Chapter 5

CHAPTER XVII.TOLD THROUGH THE TELEPHONE.Seth Newruck's belief was confirmed when he reached the harbour and met his Scoutmaster and Darby Catchpole."Give whatever help you can, Newruck," said Mr. Bilverstone. "These boats coming in are from Ostend, with Belgian refugees, who will want food. Many of them will be ill, some wounded. The boats will be brought up alongside theKingfisher, first of all. Then the people will be taken to the public hall."The jetties and quays were crowded with townsfolk, watching the trawlers drift slowly in to the outer harbour. As the first boat came alongside the quay there was an audible gasp of pity for the forlorn victims of war. The little craft was thronged with women and children, looking miserably ill and hungry, and still showing in their grim faces the lingering horror of all they had gone through, mingled with doubt as to the manner in which they would be received in a foreign land.Then caps were raised in silent salute, handkerchiefs were waved in welcome, and the townsfolk pressed forward eagerly to throw down tins of biscuits, bags of buns, bananas, and chocolate, and to pass cans of hot coffee and milk.Among the most eager was Mrs. Daplin-Gennery, who had loaded her motor-car with food from a neighbouring confectioner's and got Darby Catchpole to help her to distribute it as each boat was warped in. All the time, tears of sympathy and sorrow were running down her cheeks, and she spoke to the Belgians in French, which some of them understood. Once, when a particular boat was passing, crowded with women, all of whom seemed to be ill, she took off her rich coat and threw it down to one of them and then returned to her car to buy yet more food.There were over fifty boats in all, bringing considerably more than a thousand of the poorest refugees from all parts of Belgium, with such little treasures as they had been able to snatch from their desolated homes. Many of them had brought their dogs, their cats, and their canaries. Many were wounded, and had to be taken to the hospitals. Some were taken to houses in the town, but most of them were driven in cars to the public hall, where they were well cared for.Mr. Arnold Bilverstone, taking temporary leave from his duties at the naval base, had mustered all the Scouts in the town to give help in attending to the distressed refugees. He was busy in the public hall, making a list of the Belgians' names, when Seth Newruck went hurriedly up to him and plucked at his sleeve."Mr. Bilverstone, I've got something to tell you, sir," began Seth.Mr. Bilverstone laid aside his fountain pen and prepared to listen."Yes," he smiled, "what is it? Some more families got accidentally mixed up? Children separated from their mothers and sent to the wrong billets?""No, sir, it's not that," Seth went on haltingly, as if fearing that after all his communication was of no importance. "It's something I've seen. I don't know if you noticed one of the Belgian boats, a small, yawl-rigged vessel, calledLa Belle Pucelle, of Blankenberghe? She was one of the last that came in, and about the most untidy of the lot. She was like a floating rag-bag.""I didn't see her to my knowledge," returned Mr. Bilverstone, turning back a page of his list, "but I wrote her name within the last half-hour. Here it is,La Belle Pucelle, with the names of the thirty-nine refugees who crossed in her—twenty-two women, five children, four infants in arm's, three men, apart from a crew of four men and a boy, and two dogs of doubtful breed. That's the lot."Seth Newruck was looking at the list over the Scoutmaster's shoulder."That is eight men, including the boy," he said. "But as a matter of fact, sir, there were nine, and you haven't got the ninth man's name, because he didn't get registered. He didn't come ashore in the same way as the rest of them. I watched him, sir. The reason why I took particular notice of him was that he looked of a different class from the others, and was about the only refugee of military age, apart from the fishermen who did the seamen's work.""Well?" urged Mr. Bilverstone."He wore a very shabby overcoat," Seth continued, "but beneath it he had a good tweed suit. Just as the boat came alongside the quay he slipped behind the mainsail; and when he appeared again, he had taken off the overcoat, changed his cloth cap for a bowler, and was carrying a brown leather handbag. While the other refugees were pressing forward to receive the food that was handed down to them, he got round to the stern, stepped on the quarter rail, and from that on to the quay, where he quickly disappeared in the crowd.""I expect he was an Englishman who had missed the passenger steamers and come over by the only way possible," suggested Mr. Bilverstone."No, sir," insisted Newruck, "he wasn't an Englishman, nor yet a Belgian. He wasn't even a genuine refugee. I'm rather good at remembering faces, sir, and I knew I'd seen his face before, somewhere; though it wasn't until he'd gone that I realised who he was. I'm certain, now, however, I know that he was an alien enemy, a German, and a spy. I know that he was Fritz Seligmann—Herr Hilliger's secretary."Mr. Bilverstone looked up sharply."Indeed?" he cried. "You are sure?""Certain." Seth Newruck nodded emphatically. "I believe he has smuggled himself over here to do some spying work."The Scoutmaster was silent for some moments. He took up his pen, but did not use it."Look here, Seth," he said presently. "There may be more in this than appears on the surface. That man has come over here for no good. He ought to be tracked. Unfortunately, I can't leave this work just now. But you can be spared, I think. Suppose you go up to Sunnydene. That's where he'll make for. Go up and have a look at the house. If you see anything to show that some one has entered—any smoke from the chimneys, if the gate has been left open, if there are any new footprints on the garden path—let me know at once. Mrs. Daplin-Gennery will let you use her telephone. I expect I shall be at the naval base until about midnight. If I don't hear from you before then, I shall understand that nothing has happened, or that you have made a mistake in supposing that the man was Hilliger's secretary."Mrs. Daplin-Gennery had taken into her home a family of the Belgian refugees. They were people of good class, from Bruges; and after all the misery they had endured in their flight to Ostend, and the hardships of their crossing the North Sea in a crowded, open boat, she was unwilling to allow them to undergo the further discomfort of being, as she said, "herded" in the public hall. So she had brought them, a mother and two daughters, to Green Croft, providing them with new clothes, giving up to them two of her best bedrooms, and entertaining them with the most dainty dinner that her cook could serve.During the meal they had told her so many thrilling and shocking stories of the German invasion and occupation of Belgium that she was worked up into a condition of extreme nervousness and began to dread more than ever the possibility of the enemy extending their march of ruthless conquest and destruction by coming over to England.When her three guests had retired for the night, and she was left alone, her nervousness increased; she started at every little sound that broke the silence of the house, and when at length there came a violent ring at an electric bell, she clutched the arms of her chair, trembling.The ring was repeated. Some one was at the front door. She tried to master her fears. Rising unsteadily from her chair, she crept silently out into the unlighted hall and stood listening.Again came a ring. She strode across to the hall table, opened its drawer and took out the loaded revolver which she had kept there since the beginning of the war in case of emergency. Gripping the weapon tightly, she approached the door and drew the bolt."Who's there?" she demanded. "What do you want at this time of night?""It's Seth Newruck," came the answer. "I want to know if you will allow me to use your telephone, ma'am, to speak to the naval base?"With all her courage coming back to her, Mrs. Daplin-Gennery flung open the door."Goodness gracious, boy!" she cried, hardly able to see him in the pitch darkness. "Whatever are you doing out alone at such an hour? Come inside, quick! Yes, of course you can use the telephone."She led him into the morning-room, where she lighted a candle, bright lights being prohibited. There she left him with the telephone receiver at his ear.He was not long in getting into communication with Mr. Bilverstone."I've been watching Sunnydene since dusk, sir," he reported. "One of the window blinds had been moved. I knew there was some one in the house. But nothing happened for hours, until, at last, just as I was thinking of going home to bed, I saw a man come out of the grounds by the side gate with a spade over his shoulder. He went down the cliff to the denes. I took cover and followed him. He was making straight for the place where we discovered the petrol, but stopped half way. There was a patrol of Territorials on the beach. He'd seen or heard them, and he had to turn back. As he passed the bush where I was hiding, I saw him more distinctly; but it's fearfully dark, and I could only judge by his figure and walk that he was Fritz Seligmann.""That's all right, so far," Mr. Bilverstone interposed across the telephone. "Did he go back to the house?""Well, sir," Seth continued, "he went by a round-about way, and I lost sight of him for a long time and couldn't move for fear he should see me. While I waited, a very queer thing happened, sir. There were no ships anchored in the Roads, and of course there were none under weigh; and yet when I looked out to sea, I noticed a tiny, green light somewhere about the middle of Alderwick shoal. It disappeared as suddenly as it came. And then, sir, there was a curious grunting noise from the same spot. Are you listening, sir?""Yes. What sort of a noise do you say it was?""I said grunting, sir; but if it had come from deeper water I should have said that it was the sound made by a submarine emptying or filling her ballast tanks. Do you think it could have been?""Wait. Let me consider." There was a long pause. "It's just possible. You've to remember that secret store of petrol. There is no doubt that Heinrich Hilliger intended it to be used by a German submarine. In that case it's not wildly improbable that a German submarine is hanging round with the intention of lifting it, not knowing that it has already been removed. But they can't very well come ashore for it while the sentries are patrolling the beach. Neither can Seligmann do any digging, unless he's desperate enough to shoot the sentries first, and so get them out of the way. Now, if it was indeed a submarine that you heard—a German submarine—and if she is short of petrol, she will wait there, submerged. In that case we may be able to drop on her. Do you understand?""Yes, sir," returned Seth. "And I understand, or rather guess, something else. I guess that if she has come to fill her petrol tanks from Alderwick beach, she must have been piloted there by some one who knows every fathom of that shoal. Don't you think it's likely that Max Hilliger is aboard of her, sir?""Listen!" Mr. Bilverstone's voice responded. "I will send a couple of marines along to keep watch, while you cut home and dress yourself up as a fisher boy and come down to me here at the naval base.""A fisher boy, sir?" Seth inquired in wonder."Yes," came the answer. "At the first gleam of daylight you are going out with me in a shrimping boat, to