CHAPTER VIII.HOW MARK MADE HIMSELF SMALL.On hearing the gun shot, followed so quickly by the command, "Prepare to dive!" Mark Redisham knew that the strange cruiser he had seen was unquestionably an enemy, firing upon the mine-sweepers.An electric bell buzzed insistently; some one sang out: "Diving stations!" and there was a scurrying of bare feet along the narrow deck. It was useless now for him to go in search of Lieutenant Ingoldsby's binoculars. His impulse was to get off the submarine and aboard his own ship as quickly as possible. Yet for an instant he hesitated, lost in the confusion of dark passages and intricate machinery.A second shot sounded. He turned and scrambled blindly back to the companion-hatch. But here he was stopped. The steep iron ladder was occupied by an officer who was even then screwing down the fastening of the watertight hatch-cover above his head."Can't I get off, sir?" Mark cried desperately. He had no fear, even though already he heard the gurgling of the water in the ballast tanks and knew that the submarine was on the point of being submerged. He clutched at the officer's naked ankles and repeated his question:"Can't I get off, sir—on to my own ship—theDainty?"The officer, a sub-lieutenant in working kit, descended to the iron grating at the foot of the ladder."Not now," he answered quietly, as he pressed an electric switch, flooding the whole ship with light. "You must stop where you are. Sit down in that corner. Make yourself small. Don't touch anything, or you may get a nasty shock."He bent down and disappeared through what looked like an oven door in the bulkhead. Mark could see the men hurrying to their posts. Two went forward to the torpedo-tubes, one to each main ballast-tank kingston, one to the hydroplane wheel, another to the motor switches. An engineer took charge of the air-escape vents.Each kingston being opened and the water rushing in, the boat began to sink. Mark felt an uncomfortable, heaving motion beneath him. He heard the hum of machinery—the whirr of well-oiled wheels, the chunking of pistons and cranks. The Diesel engine was working whilst the conning-tower remained above the surface for the ship to get clear of the trawler alongside. Electric bells trilled their messages from the commander to the men at their various stations."Close everything!" he called aloud.The petrol engine stopped. The ballast tanks were full, and the electric motors now took up the work of sending her along. To Mark Redisham it seemed that she was going round and round in a dizzy circle, already many fathoms deep under the sea. The smell of hot oil and the heaviness of the compressed air stifled him. Yet in his eager interest in all that was happening he would not have exchanged the discomfort for ease, or the possible danger for assured safety.Suddenly, in answer to a turn of the horizontal rudder, she began to rise. Mark saw the sub-lieutenant crawl swiftly past him to the forward torpedo-chambers. Bending over, and lying on his elbows, he managed to get a sidelong glimpse into the conning-tower with its complicated network of wires, its confusion of switches, handles, levers, and brightly-polished instruments. The commander was there, he knew, although it was only now and again that Mark caught sight of the gold braid on his sleeve as he stretched out his hand to touch some switch or lever."Charge firing-tanks; flood torpedo-tubes; stand by to fire!" commanded Lieutenant Ingoldsby.The periscope was now above the surface and his eyes were upon the image of his target reflected in the mirror. He was taking aim, manoeuvring the submarine into position as if she herself were a gun. For some tense moments all was quiet but for the purr of the motor and the working of the air-compressors for charging the torpedo-tubes. Then there came a thumping sound as of a heavy door being shut. This was repeated. Two torpedoes with their mechanism adjusted had been thrust into the breach of their tubes. Mark would have given much to see how it was done. But he did not dare to move. Obeying the recommendation to make himself small, he waited breathlessly."Number one—fire!" came the sharp command.There was a violent gush as a torpedo was discharged on its errand of destruction. The whole vessel shuddered and was alarmingly unsteady until the compensating-tanks were filled and the true balance was regained. Then a second torpedo was fired. Mark listened, wondering, as the submarine dived with her nose down, if either of her weapons would strike the target at which it had been aimed. They had been fired at long range, but their rush through the water was quickly over. A low, rumbling explosion told that one of them had struck and burst against the German cruiser's bilge.The H29 remained deeply submerged, her electric motor driving her forward at ten knots speed for something like a quarter of an hour, when once more the water was blown from the tanks and she rose to bring her periscope above the surface.The sub-lieutenant was now in the conning-tower with the commander."We got her under the forward magazine," Mark heard Lieutenant Ingoldsby announce. "She's sinking by the bows. The German collier that we saw yesterday is standing by, picking up survivors. She's fitted with wireless, so we may as well keep out of sight. Carry on just as we are for another half-hour, Desmond, and shape a course for Haddisport Roads.""Yes, sir," returned Mr. Desmond. "And what about our mine-sweepers?""Oh, they are all right!" the commander signified. "I've just counted them. I don't believe any of them was hit. Lucky for them that we turned up. She'd have sunk the lot.""We've got one of the crew of theDaintyaboard of us, sir," the sub-lieutenant told him."Yes, I know," nodded the commander; "it's young Redisham. I sent him below for my binoculars. If you sight his ship, we'll put him back."Mark stood up and saluted him as he came out into the hatchway."I hope I'm not very much in your way, sir," he faltered."Not at all," smiled Mr. Ingoldsby; "although we haven't much room to spare on a ship like this, as you can see. But don't stay here in the gangway. Come along with me. Mind you don't knock your head, and don't touch any of the switches."He led the way through an intricate passage into the engine-room: an open space that could hardly be called a cabin, where men were at work with the electric motors. Here he paused to glance at a gauge."You've done very well, shipmates," he said, nodding his approval. "You've sent a German cruiser to the bottom—an old ship, it is true; but she'll do no more mine-laying mischief, and I'm just as pleased with you all as if she had been a Dreadnought. Jardine," he added, pushing open the door that gave entrance to his cabin. "Shaving water, and then breakfast."CHAPTER IX.AN EXPERT IN MINE-SWEEPING.Mark took up his stand in the only corner he could see where there was no machinery, and feasted his curious eyes on everything within their range—the hammocks slung from the steel cross-beams, the safety-helmets hanging near, the controls of a multitude of electrical devices, the wheels governing the rudders, and the great array of enclosed cylinders and accumulators.At the far end was an electric cooking apparatus at which the cook had already resumed his interrupted work of preparing the officers' breakfast. From a small boiler, Jardine filled a silver jug with hot water, which he carried into the commander's cabin.On his return, Jardine went up to Mark and said: "The commander wants you."Mark was shown into the state-room and was surprised to find it so large and comfortable. Lieutenant Ingoldsby stood before a tiny dressing-table, lathering his face."Have you seen my aunt lately, Mark?" he questioned. "Is she nervous, living alone there on the cliff?""I saw her the night before we sailed," Mark answered. "She came in to bid good-bye to father. Yes, sir, I believe she is a bit nervous. She thinks there's sure to be an invasion, and that a whole army of Germans will come over in Zeppelins and flat-bottomed boats, guarded by submarines and Dreadnoughts. She said something about going inland to Bath or Buxton.""Not very complimentary to the British Navy, eh?" laughed Mr. Ingoldsby, stropping his razor. "I hope Major Redisham reassured her. Tell me something about this mine-sweeping business, will you? The Admiralty don't seem to be altogether satisfied with the process. Too many precious lives are being sacrificed."Mark described his work and told of the difficulties and dangers of dealing with contact-mines."The worst part of it is when we come bow-on to one of them," he said. "I've been thinking a lot about it. I don't know if there's anything in my idea, but it seems to me that the sweepers ought to be fitted with some sort of protective net in front, to ward off the mines, or even to pick them up—something like the cow-catcher on an American locomotive, you know."Lieutenant Ingoldsby turned round sharply in the middle of shaving his left cheek."Good!" he exclaimed. "Very good. You've certainly hit upon the right notion, if you think it can be worked—and at once.""It ought to be quite easy," Mark averred. "Just a steel-wire net in the shape of a fan, hinged from the trawler's cutwater and supported from pulleys at the end of beams shoved out like catheads over the bows. It would be lowered in front of her, below her water-line, to scoop up the mines, or drive them aside. There'd be scores of lives saved, sir.""So I should think," assented the commander, proceeding with his shaving. "You ought to make a working model of the contrivance and submit it to the authorities. They're almost sure to adopt it, recognising you as a kind of expert on mine-sweeping. And now, there's something else I want to ask you. What has become of Heinrich Hilliger and his son, do you know? I have heard of your raid on the pigeon-loft at Sunnydene, and of the maps and charts that you found, and