"Conshus,Contitious,Concious."
"Conshus,Contitious,Concious."
On the other side were a number of strange-looking figures bearing some resemblance to a capital L.
"Why," said Lawless when he had recovered from his hilarity, "I was trying some days ago to spell 'conscious' and, not being quite sure about it, wrote it down different ways to see which looked right. Of course," he added confidently, "it was the last one."
"And these?" queried the officer, pointing to the straggling hieroglyphics.
"Oh, I was uncertain how to write a capitalq—I don't often write that letter as a capital—and I experimented. Those are the experiments."
"They are a secret code," said the officer accusingly.
"Secret fiddlesticks!" ejaculated Lawless.
"You refuse to decipher it?"
"Confound it all, there's nothing to decipher."
"Very well," said the officer, making a note in a little book. He then waved his hand to indicate that the examination was at an end, and a couple of soldiers, with side-arms drawn, marched the prisoner back to the little room he occupied in the prison and there left him.
On the following morning he was again brought before his examiner and again declared that the scribble had nothing to do with any code.
"You will be sent to the fortress of Glatz," said the officer.
Now, Lawless had heard quite enough about that terrible fortress in Prussian Silesia to make it, in his opinion, a most undesirable residence, and he determined to make a bold effort at escape before he got there. Unhappily, there was no prospect of his getting the ghost of a chance to escape, for he was conducted to the railway station in charge of two privates, a corporal, and a commissioned officer. For some reason they did not travel by the direct routeviaFrankfurt, but went a roundabout way through Stettin, Damm and Posen. At the last-named station they had to change trains and Lawless hoped for an opportunity to escape, but his guards never relaxed their vigilance and it was useless to try.
While they were standing on the platform waiting for the train, the Lieutenant caught sight of a man whose face seemed familiar to him. But for the life of him he could not recall where or when he had seen the owner of the face, though he cudgelled his brains all the way to Breslau. It was dark when they reached this town, and here they had to change into a local train for Glatz. Suddenly, while crossing a bridge to another platform, Lawless again caught sight of the strangely familiar face among the crowd of people hurrying to catch the train. It disappeared from view almost immediately, but a moment later the Lieutenant heard a voice whisper in his ear:
"Take your chance and follow me."
Lawless turned his head sharply and saw that the speaker was none other than the man whose face had been haunting him.
It was all very well to say "take your chance" but, so far as Lawless could see, there was no chance to take. Then suddenly there was a commotion among the people in front of him, a wild scramble as if someone had dropped a purse and everybody was fighting to obtain it. Both the prisoner and his guards were almost swept off their feet and then Lawless took his chance. Diving down, he simply butted a way through the mob, thanking his stars that he had once been centre forward in a county football team. At the end of the bridge he caught sight of his unknown friend descending the stairs and followed him as quickly as he could. Behind him he could hear the shouts of his guards and the angry expostulations of the people whom they were thrusting aside in their endeavour to catch the runaway. Fortunately he was wearing a civilian great-coat—one given him when he had been brought ashore from the submarine—and so there was nothing in his appearance to distinguish him from the other people with whom he mingled.
The man he was following passed through a door leading from the platform and Lawless, entering after him, found himself in a small office, evidently used by some of the railway officials. The stranger locked the door and then faced the Lieutenant.
"So we meet again," he said. "Last time it was in mid-ocean and now——" he shrugged his shoulders.
In a flash, Lawless remembered who the man was. He was the German-American spy who, with Cassidy's assistance, he had rescued from the torpedoedNimrodand afterwards unwittingly allowed to escape with a loan of five pounds.
"You saved my life and gave me my liberty," went on the man, "though had you known who I was the result might have been different. However, the fact remains and now I am going to do my best to repay the debt. I——"
He was interrupted by a knocking at the door and voices without shouted something Lawless could not understand. His rescuer replied, the knocking ceased and he turned once more to the Lieutenant.
"That has put them off the track for a little while, at any rate," he said. "Now you see that window? Well, outside it is a large siding for goods trains. One is loading now for Stettin, and, if you are careful—and lucky—you can creep under a tarpaulin on one of the trucks and remain there till the train reaches its destination. There your real difficulties will begin, for you'll have to smuggle yourself aboard a Norwegian or Swedish steamer and get to a neutral port. I have done as much as lies in my power."
Lawless abruptly held out his hand.
"You're a white man," he said. "By Jove, I never expected it from a Hun!"
"And now you must get off before those fellows come buzzing round here again." He crossed to the window and opened it. "There's your road," he said, and at the same time pressed a wad of paper money into the Lieutenant's hand.
Lawless climbed over the sill and dropped gently to the ground, only a few feet below. Then the window above him was closed and he started to creep along under the shadow of the wall, for the yard was lit up by electric arc lamps. Then a new dilemma faced him. Instead of one goods train there were three, and, of course, he had no means of finding out which of them was bound for Stettin.
"Well, here goes," he murmured desperately, and selected the longest train as the one most likely to be bound for the Baltic port.
So, creeping under trucks, stealthily crossing lines and avoiding all brightly illuminated spots, he at last reached the train he had selected without attracting the attention of the workpeople, many of whom were women. Climbing into a truck, he drew the tarpaulin over his head and settled down on the edge of a packing case.
"Any way, I'm not going to Glatz this trip," he thought.
He must have been crouching there for about half an hour and was beginning to drop off into an uneasy doze, when there was a terrific jolt and his head came into contact with a cask. Then, as the jolts continued, gradually becoming less violent, he knew that the train was starting on its journey.
From speculating as to his probable destination, Lawless gradually dropped off to sleep, and was only awakened by another series of jolts and jerks. Cautiously lifting his head from under the tarpaulin he saw that the train had come to a standstill on some sidings and that it was nearly daylight. Realising that if he did not want to be discovered there was no time to lose in getting away, he clambered out of the truck and slipped across the sidings to a low fence, over which he climbed.
"Now where the devil am I?" he muttered.
He was standing on a narrow footpath situated, apparently, on the outskirts of a town, the lights of which he could see in the distance. The air was chill and he shivered, becoming aware at the same time that he was ravenously hungry. Then, from a field about half a mile away, he saw a column of smoke rising, and noticed what seemed to be two or three caravans drawn up in line. It occurred to him that this must be the temporary encampment of some nomad family who, in all probability, were preparing their morning meal before proceeding on their way. The idea held him.
"I've got to raise some grub somehow," he told himself.
