscious men, were heaved back with no greater damage than bruised knuckles and grazed shins.
"Wot are we to do with these 'ere blokes, Sir?" inquired a seaman of the destroyer's lieutenant, who had temporarily quitted the bridge to superintend the work of rescue. "Our mess deck's flooded out."
"They want warmth. Pass the word to the engineer commander to ask if he has room for nine men in the stokehold."
"Me from Danmark sheep," volubly asserted one man as he was being led below.
"All right, my man," replied the lieutenant, "We'll hear your story later. Hullo, Barcroft, you on deck? Make yourself useful, old boy, and find out what happened to these fellows. I must be hopping back to my perch. Thank your lucky stars it isn't your watch."
Refraining from remarking that he had already had a voluntary trick on the sprayswept bridge Billy followed the survivors of the lost vessel into the hot, steam-laden atmosphere of the stokehold. The foreigners who were in possession of their faculties had "stripped to the buff" and were being rubbed down by sympathising British stokers, while heir clothes were being dried in front of the furnaces.
The rescued men seemed extraordinarily anxious to assert that they belonged to a Danish vessel, almost overwhelming Barcroft in their eagerness to emphasise the point. None of them spoke English, and as the flight-sub knew hardly a word of Danish his attempt to gain information seemed hopeless. He tried speaking in German, with no better results, except for a reiterated chorus of "Me from Danmark."
"It's strange that they don't jabber to each other in their own lingo, sir," remarked a leading stoker, who was kneeling over one of the unconscious seamen and methodically pressing his ribs according to the precepts laid down in theManual of Seamanshipfor the treatment of persons apparently drowned.
The patient was a powerfully built, hugelimbed young giant, by appearance of far better physique than the others, yet he seemed to be the worst off from the effects of exposure. External examination revealed no signs of an injury, although two of the other men had been badly battered by flying debris from the explosion.
Just then the man stirred, gasped, and endeavoured to free himself from the attentions of the humane leading stoker.
"Then I am still alive?" he asked feebly. "A prisoner on an English ship. 'Well, I am not sorry. I am tired of the war."
"Wot's 'e a-sayin', sir?" inquired the leading stoker.
"Quite enough to give the show away," replied Barcroft, fixing with his eyes the other foreigners, who were now showing every symptom of consternation, for the man had spoken in German and his comrades had understood every word.
"So you are from a German ship?" demanded the young officer, addressing the group of survivors.
The men freely admitted that the game was up, and finding that their good treatment was not modified they became quite communicative.
They were, they announced, some of the crew of the armed commerce-raider "Volksdorf," a converted liner that had left the port of Swinemunde two days previously. Hugging the Norwegian coast she had sighted two British patrol ships, and turning southward had shaken off pursuit in hazy weather. Apparently the "Volksdorf's" attempt was-timed to take place simultaneously with the German activity in the North Sea, and by keeping slightly to the northward of the screen of British destroyers she stood a fair chance of gaining the Atlantic. Unfortunately for her she came within easy torpedo range of a U-boat, and the pirate, not knowing that she was of the same nationality and utterly indifferent as to whether she destroyed enemy or neutral ships without warning, promptly discharged a torpedo. The missile struck home, causing a second explosion, as the after magazine of the raider blew up, causing the ship to sink in less than thirty seconds.
Billy went on deck to find the "Audax" still cruising about in the hope of finding more survivors, but without success. Making his way to the bridge he informed Aubyn of his discovery.
"That's great," declared the youthful skipper. "Fritz committing frightfulness upon his own pals requires some beating. It must have been a strafed U-boat, since I know for a dead cert that none of our submarines are taking part in the present operations. Keeping Middle Watch, Mr. Barcroft? I'd turn in while I had the chance, if I were you. We're in touch with the 'Hippodrome.' Picked up a wireless call not five minutes ago. We'll put you on board before many hours, I dare say, but we don't want to hand you over looking like a sleepy owl; so down below you go."
"Thanks, sir, I will," replied the flight-sub, who after the heated atmosphere of the stoke-hold was feeling the cold acutely.
And carrying out the genial lieutenant-commander's advice Billy went below, pulled off his sea-boots, divested himself of his oil skins, or, rather, those of the engineer-sub who had insisted on lending them, and flopped into his bunk. He was dimly conscious of thrusting his back hard against the partition, gripping the edge of the bunk with both hands and drawing up his knees to wedge himself in—matters of precaution owing to the erratic motion of the destroyer—and in ten seconds he was in a sound, dreamless slumber.
"ACTION Stations!"
Billy Barcroft leapt from his bunk, labouring under the delusion that he had turned in only a few minutes before.