failed to bring away with you.'"Max was drowned when theAtreuswas mined," Mark explained. "And his father is believed to have gone back to Germany.""Then whom do you suspect of having taken off the charts and things?" pursued Lieutenant Ingoldsby.Mark could not explain this mystery. It had puzzled him ever since the night of its occurrence."You will be doing a service to your country," said the officer, "if you make a point of finding out exactly where those two are, and what they are doing. For my own part, I don't believe for a moment that Max Hilliger was drowned, or that his father has gone home to Germany. They are alien enemies, you know, and it is not to be wondered at if they are still in England—still even in Haddisport—working their level best to bring about the downfall of Great Britain."Mark pondered over this recommendation while he was at breakfast in the engine-room, and resolved to make some investigations during his time of leave on shore. He also gave some thought to his invention for picking up explosive mines.While he was drawing a plan of it, Lieutenant Ingoldsby, again at his post in the conning-tower, called out the command:"Diving stations!"The H29 was once more submerged. There was a cloud of smoke on the horizon which might be from the funnels of an enemy cruiser. Seen afterwards in the periscope mirror, however, the stranger turned out to be a British liner. The ballast tanks were blown out, and the submarine rose awash. The electric motor had stopped and the petrol engine had not yet been set in motion. Instead of the telegraph signifying "go ahead!" there came an ominous rasping sound from the neighbourhood of the forward torpedo-chamber. Something was wrong!"Sounds as if we'd fouled some wreckage," conjectured the chief engineer, standing by his cranks and levers with his eye on the dial.Mark Redisham was astonished to hear his name called from the conning-tower. He followed three of the men who also had been summoned. When he came out into the open air he discovered Mr. Ingoldsby and Mr. Desmond standing together looking forward along the narrow strip of deck to where a great round shape lay jammed between the hydroplane and its guard."It's a German mine!" cried Mark. "Don't let it be moved, sir. Wait! Keep the engines stopped! You've fouled its mooring; but it won't go off—it won't explode—unless one of the horns gets broken or bent.""That's what I judged," nodded Lieutenant Ingoldsby, looking very grim. "But how is the thing to be cleared away if we don't move it? You know the tricks of these things. What do you advise?""Wait a bit, sir," urged Mark. He stooped and quickly took off his boots and stockings. "Let me go along and have a close look at it.""No, I can't let you," objected the commander. "It's too dangerous.""Then let one of the men come with me, sir," Mark suggested, not at all alarmed.Before he could be stopped, he had slipped past the men and was making his way along the wet and slippery platform. Mr. Desmond, also in bare feet, went after him. They reached the place where the mine was lodged. The horns of the deadly machine were fortunately all pointed outward. The mooring line of flexible wire rope had been caught as the submarine rose to the surface and was securely fixed in the hydroplane bearings, held by its own weight and the weight of the sinker.Mark went down on his hands and knees and examined the thing most carefully, seeing exactly how it was held, calculating how it would fall when released, estimating how it would be kept in position while the mooring-line was being severed. All his scout-craft was exercised. He looked round at the sub-lieutenant."We shall manage all right, sir," he declared calmly. "We want a couple of hammocks to pack round the base of the mine for a fender, a strong man with a crowbar to hold it from slipping, while another with a sharp file and a pair of pliers cuts through the mooring warp. When it's cut, you submerge the ship a couple of feet, let go, and the mine will float off. Then the gunner can fire at it and explode it. Do you understand, sir? Excuse my making these suggestions; but I've had a lot to do with handling explosive contact-mines during the last week."His directions were followed in every detail. In half an hour the work was done without mishap, and the submarine and her crew were saved. The mine, released from its sinker, floated with its rounded top and horns above the surface. The ship stood off, her fourteen-pounder quick-firing gun was raised from its chamber, and the gunner's skill brought about the explosion.Late in the afternoon of that same day the H29 appeared abreast of Alderwick Knoll. Darby Catchpole saw her from the cliff. Watching her through his telescope, he made out that the flag flying from her mast bore the sign of the skull and crossbones, and by this he knew that she had been in action and had come out victorious.CHAPTER X.DARBY CATCHPOLE'S DISCOVERY."I expect she has been putting a torpedo into some German mine-layer," said Darby, speaking to Constable Challis, who stood beside him. "It's the H29.""Ah!" nodded Constable Challis, "that's the submarine that Lieutenant Ingoldsby's in command of, isn't it? I wish I'd known when I saw his aunt, Mrs. Daplin-Gennery, along the parade just now."Turning to see if that lady were still in sight, he saluted an elderly gentleman who was hobbling past with the aid of two sticks and with a folded newspaper under one arm."Good-evenin', Mr. Croucher," he said. "Any news in the evenin' newspaper, sir?""Worse and worse," responded Mr. Croucher, coming to a stop. "Liège has fallen. It will be Namur next, and then Paris. France hasn't a chance. Neither has Russia." He gazed searchingly across the sea. "And then, if the enemy's ships slip out from the Kiel Canal, we're doomed.""You think so, sir?" questioned Challis, easing the collar of his tunic as if it choked him."Think so?" cried Mr. Croucher almost resentfully. "I know! There is nothing more certain. Don't you make any mistake, constable. We've lived long enough in a fool's paradise. I tell you, the Germans have been preparing for this for years and years, only awaiting their chance. And they've got it, now. Nothing can stop them—nothing! Look how they're sweeping through Belgium! Those siege guns of theirs are simply awful. No fortress can resist them, and their naval guns are even greater. What our people have been thinking of over here I don't know. They don't seem to realise our danger. Why, we've no home army worth speaking of, now that the only soldiers we had have gone over to France, leaving us defenceless. We're at the enemy's mercy, Challis."Constable Challis glanced aside at Darby Catchpole, who was closing his telescope, the submarine having passed beyond sight."And how could we hope to prevent their landing on an open coast like this?" pursued Mr. Croucher, bending forward on the support of his two sticks. "I tell you, if their ships break through the cordon of our fleet, we're doomed.""Indeed, sir?" said Challis with composure. "I wasn't reckonin' on the Germans comin' over here to Haddisport, sir. How will they land their cavalry and artillery through shoal water? They can't bring transport liners across Alderwick Sands.""Liners?" repeated Mr. Croucher. "Who spoke of liners? They've got hundreds and thousands of flat-bottomed barges lying in the shallows behind the Frisian Islands, ready to be filled with troops and towed over here and beached. They don't need any liners."Darby Catchpole here ventured to intervene. "And are our Dreadnoughts and cruisers going to hang back while the enemy troops are crossing, sir?" he inquired. "Won't our submarines have a chance?""Strictly between ourselves," observed Constable Challis, "I don't believe that a single German soldier will ever set foot in England, except as a prisoner of war.""Nonsense, Challis, nonsense!" retorted Mr. Croucher. "I've no patience with such childish hopefulness. We're at war against the greatest army the world has ever known, and we're not prepared for it. The Germans will treat us just as they are now treating the Belgians. We've got no army capable of facing them. Even our navy is weaker than it ought to be. The Germans have their Dreadnoughts as well as we, and quite as powerful. They've got crowds of them, and——""Not like theIron Duke," Challis interrupted. "Not like theQueen Elizabethor theLion. What about our 13.5 and 15-inch guns, sir?""Our guns are not much good against explosive mines and submarines," rejoined Mr. Croucher. "Look what the enemy have done already with their mines! Catchpole, here, can tell you about the loss of theAtreus. And now one of their submarines has sunk another cruiser—thePathfinder. Didn't you read about it in the paper? They've got their spies everywhere, too. They know what we're doing as well as we know it ourselves! Spies, Challis? Why——" He lowered his voice as he glanced along the cliff to the turrets and gables of Sunnydene. "I've been watching that house," he went on, mysteriously. "It's supposed to be empty. No postman goes there, no trade-carts stop at the gate, no gardener looks after the grounds. And yet, only yesterday there was smoke from one of the chimneys—puffs of white smoke, long and short. What was the meaning of it? Signals, Challis, signals!""Was there any ship passing, to take up the message, sir?" questioned Darby Catchpole.Mr. Croucher looked at the boy severely."Do you think they'd make signals to seagulls?" he asked. "Of course, there were ships—plenty of them—tramps, coasting schooners, fishing boats. Any one of them might take a message over to Heligoland, telling secrets about the movements of our warships. The house is a perfect nest of spies, in the pay of the enemy. It's all very well for them to pretend to have gone away to Germany. But they haven't. Depend upon it they're living in some subterranean chamber, where they've stored arms and