He carefully considered the matter, and came to the conclusion that he would stand less chance of being betrayed by such wanderers as these—almost outlaws themselves—than by more virtuous and respectable folk. He thereupon proceeded towards the encampment and, as he approached, an appetising smell assailed his nostrils and made him feel still hungrier. Vaulting over a hedge, Lawless came upon a very dirty but very picturesque ruffian, attired in the manner of a musical-comedy bandit, who was engaged in taking a captured rabbit from a wire noose. At sight of the stranger, he sprang to his feet, but Lawless made pacific gesticulations and intimated, by the simple means of pointing first to his mouth and then to his stomach, that he was hungry. Thereupon the bandit person grinned affably, and made a sign indicating that his new acquaintance was to follow him.
On arriving at the camp Lawless discovered that the aroma which had so tickled his nostrils emanated from a large iron pot suspended over the fire. Round this were several ragged children heaping on sticks, and near the caravans a group of men and women putting the finishing touches to an extremely primitivetoilette. The Lieutenant's guide went up to them, and for some moments they all talked at once in an uncomprehensible jargon, at the same time casting inquisitive and half-suspicious glances at the uninvited guest.
Eventually they seemed to accept him, and, seating themselves round the fire, signed the Lieutenant to do the same. These people, as a matter of fact, were Silesian gipsies and hereditary foes to law and order, wherefore perhaps they felt a certain sympathy towards the dishevelled and hungry stranger who was almost as dirty as themselves.
A few moments later Lawless was eating ravenously of a savoury mess out of a tin plate with his fingers—knives and forks, apparently, were regarded by these people as among the superfluities of life. When he had eaten his fill Lawless speculated as to where he was. There was no sign of any docks or shipping, and he began to doubt whether he had reached Stettin after all. He decided to try, by means of signs and gesticulations, to make these people understand that he wanted to know where he was.
It proved a long, wearisome, and almost hopeless task, but at last he succeeded.
"Glatz," said the man upon whom he had been experimenting.
"Glatz!"
The man nodded.
"Well, I'm jiggered!" exclaimed Lawless under his breath.
He had contrived to escape from his guards, elude recapture, stow himself away on a train—only to find himself in the very place he had risked so much to avoid.
"Damn!" he remarked aloud.
Then, realising that it might be dangerous to hang about in the open fields, he rose to his feet. Possibly he might come across some empty barn or building where he could lie concealed till nightfall. At any rate, since he had made his escape at Breslau, it was there that the authorities would concentrate their search; certainly they would not suspect that he had gone on to Glatz. And then the question arose, how was he to reach Stettin?
He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out the notes which his mysterious friend had given him and handed one to the gipsy. Its equivalent in English currency was a little less than a pound, and his benefactor stared in open-mouthed astonishment, first at the note and then at him. For a minute Lawless thought that he had unwittingly insulted the man, but he was wrong there; neither pride nor sensitiveness are among the failings of the Silesian gipsies. The man merely thought that his guest was a benevolent lunatic.
So, after shaking hands and exchanging grins all round, Lawless departed and, taking chance as his guide, hurried off in the opposite direction to the town, carefully avoiding all footpaths. At last he came to a deserted windmill and, going inside, prepared to wait there till it was dark enough to make further investigations.
Throughout the whole of the day, which seemed like an eternity, Lawless did not see a single soul, though he frequently surveyed the landscape through the numerous apertures in his hiding-place. Long before it became dark he grew hungry again, and cursed his want of forethought in not having demanded some bread and cheese in exchange for the note he had handed over. Eventually, pressed by his inward pangs, he stealthily crept out of the ruin, and, foraging in the immediate neighbourhood, discovered a field of turnips. He pulled up several and returned with them to the mill; they were better than nothing, after all.
At last twilight came, and following that the night, dark and starless. Then the Lieutenant emerged from his hiding-place, and, standing in the middle of the field, wondered what direction he should take. He had no compass, of course, and the country around was an uncharted sea to him. Presently he noticed in the far distance a bright light shining, and, for no particular reason, set off in that direction. As he advanced the light suddenly disappeared nor did it blaze out again during the rest of his tramp.
"Funny," he murmured. "It wasn't a searchlight, and it couldn't very well be a signal."
After about an hour's walk, he found himself near a large enclosure with a long shed in the centre surrounded by a number of small huts. Also he caught sight of a dim figure pacing mechanically to and fro some distance in front of him and outside the enclosure—obviously a sentry. At first he thought it must be a prison encampment and was about to move stealthily away again, when the bright light which had first attracted his attention, suddenly lit up the enclosure. It came from a large arc-lamp suspended from a high wooden erection, and in the glare Lawless recognised the shed as an aeroplane hangar. Evidently, therefore, this was an aviation station, and the light served as a guide to the homeward bound machines. This view was confirmed a few moments later when there came the sound of a distant hum which gradually grew louder and more distinct.
Lawless, impelled more by curiosity than anything else, crawled nearer to the enclosure and took "cover" behind a pile of wooden stakes which were being used in the repairing of the palisades. The sentry had ceased his monotonous pacing to and fro, and now stood, resting on his rifle, looking skywards in the direction of the approaching aeroplane. At last it came into view, flying rather low, and then the pilot volplaned to the ground, alighting within the enclosure and bringing his machine to a standstill not twenty yards from the spot where the Lieutenant was concealed. The aviator sprang out, followed by the observer, and they both hurried towards one of the huts, leaving the machine where it stood.
It was at this moment that a brilliant idea occurred to Lawless. Why shouldn't he commandeer the machine and make his escape that way? With him, to think was to act, so, not waiting to weigh the chances, he crept from his hiding-place, darted across the grass while the sentry's back was towards him, and climbed into the machine. He started the engines, the machine began to move with increasing speed along the level, and then rose into the air. So far he did not appear to have attracted the attention of the sentry, who, not having seen him get into the aeroplane, no doubt supposed that the pilot was off on another flight. But, as the machine rose, Lawless caught sight of the pilot emerging from the hut; nothing happened for fully a minute and then he heard the crack of a rifle. By this time, however, he was out of danger, and, though a searchlight waved frantically skywards it never once focussed itself upon him.
The distance from Glatz to Stettin is about two hundred miles as the crow flies, and, with the aid of the chart and compass he found in the machine, Lawless hoped to steer a fairly accurate course. He knew that machines would set off in pursuit, but their pilots had first to find and then to overtake him—and he already possessed a pretty good start. His chief anxiety now was that the petrol supply would run out before Stettin was reached, for the gauges were running low.
About an hour later he passed over a brilliantly lighted town, which he took to be Leignitz, and, later on, another one which, according to the chart, should be Frankfurt-on-Oder. Then, when he was close upon Stettin, the petrol began to give out and there was nothing for it but to come down—an extremely difficult task to accomplish safely on a dark night and in an unknown tract of country.