The deadlights screwed to the brass rims of the scuttles and the electric lights in the wardroom gave him the impression that it was still night, and it was not until he scrambled on deck that he was aware that grey dawn was breaking.
The wind had piped down considerably. The seas, still running high, no longer showed their teeth in the form of vicious, foam-crested breakers. Yet the decks of the "Audax" were at regular intervals ankle-deep in water, as the destroyer cut through the billows.
A cloud of steam, caused by showers of spray striking the hot, salt-encrusted funnel casings, drifted aft, temporarily obscuring the flight-sub's range of vision. As it cleared he could discern the greatcoated figures of Aubyn and his brother-officers on the bridge, and the indistinct forms of the men as they passed ammunition from the shell-hoists to the guns.
"Got her this time, sir," remarked a burly petty officer, the rotundity of whose figure was still further accentuated by the prodigious quantity of clothing he wore.
He pointed to a dark grey, indistinct object almost dead ahead, her outlines rendered almost invisible by the trailing clouds of smoke that poured from her funnels. Barcroft estimated her distance at two thousand yards. It was impossible to see whether she flew her ensign.
The vessel was a German ocean-going torpedo-boat, one of the nine which had stolen out of Zeebrugge. By sheer good luck she had gone northward over practically the extreme length of the North Sea without being sighted by the British patrols. An hour, or even half an hour earlier she might have slipped unobserved past the "Audax" without being seen by the latter. As it was, one of the British destroyer's look-out men "spotted" the strange craft in the deceptive half-light of the late autumnal dawn.
The "Audax" threw out her private signal by means of a flash lamp from the bridge. The stranger replied by an unintelligible jumble of long and short flashes.
"Either that is a Hun or her signalman is three sheets in the wind," declared Lieutenant-commander Aubyn. "Tell her to make her number, or we'll open fire. And wireless the 'Antipas'; give her our position, and say we are in touch with a suspicious craft."
Aubyn, though brave as a lion, was of a discreet and cautious nature. Dearly would he have liked to engage in an ocean duel with the hostile craft, for such, he now felt convinced she would prove to be. Both vessels were equally matched in the matter of armament, tonnage and number of complement: it was necessary only to again prove the moral and physical superiority of Jack Tar over Hans and Fritz, unless something in the nature of sheer ill-luck allowed the coveted prize to slip through his fingers. It was against the possibility that Aubyn had to guard. The fight had to end in only one way—annihilation to the foe. Hence the call to the destroyer "Antipas" to eliminate that element of chance.
"Let her have it!" shouted the skipper of the "Audax," just as Barcroft gained the bridge.
The four-inch gun on the fo'c'sle barked. It was still dark enough for the flash to cast a lurid glow upon the set faces of the British officers, who stood by with their glasses ready to bear upon the flying torpedo-boat the moment the acrid fumes from the burnt cordite drifted clear of the bridge.
The first shell struck the water close to the German vessel's port side, throwing up a column of water fifty feet in the air as it ricochetted and finally disappeared beneath the waves a mile or so ahead of the target.
Fritz replied promptly. He must have fired; directly the flash of the "Audax's" bow gun was observed. The projectile screeched above the heads of the men on the bridge, seemingly so close that Barcroft involuntarily ducked. It was quite a different sensation from being potted at by "Archibalds." Up aloft the roar of the seaplane's engines and the rush of the wind practically overwhelmed the crash of the bursting shrapnel. This weird moaning, as the four-inch shell flew by, was somewhat disconcerting as far as Billy was concerned, while to heighten the effect a rending crash accompanied the passing of the projectile.
"Our wireless top-hamper, dash it all!" exclaimed Aubyn, turning his head for a brief instant. "Starboard a little, quartermaster."
The slight alteration of helm enabled the midship quick-firer on the starboard side to bear upon the enemy. The latter, evidently with the idea of dazzling the British destroyer, had switched on a searchlight mounted on a raised platform aft. Probably the Huns might have derived advantage from the rays, that still held their own against the increasing dawn, had not a well-directed shell from the "Audax" fo'c'sle gun blown searchlight, platform, and half a dozen men to smithereens.
For the next ten minutes the adversaries were at it hammer and tongs. More than one shell got home on board the British craft, playing havoc with the after-funnel and deckfittings, while three badly wounded but still irrepressibly cheerful seamen were taken down below.
The German craft was being severely punished. The speed had fallen off considerably, while she was on fire fore and aft, although the for'ard conflagration was quickly got under by her crew. By this time she bore broad on the British destroyer's bow, the range having decreased to 1,500 yards.