munitions of war, lying low there to join the enemy troops when they come over to murder us all. I tell you, we're doomed, Challis—doomed!""Strictly between ourselves," said Constable Challis, when the old man had gone beyond hearing, "I'm not so sure he isn't right about Sunnydene. Mrs. Daplin-Gennery declares she's seen Herr Hilliger prowlin' around at night, likewise his son, Max, who's supposed to be drowned. And young Mark Redisham, who's a Sea Scout like yourself, has found out a thing or two in the pigeon-loft. Strictly between ourselves, I may tell you that we made a raid on the place a few nights ago. Somebody had been there in front of us, however, and cleared everything suspicious away. You may take it from me, as that somebody was either Herr Hilliger or his son."Darby could have said something concerning his own suspicions of a message sent by pigeon post; but he knew that Constable Challis was a gossip, and he held his own counsel. Nevertheless, he thought it in some way his duty as a Sea Scout to keep an eye upon Sunnydene, and he seldom passed the house without glancing up at the windows and the chimneys to see if there were any sign of habitation.He was beginning to be assured in his belief that there was no real foundation for further suspicion, when, returning one moonlight night along the cliff from the Alderwick Coastguard Station, he saw something which renewed all his doubts.During his absence, several tramps and coasters had anchored for the night in the roads; for the coastwise navigation lights were not now lighted to guide ships on their way, and general traffic on the sea ceased after dusk.Amongst other vessels lying in the fairway inside of Alderwick Knoll, one in particular attracted his notice. It was a foreign-looking ketch. The moon was not high, and he could see the vessel plainly outlined against the track of light across the waves.At night time, one ketch-rigged boat is very much like another; but there was something in the angle of her bowsprit, in the rake of her two masts, as well as in the clumsy lines of her hull which made him almost certain that she was theThor—the same Dutchman in which Max Hilliger had sailed for Germany hardly more than a fortnight ago. Furthermore, she was anchored in precisely the same spot as on the earlier occasion, directly opposite Sunnydene, and visible from any one of the many front windows. Her riding-light was hung low on her foremast, and there was a second light abaft her mizzen.Having no pressing need to get home to his supper, Darby lingered, anxious to make certain of the identity of the ketch. He could get into the town as easily by walking along the beach as going by the cliff path or the main road.For some minutes he stood by the side of a tall gorse bush. Nothing happened. But at length as he watched, the vessel's stern light went out, then reappeared and continued to go in and out with curious regularity.A person ignorant of the Morse code might have believed that a message was being flashed; but Darby Catchpole knew that it was only that one of the crew was pacing the deck and passing to and fro in front of the lantern.While he waited in the silence, however, he heard the unmistakable sound of a boat's keel crunching on the shingle. He turned and glanced back at Sunnydene. Only the roof and towers could be seen over the edge of the cliff; but from a small window in the east gable there came a quick flash of light. Was it a signal?Darby crept upwards a few feet and watched for a repetition of the flash. How long he waited he did not know; but when he stepped back three or four paces he again saw the light and almost laughed aloud when he discovered that it was no more than a reflection of the moon in the glass. Yet it had seemed to move. He was not sure even now that it was not a signal to the ketch.Wondering if the casement were swinging loose on its hinges, he mounted to the top of the cliff and crossed the road to get the window between him and the light of the moon. An owl flew silently over the tops of the intervening fir trees. The house seemed indeed to be deserted. The idea that there still were alien enemies living in it was, after all, ridiculous, and it was only a waste of time to hang around the place any longer.Beyond the long front garden wall was a pathway leading amongst the gorse and bracken to the main road. Darby determined to take this way back to the town.He turned into the dark shadows of the path; but stopped abruptly, hearing the click of a gate latch. Some one was coming out by the side gate of Sunnydene. Quick footsteps were approaching, rustling in the dry bracken. He drew back and looked out from his ambush to see a cloaked figure dart past him in the clear light of the moon."Max!"Darby leapt forward, clutching at a wing of the cloak. But it was wrenched violently away, and the hand beneath it was flung out, striking him a blow in the face that sent him reeling to the ground, while Max Hilliger, with a tin case full of maps and charts under his arm, stole downward to the beach.CHAPTER XI.THE ESCAPE.Max Hilliger had not waited to ascertain who it was that had leapt out upon him from the shadows.Against the light of the moon he had caught a glimpse of a Sea Scout's flat-topped cap, and the young voice that had uttered his name was no doubt the voice of one of his former companions of the Lion Patrol, who had been lurking in ambush to detain him, and perhaps bring about his arrest.Max could only believe that his assailant was Mark Redisham, who lived near, and who had already shown inconvenient vigilance against him.Mark Redisham had by some means intercepted the pigeon with the message which he, Max, had sent to his father from on board theMinna von Barnhelm. He had dared also to enter the pigeon-loft at Sunnydene, and perhaps to examine these special maps and charts that were now going over to Germany."Yes," Max ruminated as he made his way down the slopes of the cliff towards the beach, "it could only have been Mark Redisham. But whoever it was, I have given him a stinging knockdown blow that he won't forget in a hurry!"By paths well known to him, he reached the foot of the cliff, and started off across the grassy denes, taking cover in the hollows and in the shadows of the gorse bushes, tightly gripping the tin case of charts under his arm and the small bag which he carried in his left hand. His right hand went to his belt, where there was a loaded revolver."If he'd shown fight," he reflected, fingering the weapon, "I might have used this. But it's a good thing I didn't. The noise would have alarmed the whole neighbourhood, and the Tommies on sentry-go along the beach would have nabbed me."He knew that there were armed sentries on the beach. Since the beginning of the war, the whole of the east coast of Great Britain had been patrolled and watched at night by men in khaki with loaded rifles and fixed bayonets.He was running the risk even now of being seen and made to give an account of himself. It was for this reason that he was so careful to take cover and to make no betraying sound as he went at Scouts' pace towards the sea.For himself he had no fear, excepting that, if caught, he would be compelled to explain the compromising contents of his bag and the tin canister. It was the men in the waiting boat about whom he was anxious. They were Germans, and although one of them, Hermann Körner, could speak excellent English, yet the others might easily betray themselves as foreigners and enemies.When he reached the higher ridges of sand that intervened as a natural barrier between the beach and the level grass land, he went down on his elbows and knees and crept over the loose sand until he could look down upon the foreshore. He had come out, as he had intended to do, directly opposite one of the groins of black timber that reared their protecting walls across the beach. The deep-driven piles at the near end were covered with sand; at the far end they were washed by the tide. Many a time had Max dived into the deep water from the end of this same groin. As he looked at it searchingly now, he distinguished the dark shape of the boat against the blackness. It was about fifty yards away from him, with only an open slope of sea sand and shingle between. In a few moments he might be seated in the boat, when the rowers would push off.But on that stretch of moonlit beach two figures had suddenly appeared. They were striding quickly towards the boat. He could see the moonshine glinting on their bayonets, and hear their heavy tread on the sand. One of them lowered his rifle, with a hand on the lever, as he called out a loud challenge to the boat:"Who comes there?"Max Hilliger's plan was working just as he had hoped. A tall man stood up from the boat and strode towards the two sentries."Friends!" he answered. And Max recognised the voice of Hermann Körner. "It's all right, boys."The patrol saw only indistinctly that he wore the uniform of a naval officer. Never doubting that he was British, they drew to a halt in front of him."We've got strict orders not to let anybody come ashore," one of them said."Yes, well," was the ready response, "you do your duty. But I have my duty also. I come ashore from ze revenue schooner out there. I report something. Listen!" He had seen their regimental badges in the moonlight, and noticed that one wore a corporal's stripe. "You are not local men," he went on; "you are probably strangers on the coast." He pointed to the cliff. "What sort of peoples live in the third house?" he questioned. It was Major Redisham's house which he indicated. "You don't know? Well, I recommend you keep a watch on it. Half an hour ago there was signals flashed from one of ze upper windows. It is well you go up and make inquiry into the matter."The two men in khaki were now standing with their backs to the groin, beyond which Max Hilliger was crawling stealthily to the boat."Do you say they're