At last he thought he could see a stretch of land free from obstructions and, deciding to venture, he made a volplane downwards. But as ill-luck would have it the machine collided with a tree and, turning turtle, pitched the daring aviator out. His fall, however, was broken by the branches, and he scrambled to his feet little the worse except for a few bruises and scratches. On the ground, a few yards away, lay the aeroplane a hopeless wreck.
"Rather a pity," he murmured as he glanced at the débris, "but it was smashed in a good cause."
He was about to move away in order to seek some place of concealment—for a light streak in the eastern sky warned him of approaching dawn—when his foot struck something. Stooping down he saw that it was a leather wallet, and concluded it must have formed part of the aeroplane's equipment. Thinking it might contain a map of the surrounding country, he picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket.
It was barely light when, by devious routes, he reached the docks and saw, among other vessels, a small steamer flying the Danish flag. Thinking that money might be useful at this juncture, he put his hand in his pocket expecting to find the remaining notes. But, to his astonishment, they were not there, nor could he find them on any other part of his person. The only possible conclusion was, that the hospitable gipsy, to whom he had given one of the notes, had picked his pocket of the remainder almost immediately afterwards. However, it was no use worrying now, and he decided to chance his luck. He succeeded in boarding the Danish steamer without attracting attention, and at once sought an interview with the skipper. The latter, happily for him, had served in the British Mercantile Marine and was a pronounced anti-German, so it did not take very long to settle matters to the satisfaction of both parties. In due course, therefore, Lawless reached Copenhagen, where, by the good offices of the friendly skipper, he was transferred to another vessel bound for London.
It was just a week after his capture that Lawless landed at the wharf just below London Bridge. Though he looked and felt more like a tramp than an officer of the British Navy, he made straight for Whitehall and, after a short but sharp altercation with some minor officials, found himself in the presence of a certain admiral whose name is anathema to the whole German nation.
With extreme brevity the Lieutenant described his adventures since his capture by the submarine, and then laid before the admiral the contents of the wallet which had fallen out of the wrecked aeroplane. To the uninitiated the papers Lawless produced would have been meaningless, but to the admiral they were of the utmost value, containing, as they did, secret information concerning the enemy's naval plans.
A few days later Lawless, who had been ordered to rejoin theKnatpending further instructions, received an official communication from the Admiralty.
"This," he said complacently as he opened the envelope, "means promotion."
The letter, after the usual coldly-polite preliminaries, went on as follows:
"The Admiralty desire to commend Lieut.-Commander Lawless for having obtained the information duly placed before them. They cannot, however, grant any extension of leave under present conditions. Enclosed is a cheque for three shillings and sixpence (3s. 6d.), being the sum expended by him on victuals while in possession of the information above referred to, and, therefore, on Government service."
"Well, if that doesn't absolutely take the bun!" ejaculated Lawless, and passed the epistle on to Trent.
"H'm!" grunted the latter when he had perused it.
"They're not even going to make good the kit I lost when theLake Killarneywent down!"
"Still," said the sub-lieutenant, "virtue is its own reward, you know."
"Damn," said Lawless, and pitched the missive through the open port hole.
The manners and customs of the Powers that Be may puzzle the ordinary man, but those whose duty it is to serve the said Powers know that their inconsistency is consistent—which is really not such a paradox as it sounds. Because of this and of the water-tight compartments into which the administrative body is divided, a number of destroyers was patrolling Irish waters at the same time that the High Olympians were, to all appearances, blandly unconscious of the German intrigue with certain Irish malcontents. Among this flotilla was theKnat, and her orders were to keep a sharp look-out for gun-runners, who, if rumour did not lie, were extremely busy about this time.
Nevertheless, although Lawless had been on duty for over a fortnight, not the ghost of a gun-runner had he, or any of his crew, seen, and the monotony of the work was becoming extremely irksome to all. One afternoon Lawless left Sub-Lieutenant Trent in charge of the bridge, and, going below, solaced himself with music and song till the bass string of his banjo snapped. It was at this moment that a bridge-messenger appeared with a "Beg parding, sir, but you're wanted on the bridge."
With a sigh of resignation, the Lieutenant flung his banjo on the settee and made his way to the bridge.
"Thought you'd like to have a squint at that Norwegian packet over there," said Trent, indicating a cargo steamer some distance off on the port bow with the Norwegian colours painted conspicuously on her hull amidships.
Lawless picked up the glasses and examined the approaching vessel.
"Signal her to stop," he said. "I'll board her myself and have a peep round; it'll be something to do."
The signal was made and the steamer immediately hove-to. Then a boat was lowered from theKnat, and, with Lawless in the stern-sheets, pulled towards the stranger.
"What ship are you?" called out the Lieutenant, as the boat came alongside.
"Krajero, Boston for Stavanger, with wheat," answered the officer on the bridge.
"I'm going to board you," said Lawless, whereupon the skipper of theKrajeroobligingly lowered an accommodation-ladder over the side for the convenience of his visitor.
Upon examination, the ship's papers proved to be in order, but Lawless, determined to leave nothing to chance, ordered the hatch-covers to be removed. The captain complied, and the Lieutenant was permitted to look into the holds, both of which had loose grain up to the combings.
"You can proceed, Captain," said Lawless.
"Tanks, ver goot," answered the skipper, and, as soon as the Lieutenant had regained his boat, resumed his course.
"Nothin' doing," said Lawless, when he returned to theKnat. "Business is dull, Trent."
The junior officer agreed. He had hoped that the Norwegian might prove to be a gun-runner or a disguised German commerce destroyer, or anything, in fact, that might have afforded a little excitement and a chance for a run ashore.
"I s'pose we'll just keep on footling about here till the blooming war's over," he growled. "Then someone'll wake up suddenly and discover that there's an obsolete destroyer with a crew of greybeards beating about the Irish coast."
But he was wrong there, as events soon proved. A couple of hours after Lawless had boarded the Norwegian steamer, a wireless message was received from the Captain of the cruiser-scout,Trojon, inquiring if a vessel called theKrajerohad been sighted.
"Tell him 'yes,' and that, after examining her papers and cargo, I allowed her to proceed," said Lawless to the operator.
The message was duly transmitted, and a few minutes later a reply came:
"Captain ofTrojonto Commander ofKnat. Have stopped steamerKrajero, and, on examination, found that beneath her cargo of grain was a large number of mines, which she intended sowing in the Channel."
"Well, I'm damned!" ejaculated Lawless when he had read the message.
"No promotion this trip," commented Trent grimly.
Lawless, who was almost dancing with rage, tore the paper into shreds and cast them to the four winds of heaven.