Suddenly the Hun put her helm hard down. Either she saw that flight was no longer possible, or else her stern quick-firers had been knocked out, and she wished to bring her as yet unused guns to bear upon her foe.
As she turned Aubyn saw through his binoculars a gleaming object shoot over the German craft's side, quickly followed by another. Both disappeared in a smother of foam beneath the waves. "Hard a-port!" he shouted, knowing full well that at that moment a couple of powerful Schwarzkopft torpedoes, propelled by superheated compressed air, were heading towards the "Audax" at a rate of forty to fifty miles an hour.
Round swung the destroyer, listing under excessive helm until the deck on the starboard side dipped beneath the water. As she did so the two torpedoes could be distinctly seen, as, adjusted to their minimum depth to prevent them passing under the lightly draughted objective, they appeared betwixt the crests of the waves.
One passed fifty yards away; the other almost scraped the destroyer's quarter. Had the "Audax" not promptly answered to her helm both torpedoes would have "got home." Yet, not in the least perturbed, the British seamen continued their grim task of battering the Hun out of recognition. They worked almost in silence. Each man knew his particular job and did it. Time for shouting when the business was finished to their satisfaction.
Yet there was a regular pandemonium of noise. The hiss of escaping steam; the vicious thuds of the waves as the "Audax," at twenty eight point something knots, tore through the water under the action of engines of 14,000 horse-power; the rapid barking of the quick-firers; the sharp clang of the breech-blocks and the clatter of the ejected shell-cases upon the slippery decks—all combined to bear testimony to the stress and strain of a destroyer action. The "Audax" was the latest embodiment of naval science in that class of boat, yet without the intrepid energies of the men behind the guns, aided by the strenuous efforts of their mess-mates in the engine-room stokehold, that science would be of little avail in gaining the victory. Man-power still counts as much as it ever did, provided an efficient fighting machine is at their disposal. British Hearts of Oak are much the same as in Nelson's day—and yet the average pay of the Lower Deck ratings is about three shillings a day with no eight-hour shifts, risking life and limb for a wage at which a navvy would sneer.
And why? It is the call of the sea—a call that appeals to Britons more than to any other nation under the sun. In the piping times of peace the Navy offers unrivalled facilities for poor men to travel and see the world, it responds to their love of adventure. In wartime it calls for hard and often unappreciated work with the chance of a glorious scrap thrown in; and right loyally the Navy answers to the call to maintain the freedom of the seas and to guard our shores against the King's enemies.
By the time that the opposing vessels had steadied on their respective helms the "Audax" was steaming obliquely on her foe's broadside, sufficiently to enable three of her four guns to bear.
The Hun's fire was now slackening, and in spite of the shortness of the range, decidedly erratic. Her hull was perforated in several places, her funnels were riddled to such an extent that it seemed remarkable that they had not already collapsed. Her masts had vanished, also a portion of her bridge, while her deck was littered with smoking debris.
"Cease fire!" ordered Lieutenant-commander Aubyn as the German no longer replied to her severe punishment. What was more, her Black Cross ensign, which she had hoisted after the commencement of the engagement, was no longer visible.
Aubyn's chivalrous instincts were ill-repaid, for a couple of shells screeched through the air from the vessel which he thought had surrendered. One went wide; the other penetrated the ward-room of the "Audax," fortunately without exploding. Simultaneously a German bluejacket held aloft the tattered Black Cross emblem of unholy kultur.
In an instant the British tars reopened fire; while to make matters worse for the Huns, the "Antipas," racing up under forced draught, let fly a salvo from the three guns that could be brought to bear ahead. That settled the business. The hostile craft, literally battered out of recognition, began to founder.
"Cease fire!" Aubyn ordered for the second time within two minutes. Then, "Out boats."
It was an easy matter to order the boats away, but a most difficult task to carry the instructions into effect. The gig had been completely pulverised, while the other boats were in a more or less unseaworthy condition.
"Look alive, lads!" exclaimed a petty officer of the carpenters' crew. "T'other blokes'll be there first if we don't look out."
Hastily the holes in the bottom strakes of that particular boat were plugged, and, quickly manned, the leaky craft pushed off, the men urged by her coxswain to "pull like blazes an' get them chaps out o' the bloomin' ditch."
By this time the German torpedo-boat had vanished beneath the waves, leaving a rapidly-dispersing cloud of smoke and steam to mark the spot where she had disappeared and the heads of about twenty swimmers—the survivors of her complement.
In twos and threes the war-scarred and nerve-shattered Huns were hauled into safety, for other help from both destroyers was now upon the scene, and deeply laden the boats returned to their respective parents.