alien spies, signallin' to some ship out at sea?" the corporal asked.The stranger shrugged his shoulders in a way which to any one suspicious must at once have betrayed that he was a foreigner."Such is my impression, corporal," he answered, watching Max Hilliger step into the boat. "And knowing that there was a military patrol here, naturally I come ashore to warn you. Good night."They waited until he had returned to his companions and pushed off. Then they crossed the denes together, and climbed the cliff path to the suspected house.Pushing open the gate, they entered the drive, where they were confronted by Mark Redisham and Darby Catchpole. Mark's greatcoat covered his naval clothes. Darby wore his Sea Scout's uniform, and he was dabbing his swollen nose with a blood-stained handkerchief."Signal lights have been seen flashing from the windows of this house," began the corporal."Who said so?" demanded Mark. "I'm sure no light of any sort has been seen. All the windows are thickly curtained. You're making a mistake.""Oh, no, we're not!" insisted the corporal. "A naval officer from the revenue ship out there came ashore to tell us about it." He indicated theThor."There's no revenue boat out there," declared Darby Catchpole. "That ship's not even British. You've been hoodwinked." He turned to Mark. "Do you see how the trick has been played?" he cried. "It's quite plain. While one of the boat's crew, speaking English, came ashore and kept the patrol off the scent, Max Hilliger slipped into the boat unseen! What's to be done?""If Max has gone aboard the ketch, we can't do much more than we've done already," declared Mark. "I've telephoned to the naval base, telling them to send out and capture the ketch while she's still at anchor. But are you certain sure that it was Max Hilliger you saw?"Darby dabbed his handkerchief to his nose, which was still bleeding."What's the good of asking such a question?" he objected warmly. "I saw him as clearly as I see you now. He rounded on me when I called his name, and then fetched me a blow in the face that sent me sprawling. I saw what he carried, too—a long sort of tin box under his left arm and a bag in his left hand.""The charts!" Mark Redisham ejaculated. "The charts!" Then to the corporal he added: "It's clear you've been had. The men in that boat were Germans, and a young German has escaped with them, taking a lot of charts and maps that will be no end of help to the enemy if they should attempt to land an invading army on this coast. That chap who kidded you about signal lights only wanted to draw your attention off the boat for a minute. You wouldn't have committed a crime if you had put a bullet into him. Haven't you been ordered not to let any boat come ashore?""Yes, of course," admitted the corporal. "But he was in uniform. He looked and talked like a British naval officer.""Anyhow, you'll have to report the matter to your colonel," rejoined Mark.The corporal seemed to have a sudden inspiration."How am I to know what you're tellin' me is true?" he demanded. "Who are you? What are you doin', spyin' round out here at this time of night?""I am the son of Major Redisham, who is now with his regiment in France," Mark answered. "I am, myself, in the Royal Naval Reserve, serving the King. My chum, here, is a Sea Scout. If that isn't enough, you can go up to the house and see my mother.""Listen!" cried Darby Catchpole excitedly. "The ketch is lifting her anchor! She's making sail! Come along—quick! Don't stand jawing here."The patrol shouldered their rifles and followed the two boys down to the beach. There came to them a curious, spluttering sound, like that of a motor-car being started. Mark Redisham stood still, listening and watching. TheThor'ssails were up, but there was very little wind to fill them. Nevertheless, she was moving. There was a commotion of water under her stern."She's got petrol engines!" Mark declared. "Look! Look, she's off!"The corporal, realising the gravity of his former omission, now attempted to repair it. He threw himself forward on a knoll of sand, and levelling his rifle, took aim and fired at the escaping ketch.CHAPTER XII.A FLEET IN HIDING.Standing at the vessel's stern beside the steersman, Max Hilliger saw the flash and heard the sharp report. He laughed. There was a second shot. A bullet whistled over his head and tore through the canvas of the mizzen sail."Hard a-starboard!" he ordered; and when she turned with her bow to the north-east, he added: "Steady!"He glanced astern, taking his bearings by the familiar landmarks."Be careful, my friend," said Lieutenant Körner, at his side. "There is the sandbank.""That is why I am careful," returned Max. "We're going to cross it. It's our only safe way. If you keep to the channel, you must either risk a shot from the naval gun on Haddisport pier, or else run up against the destroyer anchored off Buremouth. I'm going to take her across the shoal, through a gap that's used only by the lifeboatmen. Leave it to me, Hermann."It was a feat in seamanship which no local fisherman, familiar with the dangers of the Alderwick shoal, would have believed possible. But Max Hilliger knew every fathom over the sunken bank, and he brought the boat through so skilfully that no one on board even guessed how narrow was their escape from disaster.When at length she was safe beyond the reef, her course was set and she sped along, driven by her powerful motor.The sea was clear of all traffic during the night, and there were no ships in sight to notice her unusual speed or to question her business. And if there were mine-fields to fear, those on the British side of the North Sea were known to Max Hilliger, while Lieutenant Körner knew equally well how to avoid those sown by the Germans in their own waters. So they went on in safety.On the following morning, when they were off the Dogger Bank, heavy rain was falling. A fleet of fishing craft at work loomed dimly through the mist. As a precaution against suspicion, Körner stopped the petrol engine, depending upon the sails. The rain mist was still thick at mid-day, when, as from behind a curtain, a squadron of British battle cruisers and light cruisers appeared, accompanied by a patrol flotilla of destroyers and submarines. They passed within a mile of theThor, and challenged her by signal. The Dutch colours were run up to her masthead and she was allowed to go on unmolested.During the short time the warships were in sight, Max Hilliger was busy taking notes concerning them. With the help of an English book of reference, he was able to identify each one of them and to discover all particulars as to her speed, tonnage, and armament. He noted with particular interest that one of the destroyers was theLupin, by which he had himself been rescued when theAtreuswas mined, and that another was theLevity, upon which, as he had lately learned, Rodney Redisham was serving as a midshipman."Ah!" he regretted, gazing at the formidable bulk of the nearest battleship, "if this tub were only your submarine, Hermann, how you could distribute your torpedoes and send every one of them to the bottom! Look at their great guns—as great even as some of our own! We shall not easily beat them in a pitched battle. And they outnumber our High Sea Fleet. It must be by our submarines that we conquer them. Hermann, I want you to get me on board your submarine. Then we can get about the seas, sinking every English warship that we can find!""Very well, my friend," returned Lieutenant Körner. "For you it will not be difficult. It needs only that you mention the ambition to your uncle, Admiral von Hilliger, and the thing is settled. Is it not so?"It was to Admiral von Hilliger's flagship, the armoured cruiserSchiller, that Max was now bound. She was known to be lying behind the island of Heligoland, protected by the fortress and by the mine-fields of the Bight.Lieutenant Körner made a course by secret passages through the mines and under the lee of the Frisian Islands, and it was just before sunset that theThorentered the estuary of the Elbe and came into the midst of the Kaiser's High Sea Fleet.Max Hilliger had constantly heard and read of the huge navy, the construction of which had played so prominent a part in Germany's plan of world-dominion; but his dreams had never presented anything to compare with the vast number and might of the warships now arrayed before his wondering eyes.They stretched in an almost unbroken line across from Cuxhaven to Brunsbuttel—battleships which appeared to him far more powerful than any of the British Dreadnoughts that he had seen passing in the distance from the cliffs of Haddisport; armoured cruisers that looked like impregnable floating fortresses; light cruisers built for speed; and a vast multitude of destroyers, submarines, mine-layers, troopships, and armed liners.His heart seemed to swell within him in patriotic pride. This was the fleet designed for the conquest of Britain, and he could not imagine how its purpose could fail.Believing that the sea power of Great Britain was doomed to be broken, and that the future of the Fatherland was fated to be one of shining glory and greatness, he was thankful that he was a German; thankful that it was now to be his privilege to fight for her in the conquest of her worst enemy.Lieutenant Körner steered the ketch to her anchorage beside his submarine at the rear of the main fleet; and, in the deepening dusk of a rainy evening, Max was conveyed in a motor-launch to Admiral von Hilliger's flagship.The admiral was at dinner and could not be interrupted even to receive his nephew from England, but Max found friends amongst the junior officers, and at length he was admitted.
CHAPTER VIII.
HOW MARK MADE HIMSELF SMALL.
On hearing the gun shot, followed so quickly by the command, "Prepare to dive!" Mark Redisham knew that the strange cruiser he had seen was unquestionably an enemy, firing upon the mine-sweepers.