"It'll be the talk of the Fleet!" he cried. "Every mother's son from the stokers to the Admiral will be sniggering over it, curse them. It shan't happen again, though! I'll search every boat I meet, from a dinghy to a liner. Lord, to think I've been bamboozled by a swab of a make-believe Norwegian skipper with a six-inch grin across his mug!"
He continued in the same strain for some time, vowing vengeance on all skippers who should henceforth attempt to deceive him in any manner whatsoever. Trent had much ado to keep from laughing, but as he was of a smaller stature than Lawless he deemed it safer to maintain a serious aspect.
But worse was to follow. Other ships had picked up theTrojon'smessage, and their captains took advantage of this to send ironic messages of congratulation to the luckless commander of theKnat. For some time the wireless operator was kept busy receiving and transcribing such messages as:
"Well done,Knat!"
"Is it true that you've been promoted?"
"What is the difference between a bushel of wheat and a contact-mine, and if not why not?"
At last Lawless could stand it no longer and, almost foaming at the mouth, hurried to the operator's room.
"Look here!" he shouted, "if you take down any more of those infernal messages I'll have you put in irons. Understand?"
"Yes, sir," answered the operator meekly.
The Lieutenant savagely stamped down the little iron ladder and gazed wrathfully around to see if any of the men had the suspicion of a grin on his face. But the men's countenances were almost preternaturally serious as they busied themselves with little odd jobs about the deck.
"What's the matter with the men, bos'n?" he growled. "They look like a company of funeral mutes."
"Oh, they're quite cheerful, sir," answered the bos'n apologetically. "I think the weather's a bit oppressive, sir."
Lawless went back to his cabin and found Trent on the settee, doubled up with laughter.
"Hullo, what's the matter with you?" he snapped.
"Read this," answered the Sub-Lieutenant, handing him a piece of paper; "it came just as you went on deck."
Lawless took the paper and read:
"KitetoKnat. When is a mine most to be feared? Answer: when it goes against the grain."
"Trent, I'll——," began the victim, but the junior officer had bolted on deck before the threat was finished.
To complete the Lieutenant's discomfiture, a message was received that night from the officer commanding the flotilla censuring Lawless for allowing theKrajeroto proceed on her way without having thoroughly overhauled her cargo.
"That puts the lid on it," groaned the unhappy Lieutenant as he turned-in to try and forget his sorrows in sleep.
The result of all this was that, during the next few days, Lawless became the best-hated man in those waters. Not a ship came within sight but she was stopped and her cargo examined with irritating minuteness while the skipper stood by, helpless, but vowing to deluge the Admiralty with complaints. In his zeal Lawless as good as accused quite innocent passengers of being disguised Germans, much to the indignation of the parties concerned, who promised that the authorities should hear about his "unwarrantable officiousness and insulting behaviour," with much more to the same effect. And the worst of it was that he never once came across a trace of contraband for all his trouble.
But one evening, about a week after theKrajeroepisode, something did occur to break the monotony of searching harmless vessels and listening to the deep-throated profanities of outraged skippers. Lawless, being on the bridge scanning the horizon with his glasses, caught sight of a large motor fishing smack in the distance and, close alongside her, something which looked remarkably like the conning tower of a submarine. In another moment he had altered the course and was bearing down on her at full speed, the men standing by their guns, delighted at the prospect of a "scrap."
"It's aUboat sure enough," said Lawless, handing the binoculars to Trent.
"Yes, and she's holding up that fishing boat; trying to get information, I suppose."
Unfortunately, the submarine was well under the lee of the smack, and a shot at that distance was as likely to hit one as the other.
"Better hold your fire till you get a bit nearer, Trent," said Lawless reluctantly.
As the distance lessened, a puff of smoke issued from the vicinity of the submarine and a shell whistled over theKnat'sbridge.
"Plant one in her conning tower," shouted Lawless to the chief gunner, who stood by the quick-firer just below the bridge. If the smack were hit it couldn't be helped; the risk must be taken.
There was a deafening report and, when the smoke cleared away the submarine had entirely disappeared. The inference was that she had submerged without suffering injury, for had the shot struck her she would certainly not have sunk as rapidly as all that.
"She's given us the slip all right," muttered the Lieutenant bitterly, and the gunner below the bridge echoed his remark in more pungent terms.
As the destroyer came up, a man on the smack's deck—obviously the skipper—hailed her.
"Can ye give us a tow?" he shouted.
"Cast a line aboard as we pass you," answered Lawless, for he knew better than to stop and parley while an enemy submarine was around waiting for a chance to discharge a torpedo.
Accordingly, a line attached to a towing rope was thrown from the smack to the destroyer as the latter surged past, and a minute or two later the fishing boat was heeling along in her wake. The skipper, standing in the bows, yelled the information that he had been held up by the submarine while trying to repair a defect in his engines. TheUboat commander, after seizing his small stock of petrol, was questioning him concerning the whereabouts of a British cruiser known to be in these waters, when theKnatappeared. At sight of her the German officer jumped back on board his boat and, after firing one shot, closed the conning tower hatch. He, the skipper of the smack, could not say whether the destroyer's shot had taken effect, but was inclined to think that it had not.
With the derelict boat still in tow, Lawless put into the harbour of a small fishing village between Clonakilty and Castle-townsend, just as it was getting dark. There the tow rope was cast off and the skipper was told to come aboard theKnatas soon as he had dropped anchor some thirty yards or so distant.
The order having been carried out, the skipper duly came aboard and was invited into the cabin. Here he proceeded to give a fuller version of his encounter with the submarine. The German commander, he said, had given him and his crew three minutes in which to leave the smack, and they were about to get their boat out when theKnatarrived on the scene and saved the situation.
"Well, skipper, you'd better stay and have some dinner with us," said Lawless, when the skipper had finished his story.
"'Tis meself that'll be delighted to do that same, ye'r honour," answered the fisherman—an elderly man with twinkling grey eyes.
He proved to be a most interesting, if somewhat unpolished, guest, and kept the two officers in an almost continual state of mirth with his quaint anecdotes and stories. Not only that, but he was amazingly frank and cheerfully confessed that, in the early days of the National Volunteer movement, he had been profitably engaged in smuggling arms into Munster.
"And now?" queried Lawless.
The old man shook his head knowingly.
"Shure, you fellows have spoilt the game entoirely," he answered. "The risk is too great and, be the same token, I'm getting too old for that business."
"But you know something about it," suggested the Lieutenant.
The skipper winked.
"Now look here," went on Lawless, "I don't ask you to betray your friends, but just give me a hint—you understand?—and if it leads to anything I'll see that you lose nothing by it."
"Is it afther timpting me ye'd be, sorr?" asked the skipper with seeming indignation.
"I'm merely suggesting you should give me a hint."