Suddenly Barcroft, who was watching the arrival of the sorry-looking crowd of German prisoners, gave vent to an uncontrolled shout of joyous surprise, for huddled in the stern sheets of the whaler were Flight-lieutenant-John Fuller and his comrade in peril, Bobby Kirkwood.
"There's precious little of report," said Fuller in reply to the skipper of the "Audax", when the two rescued officers were snugly berthed in the ward-room—warm in spite of the additional ventilation in the shape of a couple of neatly-drilled holes marking the place of entry and the point of departure of the ill-advised German "dud" shell. "We had to make a forced descent, got collared by a strafed U-boat just as we had effected repairs. The U-boat rattled herself to bits, so to speak, and had to be abandoned. I've had quite enough submarining, thank you. Give me a seaplane any day of the week, Sunday included. Then that torpedo-boat—V198's her designation—picked us up. They stowed us in the forehold and forgot to let us out when she went under. Suppose they had quite enough on their hands and clean forgot about us," he added generously, giving the kapitan-leutnant of the V198 the benefit of the doubt.
"Anyhow, there we were," continued the flight-lieutenant. "We knew the rotten packet was going, and although we yelled the racket on board prevented them hearing us, I suppose. Still, our luck was in, for a shell burst in her fo'c'sle, ripping up the deck and bursting the cable-tier bulkhead. It was pretty thick with the smoke, but we groped for'ard——"
"You hauled me for'ard, you mean," interrupted the A.P.
"Shut up!" said Fuller reprovingly. "Well, by standing on the edge of the manger we managed to haul ourselves on to the mess-deck. There we stuck till the firing ceased, and the boat's stern was well under water. Then—it was quite time for us to go, and we dived overboard. The rest you know."
"And what might you be doing on board, old bird?" asked Kirkwood addressing the overjoyed Billy.
"Passenger for the 'Hippodrome,'" replied the flight-sub.
"And it strikes me very forcibly," added Aubyn, "that at this rate I'll find all the 'Hippodrome's' birds on board this hooker. The trouble now is: how can I deliver the goods? We'll have to ask permission to quit station and return for repairs and overhaul. Another three weeks in dockyard hands, I suppose, and the fun only just beginning. Just my luck."
The skipper went on deck. There was much to be done. Although the "butcher's bill" was light, and the destroyer had sustained no serious damage to her hull—thanks to the defective German shells—the loss of the tophamper was considerable. In her present state she was unable to carry out her duties as an efficient patrol boat. With her wireless out of action she was impotent to perform the vital function of communicating with her invisible consorts. For centuries the British Navy had done very well without the aid of wireless telegraphy, but, like many other things, Marconi's discovery had come to stay. Its use enabled fewer vessels to effectually do the work that hitherto required more to perform, owing to the necessity of keeping within visible signalling distance; and a destroyer without wireless was a "dead end," in modern naval warfare.
But Lieutenant-commander Aubyn was not a man who would willingly miss the opportunity of doing his friends a good turn, provided the exigencies of the Service permitted.
Before parting company he signalled the "Antipas," which was still standing by the injured destroyer, with the result that a boat put off from the latter and came alongside.
"Look alive, you fellows!" shouted Aubyn down the ward-room companion. "If you want to get on board the 'Hippodrome' within the next few hours now's your chance. Tressidar, of the 'Antipas,' will give you a passage. That's all right: stick to that gear till you find the old 'Hippo.' I've had to borrow a kit myself before to-day."
"BEHOLD US, Tress old boy!" exclaimed Fuller, when in the privacy of Lieutenant-commander Ronald Tressidar's cabin the old chums could forget the slight differences in their respective ranks. "Three stormy petrels; nobody loves us. Kind of social pariahs, don't you know. Even the Huns wouldn't have us on two of their packets, after little Seaplane 445B slung us out. And, worse, that blighter Aubyn washed his hands of us. Suppose you'll be slinging us out next, Tress?"
"I shall be delighted," replied Tressidar. "The moment——"
"Surly old cave-dweller!" continued the flight-lieutenant. "That's what comes of being shipmates with a mouldy bird in a captive balloon. You will be delighted to—what were you saying?"
"Delighted to feed, partly clothe and certainly educate you, my festive, until we fall in with the 'Hippodrome.' This last condition doesn't apply to your companions," proceeded Tressidar. "But when or where we fall in with the 'Hippo' is a matter for sheer conjecture. I believe now this duck hunt is over (the rest of the Hun torpedo-craft bar two have been accounted for: I suppose you heard that?) the three seaplane carriers are off south to tackle this Zeebrugge business again. However, trust to luck and don't whine if it kicks you. Them's my sentiments, my dear old pal."