fish for shrimps round about Alderwick shoal. You understand? Right."CHAPTER XVIII.A SHRIMPING ADVENTURE."Not such a bad take for the first, eh?" said Arnold Bilverstone, emptying the pocket of the shrimping net into the basket between the thwarts. "If you're fond of shrimps, Seth, you can have a good feed at teatime."Seth Newruck, astern at the tiller, bent forward to examine the catch of the dim light of the early dawn."I should like them very much better if they weren't so beastly difficult to peel, sir," he answered. "I nearly always break them.""That is probably because you don't go the right way about it," rejoined Mr. Bilverstone, glancing shoreward. "You should press the head and tail firmly towards each other, giving them a gentle half turn. That loosens the scales, and you can draw the shrimp free as easily as drawing your finger out of a glove. Luff!"Seth luffed, and the lugger came up to the wind and bowled forward with a musical gurgle of water along her strakes.Mr. Bilverstone was in no hurry to add to the little pile of jumping, wriggling crustaceans in the basket. He was much less intent upon catching shrimps than watching the growing light in the eastern sky and calculating the boat's distance from Alderwick Knoll."When we get abreast of the lighthouse," he said, "we'll put out the gear again and creep along the shore. Don't stare about too much. We must pretend to be tremendously interested in our work. But keep your ears open. When we've passed Sunnydene we shall tack out as if we were making for the north end of the shoal. If a periscope pops up, we'll just go ahead as if we hadn't noticed it. A submarine couldn't torpedo a cockleshell like this, and unless she comes up awash we're just as safe from gunfire.""What I don't understand," said Seth, "is that, supposing a German submarine to be lying submerged out there in the shoal water; supposing she has come to refill her petrol tanks, how could she get the petrol on board? She couldn't come alongside the beach; and submarines don't carry boats.""The new German ones do," Mr. Bilverstone informed him. "They keep a collapsible boat stowed in a hatchway abaft the conning-tower. But, of course, it could only be launched when the submarine is awash. As for getting the petrol aboard, you may be sure they'd manage it somehow if it were still where they think it is.""They can't find out that we've removed it, unless they come ashore to look," Seth reflected.Mr. Bilverstone paid out the lugsail sheet an inch or two and perched himself on the windward gunwale."As a matter of fact," he said, "I believe they know already. I didn't tell you; but an hour ago, while you were having a sleep under my writing-table, we had a report from the two marines patrolling Alderwick beach. At about two o'clock they saw an electric light signal flashed from the foreshore, near one of the groins. There were no ships in sight, and no answering signal was seen. Still the light kept on flashing. The two marines crept up, one on either side of the groin. They got so near that one of them called out a challenge. As there was no response he fired. The light went out then. There was no cry, no sound, no movement. Nobody was shot; yet nobody ran away. The two marines and two Territorial sentries searched, but found absolutely no trace of the chap who had been signalling. He had vanished as completely as if the tide had come up and swallowed him.""That's queer!" murmured Seth. "Very queer. There must have been somebody working the hand-lamp, sir.""Not necessarily a hand-lamp," Mr. Bilverstone smiled. "None of the patrol thought of it, but it's easy to imagine how a tricky German, such as Fritz Seligmann, could plant an electric bulb in the sand or shingle, or even among the timbers of the groin, and work the switch from the top of the cliff by means of a long-distance connection. A spy was caught three nights ago signalling from the air. He flew a kite with an electric current running through the string. Spies wouldn't be much good if they weren't tricky."Slowly the dawning light in the eastern sky grew brighter, changing from steel grey to gold, tinged with a rosy glow. Again and again Mr. Bilverstone put out the gear. No one seeing the two occupants of the little boat, with its brown lugsail, would have believed them to be anything else than ordinary shrimpers. They both wore tanned canvas overalls and oilskin sou'-westers, and their manner of working contributed to their disguise.Twice they passed along the leeward fringe of the shoal. Seth Newruck's eyes searched the ruffled water where the waves broke here and there above the shallows; but he saw nothing unusual."I'm afraid we shall have only the shrimps for our trouble, sir," he remarked with a shiver, for the morning was very cold."Don't be impatient," nodded his companion, opening a Thermos flask. "We haven't finished our job yet. Here, have a drink of warm tea; and there are some biscuits in the locker behind you. Come forward here, and I will take the tiller for a spell."He took the boat outward, as if he were making for the lightship, leaving the shoal in his wake."Don't look round, sir," Seth whispered agitatedly. "I can see two periscopes, close together. And there's a sort of commotion in the water round about them, as if the submarine were rising."Mr. Bilverstone put over the tiller, so that the boat yawed and her sail began to flutter. He left the tiller and crept forward over the thwarts, seized the halliard, and lowered the sail, then hauled it up again, returned to the tiller and brought her up to the wind, going on as before."What did you do that for, sir?" Seth inquired, amazed at what he took to be an example of bad seamanship. "She was going on all right."Mr. Bilverstone took a drink of tea."It was a signal," he explained. "All the time while we've been out they've been watching us from the naval base. TheKingfisherhas had her steam up ready to come out as soon as we should give the sign. We have given it. You will see her presently. What about the periscopes?""They're still there, sir," Seth answered. "I can see the top of her conning-tower above water. She's moving. I believe I can hear her engines grunting. So she's got some petrol left. Hullo! I can see a man's head and shoulders.""She's bound to come up and work her petrol engines to generate electricity," said Mr. Bilverstone, going on a fresh tack. "Haul in the net, quick! Those Germans will guess we had a hand in it when they see the gunboat coming after them."Seth got the gear inboard, and again his companion tacked. The boat was making for home, with both wind and tide in her favour.Mr. Bilverstone could now watch the submarine. She was awash, and her petrol engines, making a great clatter, were evidently working up to full speed. Two of her crew had come out on the platform of her conning-tower. One was in officer's uniform. The sun, piercing the mist, shone upon his brass buttons and the gold badge on his cap. He stood looking southward to where two plumes of smoke from a steamer's funnels rose into the morning air over the lighthouse point. It could be seen that he had his left arm in a sling."She's coming after us, sir!" cried Seth. "She'll sink us!""She's trying to escape from the gunboat," declared Mr. Bilverstone. "You see, she can't submerge until her electric batteries are charged, and she can go quicker on the surface. Look! There comes theKingfisher!"The officer disappeared for some moments, but returned with a pair of binoculars, which he levelled upon the gunboat. The submarine quickly increased her speed, sending up a great fountain of foam as she cut through the water. She passed so close to the shrimp boat that it rocked on the waves she left in her wake. Seth Newruck saw the number on her side—U50. He also caught a glimpse of the face of the young officer on the deck of her conning-tower."Look!" he cried excitedly. "Look, sir! It's Max Hilliger himself!"Hardly had he spoken when there was a spurt of fire and smoke from one of theKingfisher's4.7 guns; a shell whistled through the air and sent up a tall column of spray as it fell midway between the submarine and the shrimping boat. The submarine, now fully on the surface and racing along at eighteen-knot speed, offered a good target; but she manoeuvred, steering a zig-zag course, seldom exposing her broadside. A gun was raised from its concealed hatchway on her after platform, and she replied to theKingfisher'sfire without visible effect.Arnold Bilverstone, nervously gripping the boat's gunwale, was leaning forward, gazing fixedly northward along the coast."That's good!" he exclaimed. "There's a couple of destroyers coming out from Buremouth. They'll head her off."The chase continued. Suddenly the submarine's gun disappeared. The two men on her conning-tower went below. She seemed to be slowing down. A shell from one of the two destroyers fell perilously near her, deluging her with spray."She's hit!" cried Seth Newruck. "See! she's sinking!""Submerging," corrected Mr. Bilverstone, watching the conning-tower slowly disappear.TheKingfisher, going at her best speed of twenty knots, was soon abreast of the shrimper, separated by hardly more than fifty yards. Just in time her course was altered; she went abruptly to starboard, and so luckily avoided the torpedo which was aimed at her from the submerged enemy. Seth saw the disturbance of the water as the deadly weapon sped on its fruitless errand.The gunboat gave up the dangerous chase and steamed a confusing, irregular course until she rounded the southern extremity of Alderwick Shoal, and thus got the protection of the sandbank between her and the submarine. But of the submarine herself and her periscopes no more was seen.Arnold Bilverstone steered alongside the gunboat. Both he and Seth Newruck were taken on board, their boat being hoisted on deck with its catch of shrimps, which were consigned to the seamen's quarters. Later on that same day, on his way home up the High Street, Seth Newruck encountered Constable Challis."I thought you'd be interested to knew," said the constable, "as that dug-out at Green Croft came into use this mornin', when them naval guns were firin'. Mrs. Daplin-Gennery made sure it was the Germans comin' to make an invasion. She got all her household, includin' three Belgian refugees, into the shelter in double quick time; and there they remained until long after the firin' had ceased. Between ourselves, they might have remained comfortable in their beds. There was no cause for alarm. It was only that theKingfisherdiscovered an enemy ship layin' explosive mines off the coast and gave chase and sent her to the bottom."Seth smiled to himself. Constable Challis was curiously astray in his information."Did you see what took place, constable?" he inquired, assuming ignorance.Challis shook his head regretfully."I wasn't on duty at the time," he answered. "Anyhow, Mrs. Daplin-Gennery had a rare fright. I'm told, indeed, that she's had a disturbed night from beginnin' to end. No sooner had she got her refugees to bed, when somebody or other had the impudence to knock her up askin' to use her telephone. At two o'clock in the mornin' she was again alarmed by hearin' a rifle shot on the denes. Then there was the naval guns. What the rifle shot was about I don't know. Inspector Jenner was up there on special duty shortly afterwards, but knew nothin' about it.""Oh!" nodded Seth, with new interest. "And what was the special duty?"Constable Challis bent nearer to the boy and lowered his voice."Strictly between ourselves," he said. "There's a rumour goin' about