"An' phwat 'ud become of me if the bhoys got wind of it, will ye tell me?"
"There's no reason why they should. You may be sure I shall never breathe a word."
After a few moments' reflection the skipper looked cautiously round the cabin and then leant over the table to Lawless.
"Have ye iver heard tell av Mike Mahoney, sorr?" he asked in a whisper.
"Rather! He's supposed to be the cleverest gun-runner in the south of Ireland."
"Ye may say so, an' he's a black-hearted son av Satan; he is that. He's owed me three pounds since St. Patrick's Day two years gone, and it's meself that's niver loikely to see the colour av it. Now I'd be glad to have ye take a rise out of that blackguard."
"Tell me where he's to be found."
"Has ye'r honour heard tell av a little fishing village be the name av Ballyoon betwixt here and Mizzen Head?"
"No, but I'll soon find it."
"Then it's there that Mahoney—may the divil get his sowl—has his headquarters. Many's the noight that he's crept up past Sherkin Island an' into Roaringwather Bay wid a cargo of rifles and ammunition."
"Then it's his regular port of call, so to speak?"
"Indade it is. Divil a wan, save the bhoys, suspect it, least av all the Rivinue people, and it's a nice little fortune Mike's been piling up for himself, so it is. More'n wance he's said to me, 'Pat Rossan,' he's said, 'ye're an old hand at the game. Phwy don't ye jine in wid me and the rist av the bhoys?' But I'm too old for that now, as I tould him, and I don't want to ind me days wid me back against a wall."
"Thanks very much, Mr. Rossan," said Lawless. "I'll see that you lose nothing by this."
"Indade I shall be glad av any little hilp ye can give me, sorr, for phwat wid submarines and restrictions there's moighty little profit to be got out of the fishing these days."
As the skipper was about to leave, Trent drew Lawless aside.
"I'd keep an eye on that old buffer if I were you," he whispered. "Ten to one he'll try to creep out to-night and warn this same Mike Mahoney."
"Good idea," answered the Lieutenant, and turned to his visitor.
"I must ask you to hoist a riding-light when you get aboard your hooker, Mr. Rossan, and keep it burning all night," he said.
"To be sure if ye'r honour wishes it," replied the skipper, and then, after shaking hands with both officers, slipped into his dinghy alongside and pulled back to his smack.
As soon as he had gone Lawless gave orders that a constant watch was to be kept on the smack's riding-light throughout the night. If it was extinguished or was seen to move towards the harbour mouth the fact was to be reported to him immediately.
It was between three and four o'clock on the following morning when the Lieutenant was wakened from a sound sleep by Trent.
"Hullo, what's the row?" he asked, drowsily.
"That blessed smack has skedaddled during the night."
"What!" ejaculated the Lieutenant, now fully awake.
"It's a fact."
Lawless sprang out of his bunk and began hurriedly to pull on his garments.
"I gave strict orders that she was to be watched all night," he said. "How is it they've been disobeyed?"
"They haven't; come on deck and see for yourself," answered Trent.
On reaching the deck Lawless saw at a glance how he had been outwitted. On the spot where the smack had been anchored floated a barrel with a tall spar stuck in it and, at the top of this, glowing dimly in the morning light, was a lantern.
"I see," he murmured.
Taking advantage of the darkness—for there had been no moon—the skipper of the smack had fixed up this dummy riding-light in order to deceive the watchers aboard the destroyer and then extinguished the real one. This done, he must have got a row-boat with muffled oars to tow him out of the harbour, thus obviating the necessity for using the engines and so warning theKnat'smen of his manœuvres. It was an ingenious trick, cleverly carried out.
"We must get under way at once," said Lawless. "We may catch up with the rascal and collar his pal Mahoney before he has time to warn him. Evidently that's his dodge."
Half an hour later theKnatwas steaming in a westerly direction with the Lieutenant on the bridge, scanning the coast-line through his glasses. Presently a smudge was seen against the horizon and this gradually resolved itself into a destroyer steaming at full speed towards them. As she approached theKnata signal hoist broke at her masthead, and when within hailing distance the two vessels slowed down. The newcomer was theKiteand her commander stood on the bridge with a megaphone in his hands.
"D'you happen to have sighted a fishing smack, ketch-rigged?" he inquired.
"Seen a whole fleet of them," answered Lawless.
"The one I'm after had her number painted out and when last seen was using a brown mainsail and a staysail half brown and half white."
"Phew!" whistled Trent softly and added in a whisper to Lawless, "it's the hooker that slipped her cable last night."
The Lieutenant nodded.
"What about her?" he asked, addressing the commander of theKite.
"Why she's a gun-runner skippered by a ruffian called Mike Mahoney. We've just learnt that she took on a cargo of guns and ammunition from a German submarine yesterday and landed them early this morning in some creek near Galley Head."
"And got clear away?" asked Lawless in well-simulated astonishment.
"Yes; that chap's the most slippery cuss in all Ireland."
"I'll keep a look-out for her," answered Lawless. "Wish you luck."
And, waving his hand in farewell to theKite, the Lieutenant rang down "full-speed" and was off before the other could ask any more inconvenient questions.
"Thank the Lord he suspected nothing," said Lawless as theKitefaded away in the distance. "If it came out that I'd actually towed that Mahoney blackguard and his cargo of contraband into harbour and then let him go, there'd be the very deuce to pay."
"And to think," chuckled Trent, "that you entertained Mr. MahoneyaliasRossan to dinner! I'll bet he chortled when—"
"Mr. Trent, attend to your duties," snapped Lawless and left the bridge.
Above the inky surface of the North Sea, battalion after battalion of low-lying, black clouds rolled across the moonless sky, driven by a southerly wind that frequently lashed itself into gusts and squalls of short-lived violence. Like a shadow riding the white-capped rollers, the long, low form of theKnatplunged and reeled southwards in the teeth of the rising gale, her high bows throwing up cascades of ghostly white foam each time she met the full force of an on-coming wave. Upon the quivering bridge towering above the narrow, sea-washed decks stood Lawless wrapped in a hooded "lammy" suit, which had once been white but was now the colour of a coal-sack. In front of him a quartermaster, similarly attired, gripped the little steering-wheel and gazed alternately at the illuminated compass and the tiny light at the bows that showed which way the vessel was heading.
"Ease her a couple of points," said the Lieutenant, recovering his balance after a sudden lurch which had thrown him against the searchlight apparatus.
The quartermaster gave the wheel a twist, but his answering call was driven back in his teeth by a gust of rain which swept down upon the sea.
"'Ell!" he muttered, and again fixed his smarting eyes upon the tossing, swaying, illusive glimmer of light on the bows.