It was the "bar two" that kept the "Antipas" and the rest of her consorts patrolling the wild North Sea, until news had been definitely received to the effect that the forlorn pair of Hun boats had done one of three things—had been sunk, captured or had contrived to slip through the cordon into a home or neutral port.
For the next twenty-four hours nothing of incident occurred. The destroyer, maintaining her course within set limits as stolidly as a policeman on his beat, encountered little to attract the attention of her look-out. Every two hours she was in touch with her "next on station," and receiving the information that all was well and nothing doing she would starboard helm and retrace her course.
"Yes, pretty tame," commented Tressidar in reply to a remark of Barcroft's, "but we are getting quite used to it. Yesterday's scrap came as a little tonic, although we didn't have so very much to do. Aubyn had the bounder well in hand already when we came up."
"This youth," remarked Fuller, indicating the flight-sub, "is an optimist of the deepest dye. What d'ye think is his idea of penultimate bliss? Having dinner at a swagger hotel somewhere on the East Coast, with the blinds up and every available electric light switched on."
"That shows, Mr. Barcroft," said the lieutenant-commander, "that you have a pretty firm belief in the fact that the war will be over some day—unless you are prepared to shell out to the tune of fifty pounds for an offence against the Defence of the Realm Act."
"Heaven forbid, sir!" replied Barcroft. "But, personally speaking, I'm fed up with having to hang about ashore in utter darkness. It's necessary, of course."
"Of course," echoed Tressidar. "It's part of the mess of pottage we received when we sold our birthright on that memorable morning when Blériot flew across the Channel. From that hour our insular superiority was threatened not by La Belle France, though. Only the other day——"
A knock upon the door of the cabin, followed by the appearance of a messenger, interrupted the lieutenant-commander's narrative.
"Orficer of the watch's compliments, sir," reported the man, "an' there's a Danish vessel; making to the nor'-west, distant three miles."
"Very good—carry on," replied the skipper, and snatching up his cap he hurried on deck, followed by the trio of naval airmen.
The Dane proved to be a two-funnelled, twomasted craft of about 3,000 tons. On the foremost funnel and along her sides were painted her national colours, while to leave no doubt as to her identity the words "Trone—Danmark" appeared amidships in letters six feet in height.
"I've signalled to her to stop, sir," reported the officer of the watch. "Ah, there she goes—well, signalman?"
The "bunting-tosser," with his telescope glued to his eye, called out the letters of a string of bunting that rose to the "Trone's" mast head. His mate, having written various cabalistic signs on a signal-pad (the numbed state of his hands prevented his making any legible letters), hurried off to consult the International Code Book..
"Is it necessary for me to heave-to?" was the significance of the Jane's signal. "I have been examined twice already."
"Then three for luck, you bounder!" chuckled Tressidar. "Signalman, hoist the International 'I D'."
I D—signifying the peremptory order, "Heave-to or I will fire into you," was a message not to be ignored. Patches of foam under the vessel's counter and streaming for'ard past her water-line announced that her engines were going astern in order to check her way.
"Like a trip in the boat, Mr. Barcroft?" asked Tressidar, as he noticed the flight-sub regarding the boarding party with studied interest. "Very good; you may learn a few tricks of the trade."
With her guns trained upon the suspect—for experience had taught British officers that Hun raiders do not scruple to sail under neutral colours—the "Antipas" circled round the now stationary "Trone," the while maintaining a sharp look-out for hostile submarines that have a habit of keeping in touch with ships liable to examination much in the same manner as a pilot fish attends upon a shark.
"She looks quite a mild cuss," observed the sub of the duty boat to Billy, "but one never knows. A few weeks back I was boarding some old hooker. Pitch dark night and raining like blue blazes. We'd just run alongside when the blighters heaved something overboard—looked like an elephant by the size of it. Anyway, it missed us by a yard and gave us all a sousing, which we didn't mind as we were pretty wet already. Then she pushed off for all she was worth, thinking that our skipper would have to moon about and pick us up. He did," added the young officer grimly, "—after he had squared accounts with the brute—another would-be 'Moewe.' A torpedo at five hundred yards settled her. In bow!"
The bowman boated his oars, and balancing himself in the plunging bows of the little craft, dexterously secured the end of a coil of rope that was thrown from the "Trone's" deck.
Up the swaying "monkey-ladder" swarmed the British officers and men, and gaining the Dane's deck were received by the dapper, clean-shaven skipper.
"Of course, of course, I understand," replied the Dane in excellent English when the sub apologised for having had to compel him to heave-to. "Our papers are here. We are from Esbjerg to Newcastle with passengers and general cargo."