that one of the Germans has come back to Sunnydene—that secretary—and that he's been up to some spyin' tricks. Inspector Jenner, with assistance, went to arrest him. They broke into the house and made a thorough search, but he wasn't there. There wasn't a trace of him on the premises.""Still," said Seth, "I suppose the police will keep a watch?""You may take it from me," declared Challis, "if that there Seligmann is anywhere about Haddisport, we shall nab him."CHAPTER XIX.U50."Dainty, ahoy! Show a light at your gangway while I come aboard of you."It was a dark, boisterous night, with fiercely driving rain. Mark Redisham in his dripping oilskins was pacing the wet deck of the mine-sweeper, lying at anchor in a land-locked bay on the north-east coast.TheDaintyand her consorts had been at their perilous work dredging for explosive mines off the north of Ireland and in the Pentland Firth, battling day by day with stormy seas, incessant rains, and bitterly cold winds. It had been a most uncomfortable trip, and Mark and his shipmates were rejoicing in the prospect of a few days' rest at home. Even the necessity of anchoring at night irritated them because of the delay.The trawlers were lying now in the midst of a large flotilla of destroyers and light cruisers. Mark had read a flashlight signal from the bridge of one of the cruisers, inquiring which was the commodore of the mine-sweepers, and he had answered it with his electric torch. A pinnace was approaching theDainty, and it was an officer in the stern sheets who had hailed him.Mark held a lighted lamp in the open gangway, and the pinnace came alongside. The officer, a sub-lieutenant, climbed on board to speak with the skipper in the shelter of the wheel-house, leaving a midshipman in charge of the boat. Mark was about to enter into conversation with the bluejackets when the midshipman stood up. The lamplight shone in his face."Hullo, Rodney!" cried Mark in astonishment, recognising his brother. "What an unexpected meeting! How are you? Have you come off theLevity?"They clasped hands."No," Rodney answered. "No, theLevityis in the repair yard. She got a bit knocked about in the scrap we had with the enemy off Heligoland. But in any case, I was only aboard her temporarily. Destroyers don't carry midshipmen as a rule, you know. I've been appointed to theDauntless, the new light cruiser out there. Captain Damant is in command of her. She's heaps better than theAtreus; in fact, she's about the best light cruiser in the service. I thought you'd heard of my luck. I wrote to mother about it.""But I haven't seen mother for over a week." Mark explained. "I expect to see her to-morrow, though.""I'm afraid you won't," Rodney told him. "I believe you've got to sweep up a new mine-field that the Germans have laid south of the Dogger. That's where theRapidwas sunk this morning.""TheRapid! Was she mined?""Yes, worse luck. No lives were lost, though; and, of course, she was obsolete, and no good for fighting, so it's not very serious. We'd already paid the enemy in advance, seeing that Lieutenant Ingoldsby torpedoed one of their newest destroyers yesterday afternoon. I'm awfully glad to have met you. Give my love to mother and the girls when you get home, and tell them I'm getting to know the North Sea as well as I know our own garden. Good night."Mark drew back to make way for the lieutenant, who had been giving the skipper instructions for the sweeping of the new mine-field.At daylight the next morning, having taken in fresh stores, theDaintyand her consorts steamed off.On arriving at the scene of their duties they found another fleet of trawlers already at work, helped by an aeroplane. They combined in a systematic sweep of the known area and exploded some scores of mines without an accident. The new picking-up net lately introduced was doubtless the reason of this freedom from disaster.Sweeping the seas for explosive mines indiscriminately laid by the enemy for the destruction of any ship which might run up against them, was not the only work in which the British steam trawlers and drifters were engaged. These stout little vessels, with their hardy crews of North Sea fishermen, were also engaged to act as scouts and messengers patrolling the coasts. Many of them were fitted with wireless masts, by means of which they sent out reports by code of anything suspicious which might be observed.Thus, while theDaintywas still in the neighbourhood of the Dogger Bank, threading her way through a fleet of English herring smacks, Mark Redisham was able to send out a wireless message intimating that a German submarine of the largest and newest type had been seen. He gave her number as U50, and added that she had been watched taking in a supply of petrol and other stores from a captured English trawler manned by Germans.Less than an hour afterwards two British destroyers were seen racing at top speed in the direction in which the enemy trawler had disappeared. They went out of sight. There came the sound of gun firing, and Mark afterwards heard that the trawler had been sunk and her German crew taken prisoners.While the guns were firing and theDaintywas yet within sight of the drifters, Mark again saw the submarine, or, rather, he saw her periscopes moving above the surface about a mile away. At the same time the skipper was watching a confused cloud of black smoke through the rain mist on the western horizon."Looks like a big liner," Snowling conjectured. "Give her a signal that there's an enemy submarine prowlin' around."Before going to his instrument room Mark looked searchingly at the smoke."That's not a liner," he decided. "There's too much smoke for a liner. And there's more than one. It looks like a patrol of cruisers."He sent off his wireless message and got one back to say that it had been received and understood. On returning to the deck he searched for signs of the submarine, but found none. The funnels of three British cruisers were now visible above the line of the sea. TheDaintywas steered towards them. When their turrets and hulls came into view, Mark succeeded in identifying the ships as the armoured cruisersPomona,Graemsay, andRonaldsay. They were followed by a light cruiser and a division of destroyers. He signalled to them:"Keep to the eastward of the fishing fleet."But his warning advice did not divert the warships from their course. They approached at easy speed in line-ahead formation, thePomonaleading."They're all right, don't you trouble," observed Skipper Snowling. "I expect that that submarine has made off to Heligoland. They're all of 'em afraid of the very sight of the White Ensign."The great, three-funnelled cruisers were a noble sight as they steamed along so steadily. Mark Redisham watched them through his binoculars, paying his attention to each one in turn and trying to discover in what small details of structure they differed one from another; for they were all three of the same class. Each was of twelve thousand tons displacement, each carried the same number of heavy guns, and each, as he knew, had the same complement of seven hundred and fifty officers and men.As thePomonacame nearer he looked at the officers on the bridge. They wore their greatcoats, but he could still make out their respective ranks by their stripes and badges.Suddenly one of them at the starboard end of the bridge pointed excitedly into the sea and shouted. Instantly there was a loud crash, an explosion. The whole ship staggered."Glory be!" cried Skipper Snowling. "That's a torpedo! It struck her amidships!"In the excitement of the next two hours Mark Redisham got a confused impression of all that happened. He saw thePomonalisting over in a cloud of smoke and escaping steam. She was sinking. TheGraemsayand theRonaldsaywere putting out their boats as they closed upon her. Their engines were stopped as they took up positions about four hundred yards apart from her to give assistance.Hardly had they stopped when there was a second heavy explosion, followed by a third. TheRonaldsayhad been torpedoed under her after-magazine. The air was filled with flying wreckage, which fell among her boats.TheDaintyand her consorts, as well as the fishing smacks and steam drifters, hastened to the rescue. Already the cruisers' picket boats and cutters had picked up many survivors from thePomona. Some were returning to theGraemsay, when she, too, was hit by a fourth torpedo from the hidden enemy.Looking round in the direction from which, as it seemed to him, the weapons had been fired, Mark Redisham saw the submarine's two periscopes moving along the surface some three hundred yards away. Then the upper part of her conning-tower rose. The gunners on the strickenGraemsayimmediately opened fire upon it, and their ship's engines were put full steam ahead with the intention of running her down. But the cruiser was badly holed below water; she heeled rapidly and finally turned keel up.In the meantime, the light cruiser and her flotilla of destroyers were coming down at racing speed, and the smacks and trawlers were drawing nearer. There were boats in plenty to give help to those who could swim or who had managed to seize upon floating wreckage; but, unfortunately, many had been killed or hopelessly maimed by the explosions, whilst others had not been able to escape from the stokeholds and lower decks, the loss amounting to the terrible total of sixty officers and fourteen hundred men."Seems to me," said Harry Snowling, helping Mark Redisham to lift a wounded stoker from the dinghy to theDainty'sdeck, "as there must have been a whole crowd of submarines lyin' in wait to do this. 'Taren't proper warfare, like gunfire in an open action.""I have seen only one," returned Mark, standing up and glancing over the side. "The same one that we saw taking in petrol from that stolen trawler. She's in sight even now, Harry. I can see her plainly, waiting, I suppose, to have a shot at the light cruiser—if she's got any more torpedoes left. I can make out her number. It's the U50. There's a group of Germans on her conning-tower platform. I believe they're gloating over what they've done. One of them's a middy, with his arm in a sling. Ah! They're going below now! They're going to submerge."He did not guess—he did not dream of the possibility—but had he taken his binoculars, he might have distinguished the features of the "middy" to whom he referred, and recognised them as the features of Max Hilliger.CHAPTER XX.PUT TO THE TEST."It's astonishing how much more interesting the North Sea has become since the beginning of the war," remarked Vera Redisham, standing at the dining-room window, busily knitting a khaki muffler for some unknown soldier at the Front. "There's a steamer passing now, a neutral, and I'm simply dying to know where she comes from and where she's going, and if she has been in danger from German torpedoes."Her brother Mark, home on shore leave, was seated at the fireside, making up arrears in his reading of the newspapers. He was dressed in mufti, and looked very different from the rough-clothed signal boy who for weeks past had been battling with autumn storms and the perils of floating mines on the wave-swept decks of theDainty."What flag's she flying?" he questioned, turning in his comfortable chair."I can't make out," his sister answered. "It's blue, with a white cross. And the same colours are painted on her side. And, oh, Mark, isn't it sweet of her? She's saluting theKingfisher!""So she ought to," declared Mark, dropping his paper and rising to his feet. "All neutrals ought to salute the White Ensign, seeing what our Navy is doing by