Lawless glanced over the man's shoulder at the compass-card and then started to walk—or rather stagger—up and down the bridge in order to exercise his cramped muscles. Each time he reached the end of the bridge he grasped the rail and tried to pierce the surrounding blackness for any sign of a vessel, friendly or otherwise, but without success, because it was impossible to see more than a few yards ahead even between the rain squalls. Presently he bent down, glanced at the illuminated dial of his wrist-watch, and swore softly. There was still another half hour before his junior officer was due to relieve him on the bridge.
But at last there came the sound of a bell, and before it had died away a muffled figure crawled up through a hatchway aft and proceeded to stumble and slither along the deck in the direction of the bridge. Its progress was slow and precarious, and the remarks which emerged from beneath the hood were such as will not be found in a dictionary of nautical terms. Eventually it reached the perpendicular iron ladder leading to the bridge and, mounting it, was assisted on to the platform by an unexpected lurch which landed it somewhere in the vicinity of the quartermaster's sea-boots.
"That you, Trent?" inquired the Lieutenant, gazing down upon the recumbent bundle of clothes within which was concealed the person of Sub-Lieutenant Trent.
The figure slowly scrambled into an upright position, but without ceasing to emit curses upon the universe in general and the weather in particular.
"When you've quite finished offering up praise for having been born a sailor bold I'll leave you in charge," said Lawless. "Keep a southerly course and look out for submarines."
"Submarines!" snorted the junior officer. "Why not aeroplanes as well? It'd be as easy to see one as the other a night like this."
"Well, keep a bright look-out."
"A bright look-out——" the Sub-Lieutenant's reply was drowned by another squall, and Lawless, with a sigh of relief, descended to the deck. Seeing the door of the galley open, he stepped in and demanded of the cook a mug of hot cocoa. With this between his hands the Lieutenant perched himself upon the locker and, in defiance of the rules of conduct towards subordinates as laid down by my Lords of the Admiralty, swapped weather anecdotes with the cook. Then, having finished his cocoa, he slid off the locker and started to scramble aft towards the hatch which gave entrance to his cabin. But he had not covered more than half the distance when out of the darkness came the sound of a shot.
The Lieutenant swung round, and as he did so the white beam of theKnat'ssearchlight suddenly flashed out and, after waving about like some gigantic feeler, finally came to rest at a point about fifty yards astern. Beneath its glare could be seen a small patrol steamer and alongside her with platform awash, a German submarine withU77painted on her conning tower.
Forgetting all about his much-needed rest, Lawless hastened back to the bridge. From the fact that the submarine had not torpedoed the patrol boat, he concluded that the German commander had boarded her in the hope of obtaining some information from the skipper concerning the movements of the fleet. The conning tower hatch was open and a machine-gun on the for'ard platform was trained on the boat.
As he reached the bridge, the Lieutenant leant over the rail towards the gunner in charge of the quick-firer on the forecastle.
"Blot her out!" he yelled.
The long muzzle of the machine-gun swung round, tilted up and down once or twice, and then emitted a yellow flame followed by a deep boom.
"Damn!" ejaculated Lawless, and his comment was fervently echoed by the gunner. The shot, aimed a trifle too low, had struck the water some ten yards in front of the submarine, an inaccuracy pardonable enough considering how the destroyer was pitching.
Before the gunner could elevate his weapon and while the machine-gun on the "bandstand" aft was opening fire, three men were seen to scramble over the patrol boat's bulwarks and drop on to the platform of the submarine. But thinking, probably, that the loss of three men was better than the loss of the whole crew, the commander had closed the hatch and the submarine disappeared beneath the surface as the sailors alighted on her platform. Next moment they disappeared also, dragged down by the suction of the submerging vessel.
"To think we might have bagged that swine!" growled Lawless as he proceeded to leave the bridge once more. "Just my infernal rotten luck."
His comment was echoed in varied terms by the Sub-Lieutenant, the gunner and other members of theKnat'screw. It was, to say the very least, extremely annoying.
"Stand by with life-buoys!" shouted Lawless, as he reached the deck. He wanted to rescue the Germans if possible, partly from humanitarian motives and partly because he hoped to glean some information from them.
While Trent was bringing the destroyer round to the patrol boat, the gunner still stood behind his quick-firer, cursing his luck and calling upon all the gods to witness that he would have sunk "the blighter" (i.e., the submarine) with his next shot, and Lawless leant over the deck-rail trying to catch a glimpse of the men who had vainly endeavoured to regain the submarine before she sank. He was still trying to penetrate the gloom, when a shadowy figure was swept towards him and, leaning over the rail, he made a grab at it. In doing so he overbalanced and next moment found himself amidst the dark swirl of waters striking out with one hand while with the other he clutched the jacket of the man whose life he had attempted to save.
The German, he soon discovered, was not a strong swimmer, but with a vague idea that he was rightfully his prisoner and must not be allowed to escape, Lawless still retained his hold on the fellow's jacket. He soon found that his efforts to keep afloat and assist the other to do the same were taxing his strength to the utmost. Had he abandoned the German to his fate, the Lieutenant would have stood an infinitely better chance, but such a thought never entered his mind even when he began to realise that his strength was almost spent. The patrol boat and the destroyer had disappeared from view, and not even the searchlight was visible, from which Lawless deduced that he and his companion must have been carried astern in a very strong current, which still further minimised their chances of being picked up.
At last, when it appeared hopeless to struggle any longer and he had almost resigned himself to his fate, Lawless thought he heard a harsh, gutteral voice hailing him through the darkness. With his last remaining strength he struck out in the direction from which the voice had seemed to come, and a moment later he and his companion were dragged out of the water and over a curved, slippery surface.
"Gott im Himmel!" exclaimed someone, and Lawless, raising his head, found himself sprawling upon the platform of a large submarine—the same one, he felt sure, which he had recently attempted to sink. Then the man who had given vent to the ejaculation, asked him something in German.
"Don't understand your lingo," answered the Lieutenant, dragging himself into a sitting posture and observing that his questioner was a tall man clad in oilskins and sea-boots.
"Who are you?" demanded the other, this time in fairly good English.
"Lieutenant-Commander Lawless of the British destroyerKnat. Who are you?"
"Commander Carl von Ranheim of the German Navy," answered the man, and added, somewhat unnecessarily, "you are my prisoner."
Lawless, now somewhat recovered, gripped a handrail and dragged himself upon his feet. Two sailors, he observed, were assisting the man for whom he had risked his life through the conning tower hatch. Then, looking over his shoulder, he saw the distant beam of theKnat'ssearchlight still focussed upon the patrol boat; evidently no one had seen him fall overboard nor had he yet been missed.