"Very good," replied the sub in charge of the boarding-party. "I'll have a squint at your papers. Say, Barcroft, would you mind examining the passengers? Try a few words of German on 'em unawares. That generally fetches the black-listers."
The civilians, to the number of nineteen, were formed upon the poop. A few bore the appearance of being respectable, the others looked utterly out-and-out scarecrows..
The "Trone's" second mate appeared with the passenger list. To Billy's surprise ten of the men were English.
"Yes; men sent back from Germany," declared the mate, who, like his skipper, spoke English fluently. "They were exchanged, and were to have travelled through Holland, but the Dutch steamers are temporarily stopped, so they came through Denmark instead."
The scarecrows greeted Barcroft with cheerful smiles as he approached. In spite of their rags, the torments of hunger and degradation that they had undergone, they were British to the core—men over sixty years of age who, deemed to be useless by the Germans, had been repatriated: living examples of the gentle and humane treatment afforded to the unfortunate captives who had the ill-luck to fall into the hands of the apostles of kultur.
Billy interrogated the men one by one. No need to doubt their words. One and all were unanimous in their story of the horrors of the famine-prisons of Germany.
"I won't ever turn up my nose at a dogbiscuit after this, sir," said one old veteran of seventy-two.
"William McDonald—where's William McDonald?" inquired Barcroft reading the names from the list.
"Here, sir."
The speaker was of different appearance from the nine. Although dressed in rough clothes his garments bore the appearance of being practically new, nor did his features betray the traces of months of semi-starvation.
"Not much to complain about," he replied in answer to the flight-sub's question. "I was at Eylau. Fair amount of food and of good quality."
"You are not sixty, by any means," said Barcroft.
"No, not fifty yet. Heart trouble—fit for nothing, so they sent me back to England."
"H'm," muttered the flight-sub.
"He's one of a few that drew a lucky number, I'm thinking, sir," remarked the man who stood next to him. "Fair slave-driven, that's what we were. But that's all over now, thank God."
The rest of the passengers passed muster. They were Danish subjects—merchants and farmers, brought over at the instance of the British Government to assist in certain transactions between Great Britain and Denmark.
"A clean bill of health," reported Billy as the destroyer's sub rejoined him.
"And all serene down below," rejoined the latter. "We'll shove off. Thanks, captain, for your assistance; sorry we had to hold you up, but we're at war, you know."
"Yes," added the Dane, "and you have our moral support. I wish that we were a bigger nation. We, too, have old scores to wipe off—my family lived at Flensburg for years until '66. Flensburg is in Germany now, but some day—who knows?"
"A good sort," announced the sub, as the boat made her way back to the "Antipas." "These Danes remember Schleswig-Holstein almost if not quite as much as the French do Alsace Lorraine. I shouldn't be surprised if they chip in just before the end, if only to get their lost provinces back. How about Denmark extending frontiers to the Kiel Canal, and making that artificial waterway an international concern, eh?"
The sight of the destroyer dipping her ensign caused both officers to turn their heads and look at the "Trone." The latter was again under way and had just rehoisted her ensign after saluting the British warship.
"I feel downright sorry for those ten Britishers," thought Billy. "Their experiences have put years on to their lives."
But, had he known, he might have made an exception; for, holding aloof from his companions, Mr. William McDonald was thanking his lucky stars that he had again bluffed the inspecting officer. Within the next twelve hours William hoped to reassume the name of Andrew Norton, trusting to his natural cunning to explain satisfactorily the reason why he left the neighbourhood of Barborough so suddenly on the night of the raid.
Evidently Siegfried von Eitelwurmer,aliasAndrew Norton, otherwise McDonald, had strong reasons for leaving his Fatherland in order to risk his life in the British Isles.
"To come straight to the point, my dear Entwistle," said Peter Barcroft. "I may say that I have two reasons for looking you up. The first is purely a matter of form—to inquire after your injured ankle. Judging by the way in which you crossed the room I think I am right in concluding that your recovery has been rapid and, I hope, permanent. No, don't limp, old man. That won't do. The second is to make inquiries respecting a donkey—to wit, one Butterfly."
"Oh!" remarked Entwistle. "Anything wrong? What are the symptoms?"
"A bad form of absentitis," replied Peter grimly. "Don't you know?"
The vet shook his head.
"Continue," he said, as he handed his tobacco-pouch to his caller.
"The brute never came back. In his hurry my son forgot to mention it—he was recalled by wire, and the young bounder never even dropped me a postcard. Now I'm on Butterfly's track. Can you assist me in my quest?"