keeping the seas clear of the enemy. A Danish ship saluted our squad of mine-sweepers the other day. Blue with a white cross? She must be Greek. I expect she's carrying a cargo of currants. Isn't her name painted on her side?"He went to the window and looked out upon the sea."Yes, she's Greek," he decided. "She's from Pireus. That's the harbour outside Athens, isn't it? Who's this coming in at the gate? A policeman delivering handbills!"The parlourmaid presently brought in a sheet of typewritten paper, saying that it had been left at the door by a police sergeant. Mark Redisham took it from her and glanced at it. It was an order, issued by the Chief Constable of the county, under the Defence of the Realm Act."This ought to keep silly people along the front from showing lights from their windows," he announced. "Listen!""All lights visible from seaward shall be effectually obscured. No person shall show a light on the shore or on the land adjoining thereto, or visible from seaward."The public are hereby warned that non-compliance with this regulation will render them liable to instant arrest, and that patrols have been instructed to fire at sight and without further warning on any person found signalling.""That's what should have been done weeks ago.""Bright lights on motor-cars ought to be prohibited, too," pursued Vera."Yes," agreed Mark, "and all Germans ought to be shut up. If innocent Belgian refugees are not allowed to stay in Haddisport, why should we let Germans live in houses overlooking the coast? They ought to be cleared out instead of being given the chance of sending messages over to Germany. It's certain there are spies all along the East Coast. Otherwise, how could the enemy know so well about the movements of our warships?"He picked up the ball of khaki wool which Vera had dropped."I believe they're only waiting their chance to slip across and do a bit of raiding," he went on. "The Admiralty seem to think it possible, anyhow. That's why they have altered the positions of the lightships and buoys. I expect they'll continue to shift them about, so that the enemy may be confused.""Of course, motor-cars and bicycles, however brightly lighted, can't send messages across the North Sea," Vera reflected.Mark shrugged his shoulders."What's to hinder a motor-car being fitted with secret aerials?" he asked. "The Germans are not children. They're up to all sorts of cunning tricks. Why, only last week one of our Haddisport drifters went out to the herring fishing with a splash of red paint on her starboard bow. Nobody knew who put it there, the crew least of all; they didn't even see it. But when the boats were drifting to their nets on the fishing ground, a German submarine came nosing round, spotted the red splash of paint, and then went off in a bee-line for Heligoland.""Well?" questioned Vera, not understanding. "What did it mean?""Well?" repeated Mark. "I don't know what it meant. But the men on the submarine did. It was a pre-arranged sign—a message. It's an old Scout trick. Darby Catchpole wanted to communicate with me once, by a way we'd fixed upon. I watched for the postman, and when he came past this gate I saw some flour dust on his left arm. That meant 'No.' If the flour dust had been on his right arm, it would have meant 'Yes.' In the same way a German spy could put a secret mark on a railway carriage or a motor-car, going to a known destination, and give information to hundreds of other spies along the route.""Dear me!" exclaimed Vera. "Perhaps it was a spy who tied the mysterious piece of ribbon to the handle-bar of my bicycle yesterday!""Likely enough," surmised Mark. "Perhaps the same one who daubed the paint on that fishing-boat. There's no doubt there are spies around here. And there's a green motor-car that goes dashing about between here and Buremouth with lamps shining like searchlights. The police and the military patrols have had instructions to capture it. Constable Challis has been put on night duty now. Challis is rather too fond of talking, but he's an uncommonly smart policeman."Mark Redisham's estimate of Constable Challis was justified sooner than he expected.On the very next night, indeed, Challis was on his beat patrolling the rabbit warren and the dark lanes to the north of the town, when his smartness was put to the test.Formerly he would have been watching for tramps, suspicious loiterers, and possible burglars; but, since the outbreak of war, crime had diminished, even gipsies were fewer, and he could do nothing so useful as to watch the road for unauthorised vehicles and for spies flashing signals across the sea.Before ten o'clock he had visited five different houses to alarm the occupants by informing them that lights were visible from their windows.In three cases it was discovered that the lights were to be seen through the chinks of imperfectly drawn curtains or ill-fitting blinds; in one case a nurse had left the gas burning by mistake, and in the other, where the light came through an open stable door, a groom was attending to a sick horse and had not known of the new regulations. By midnight, however, the whole neighbourhood was in darkness.Yet, still there were belated cyclists carrying lighted lamps. The worst offenders were the motor-cyclists, and these were mostly military men who, as Challis reflected, ought to have known better. Once a large motor-car dashed along the road at high speed with acetylene lamps which shone for many yards in advance of the wheels, illuminating the trees and hedges on either side of the road.Much to Challis's surprise, when he stood and held out a warning arm and called to the driver to stop, he was obeyed. Even more to his surprise, he discovered the driver to be Mrs. Daplin-Gennery, and that her companion was her nephew, Lieutenant Ingoldsby."Very sorry, ma'am," said Challis apologetically, "but I've got strict orders to stop all cars with high lights. I'm afraid I must ask you to lower yours, or else screen them.""Quite right, constable," laughed Lieutenant Ingoldsby, jumping out. "I'm glad you stopped us without opening fire upon us."Challis gathered that Lieutenant Ingoldsby was on the way to Buremouth to visit a friend who had been sent home wounded. When the car had gone on, with greatly reduced lights, he returned towards Haddisport along the edge of the cliff, then made inland to the Alderwick road.As he approached the road through the intricate maze of bramble and gorse, he became aware of the sound of an approaching car. Could it possibly be Mrs. Daplin-Gennery returning so soon?Instead of going into the road, he concealed himself within the shadow of a hawthorn-tree and watched. The car was coming slowly—so slowly that it made very little sound; and its lights were exceedingly dim. He waited, feeling instinctively that something was about to happen. It occurred to him that the dimness of the lights and the quiet slowness with which the car was moving were due to the extreme caution on the part of the driver, who evidently wished to escape observation.In the darkness Challis could hardly see the vehicle itself, only the two tiny lights which were like the glimmer of candles. Suddenly, just opposite to him, it stopped, then backed and curved towards the farther side of the road.Only at that moment did the watcher realise that just at that point was a narrow lane leading to Alderwick Hall. It was into this lane that the car was backing, obviously for the purpose of concealment. When its whole length was within the lane, hidden under the overhanging trees, it stopped.The driver got out, stood for some moments as if listening, then went softly to the front of the car to extinguish the lamps. As he bent down to the first of them, the light shone in his face.Challis hitched his cuffs back from his wrists. His eyesight was very keen. He had seen the man's face and recognised it. It was the face of Fritz Seligmann, the German spy!With the stealthy softness of a cat stalking its prey, the policeman crept forward, and, just as Seligmann had raised his hand to turn out the second light, leapt upon him, gripping him from behind by the two arms.There was a heavy gasp from the astonished German as he went down on his knees, the policeman's weight on top of him. He writhed and struggled to free himself, and succeeded in getting his right hand to his hip pocket, from which, with an effort, he drew his loaded revolver.Challis guessed rather than knew what was in the man's hand. In an instant he had seized the German's wrist, twisted the hand under it, and secured the weapon from the helpless fingers."Now," he said, speaking for the first time, "I think I've got you. If you move I'm goin' to use this here pistol. You're an enemy, and you may take it from me I don't care if I shoot you dead here and now no more than if I killed you on the field of battle."Seligmann was lying with his face to the grass, panting, writhing, heaving under the weight of the constable's knee planted in the small of his back, while the cold ring of the revolver muzzle was pressed against the bone behind his ear and the policeman's forefinger was twitching at the trigger.Thus they remained for some minutes, the one utterly helpless, the other resolute, alert, and astonishingly strong.In those tense minutes Challis wondered what he was going to do. He did not want to use the revolver as anything else than a menace, and yet he knew that if he should move there would be a struggle, during which, by some trick or dexterity, his captive might escape.In the back pocket of his overcoat was a pair of handcuffs. But how could he get hold of them without dropping the revolver? How could he hope to fix them on the German's wrists?But if he could not get at the handcuffs, at least he could summon help. There were houses within call. The nearest was Sunnydene, for which Seligmann had no doubt been shaping; the next was Green Croft, then Major Redisham's. He managed to draw out his whistle, while his captive straggled more desperately than ever to get free. Just as he raised the whistle to his lips, he heard the quick patter of feet along the road. He blew a long, shrill blast.Seligmann heaved himself upward with a mighty effort; but the revolver muzzle was pressed yet more forcefully against his skull, and the constable's knees were almost breaking his back.The footsteps approached swiftly, and at length the flash of an electric torch shed its slanting ray upon the desperately struggling pair."What's up? Hullo, Challis, I've been searching for you."It was the voice of Mark Redisham. He had received a telephone message from the police-station, bidding him find Constable Challis and help him to waylay this same suspected motor-car, coming from Buremouth."Quick! Feel in my back pocket for the handcuffs," Challis ordered, dropping the revolver and seizing his prisoner's two wrists. "Right. Now hold his head while I put 'em on. Then you can drive him and me to the police-station."There was a sharp clip as the steel rings were locked upon the German's wrists. Mark went to the car, turned up the lights, and got ready. They bundled the prisoner into the body of the car, where Challis sat with him, covering him with the revolver. Mark drove off through the town, and soon brought up at his destination. In the car they discovered a complete wireless outfit, a signalling lamp, and a handbag containing certain compromising documents."Yes," said the Superintendent, when Seligmann was safely locked in a cell. "He has been busy with that wireless apparatus to-night. Some of his messages were jammed, but not all of them. Not all."