"Well," he remarked turning to the Commander of the submarine, "what are you going to do with me?"
"I have a good mind to send you back where you came from," answered the German officer, jerking his head in the direction of the water.
"As a reward for saving one of your men, I suppose," replied Lawless. "Well, as you seem to be afraid of even one Englishman, perhaps it is the best thing you can do."
"Afraid!" repeated the other. "Ach!but suppose I take you down below you learn our secrets, eh?"
"We've captured so many of your boats that I don't think there are many secrets left for us to learn."
"Schweinehunden——" began the German angrily, but was interrupted by another man, presumably an officer also, who emerged from the hatch. The two remained in conversation for some moments, and then the Commander again addressed his prisoner.
"I shall put you where, for a time at least, you can do no harm," he said. "The rest will depend on yourself."
A moment later Lawless felt the throb of the submarine's oil-engines and the vessel, still awash, started to plunge forward. Soaked to the skin and shivering, for the water was cold despite the fact of its being a very warm night, he hoped that the commander would offer him something hot if nothing else, but the German appeared to have no such intention. He had mounted the platform on the conning tower, where, apparently, he was giving orders to the steersman. The fact that the English officer was clinging to the handrail on the for'ard deck and almost waist-deep in water, did not seem to trouble him in the least.
The vessel surged along through the darkness, and presently Lawless became aware of a familiar sound—the weird and melancholy clang of a bell-buoy. He now knew that the submarine was heading towards the coast, and was amazed at the German Commander's temerity in venturing so near when, at any moment, the searchlight of a passing warship or patrol boat might suddenly flash out upon him. And now the mournful clang of the bell-buoy grew louder, and a fanciful idea occurred to Lawless that it was tolling for the hundreds of men who had perished in the North Sea by mine and submarine. TheUboat passed within twenty-five yards of it, then slowed down and came alongside a cage-buoy, round whose iron pillar one of the German sailors cast the bight of a rope.
"Now," said the Commander from his platform, "you can disembark."
"What?" inquired the Lieutenant, not quite grasping the situation.
"You must get on that buoy," answered the German. "If you're not washed off before morning you'll probably be rescued by one of your own ships."
Lawless, as he gazed at the plunging buoy, felt his heart sink. Tired out as he was, he strongly doubted his ability to cling on to the buoy for an hour, let alone a whole night.
"Look here," he said, "you'd much better have chucked me overboard and done with it."
"Oh no, we Germans don't murder our prisoners," replied the other sardonically. "If you get washed away, that's not my fault. As you English say, 'It's up to you.'"
"Hanged if I'll ever try to save the life of a German again," said Lawless bitterly.
"Come now, Herr Lieutenant, I can't stay here all night!" cried the Commander.
There was nothing for it but to obey, and so Lawless, with the aid of the rope, managed to reach the small, oscillating platform and grip the iron stanchion which supported the spherical cage. Then a man on the submarine gave the rope a jerk, it slipped off the buoy, and theUboat stole away in the darkness.
It did not take Lawless very long to realise the full gravity of his position. He calculated that at least six hours must elapse before it became light enough for him to see, or be seen by, passing ships, and by that time he would probably be dead. As for making signals in the darkness, that was impossible, for he had nothing to make them with—not even a revolver. There was, of course, a faint chance that theKnatmight make a search for him and perhaps discover him before it was too late, but it was far more likely that, assuming he had been drowned, Trent would proceed southwards.
Still, although he felt almost hopeless, the Lieutenant clung with grim tenacity to the iron standard, but for which he would have been washed off the slippery platform in a few moments, while across the wild waste of black waters came the dismal knell of the bell-buoy. The sound did not cheer him—in fact, it struck him as being unpleasantly prophetic.
"I wish," he murmured, "I could silence that damned thing."
Then he had an inspiration. If he could manage to swim to the bell-buoy and muffle the clapper some of the patrol boats in the neighbourhood would be bound to notice its silence and proceed to investigate the cause. The sound of the bell was of such importance to navigation in these waters that it would be missed almost immediately.
"Blowed if I don't try it," thought Lawless.
The chances of rescue by such a device might not be very brilliant, but it seemed the only thing left for him to do unless he were content to remain passively on the cage-buoy till he had to release his hold through sheer exhaustion.
The bell-buoy, he knew, was about a hundred yards distant, and in the daylight with a calm sea the swim would have amounted to nothing at all. But now the conditions were very different; he could not see the buoy and would have to guide himself entirely by the sound of the bell—added to which, the sea was rough, and he was still feeling exhausted from his recent struggle in the water. But, having decided that this was his sole remaining chance, Lawless did not hesitate and, first divesting himself of his heavy "lammys," slid into the water. The current dragged him right under the buoy, but after a struggle he managed to swim clear of it, and then struck out in the direction whence came the sound of the bell. At first he had little difficulty in making headway despite the choppy sea, but presently his stroke grew weaker, the muscles of his shoulders seemed as if they were on the point of cracking, and he found himself swallowing mouthfuls of salt water. A feeling akin to panic seized him, and he began to "dog-paddle" furiously, conscious only of a frantic desire to keep his head above the inky waves which descended upon him in an unending succession. For a moment or two he experienced all the horrors of approaching death by suffocation, and then, with a gigantic effort of will, threw off the numbing horror and struck out again with slow but steady strokes.
At last he caught sight of a dim, towering mass from whence came a harsh clang. He swam round it, and was lucky enough to encounter a large iron ring in the base, with the assistance of which he succeeded in dragging himself upon the narrow platform of the buoy. Here he remained for some moments lying on his chest, too exhausted to move. After a while, however, he recovered somewhat, though almost deafened by the clangour of the huge bell above his head. Tearing the woollen comforter from round his neck he climbed up to the bell and managed to wrap it round the clapper, thus effectually muffling it. This done, he slid down again and prepared to await whatever might happen.
It seemed to him that he had sat there for hours interminable, drenched by the waves and in peril of being washed off every moment, when he became aware of something grinding against his boots. He could not see what it was, but bending down felt with one hand and discovered a chain, which appeared to be attached to one of the ring-bolts round the base of the buoy.
"Now what the dickens is this for?" he asked himself.
A buoy, as he knew, is moored by chains attached to the bottom and not to the side, which would cause it to float askew. Besides, the chain grating against his boots was much too light to hold in position a mass weighing several tons and in weather such as this would have snapped like a thread. Therefore it was certainly not a mooring chain.
At the risk of slipping off the platform, Lawless twisted his legs round the pillar supporting the bell and, leaning forward, caught hold of the chain and tugged at it with both hands. It came in quite easily at first, and then stopped with an abruptness that nearly jerked the Lieutenant into the sea. He could see nothing, but passing one hand down the chain he felt something at the end—something large and buoyant, with sharp square edges like a box or a tank. Also he knew by the feel that it was metal.