An electric bell buzzed insistently; some one sang out: "Diving stations!" and there was a scurrying of bare feet along the narrow deck. It was useless now for him to go in search of Lieutenant Ingoldsby's binoculars. His impulse was to get off the submarine and aboard his own ship as quickly as possible. Yet for an instant he hesitated, lost in the confusion of dark passages and intricate machinery.
A second shot sounded. He turned and scrambled blindly back to the companion-hatch. But here he was stopped. The steep iron ladder was occupied by an officer who was even then screwing down the fastening of the watertight hatch-cover above his head.
"Can't I get off, sir?" Mark cried desperately. He had no fear, even though already he heard the gurgling of the water in the ballast tanks and knew that the submarine was on the point of being submerged. He clutched at the officer's naked ankles and repeated his question:
"Can't I get off, sir—on to my own ship—theDainty?"
The officer, a sub-lieutenant in working kit, descended to the iron grating at the foot of the ladder.
"Not now," he answered quietly, as he pressed an electric switch, flooding the whole ship with light. "You must stop where you are. Sit down in that corner. Make yourself small. Don't touch anything, or you may get a nasty shock."
He bent down and disappeared through what looked like an oven door in the bulkhead. Mark could see the men hurrying to their posts. Two went forward to the torpedo-tubes, one to each main ballast-tank kingston, one to the hydroplane wheel, another to the motor switches. An engineer took charge of the air-escape vents.
Each kingston being opened and the water rushing in, the boat began to sink. Mark felt an uncomfortable, heaving motion beneath him. He heard the hum of machinery—the whirr of well-oiled wheels, the chunking of pistons and cranks. The Diesel engine was working whilst the conning-tower remained above the surface for the ship to get clear of the trawler alongside. Electric bells trilled their messages from the commander to the men at their various stations.
"Close everything!" he called aloud.
The petrol engine stopped. The ballast tanks were full, and the electric motors now took up the work of sending her along. To Mark Redisham it seemed that she was going round and round in a dizzy circle, already many fathoms deep under the sea. The smell of hot oil and the heaviness of the compressed air stifled him. Yet in his eager interest in all that was happening he would not have exchanged the discomfort for ease, or the possible danger for assured safety.
Suddenly, in answer to a turn of the horizontal rudder, she began to rise. Mark saw the sub-lieutenant crawl swiftly past him to the forward torpedo-chambers. Bending over, and lying on his elbows, he managed to get a sidelong glimpse into the conning-tower with its complicated network of wires, its confusion of switches, handles, levers, and brightly-polished instruments. The commander was there, he knew, although it was only now and again that Mark caught sight of the gold braid on his sleeve as he stretched out his hand to touch some switch or lever.
"Charge firing-tanks; flood torpedo-tubes; stand by to fire!" commanded Lieutenant Ingoldsby.
The periscope was now above the surface and his eyes were upon the image of his target reflected in the mirror. He was taking aim, manoeuvring the submarine into position as if she herself were a gun. For some tense moments all was quiet but for the purr of the motor and the working of the air-compressors for charging the torpedo-tubes. Then there came a thumping sound as of a heavy door being shut. This was repeated. Two torpedoes with their mechanism adjusted had been thrust into the breach of their tubes. Mark would have given much to see how it was done. But he did not dare to move. Obeying the recommendation to make himself small, he waited breathlessly.
"Number one—fire!" came the sharp command.
There was a violent gush as a torpedo was discharged on its errand of destruction. The whole vessel shuddered and was alarmingly unsteady until the compensating-tanks were filled and the true balance was regained. Then a second torpedo was fired. Mark listened, wondering, as the submarine dived with her nose down, if either of her weapons would strike the target at which it had been aimed. They had been fired at long range, but their rush through the water was quickly over. A low, rumbling explosion told that one of them had struck and burst against the German cruiser's bilge.
The H29 remained deeply submerged, her electric motor driving her forward at ten knots speed for something like a quarter of an hour, when once more the water was blown from the tanks and she rose to bring her periscope above the surface.
The sub-lieutenant was now in the conning-tower with the commander.
"We got her under the forward magazine," Mark heard Lieutenant Ingoldsby announce. "She's sinking by the bows. The German collier that we saw yesterday is standing by, picking up survivors. She's fitted with wireless, so we may as well keep out of sight. Carry on just as we are for another half-hour, Desmond, and shape a course for Haddisport Roads."
"Yes, sir," returned Mr. Desmond. "And what about our mine-sweepers?"
"Oh, they are all right!" the commander signified. "I've just counted them. I don't believe any of them was hit. Lucky for them that we turned up. She'd have sunk the lot."
"We've got one of the crew of theDaintyaboard of us, sir," the sub-lieutenant told him.
"Yes, I know," nodded the commander; "it's young Redisham. I sent him below for my binoculars. If you sight his ship, we'll put him back."
Mark stood up and saluted him as he came out into the hatchway.
"I hope I'm not very much in your way, sir," he faltered.
"Not at all," smiled Mr. Ingoldsby; "although we haven't much room to spare on a ship like this, as you can see. But don't stay here in the gangway. Come along with me. Mind you don't knock your head, and don't touch any of the switches."
He led the way through an intricate passage into the engine-room: an open space that could hardly be called a cabin, where men were at work with the electric motors. Here he paused to glance at a gauge.
"You've done very well, shipmates," he said, nodding his approval. "You've sent a German cruiser to the bottom—an old ship, it is true; but she'll do no more mine-laying mischief, and I'm just as pleased with you all as if she had been a Dreadnought. Jardine," he added, pushing open the door that gave entrance to his cabin. "Shaving water, and then breakfast."
CHAPTER IX.
AN EXPERT IN MINE-SWEEPING.
Mark took up his stand in the only corner he could see where there was no machinery, and feasted his curious eyes on everything within their range—the hammocks slung from the steel cross-beams, the safety-helmets hanging near, the controls of a multitude of electrical devices, the wheels governing the rudders, and the great array of enclosed cylinders and accumulators.
At the far end was an electric cooking apparatus at which the cook had already resumed his interrupted work of preparing the officers' breakfast. From a small boiler, Jardine filled a silver jug with hot water, which he carried into the commander's cabin.
On his return, Jardine went up to Mark and said: "The commander wants you."
Mark was shown into the state-room and was surprised to find it so large and comfortable. Lieutenant Ingoldsby stood before a tiny dressing-table, lathering his face.
"Have you seen my aunt lately, Mark?" he questioned. "Is she nervous, living alone there on the cliff?"
"I saw her the night before we sailed," Mark answered. "She came in to bid good-bye to father. Yes, sir, I believe she is a bit nervous. She thinks there's sure to be an invasion, and that a whole army of Germans will come over in Zeppelins and flat-bottomed boats, guarded by submarines and Dreadnoughts. She said something about going inland to Bath or Buxton."
"Not very complimentary to the British Navy, eh?" laughed Mr. Ingoldsby, stropping his razor. "I hope Major Redisham reassured her. Tell me something about this mine-sweeping business, will you? The Admiralty don't seem to be altogether satisfied with the process. Too many precious lives are being sacrificed."
Mark described his work and told of the difficulties and dangers of dealing with contact-mines.
"The worst part of it is when we come bow-on to one of them," he said. "I've been thinking a lot about it. I don't know if there's anything in my idea, but it seems to me that the sweepers ought to be fitted with some sort of protective net in front, to ward off the mines, or even to pick them up—something like the cow-catcher on an American locomotive, you know."
Lieutenant Ingoldsby turned round sharply in the middle of shaving his left cheek.
"Good!" he exclaimed. "Very good. You've certainly hit upon the right notion, if you think it can be worked—and at once."
"It ought to be quite easy," Mark averred. "Just a steel-wire net in the shape of a fan, hinged from the trawler's cutwater and supported from pulleys at the end of beams shoved out like catheads over the bows. It would be lowered in front of her, below her water-line, to scoop up the mines, or drive them aside. There'd be scores of lives saved, sir."
"So I should think," assented the commander, proceeding with his shaving. "You ought to make a working model of the contrivance and submit it to the authorities. They're almost sure to adopt it, recognising you as a kind of expert on mine-sweeping. And now, there's something else I want to ask you. What has become of Heinrich Hilliger and his son, do you know? I have heard of your raid on the pigeon-loft at Sunnydene, and of the maps and charts that you found, and failed to bring away with you.'