CHAPTER XVII.

TOLD THROUGH THE TELEPHONE.

Seth Newruck's belief was confirmed when he reached the harbour and met his Scoutmaster and Darby Catchpole.

"Give whatever help you can, Newruck," said Mr. Bilverstone. "These boats coming in are from Ostend, with Belgian refugees, who will want food. Many of them will be ill, some wounded. The boats will be brought up alongside theKingfisher, first of all. Then the people will be taken to the public hall."

The jetties and quays were crowded with townsfolk, watching the trawlers drift slowly in to the outer harbour. As the first boat came alongside the quay there was an audible gasp of pity for the forlorn victims of war. The little craft was thronged with women and children, looking miserably ill and hungry, and still showing in their grim faces the lingering horror of all they had gone through, mingled with doubt as to the manner in which they would be received in a foreign land.

Then caps were raised in silent salute, handkerchiefs were waved in welcome, and the townsfolk pressed forward eagerly to throw down tins of biscuits, bags of buns, bananas, and chocolate, and to pass cans of hot coffee and milk.

Among the most eager was Mrs. Daplin-Gennery, who had loaded her motor-car with food from a neighbouring confectioner's and got Darby Catchpole to help her to distribute it as each boat was warped in. All the time, tears of sympathy and sorrow were running down her cheeks, and she spoke to the Belgians in French, which some of them understood. Once, when a particular boat was passing, crowded with women, all of whom seemed to be ill, she took off her rich coat and threw it down to one of them and then returned to her car to buy yet more food.

There were over fifty boats in all, bringing considerably more than a thousand of the poorest refugees from all parts of Belgium, with such little treasures as they had been able to snatch from their desolated homes. Many of them had brought their dogs, their cats, and their canaries. Many were wounded, and had to be taken to the hospitals. Some were taken to houses in the town, but most of them were driven in cars to the public hall, where they were well cared for.

Mr. Arnold Bilverstone, taking temporary leave from his duties at the naval base, had mustered all the Scouts in the town to give help in attending to the distressed refugees. He was busy in the public hall, making a list of the Belgians' names, when Seth Newruck went hurriedly up to him and plucked at his sleeve.

"Mr. Bilverstone, I've got something to tell you, sir," began Seth.

Mr. Bilverstone laid aside his fountain pen and prepared to listen.

"Yes," he smiled, "what is it? Some more families got accidentally mixed up? Children separated from their mothers and sent to the wrong billets?"

"No, sir, it's not that," Seth went on haltingly, as if fearing that after all his communication was of no importance. "It's something I've seen. I don't know if you noticed one of the Belgian boats, a small, yawl-rigged vessel, calledLa Belle Pucelle, of Blankenberghe? She was one of the last that came in, and about the most untidy of the lot. She was like a floating rag-bag."

"I didn't see her to my knowledge," returned Mr. Bilverstone, turning back a page of his list, "but I wrote her name within the last half-hour. Here it is,La Belle Pucelle, with the names of the thirty-nine refugees who crossed in her—twenty-two women, five children, four infants in arm's, three men, apart from a crew of four men and a boy, and two dogs of doubtful breed. That's the lot."

Seth Newruck was looking at the list over the Scoutmaster's shoulder.

"That is eight men, including the boy," he said. "But as a matter of fact, sir, there were nine, and you haven't got the ninth man's name, because he didn't get registered. He didn't come ashore in the same way as the rest of them. I watched him, sir. The reason why I took particular notice of him was that he looked of a different class from the others, and was about the only refugee of military age, apart from the fishermen who did the seamen's work."

"Well?" urged Mr. Bilverstone.

"He wore a very shabby overcoat," Seth continued, "but beneath it he had a good tweed suit. Just as the boat came alongside the quay he slipped behind the mainsail; and when he appeared again, he had taken off the overcoat, changed his cloth cap for a bowler, and was carrying a brown leather handbag. While the other refugees were pressing forward to receive the food that was handed down to them, he got round to the stern, stepped on the quarter rail, and from that on to the quay, where he quickly disappeared in the crowd."

"I expect he was an Englishman who had missed the passenger steamers and come over by the only way possible," suggested Mr. Bilverstone.

"No, sir," insisted Newruck, "he wasn't an Englishman, nor yet a Belgian. He wasn't even a genuine refugee. I'm rather good at remembering faces, sir, and I knew I'd seen his face before, somewhere; though it wasn't until he'd gone that I realised who he was. I'm certain, now, however, I know that he was an alien enemy, a German, and a spy. I know that he was Fritz Seligmann—Herr Hilliger's secretary."

Mr. Bilverstone looked up sharply.

"Indeed?" he cried. "You are sure?"

"Certain." Seth Newruck nodded emphatically. "I believe he has smuggled himself over here to do some spying work."

The Scoutmaster was silent for some moments. He took up his pen, but did not use it.

"Look here, Seth," he said presently. "There may be more in this than appears on the surface. That man has come over here for no good. He ought to be tracked. Unfortunately, I can't leave this work just now. But you can be spared, I think. Suppose you go up to Sunnydene. That's where he'll make for. Go up and have a look at the house. If you see anything to show that some one has entered—any smoke from the chimneys, if the gate has been left open, if there are any new footprints on the garden path—let me know at once. Mrs. Daplin-Gennery will let you use her telephone. I expect I shall be at the naval base until about midnight. If I don't hear from you before then, I shall understand that nothing has happened, or that you have made a mistake in supposing that the man was Hilliger's secretary."

Mrs. Daplin-Gennery had taken into her home a family of the Belgian refugees. They were people of good class, from Bruges; and after all the misery they had endured in their flight to Ostend, and the hardships of their crossing the North Sea in a crowded, open boat, she was unwilling to allow them to undergo the further discomfort of being, as she said, "herded" in the public hall. So she had brought them, a mother and two daughters, to Green Croft, providing them with new clothes, giving up to them two of her best bedrooms, and entertaining them with the most dainty dinner that her cook could serve.

During the meal they had told her so many thrilling and shocking stories of the German invasion and occupation of Belgium that she was worked up into a condition of extreme nervousness and began to dread more than ever the possibility of the enemy extending their march of ruthless conquest and destruction by coming over to England.

When her three guests had retired for the night, and she was left alone, her nervousness increased; she started at every little sound that broke the silence of the house, and when at length there came a violent ring at an electric bell, she clutched the arms of her chair, trembling.

The ring was repeated. Some one was at the front door. She tried to master her fears. Rising unsteadily from her chair, she crept silently out into the unlighted hall and stood listening.

Again came a ring. She strode across to the hall table, opened its drawer and took out the loaded revolver which she had kept there since the beginning of the war in case of emergency. Gripping the weapon tightly, she approached the door and drew the bolt.

"Who's there?" she demanded. "What do you want at this time of night?"

"It's Seth Newruck," came the answer. "I want to know if you will allow me to use your telephone, ma'am, to speak to the naval base?"

With all her courage coming back to her, Mrs. Daplin-Gennery flung open the door.

"Goodness gracious, boy!" she cried, hardly able to see him in the pitch darkness. "Whatever are you doing out alone at such an hour? Come inside, quick! Yes, of course you can use the telephone."

She led him into the morning-room, where she lighted a candle, bright lights being prohibited. There she left him with the telephone receiver at his ear.

He was not long in getting into communication with Mr. Bilverstone.

"I've been watching Sunnydene since dusk, sir," he reported. "One of the window blinds had been moved. I knew there was some one in the house. But nothing happened for hours, until, at last, just as I was thinking of going home to bed, I saw a man come out of the grounds by the side gate with a spade over his shoulder. He went down the cliff to the denes. I took cover and followed him. He was making straight for the place where we discovered the petrol, but stopped half way. There was a patrol of Territorials on the beach. He'd seen or heard them, and he had to turn back. As he passed the bush where I was hiding, I saw him more distinctly; but it's fearfully dark, and I could only judge by his figure and walk that he was Fritz Seligmann."

"That's all right, so far," Mr. Bilverstone interposed across the telephone. "Did he go back to the house?"

"Well, sir," Seth continued, "he went by a round-about way, and I lost sight of him for a long time and couldn't move for fear he should see me. While I waited, a very queer thing happened, sir. There were no ships anchored in the Roads, and of course there were none under weigh; and yet when I looked out to sea, I noticed a tiny, green light somewhere about the middle of Alderwick shoal. It disappeared as suddenly as it came. And then, sir, there was a curious grunting noise from the same spot. Are you listening, sir?"

"Yes. What sort of a noise do you say it was?"