"Sorry," replied Entwistle, taking the pouch and deliberately filling his briar. "Stay. I did mention to Billy that the animal ought to be shod. Why not inquire of the various blacksmiths on the way to Tarleigh? Let me see: there's Schofield's in Cook Street, Barnes's in Forge Lane, and Thomas's in Dyke Street—they are all just off Chumley Old Road. How did you come into Barborough—by train?"
"No, I walked as far as the tram terminus," replied Barcroft Senior.
"If you like I'll run you back in my car," suggested the vet. "We'll look the blacksmiths up on our way. Any news of your friend Norton?"
"Not a sign or a word."
"H'm!"
Entwistle shrugged his shoulders. Peter looked at him keenly.
"Why that 'h'm'?" he asked.
"Only—by the bye, have the police been informed?"
Barcroft shook his head.
"Not by me," he replied. "I'm inclined to think that he'll turn up again in a day or two. It may be a form of eccentricity encouraged by the excitement of the raid."
"Yes," agreed the vet. "Three days ago. Yes, it is quite about time he put in an appearance. Well, excuse me a moment. I'll tell Jarvis to bring the car round."
"Sure I'm not putting you out?" asked Peter.
"On the contrary—delighted. As a matter of fact, I have to see a horse belonging to a farmer over Windyhill way, so it will be killing two birds with one stone. Now for this bad case of absentitis."
Inquiries at two blacksmiths were without satisfactory result. The third, who happened to be the man who had shod the refractory Butterfly, could only state that the last he saw of the animal was that it was scampering along Jumbles Lane, and that the trap still remained in a shed in his yard.
"Th' oughtn't ta' be much trouble to trace yon animal," concluded the smith. "A champion she were-a right down champion, mark you. They may clip her coat or dock her tail or change her colour, but 'tis her size as they can't alter. Meantimes I'll keep a look-out, master, and if I hears aught——"
"Going to report the matter to the police?" asked Entwistle, as the pair re-entered the car.
"I think not," replied Peter. "It might end in the representative of the law running in every itinerant donkey owner on sight. I think I'll enlist the services of the Press to the tune of an eighteenpenny advertisement."
Outside the newspaper offices a crowd had collected to read the latest bulletin:
"Destroyer Action in the North Sea. German torpedo-boats destroyed. British Naval Airmen rescued from sinking enemy craft."
Making his way through the throng Peter entered the office, gave in his advertisement and bought a paper.
"That's great!" he ejaculated as he read the brief report. "Billy's pals, Fuller and Kirkwood, saved by one of our destroyers. By Jove, Entwistle, who says that the British Navy is sitting tight in harbour? Whenever there's an opportunity our lads in navy blue are on it."
"Then why the deuce confine the facts to a few bald lines?" asked the vet. "The job's done properly, and a stirring story it would make! Something to buck up people at home. Instead, you have to rely upon your imagination, which is apt to let you down."
"Give it up," said Peter the optimist. "All I know is that we are top dog, and everything will pan out all right in the end."
"Granted," agreed Entwistle. "The Navy's all right; the New Army is splendid—we'll muddle through somehow, in spite of the miserable legacy of the Wait and See crowd. There's a hymn beginning 'A people who in darkness sat.' That sums up the whole state of the civil population of Great Britain. To my mind the nation resembles a mass of iron filings spread out on a sheet of paper—all sixes and sevens. A magnet will instantly cause those particular pieces of metal to fly into orderly formation following the lines of magnetic force: a Man will be able to do the same with the nation, only, unfortunately, we haven't yet found the Man. We as Britons trust too much to chance—to a sort of voluntary organisation of labour. Result, every man is asking why some one else doesn't do his bit and tries to persuade himself that he is a sort of indispensable himself, I shouldn't be surprised if the war ends in a patched-up peace."
"No fear," asserted Barcroft firmly—so emphatically that Entwistle almost relaxed his grip upon the steering wheel and narrowly avoided collision with a brewer's dray. "There'll be nothing of the sort. The men who are now fighting mean to see the business through and not leave the horrors of war to be repeated with triple violence as a legacy to their children and their children's children. It's got to be done—and done it will be, even if it takes another two years."
When in due course the car arrived at the narrow lane leading to Ladybird Fold, Entwistle, somewhat to his companion's astonishment, insisted upon driving right up to the house.
"No hurry," commented the vet. "I like taking a car along a tricky path. Hullo! there are your dogs, Barcroft. They seem to know that I'm something in the animal line, and wish to be run over in order to give me a job."
The car came to a standstill at the house. Peter descended, to be overwhelmed with the noisy and frantic attentions of Ponto and Nan.
"Come in," he said, "May as well have tea with us."