"Max was drowned when theAtreuswas mined," Mark explained. "And his father is believed to have gone back to Germany."
"Then whom do you suspect of having taken off the charts and things?" pursued Lieutenant Ingoldsby.
Mark could not explain this mystery. It had puzzled him ever since the night of its occurrence.
"You will be doing a service to your country," said the officer, "if you make a point of finding out exactly where those two are, and what they are doing. For my own part, I don't believe for a moment that Max Hilliger was drowned, or that his father has gone home to Germany. They are alien enemies, you know, and it is not to be wondered at if they are still in England—still even in Haddisport—working their level best to bring about the downfall of Great Britain."
Mark pondered over this recommendation while he was at breakfast in the engine-room, and resolved to make some investigations during his time of leave on shore. He also gave some thought to his invention for picking up explosive mines.
While he was drawing a plan of it, Lieutenant Ingoldsby, again at his post in the conning-tower, called out the command:
"Diving stations!"
The H29 was once more submerged. There was a cloud of smoke on the horizon which might be from the funnels of an enemy cruiser. Seen afterwards in the periscope mirror, however, the stranger turned out to be a British liner. The ballast tanks were blown out, and the submarine rose awash. The electric motor had stopped and the petrol engine had not yet been set in motion. Instead of the telegraph signifying "go ahead!" there came an ominous rasping sound from the neighbourhood of the forward torpedo-chamber. Something was wrong!
"Sounds as if we'd fouled some wreckage," conjectured the chief engineer, standing by his cranks and levers with his eye on the dial.
Mark Redisham was astonished to hear his name called from the conning-tower. He followed three of the men who also had been summoned. When he came out into the open air he discovered Mr. Ingoldsby and Mr. Desmond standing together looking forward along the narrow strip of deck to where a great round shape lay jammed between the hydroplane and its guard.
"It's a German mine!" cried Mark. "Don't let it be moved, sir. Wait! Keep the engines stopped! You've fouled its mooring; but it won't go off—it won't explode—unless one of the horns gets broken or bent."
"That's what I judged," nodded Lieutenant Ingoldsby, looking very grim. "But how is the thing to be cleared away if we don't move it? You know the tricks of these things. What do you advise?"
"Wait a bit, sir," urged Mark. He stooped and quickly took off his boots and stockings. "Let me go along and have a close look at it."
"No, I can't let you," objected the commander. "It's too dangerous."
"Then let one of the men come with me, sir," Mark suggested, not at all alarmed.
Before he could be stopped, he had slipped past the men and was making his way along the wet and slippery platform. Mr. Desmond, also in bare feet, went after him. They reached the place where the mine was lodged. The horns of the deadly machine were fortunately all pointed outward. The mooring line of flexible wire rope had been caught as the submarine rose to the surface and was securely fixed in the hydroplane bearings, held by its own weight and the weight of the sinker.
Mark went down on his hands and knees and examined the thing most carefully, seeing exactly how it was held, calculating how it would fall when released, estimating how it would be kept in position while the mooring-line was being severed. All his scout-craft was exercised. He looked round at the sub-lieutenant.
"We shall manage all right, sir," he declared calmly. "We want a couple of hammocks to pack round the base of the mine for a fender, a strong man with a crowbar to hold it from slipping, while another with a sharp file and a pair of pliers cuts through the mooring warp. When it's cut, you submerge the ship a couple of feet, let go, and the mine will float off. Then the gunner can fire at it and explode it. Do you understand, sir? Excuse my making these suggestions; but I've had a lot to do with handling explosive contact-mines during the last week."
His directions were followed in every detail. In half an hour the work was done without mishap, and the submarine and her crew were saved. The mine, released from its sinker, floated with its rounded top and horns above the surface. The ship stood off, her fourteen-pounder quick-firing gun was raised from its chamber, and the gunner's skill brought about the explosion.
Late in the afternoon of that same day the H29 appeared abreast of Alderwick Knoll. Darby Catchpole saw her from the cliff. Watching her through his telescope, he made out that the flag flying from her mast bore the sign of the skull and crossbones, and by this he knew that she had been in action and had come out victorious.
CHAPTER X.
DARBY CATCHPOLE'S DISCOVERY.
"I expect she has been putting a torpedo into some German mine-layer," said Darby, speaking to Constable Challis, who stood beside him. "It's the H29."
"Ah!" nodded Constable Challis, "that's the submarine that Lieutenant Ingoldsby's in command of, isn't it? I wish I'd known when I saw his aunt, Mrs. Daplin-Gennery, along the parade just now."
Turning to see if that lady were still in sight, he saluted an elderly gentleman who was hobbling past with the aid of two sticks and with a folded newspaper under one arm.
"Good-evenin', Mr. Croucher," he said. "Any news in the evenin' newspaper, sir?"
"Worse and worse," responded Mr. Croucher, coming to a stop. "Liège has fallen. It will be Namur next, and then Paris. France hasn't a chance. Neither has Russia." He gazed searchingly across the sea. "And then, if the enemy's ships slip out from the Kiel Canal, we're doomed."
"You think so, sir?" questioned Challis, easing the collar of his tunic as if it choked him.
"Think so?" cried Mr. Croucher almost resentfully. "I know! There is nothing more certain. Don't you make any mistake, constable. We've lived long enough in a fool's paradise. I tell you, the Germans have been preparing for this for years and years, only awaiting their chance. And they've got it, now. Nothing can stop them—nothing! Look how they're sweeping through Belgium! Those siege guns of theirs are simply awful. No fortress can resist them, and their naval guns are even greater. What our people have been thinking of over here I don't know. They don't seem to realise our danger. Why, we've no home army worth speaking of, now that the only soldiers we had have gone over to France, leaving us defenceless. We're at the enemy's mercy, Challis."
Constable Challis glanced aside at Darby Catchpole, who was closing his telescope, the submarine having passed beyond sight.
"And how could we hope to prevent their landing on an open coast like this?" pursued Mr. Croucher, bending forward on the support of his two sticks. "I tell you, if their ships break through the cordon of our fleet, we're doomed."
"Indeed, sir?" said Challis with composure. "I wasn't reckonin' on the Germans comin' over here to Haddisport, sir. How will they land their cavalry and artillery through shoal water? They can't bring transport liners across Alderwick Sands."
"Liners?" repeated Mr. Croucher. "Who spoke of liners? They've got hundreds and thousands of flat-bottomed barges lying in the shallows behind the Frisian Islands, ready to be filled with troops and towed over here and beached. They don't need any liners."
Darby Catchpole here ventured to intervene. "And are our Dreadnoughts and cruisers going to hang back while the enemy troops are crossing, sir?" he inquired. "Won't our submarines have a chance?"
"Strictly between ourselves," observed Constable Challis, "I don't believe that a single German soldier will ever set foot in England, except as a prisoner of war."
"Nonsense, Challis, nonsense!" retorted Mr. Croucher. "I've no patience with such childish hopefulness. We're at war against the greatest army the world has ever known, and we're not prepared for it. The Germans will treat us just as they are now treating the Belgians. We've got no army capable of facing them. Even our navy is weaker than it ought to be. The Germans have their Dreadnoughts as well as we, and quite as powerful. They've got crowds of them, and——"
"Not like theIron Duke," Challis interrupted. "Not like theQueen Elizabethor theLion. What about our 13.5 and 15-inch guns, sir?"
"Our guns are not much good against explosive mines and submarines," rejoined Mr. Croucher. "Look what the enemy have done already with their mines! Catchpole, here, can tell you about the loss of theAtreus. And now one of their submarines has sunk another cruiser—thePathfinder. Didn't you read about it in the paper? They've got their spies everywhere, too. They know what we're doing as well as we know it ourselves! Spies, Challis? Why——" He lowered his voice as he glanced along the cliff to the turrets and gables of Sunnydene. "I've been watching that house," he went on, mysteriously. "It's supposed to be empty. No postman goes there, no trade-carts stop at the gate, no gardener looks after the grounds. And yet, only yesterday there was smoke from one of the chimneys—puffs of white smoke, long and short. What was the meaning of it? Signals, Challis, signals!"
"Was there any ship passing, to take up the message, sir?" questioned Darby Catchpole.
Mr. Croucher looked at the boy severely.