"I said grunting, sir; but if it had come from deeper water I should have said that it was the sound made by a submarine emptying or filling her ballast tanks. Do you think it could have been?"

"Wait. Let me consider." There was a long pause. "It's just possible. You've to remember that secret store of petrol. There is no doubt that Heinrich Hilliger intended it to be used by a German submarine. In that case it's not wildly improbable that a German submarine is hanging round with the intention of lifting it, not knowing that it has already been removed. But they can't very well come ashore for it while the sentries are patrolling the beach. Neither can Seligmann do any digging, unless he's desperate enough to shoot the sentries first, and so get them out of the way. Now, if it was indeed a submarine that you heard—a German submarine—and if she is short of petrol, she will wait there, submerged. In that case we may be able to drop on her. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," returned Seth. "And I understand, or rather guess, something else. I guess that if she has come to fill her petrol tanks from Alderwick beach, she must have been piloted there by some one who knows every fathom of that shoal. Don't you think it's likely that Max Hilliger is aboard of her, sir?"

"Listen!" Mr. Bilverstone's voice responded. "I will send a couple of marines along to keep watch, while you cut home and dress yourself up as a fisher boy and come down to me here at the naval base."

"A fisher boy, sir?" Seth inquired in wonder.

"Yes," came the answer. "At the first gleam of daylight you are going out with me in a shrimping boat, to fish for shrimps round about Alderwick shoal. You understand? Right."

CHAPTER XVIII.

A SHRIMPING ADVENTURE.

"Not such a bad take for the first, eh?" said Arnold Bilverstone, emptying the pocket of the shrimping net into the basket between the thwarts. "If you're fond of shrimps, Seth, you can have a good feed at teatime."

Seth Newruck, astern at the tiller, bent forward to examine the catch of the dim light of the early dawn.

"I should like them very much better if they weren't so beastly difficult to peel, sir," he answered. "I nearly always break them."

"That is probably because you don't go the right way about it," rejoined Mr. Bilverstone, glancing shoreward. "You should press the head and tail firmly towards each other, giving them a gentle half turn. That loosens the scales, and you can draw the shrimp free as easily as drawing your finger out of a glove. Luff!"

Seth luffed, and the lugger came up to the wind and bowled forward with a musical gurgle of water along her strakes.

Mr. Bilverstone was in no hurry to add to the little pile of jumping, wriggling crustaceans in the basket. He was much less intent upon catching shrimps than watching the growing light in the eastern sky and calculating the boat's distance from Alderwick Knoll.

"When we get abreast of the lighthouse," he said, "we'll put out the gear again and creep along the shore. Don't stare about too much. We must pretend to be tremendously interested in our work. But keep your ears open. When we've passed Sunnydene we shall tack out as if we were making for the north end of the shoal. If a periscope pops up, we'll just go ahead as if we hadn't noticed it. A submarine couldn't torpedo a cockleshell like this, and unless she comes up awash we're just as safe from gunfire."

"What I don't understand," said Seth, "is that, supposing a German submarine to be lying submerged out there in the shoal water; supposing she has come to refill her petrol tanks, how could she get the petrol on board? She couldn't come alongside the beach; and submarines don't carry boats."

"The new German ones do," Mr. Bilverstone informed him. "They keep a collapsible boat stowed in a hatchway abaft the conning-tower. But, of course, it could only be launched when the submarine is awash. As for getting the petrol aboard, you may be sure they'd manage it somehow if it were still where they think it is."

"They can't find out that we've removed it, unless they come ashore to look," Seth reflected.

Mr. Bilverstone paid out the lugsail sheet an inch or two and perched himself on the windward gunwale.

"As a matter of fact," he said, "I believe they know already. I didn't tell you; but an hour ago, while you were having a sleep under my writing-table, we had a report from the two marines patrolling Alderwick beach. At about two o'clock they saw an electric light signal flashed from the foreshore, near one of the groins. There were no ships in sight, and no answering signal was seen. Still the light kept on flashing. The two marines crept up, one on either side of the groin. They got so near that one of them called out a challenge. As there was no response he fired. The light went out then. There was no cry, no sound, no movement. Nobody was shot; yet nobody ran away. The two marines and two Territorial sentries searched, but found absolutely no trace of the chap who had been signalling. He had vanished as completely as if the tide had come up and swallowed him."

"That's queer!" murmured Seth. "Very queer. There must have been somebody working the hand-lamp, sir."

"Not necessarily a hand-lamp," Mr. Bilverstone smiled. "None of the patrol thought of it, but it's easy to imagine how a tricky German, such as Fritz Seligmann, could plant an electric bulb in the sand or shingle, or even among the timbers of the groin, and work the switch from the top of the cliff by means of a long-distance connection. A spy was caught three nights ago signalling from the air. He flew a kite with an electric current running through the string. Spies wouldn't be much good if they weren't tricky."

Slowly the dawning light in the eastern sky grew brighter, changing from steel grey to gold, tinged with a rosy glow. Again and again Mr. Bilverstone put out the gear. No one seeing the two occupants of the little boat, with its brown lugsail, would have believed them to be anything else than ordinary shrimpers. They both wore tanned canvas overalls and oilskin sou'-westers, and their manner of working contributed to their disguise.

Twice they passed along the leeward fringe of the shoal. Seth Newruck's eyes searched the ruffled water where the waves broke here and there above the shallows; but he saw nothing unusual.

"I'm afraid we shall have only the shrimps for our trouble, sir," he remarked with a shiver, for the morning was very cold.

"Don't be impatient," nodded his companion, opening a Thermos flask. "We haven't finished our job yet. Here, have a drink of warm tea; and there are some biscuits in the locker behind you. Come forward here, and I will take the tiller for a spell."

He took the boat outward, as if he were making for the lightship, leaving the shoal in his wake.

"Don't look round, sir," Seth whispered agitatedly. "I can see two periscopes, close together. And there's a sort of commotion in the water round about them, as if the submarine were rising."

Mr. Bilverstone put over the tiller, so that the boat yawed and her sail began to flutter. He left the tiller and crept forward over the thwarts, seized the halliard, and lowered the sail, then hauled it up again, returned to the tiller and brought her up to the wind, going on as before.

"What did you do that for, sir?" Seth inquired, amazed at what he took to be an example of bad seamanship. "She was going on all right."

Mr. Bilverstone took a drink of tea.

"It was a signal," he explained. "All the time while we've been out they've been watching us from the naval base. TheKingfisherhas had her steam up ready to come out as soon as we should give the sign. We have given it. You will see her presently. What about the periscopes?"

"They're still there, sir," Seth answered. "I can see the top of her conning-tower above water. She's moving. I believe I can hear her engines grunting. So she's got some petrol left. Hullo! I can see a man's head and shoulders."

"She's bound to come up and work her petrol engines to generate electricity," said Mr. Bilverstone, going on a fresh tack. "Haul in the net, quick! Those Germans will guess we had a hand in it when they see the gunboat coming after them."

Seth got the gear inboard, and again his companion tacked. The boat was making for home, with both wind and tide in her favour.

Mr. Bilverstone could now watch the submarine. She was awash, and her petrol engines, making a great clatter, were evidently working up to full speed. Two of her crew had come out on the platform of her conning-tower. One was in officer's uniform. The sun, piercing the mist, shone upon his brass buttons and the gold badge on his cap. He stood looking southward to where two plumes of smoke from a steamer's funnels rose into the morning air over the lighthouse point. It could be seen that he had his left arm in a sling.

"She's coming after us, sir!" cried Seth. "She'll sink us!"

"She's trying to escape from the gunboat," declared Mr. Bilverstone. "You see, she can't submerge until her electric batteries are charged, and she can go quicker on the surface. Look! There comes theKingfisher!"

The officer disappeared for some moments, but returned with a pair of binoculars, which he levelled upon the gunboat. The submarine quickly increased her speed, sending up a great fountain of foam as she cut through the water. She passed so close to the shrimp boat that it rocked on the waves she left in her wake. Seth Newruck saw the number on her side—U50. He also caught a glimpse of the face of the young officer on the deck of her conning-tower.

"Look!" he cried excitedly. "Look, sir! It's Max Hilliger himself!"

Hardly had he spoken when there was a spurt of fire and smoke from one of theKingfisher's4.7 guns; a shell whistled through the air and sent up a tall column of spray as it fell midway between the submarine and the shrimping boat. The submarine, now fully on the surface and racing along at eighteen-knot speed, offered a good target; but she manoeuvred, steering a zig-zag course, seldom exposing her broadside. A gun was raised from its concealed hatchway on her after platform, and she replied to theKingfisher'sfire without visible effect.

Arnold Bilverstone, nervously gripping the boat's gunwale, was leaning forward, gazing fixedly northward along the coast.

"That's good!" he exclaimed. "There's a couple of destroyers coming out from Buremouth. They'll head her off."

The chase continued. Suddenly the submarine's gun disappeared. The two men on her conning-tower went below. She seemed to be slowing down. A shell from one of the two destroyers fell perilously near her, deluging her with spray.

"She's hit!" cried Seth Newruck. "See! she's sinking!"

"Submerging," corrected Mr. Bilverstone, watching the conning-tower slowly disappear.

TheKingfisher, going at her best speed of twenty knots, was soon abreast of the shrimper, separated by hardly more than fifty yards. Just in time her course was altered; she went abruptly to starboard, and so luckily avoided the torpedo which was aimed at her from the submerged enemy. Seth saw the disturbance of the water as the deadly weapon sped on its fruitless errand.