"Thanks, I will," replied Entwistle; then pointing in the direction of "The Croft," the tiled roof of which was just visible above the ridge of a hill, "Is that where Norton hangs out? I've heard of the place. What sort of a show is it?"
"Come and see for yourself," said Barcroft. "There'll be time for a stroll before tea. I have the key, thanks to the magnificent condescension of Mrs. What's-her-name, Norton's generalissimo and domestic help. Why are you anxious to see the place? Thinking of renting it and being my nearest neighbour if Norton fails to return?"
"Perhaps," laughed Philip Entwistle. "When I retire, and I cannot see myself doing that yet."
"I wouldn't," said Peter gravely. "Retirement is a rotten state for a professional man to enter into. Sudden dislocation of his routine, nothing to occupy his mind—result, he generally pegs out in a couple of years. I've noticed it scores of times."
"It's all very well for you literary fellows to talk," protested Entwistle. "You can never complain of overwork."
"There you are mistaken," said Barcroft. "I admit I slack off a little now, but at one time I dare not. It may seem easy for a fellow to knock off a couple of thousand words a day, but try it for a year and see how it feels. Remember, it isn't the actual work of putting pen to paper. One has to think, and think jolly hard. Do you remember some years ago a man tried to cover a thousand miles in a thousand consecutive hours? One mile an hour day and night. Doesn't seem much, but imagine what it means."
"You seem to have done pretty well out of it," remarked Entwistle.
"It took some doing," confessed Peter. "I can recall a certain Christmas Eve when, with two other congenial spirits, I sat in a fireless attic in Town. We were literally on our beam ends—too jolly proud to sample the fatted calf that awaited us in our respective parents' homes. I think we had sevenpence halfpenny between us."
"Sounds cheerful."
"Precisely. However, being fresh-air fiends even in those days, we had left the window open——"
"And some philanthrophic soul threw in a big parcel of provender?"
"Into the attic window of a six-storeyed house? Hardly. No; a pigeon flew in. It never flew out again, for in less than twenty minutes it was roasting in front of the landlady's kitchen fire. That same evening one of my companions in distress received an unexpected guinea for a pot-boiler, and there was no longer famine in the land."
The two men had now climbed the hill and were outside the front door of The Croft. The house was considerably smaller than Ladybird Fold, although built on the same principle. At one time it had been a farm house, but most of the outbuildings had been removed. Standing on higher ground it commanded even a more extensive outlook than that enjoyed by the Barcrofts; in fact, almost the whole of Barborough could be discerned.
Within, the place was plainly furnished. The ground floor consisted of stone flags on which were spread large mats. The fireplace was large and at one time boasted of a chimney corner and settle. In the grate a fire had been laid in anticipation of Mr. Norton's return.
"I'm just going upstairs to shut those windows," said Peter. "I suppose Norton's D.T. forgot to close them. Do you want to have a look round the upper rooms?"
"Not with this ankle. It feels a bit painful," replied Entwistle. "If you don't mind I'll wait here."
Directly he heard the sound of Barcroft's footsteps through the raftered ceiling Entwistle stole softly to the desk that stood in the corner of the room. Slipping on a pair of thin gloves and producing a bundle of keys from his trouser's pocket he set deliberately to work to open the locked drawers, for in contrast to Peter Barcroft's easy-going methods Andrew Norton had locked everything up, notwithstanding his supposedly temporary visit to Ladybird Fold on the night of the raid.
In less than thirty seconds Entwistle had the desk open. Deftly he went through a pile of papers, as brazenly as Andrew Norton had examined the manuscript on Peter's bureau. In quantity there was very little: a small batch of tradesmen's receipts, a notebook half filled with calculations evidently referring to electrical problems, a few letters that seemed of no interest except to the writers and their recipient, and an unfinished manuscript written on two sheets of foolscap, the opening sentences of which were as follows:
"Whenever you have an opportunity of visiting Dartmoor I should strongly advise you to take it. It is fairly easy to reach from Plymouth. Even in the depth of winter the rugged uplands have their charm. When last in that neighbourhood I took coach to Totnes: Every few hours a boat runs to Dartmouth. If tide permits, I ought to add. The Dart is a charmingly picturesque river. In the town itself there is much to be seen. Several of the old houses, especially in the Butter-walk, are worthy of close inspection. The castle is open to visitors. Every facility for tourists and visitors in the town. Some fishing to be had in the river. Better hauls are to be obtained in Start Bay. It is advisable to take a professional boatman, as the tide is tricky and at times dangerous. Sailing boats can be hired by the day or hour. Zealous devotees of the piscatorial art will have no cause to regret their choice of this fishing centre. Up the river, above Totnes, trout abound. Rules and regulations relating to the close seasons are by no means drastic."