"Do you think they'd make signals to seagulls?" he asked. "Of course, there were ships—plenty of them—tramps, coasting schooners, fishing boats. Any one of them might take a message over to Heligoland, telling secrets about the movements of our warships. The house is a perfect nest of spies, in the pay of the enemy. It's all very well for them to pretend to have gone away to Germany. But they haven't. Depend upon it they're living in some subterranean chamber, where they've stored arms and munitions of war, lying low there to join the enemy troops when they come over to murder us all. I tell you, we're doomed, Challis—doomed!"
"Strictly between ourselves," said Constable Challis, when the old man had gone beyond hearing, "I'm not so sure he isn't right about Sunnydene. Mrs. Daplin-Gennery declares she's seen Herr Hilliger prowlin' around at night, likewise his son, Max, who's supposed to be drowned. And young Mark Redisham, who's a Sea Scout like yourself, has found out a thing or two in the pigeon-loft. Strictly between ourselves, I may tell you that we made a raid on the place a few nights ago. Somebody had been there in front of us, however, and cleared everything suspicious away. You may take it from me, as that somebody was either Herr Hilliger or his son."
Darby could have said something concerning his own suspicions of a message sent by pigeon post; but he knew that Constable Challis was a gossip, and he held his own counsel. Nevertheless, he thought it in some way his duty as a Sea Scout to keep an eye upon Sunnydene, and he seldom passed the house without glancing up at the windows and the chimneys to see if there were any sign of habitation.
He was beginning to be assured in his belief that there was no real foundation for further suspicion, when, returning one moonlight night along the cliff from the Alderwick Coastguard Station, he saw something which renewed all his doubts.
During his absence, several tramps and coasters had anchored for the night in the roads; for the coastwise navigation lights were not now lighted to guide ships on their way, and general traffic on the sea ceased after dusk.
Amongst other vessels lying in the fairway inside of Alderwick Knoll, one in particular attracted his notice. It was a foreign-looking ketch. The moon was not high, and he could see the vessel plainly outlined against the track of light across the waves.
At night time, one ketch-rigged boat is very much like another; but there was something in the angle of her bowsprit, in the rake of her two masts, as well as in the clumsy lines of her hull which made him almost certain that she was theThor—the same Dutchman in which Max Hilliger had sailed for Germany hardly more than a fortnight ago. Furthermore, she was anchored in precisely the same spot as on the earlier occasion, directly opposite Sunnydene, and visible from any one of the many front windows. Her riding-light was hung low on her foremast, and there was a second light abaft her mizzen.
Having no pressing need to get home to his supper, Darby lingered, anxious to make certain of the identity of the ketch. He could get into the town as easily by walking along the beach as going by the cliff path or the main road.
For some minutes he stood by the side of a tall gorse bush. Nothing happened. But at length as he watched, the vessel's stern light went out, then reappeared and continued to go in and out with curious regularity.
A person ignorant of the Morse code might have believed that a message was being flashed; but Darby Catchpole knew that it was only that one of the crew was pacing the deck and passing to and fro in front of the lantern.
While he waited in the silence, however, he heard the unmistakable sound of a boat's keel crunching on the shingle. He turned and glanced back at Sunnydene. Only the roof and towers could be seen over the edge of the cliff; but from a small window in the east gable there came a quick flash of light. Was it a signal?
Darby crept upwards a few feet and watched for a repetition of the flash. How long he waited he did not know; but when he stepped back three or four paces he again saw the light and almost laughed aloud when he discovered that it was no more than a reflection of the moon in the glass. Yet it had seemed to move. He was not sure even now that it was not a signal to the ketch.
Wondering if the casement were swinging loose on its hinges, he mounted to the top of the cliff and crossed the road to get the window between him and the light of the moon. An owl flew silently over the tops of the intervening fir trees. The house seemed indeed to be deserted. The idea that there still were alien enemies living in it was, after all, ridiculous, and it was only a waste of time to hang around the place any longer.
Beyond the long front garden wall was a pathway leading amongst the gorse and bracken to the main road. Darby determined to take this way back to the town.
He turned into the dark shadows of the path; but stopped abruptly, hearing the click of a gate latch. Some one was coming out by the side gate of Sunnydene. Quick footsteps were approaching, rustling in the dry bracken. He drew back and looked out from his ambush to see a cloaked figure dart past him in the clear light of the moon.
"Max!"
Darby leapt forward, clutching at a wing of the cloak. But it was wrenched violently away, and the hand beneath it was flung out, striking him a blow in the face that sent him reeling to the ground, while Max Hilliger, with a tin case full of maps and charts under his arm, stole downward to the beach.
CHAPTER XI.
THE ESCAPE.
Max Hilliger had not waited to ascertain who it was that had leapt out upon him from the shadows.
Against the light of the moon he had caught a glimpse of a Sea Scout's flat-topped cap, and the young voice that had uttered his name was no doubt the voice of one of his former companions of the Lion Patrol, who had been lurking in ambush to detain him, and perhaps bring about his arrest.
Max could only believe that his assailant was Mark Redisham, who lived near, and who had already shown inconvenient vigilance against him.
Mark Redisham had by some means intercepted the pigeon with the message which he, Max, had sent to his father from on board theMinna von Barnhelm. He had dared also to enter the pigeon-loft at Sunnydene, and perhaps to examine these special maps and charts that were now going over to Germany.
"Yes," Max ruminated as he made his way down the slopes of the cliff towards the beach, "it could only have been Mark Redisham. But whoever it was, I have given him a stinging knockdown blow that he won't forget in a hurry!"
By paths well known to him, he reached the foot of the cliff, and started off across the grassy denes, taking cover in the hollows and in the shadows of the gorse bushes, tightly gripping the tin case of charts under his arm and the small bag which he carried in his left hand. His right hand went to his belt, where there was a loaded revolver.
"If he'd shown fight," he reflected, fingering the weapon, "I might have used this. But it's a good thing I didn't. The noise would have alarmed the whole neighbourhood, and the Tommies on sentry-go along the beach would have nabbed me."
He knew that there were armed sentries on the beach. Since the beginning of the war, the whole of the east coast of Great Britain had been patrolled and watched at night by men in khaki with loaded rifles and fixed bayonets.
He was running the risk even now of being seen and made to give an account of himself. It was for this reason that he was so careful to take cover and to make no betraying sound as he went at Scouts' pace towards the sea.
For himself he had no fear, excepting that, if caught, he would be compelled to explain the compromising contents of his bag and the tin canister. It was the men in the waiting boat about whom he was anxious. They were Germans, and although one of them, Hermann Körner, could speak excellent English, yet the others might easily betray themselves as foreigners and enemies.
When he reached the higher ridges of sand that intervened as a natural barrier between the beach and the level grass land, he went down on his elbows and knees and crept over the loose sand until he could look down upon the foreshore. He had come out, as he had intended to do, directly opposite one of the groins of black timber that reared their protecting walls across the beach. The deep-driven piles at the near end were covered with sand; at the far end they were washed by the tide. Many a time had Max dived into the deep water from the end of this same groin. As he looked at it searchingly now, he distinguished the dark shape of the boat against the blackness. It was about fifty yards away from him, with only an open slope of sea sand and shingle between. In a few moments he might be seated in the boat, when the rowers would push off.
But on that stretch of moonlit beach two figures had suddenly appeared. They were striding quickly towards the boat. He could see the moonshine glinting on their bayonets, and hear their heavy tread on the sand. One of them lowered his rifle, with a hand on the lever, as he called out a loud challenge to the boat:
"Who comes there?"
Max Hilliger's plan was working just as he had hoped. A tall man stood up from the boat and strode towards the two sentries.
"Friends!" he answered. And Max recognised the voice of Hermann Körner. "It's all right, boys."
The patrol saw only indistinctly that he wore the uniform of a naval officer. Never doubting that he was British, they drew to a halt in front of him.
"We've got strict orders not to let anybody come ashore," one of them said.
"Yes, well," was the ready response, "you do your duty. But I have my duty also. I come ashore from ze revenue schooner out there. I report something. Listen!" He had seen their regimental badges in the moonlight, and noticed that one wore a corporal's stripe. "You are not local men," he went on; "you are probably strangers on the coast." He pointed to the cliff. "What sort of peoples live in the third house?" he questioned. It was Major Redisham's house which he indicated. "You don't know? Well, I recommend you keep a watch on it. Half an hour ago there was signals flashed from one of ze upper windows. It is well you go up and make inquiry into the matter."
The two men in khaki were now standing with their backs to the groin, beyond which Max Hilliger was crawling stealthily to the boat.