The gunboat gave up the dangerous chase and steamed a confusing, irregular course until she rounded the southern extremity of Alderwick Shoal, and thus got the protection of the sandbank between her and the submarine. But of the submarine herself and her periscopes no more was seen.

Arnold Bilverstone steered alongside the gunboat. Both he and Seth Newruck were taken on board, their boat being hoisted on deck with its catch of shrimps, which were consigned to the seamen's quarters. Later on that same day, on his way home up the High Street, Seth Newruck encountered Constable Challis.

"I thought you'd be interested to knew," said the constable, "as that dug-out at Green Croft came into use this mornin', when them naval guns were firin'. Mrs. Daplin-Gennery made sure it was the Germans comin' to make an invasion. She got all her household, includin' three Belgian refugees, into the shelter in double quick time; and there they remained until long after the firin' had ceased. Between ourselves, they might have remained comfortable in their beds. There was no cause for alarm. It was only that theKingfisherdiscovered an enemy ship layin' explosive mines off the coast and gave chase and sent her to the bottom."

Seth smiled to himself. Constable Challis was curiously astray in his information.

"Did you see what took place, constable?" he inquired, assuming ignorance.

Challis shook his head regretfully.

"I wasn't on duty at the time," he answered. "Anyhow, Mrs. Daplin-Gennery had a rare fright. I'm told, indeed, that she's had a disturbed night from beginnin' to end. No sooner had she got her refugees to bed, when somebody or other had the impudence to knock her up askin' to use her telephone. At two o'clock in the mornin' she was again alarmed by hearin' a rifle shot on the denes. Then there was the naval guns. What the rifle shot was about I don't know. Inspector Jenner was up there on special duty shortly afterwards, but knew nothin' about it."

"Oh!" nodded Seth, with new interest. "And what was the special duty?"

Constable Challis bent nearer to the boy and lowered his voice.

"Strictly between ourselves," he said. "There's a rumour goin' about that one of the Germans has come back to Sunnydene—that secretary—and that he's been up to some spyin' tricks. Inspector Jenner, with assistance, went to arrest him. They broke into the house and made a thorough search, but he wasn't there. There wasn't a trace of him on the premises."

"Still," said Seth, "I suppose the police will keep a watch?"

"You may take it from me," declared Challis, "if that there Seligmann is anywhere about Haddisport, we shall nab him."

CHAPTER XIX.

U50.

"Dainty, ahoy! Show a light at your gangway while I come aboard of you."

It was a dark, boisterous night, with fiercely driving rain. Mark Redisham in his dripping oilskins was pacing the wet deck of the mine-sweeper, lying at anchor in a land-locked bay on the north-east coast.

TheDaintyand her consorts had been at their perilous work dredging for explosive mines off the north of Ireland and in the Pentland Firth, battling day by day with stormy seas, incessant rains, and bitterly cold winds. It had been a most uncomfortable trip, and Mark and his shipmates were rejoicing in the prospect of a few days' rest at home. Even the necessity of anchoring at night irritated them because of the delay.

The trawlers were lying now in the midst of a large flotilla of destroyers and light cruisers. Mark had read a flashlight signal from the bridge of one of the cruisers, inquiring which was the commodore of the mine-sweepers, and he had answered it with his electric torch. A pinnace was approaching theDainty, and it was an officer in the stern sheets who had hailed him.

Mark held a lighted lamp in the open gangway, and the pinnace came alongside. The officer, a sub-lieutenant, climbed on board to speak with the skipper in the shelter of the wheel-house, leaving a midshipman in charge of the boat. Mark was about to enter into conversation with the bluejackets when the midshipman stood up. The lamplight shone in his face.

"Hullo, Rodney!" cried Mark in astonishment, recognising his brother. "What an unexpected meeting! How are you? Have you come off theLevity?"

They clasped hands.

"No," Rodney answered. "No, theLevityis in the repair yard. She got a bit knocked about in the scrap we had with the enemy off Heligoland. But in any case, I was only aboard her temporarily. Destroyers don't carry midshipmen as a rule, you know. I've been appointed to theDauntless, the new light cruiser out there. Captain Damant is in command of her. She's heaps better than theAtreus; in fact, she's about the best light cruiser in the service. I thought you'd heard of my luck. I wrote to mother about it."

"But I haven't seen mother for over a week." Mark explained. "I expect to see her to-morrow, though."

"I'm afraid you won't," Rodney told him. "I believe you've got to sweep up a new mine-field that the Germans have laid south of the Dogger. That's where theRapidwas sunk this morning."

"TheRapid! Was she mined?"

"Yes, worse luck. No lives were lost, though; and, of course, she was obsolete, and no good for fighting, so it's not very serious. We'd already paid the enemy in advance, seeing that Lieutenant Ingoldsby torpedoed one of their newest destroyers yesterday afternoon. I'm awfully glad to have met you. Give my love to mother and the girls when you get home, and tell them I'm getting to know the North Sea as well as I know our own garden. Good night."

Mark drew back to make way for the lieutenant, who had been giving the skipper instructions for the sweeping of the new mine-field.

At daylight the next morning, having taken in fresh stores, theDaintyand her consorts steamed off.

On arriving at the scene of their duties they found another fleet of trawlers already at work, helped by an aeroplane. They combined in a systematic sweep of the known area and exploded some scores of mines without an accident. The new picking-up net lately introduced was doubtless the reason of this freedom from disaster.

Sweeping the seas for explosive mines indiscriminately laid by the enemy for the destruction of any ship which might run up against them, was not the only work in which the British steam trawlers and drifters were engaged. These stout little vessels, with their hardy crews of North Sea fishermen, were also engaged to act as scouts and messengers patrolling the coasts. Many of them were fitted with wireless masts, by means of which they sent out reports by code of anything suspicious which might be observed.

Thus, while theDaintywas still in the neighbourhood of the Dogger Bank, threading her way through a fleet of English herring smacks, Mark Redisham was able to send out a wireless message intimating that a German submarine of the largest and newest type had been seen. He gave her number as U50, and added that she had been watched taking in a supply of petrol and other stores from a captured English trawler manned by Germans.

Less than an hour afterwards two British destroyers were seen racing at top speed in the direction in which the enemy trawler had disappeared. They went out of sight. There came the sound of gun firing, and Mark afterwards heard that the trawler had been sunk and her German crew taken prisoners.

While the guns were firing and theDaintywas yet within sight of the drifters, Mark again saw the submarine, or, rather, he saw her periscopes moving above the surface about a mile away. At the same time the skipper was watching a confused cloud of black smoke through the rain mist on the western horizon.

"Looks like a big liner," Snowling conjectured. "Give her a signal that there's an enemy submarine prowlin' around."

Before going to his instrument room Mark looked searchingly at the smoke.

"That's not a liner," he decided. "There's too much smoke for a liner. And there's more than one. It looks like a patrol of cruisers."

He sent off his wireless message and got one back to say that it had been received and understood. On returning to the deck he searched for signs of the submarine, but found none. The funnels of three British cruisers were now visible above the line of the sea. TheDaintywas steered towards them. When their turrets and hulls came into view, Mark succeeded in identifying the ships as the armoured cruisersPomona,Graemsay, andRonaldsay. They were followed by a light cruiser and a division of destroyers. He signalled to them:

"Keep to the eastward of the fishing fleet."

But his warning advice did not divert the warships from their course. They approached at easy speed in line-ahead formation, thePomonaleading.

"They're all right, don't you trouble," observed Skipper Snowling. "I expect that that submarine has made off to Heligoland. They're all of 'em afraid of the very sight of the White Ensign."

The great, three-funnelled cruisers were a noble sight as they steamed along so steadily. Mark Redisham watched them through his binoculars, paying his attention to each one in turn and trying to discover in what small details of structure they differed one from another; for they were all three of the same class. Each was of twelve thousand tons displacement, each carried the same number of heavy guns, and each, as he knew, had the same complement of seven hundred and fifty officers and men.

As thePomonacame nearer he looked at the officers on the bridge. They wore their greatcoats, but he could still make out their respective ranks by their stripes and badges.

Suddenly one of them at the starboard end of the bridge pointed excitedly into the sea and shouted. Instantly there was a loud crash, an explosion. The whole ship staggered.

"Glory be!" cried Skipper Snowling. "That's a torpedo! It struck her amidships!"

In the excitement of the next two hours Mark Redisham got a confused impression of all that happened. He saw thePomonalisting over in a cloud of smoke and escaping steam. She was sinking. TheGraemsayand theRonaldsaywere putting out their boats as they closed upon her. Their engines were stopped as they took up positions about four hundred yards apart from her to give assistance.

Hardly had they stopped when there was a second heavy explosion, followed by a third. TheRonaldsayhad been torpedoed under her after-magazine. The air was filled with flying wreckage, which fell among her boats.

TheDaintyand her consorts, as well as the fishing smacks and steam drifters, hastened to the rescue. Already the cruisers' picket boats and cutters had picked up many survivors from thePomona. Some were returning to theGraemsay, when she, too, was hit by a fourth torpedo from the hidden enemy.

Looking round in the direction from which, as it seemed to him, the weapons had been fired, Mark Redisham saw the submarine's two periscopes moving along the surface some three hundred yards away. Then the upper part of her conning-tower rose. The gunners on the strickenGraemsayimmediately opened fire upon it, and their ship's engines were put full steam ahead with the intention of running her down. But the cruiser was badly holed below water; she heeled rapidly and finally turned keel up.