Lawless forgot his own sufferings in contemplation of this puzzling discovery. What on earth, he asked himself, was the object of having a floating or submerged tank attached to this buoy? What did it contain? He pondered the matter for some minutes, and then, for the second time that night, had an inspiration.
It must be a secret petrol tank for the use of German submarines!
In a flash he divined the whole scheme. The bell-buoy, being such a well-known navigating mark, could not be mistaken for any other buoy in its vicinity. It was close to the English coast, and the tank attached to it could be replenished either by submarine petrol boats or by secret agents ashore—probably the former. On a dark night, such as this for instance, an enemy submarine could easily take on a fresh supply of petrol from the tank, while the latter, being submerged several feet below the surface, would not be seen in daylight. Doubtless, also, it was provided with an automatic arrangement whereby, when emptied of petrol, it became filled with sea-water, thus preventing it from floating on the surface and becoming visible. It was a most ingenious device, quite simple and, no doubt, an inestimable boon to belated enemy submarines which were running out of petrol. But the point was, having discovered this, how could he make use of it to the best advantage?
Lawless was so engrossed by this problem that he forgot to wonder whether his scheme of muffling the bell would lead to his rescue until the sound of engines in the darkness aroused him from his contemplations. Then, realising that a boat of some sort was at hand, he shouted as loud as he could. There came an answering hail out of the darkness, and next moment the Lieutenant was momentarily blinded by the dazzling rays of a searchlight turned full upon him.
"Ship ahoy!" he shouted.
"Hullo there!" came the answer. "What the devil are you doing?"
He recognised the voice of Sub-Lieutenant Trent and knew that it was theKnat'ssearchlight which was dazzling him. Then, as the destroyer drew nearer, Trent, in his turn, recognised the soaked and huddled-up figure clinging to the platform of the buoy as that of his senior officer.
"Stand by to jump aboard!" he yelled.
With considerable skill he brought the destroyer round the buoy so close that her side grated against it, and Lawless, clutching at the deck-rail, swung himself on board.
"Trent," he said, catching his astonished junior by the arm, "come with me into the chart-room, but first of all tell the steward to send me up a cup of hot coffee and rum."
When they were in the chart-room together, and Lawless was imbibing the stimulating beverage, he related between gulps his amazing adventures since falling overboard, as well as a plan for trapping submarines.
"I'm almost convinced," he concluded with cheery optimism, "that everything happens for the best after all."
"But supposing your tank theory is right," said Trent, who secretly doubted the accuracy of the Lieutenant's deductions, "how d'you know anyUboat will tap your tank to-night? Seems to me the best thing would be to wait till morning and then sink the thing."
"And lose the chance of doing in at least one enemy submarine!"
"Or we could tie up to the buoy and plug anyUboat that came up to the surface."
"Why, you fathead!" exclaimed Lawless, "if we tied up to the buoy the bally submarine might come up immediately under our keel. And if she didn't, how are we to spot her on a pitch-black night like this? You might turn on the bull's eye, but they'd spot the light through their periscope and either torpedo us or do a bunk. No, you must stick to my plan."
"H'm, perhaps you're right."
"And there'd be no sport your way."
"As to sport——" began Trent, but the Lieutenant cut him short.
"You'll carry out my instructions," he said, curtly. "Now bear down on that buoy again."
The destroyer approached the bell-buoy once more, and Lawless, having provided himself with a loaded revolver, prepared to resume his former uncomfortable post on the tiny, wave-washed platform.
"Remember," he said, when about to spring on to the buoy, "you've got to start operations before the sound of my shot dies away, otherwise we draw a blank."
He swung himself over the deck-rail, reached the buoy safely, and next moment the searchlight was switched off and theKnatdisappeared in the darkness. The first thing Lawless did was to remove his muffler from the bell-clapper so that the sound should serve as a guide to any enemy submarines that might be searching for the secret supply tank. This done, he settled down to wait, with what patience he could muster, for the arrival of his hoped-for victims.
For over an hour he remained there, half-drowned, cold and nearly deafened by the bell. Presently he began to wonder whether, after all, he might not have made a mistake in his deductions concerning the tank. It also occurred to him that if this proved to be the case and he captured nothing but a severe attack of rheumatism, he would become the laughing-stock of the Fleet. He could imagine how the story would be passed from ship to ship with suitable elaborations. "Heard about that silly ass, Lawless? Spent the whole night lashed to a bell-buoy, fishing for German submarines with a bent pin and a petrol tank for bait!"
He was still considering what steps he could take to prevent the tale of his adventures being spread abroad, when something very black and solid arose out of the water only a few yards away. Although, considering the darkness, it was quite unnecessary, he crawled round to the other side of the buoy in order to take advantage of the "cover" afforded by the pillar supporting the bell, for he knew that black object must be the conning tower of a submarine rising to the surface. Then he heard voices, and at the same moment the chain attached to the tank began to slide over his boots, showing that the Germans were hauling it alongside their vessel. The moment for action had come.
Drawing his revolver he fired it in the air, and before the report had died away the buoy and the submarine were lit up by the brilliant beam of theKnat'ssearchlight. The Germans, of whom there were several on theUboat's platform, made a simultaneous rush for the open hatch, for all the world like startled rabbits diving into their burrows. But before they disappeared inside a yellow flame flashed out from the vicinity of the searchlight, followed by a dull roar. Another and another followed in quick succession; the submarine suddenly tilted up, gave a lurch, and then disappeared for ever beneath the waters of the North Sea.
"Pity you plugged that petrol tank as well," remarked Lawless as he and Trent sat at breakfast in theKnat'scabin. "We might have used it for bait quite a number of times."
"Couldn't be helped under the circumstances. However, I suppose this'll mean promotion for you and paragraphs in the papers headed 'Naval Officer's Amazing Ruse. How a German submarine was sunk.'"
"There's my official report," said the Lieutenant, handing the other a paper.
Trent glanced through it and looked up with a puzzled expression.
"You don't mention the bell-buoy," he said.
"Trent, do you consider that, in a stand-up scrap, I could lick you?"
The Sub-Lieutenant regarded Lawless in amazement.
"Why," he answered at last, "I suppose you could. You're nearly double my weight, and you've got a longer reach."
"Because," went on Lawless, "if you ever breathe a word about the way in which I collared that submarine I'll pound you so that your most devoted aunt won't recognise her dear sailor nephew."
He rose from the table.
"Sitting on a bell-buoy catching submarines with a bent pin! Why, it'd haunt me to my dying day," he murmured as he left the cabin.