"Do you say they're alien spies, signallin' to some ship out at sea?" the corporal asked.
The stranger shrugged his shoulders in a way which to any one suspicious must at once have betrayed that he was a foreigner.
"Such is my impression, corporal," he answered, watching Max Hilliger step into the boat. "And knowing that there was a military patrol here, naturally I come ashore to warn you. Good night."
They waited until he had returned to his companions and pushed off. Then they crossed the denes together, and climbed the cliff path to the suspected house.
Pushing open the gate, they entered the drive, where they were confronted by Mark Redisham and Darby Catchpole. Mark's greatcoat covered his naval clothes. Darby wore his Sea Scout's uniform, and he was dabbing his swollen nose with a blood-stained handkerchief.
"Signal lights have been seen flashing from the windows of this house," began the corporal.
"Who said so?" demanded Mark. "I'm sure no light of any sort has been seen. All the windows are thickly curtained. You're making a mistake."
"Oh, no, we're not!" insisted the corporal. "A naval officer from the revenue ship out there came ashore to tell us about it." He indicated theThor.
"There's no revenue boat out there," declared Darby Catchpole. "That ship's not even British. You've been hoodwinked." He turned to Mark. "Do you see how the trick has been played?" he cried. "It's quite plain. While one of the boat's crew, speaking English, came ashore and kept the patrol off the scent, Max Hilliger slipped into the boat unseen! What's to be done?"
"If Max has gone aboard the ketch, we can't do much more than we've done already," declared Mark. "I've telephoned to the naval base, telling them to send out and capture the ketch while she's still at anchor. But are you certain sure that it was Max Hilliger you saw?"
Darby dabbed his handkerchief to his nose, which was still bleeding.
"What's the good of asking such a question?" he objected warmly. "I saw him as clearly as I see you now. He rounded on me when I called his name, and then fetched me a blow in the face that sent me sprawling. I saw what he carried, too—a long sort of tin box under his left arm and a bag in his left hand."
"The charts!" Mark Redisham ejaculated. "The charts!" Then to the corporal he added: "It's clear you've been had. The men in that boat were Germans, and a young German has escaped with them, taking a lot of charts and maps that will be no end of help to the enemy if they should attempt to land an invading army on this coast. That chap who kidded you about signal lights only wanted to draw your attention off the boat for a minute. You wouldn't have committed a crime if you had put a bullet into him. Haven't you been ordered not to let any boat come ashore?"
"Yes, of course," admitted the corporal. "But he was in uniform. He looked and talked like a British naval officer."
"Anyhow, you'll have to report the matter to your colonel," rejoined Mark.
The corporal seemed to have a sudden inspiration.
"How am I to know what you're tellin' me is true?" he demanded. "Who are you? What are you doin', spyin' round out here at this time of night?"
"I am the son of Major Redisham, who is now with his regiment in France," Mark answered. "I am, myself, in the Royal Naval Reserve, serving the King. My chum, here, is a Sea Scout. If that isn't enough, you can go up to the house and see my mother."
"Listen!" cried Darby Catchpole excitedly. "The ketch is lifting her anchor! She's making sail! Come along—quick! Don't stand jawing here."
The patrol shouldered their rifles and followed the two boys down to the beach. There came to them a curious, spluttering sound, like that of a motor-car being started. Mark Redisham stood still, listening and watching. TheThor'ssails were up, but there was very little wind to fill them. Nevertheless, she was moving. There was a commotion of water under her stern.
"She's got petrol engines!" Mark declared. "Look! Look, she's off!"
The corporal, realising the gravity of his former omission, now attempted to repair it. He threw himself forward on a knoll of sand, and levelling his rifle, took aim and fired at the escaping ketch.
CHAPTER XII.
A FLEET IN HIDING.
Standing at the vessel's stern beside the steersman, Max Hilliger saw the flash and heard the sharp report. He laughed. There was a second shot. A bullet whistled over his head and tore through the canvas of the mizzen sail.
"Hard a-starboard!" he ordered; and when she turned with her bow to the north-east, he added: "Steady!"
He glanced astern, taking his bearings by the familiar landmarks.
"Be careful, my friend," said Lieutenant Körner, at his side. "There is the sandbank."
"That is why I am careful," returned Max. "We're going to cross it. It's our only safe way. If you keep to the channel, you must either risk a shot from the naval gun on Haddisport pier, or else run up against the destroyer anchored off Buremouth. I'm going to take her across the shoal, through a gap that's used only by the lifeboatmen. Leave it to me, Hermann."
It was a feat in seamanship which no local fisherman, familiar with the dangers of the Alderwick shoal, would have believed possible. But Max Hilliger knew every fathom over the sunken bank, and he brought the boat through so skilfully that no one on board even guessed how narrow was their escape from disaster.
When at length she was safe beyond the reef, her course was set and she sped along, driven by her powerful motor.
The sea was clear of all traffic during the night, and there were no ships in sight to notice her unusual speed or to question her business. And if there were mine-fields to fear, those on the British side of the North Sea were known to Max Hilliger, while Lieutenant Körner knew equally well how to avoid those sown by the Germans in their own waters. So they went on in safety.
On the following morning, when they were off the Dogger Bank, heavy rain was falling. A fleet of fishing craft at work loomed dimly through the mist. As a precaution against suspicion, Körner stopped the petrol engine, depending upon the sails. The rain mist was still thick at mid-day, when, as from behind a curtain, a squadron of British battle cruisers and light cruisers appeared, accompanied by a patrol flotilla of destroyers and submarines. They passed within a mile of theThor, and challenged her by signal. The Dutch colours were run up to her masthead and she was allowed to go on unmolested.
During the short time the warships were in sight, Max Hilliger was busy taking notes concerning them. With the help of an English book of reference, he was able to identify each one of them and to discover all particulars as to her speed, tonnage, and armament. He noted with particular interest that one of the destroyers was theLupin, by which he had himself been rescued when theAtreuswas mined, and that another was theLevity, upon which, as he had lately learned, Rodney Redisham was serving as a midshipman.
"Ah!" he regretted, gazing at the formidable bulk of the nearest battleship, "if this tub were only your submarine, Hermann, how you could distribute your torpedoes and send every one of them to the bottom! Look at their great guns—as great even as some of our own! We shall not easily beat them in a pitched battle. And they outnumber our High Sea Fleet. It must be by our submarines that we conquer them. Hermann, I want you to get me on board your submarine. Then we can get about the seas, sinking every English warship that we can find!"
"Very well, my friend," returned Lieutenant Körner. "For you it will not be difficult. It needs only that you mention the ambition to your uncle, Admiral von Hilliger, and the thing is settled. Is it not so?"
It was to Admiral von Hilliger's flagship, the armoured cruiserSchiller, that Max was now bound. She was known to be lying behind the island of Heligoland, protected by the fortress and by the mine-fields of the Bight.
Lieutenant Körner made a course by secret passages through the mines and under the lee of the Frisian Islands, and it was just before sunset that theThorentered the estuary of the Elbe and came into the midst of the Kaiser's High Sea Fleet.
Max Hilliger had constantly heard and read of the huge navy, the construction of which had played so prominent a part in Germany's plan of world-dominion; but his dreams had never presented anything to compare with the vast number and might of the warships now arrayed before his wondering eyes.
They stretched in an almost unbroken line across from Cuxhaven to Brunsbuttel—battleships which appeared to him far more powerful than any of the British Dreadnoughts that he had seen passing in the distance from the cliffs of Haddisport; armoured cruisers that looked like impregnable floating fortresses; light cruisers built for speed; and a vast multitude of destroyers, submarines, mine-layers, troopships, and armed liners.
His heart seemed to swell within him in patriotic pride. This was the fleet designed for the conquest of Britain, and he could not imagine how its purpose could fail.
Believing that the sea power of Great Britain was doomed to be broken, and that the future of the Fatherland was fated to be one of shining glory and greatness, he was thankful that he was a German; thankful that it was now to be his privilege to fight for her in the conquest of her worst enemy.
Lieutenant Körner steered the ketch to her anchorage beside his submarine at the rear of the main fleet; and, in the deepening dusk of a rainy evening, Max was conveyed in a motor-launch to Admiral von Hilliger's flagship.
The admiral was at dinner and could not be interrupted even to receive his nephew from England, but Max found friends amongst the junior officers, and at length he was admitted.