In the meantime, the light cruiser and her flotilla of destroyers were coming down at racing speed, and the smacks and trawlers were drawing nearer. There were boats in plenty to give help to those who could swim or who had managed to seize upon floating wreckage; but, unfortunately, many had been killed or hopelessly maimed by the explosions, whilst others had not been able to escape from the stokeholds and lower decks, the loss amounting to the terrible total of sixty officers and fourteen hundred men.

"Seems to me," said Harry Snowling, helping Mark Redisham to lift a wounded stoker from the dinghy to theDainty'sdeck, "as there must have been a whole crowd of submarines lyin' in wait to do this. 'Taren't proper warfare, like gunfire in an open action."

"I have seen only one," returned Mark, standing up and glancing over the side. "The same one that we saw taking in petrol from that stolen trawler. She's in sight even now, Harry. I can see her plainly, waiting, I suppose, to have a shot at the light cruiser—if she's got any more torpedoes left. I can make out her number. It's the U50. There's a group of Germans on her conning-tower platform. I believe they're gloating over what they've done. One of them's a middy, with his arm in a sling. Ah! They're going below now! They're going to submerge."

He did not guess—he did not dream of the possibility—but had he taken his binoculars, he might have distinguished the features of the "middy" to whom he referred, and recognised them as the features of Max Hilliger.

CHAPTER XX.

PUT TO THE TEST.

"It's astonishing how much more interesting the North Sea has become since the beginning of the war," remarked Vera Redisham, standing at the dining-room window, busily knitting a khaki muffler for some unknown soldier at the Front. "There's a steamer passing now, a neutral, and I'm simply dying to know where she comes from and where she's going, and if she has been in danger from German torpedoes."

Her brother Mark, home on shore leave, was seated at the fireside, making up arrears in his reading of the newspapers. He was dressed in mufti, and looked very different from the rough-clothed signal boy who for weeks past had been battling with autumn storms and the perils of floating mines on the wave-swept decks of theDainty.

"What flag's she flying?" he questioned, turning in his comfortable chair.

"I can't make out," his sister answered. "It's blue, with a white cross. And the same colours are painted on her side. And, oh, Mark, isn't it sweet of her? She's saluting theKingfisher!"

"So she ought to," declared Mark, dropping his paper and rising to his feet. "All neutrals ought to salute the White Ensign, seeing what our Navy is doing by keeping the seas clear of the enemy. A Danish ship saluted our squad of mine-sweepers the other day. Blue with a white cross? She must be Greek. I expect she's carrying a cargo of currants. Isn't her name painted on her side?"

He went to the window and looked out upon the sea.

"Yes, she's Greek," he decided. "She's from Pireus. That's the harbour outside Athens, isn't it? Who's this coming in at the gate? A policeman delivering handbills!"

The parlourmaid presently brought in a sheet of typewritten paper, saying that it had been left at the door by a police sergeant. Mark Redisham took it from her and glanced at it. It was an order, issued by the Chief Constable of the county, under the Defence of the Realm Act.

"This ought to keep silly people along the front from showing lights from their windows," he announced. "Listen!"

"All lights visible from seaward shall be effectually obscured. No person shall show a light on the shore or on the land adjoining thereto, or visible from seaward."The public are hereby warned that non-compliance with this regulation will render them liable to instant arrest, and that patrols have been instructed to fire at sight and without further warning on any person found signalling."

"All lights visible from seaward shall be effectually obscured. No person shall show a light on the shore or on the land adjoining thereto, or visible from seaward.

"The public are hereby warned that non-compliance with this regulation will render them liable to instant arrest, and that patrols have been instructed to fire at sight and without further warning on any person found signalling."

"That's what should have been done weeks ago."

"Bright lights on motor-cars ought to be prohibited, too," pursued Vera.

"Yes," agreed Mark, "and all Germans ought to be shut up. If innocent Belgian refugees are not allowed to stay in Haddisport, why should we let Germans live in houses overlooking the coast? They ought to be cleared out instead of being given the chance of sending messages over to Germany. It's certain there are spies all along the East Coast. Otherwise, how could the enemy know so well about the movements of our warships?"

He picked up the ball of khaki wool which Vera had dropped.

"I believe they're only waiting their chance to slip across and do a bit of raiding," he went on. "The Admiralty seem to think it possible, anyhow. That's why they have altered the positions of the lightships and buoys. I expect they'll continue to shift them about, so that the enemy may be confused."

"Of course, motor-cars and bicycles, however brightly lighted, can't send messages across the North Sea," Vera reflected.

Mark shrugged his shoulders.

"What's to hinder a motor-car being fitted with secret aerials?" he asked. "The Germans are not children. They're up to all sorts of cunning tricks. Why, only last week one of our Haddisport drifters went out to the herring fishing with a splash of red paint on her starboard bow. Nobody knew who put it there, the crew least of all; they didn't even see it. But when the boats were drifting to their nets on the fishing ground, a German submarine came nosing round, spotted the red splash of paint, and then went off in a bee-line for Heligoland."

"Well?" questioned Vera, not understanding. "What did it mean?"

"Well?" repeated Mark. "I don't know what it meant. But the men on the submarine did. It was a pre-arranged sign—a message. It's an old Scout trick. Darby Catchpole wanted to communicate with me once, by a way we'd fixed upon. I watched for the postman, and when he came past this gate I saw some flour dust on his left arm. That meant 'No.' If the flour dust had been on his right arm, it would have meant 'Yes.' In the same way a German spy could put a secret mark on a railway carriage or a motor-car, going to a known destination, and give information to hundreds of other spies along the route."

"Dear me!" exclaimed Vera. "Perhaps it was a spy who tied the mysterious piece of ribbon to the handle-bar of my bicycle yesterday!"

"Likely enough," surmised Mark. "Perhaps the same one who daubed the paint on that fishing-boat. There's no doubt there are spies around here. And there's a green motor-car that goes dashing about between here and Buremouth with lamps shining like searchlights. The police and the military patrols have had instructions to capture it. Constable Challis has been put on night duty now. Challis is rather too fond of talking, but he's an uncommonly smart policeman."

Mark Redisham's estimate of Constable Challis was justified sooner than he expected.

On the very next night, indeed, Challis was on his beat patrolling the rabbit warren and the dark lanes to the north of the town, when his smartness was put to the test.

Formerly he would have been watching for tramps, suspicious loiterers, and possible burglars; but, since the outbreak of war, crime had diminished, even gipsies were fewer, and he could do nothing so useful as to watch the road for unauthorised vehicles and for spies flashing signals across the sea.

Before ten o'clock he had visited five different houses to alarm the occupants by informing them that lights were visible from their windows.

In three cases it was discovered that the lights were to be seen through the chinks of imperfectly drawn curtains or ill-fitting blinds; in one case a nurse had left the gas burning by mistake, and in the other, where the light came through an open stable door, a groom was attending to a sick horse and had not known of the new regulations. By midnight, however, the whole neighbourhood was in darkness.

Yet, still there were belated cyclists carrying lighted lamps. The worst offenders were the motor-cyclists, and these were mostly military men who, as Challis reflected, ought to have known better. Once a large motor-car dashed along the road at high speed with acetylene lamps which shone for many yards in advance of the wheels, illuminating the trees and hedges on either side of the road.

Much to Challis's surprise, when he stood and held out a warning arm and called to the driver to stop, he was obeyed. Even more to his surprise, he discovered the driver to be Mrs. Daplin-Gennery, and that her companion was her nephew, Lieutenant Ingoldsby.

"Very sorry, ma'am," said Challis apologetically, "but I've got strict orders to stop all cars with high lights. I'm afraid I must ask you to lower yours, or else screen them."

"Quite right, constable," laughed Lieutenant Ingoldsby, jumping out. "I'm glad you stopped us without opening fire upon us."

Challis gathered that Lieutenant Ingoldsby was on the way to Buremouth to visit a friend who had been sent home wounded. When the car had gone on, with greatly reduced lights, he returned towards Haddisport along the edge of the cliff, then made inland to the Alderwick road.

As he approached the road through the intricate maze of bramble and gorse, he became aware of the sound of an approaching car. Could it possibly be Mrs. Daplin-Gennery returning so soon?

Instead of going into the road, he concealed himself within the shadow of a hawthorn-tree and watched. The car was coming slowly—so slowly that it made very little sound; and its lights were exceedingly dim. He waited, feeling instinctively that something was about to happen. It occurred to him that the dimness of the lights and the quiet slowness with which the car was moving were due to the extreme caution on the part of the driver, who evidently wished to escape observation.

In the darkness Challis could hardly see the vehicle itself, only the two tiny lights which were like the glimmer of candles. Suddenly, just opposite to him, it stopped, then backed and curved towards the farther side of the road.

Only at that moment did the watcher realise that just at that point was a narrow lane leading to Alderwick Hall. It was into this lane that the car was backing, obviously for the purpose of concealment. When its whole length was within the lane, hidden under the overhanging trees, it stopped.

The driver got out, stood for some moments as if listening, then went softly to the front of the car to extinguish the lamps. As he bent down to the first of them, the light shone in his face.

Challis hitched his cuffs back from his wrists. His eyesight was very keen. He had seen the man's face and recognised it. It was the face of Fritz Seligmann, the German spy!

With the stealthy softness of a cat stalking its prey, the policeman crept forward, and, just as Seligmann had raised his hand to turn out the second light, leapt upon him, gripping him from behind by the two arms.

There was a heavy gasp from the astonished German as he went down on his knees, the policeman's weight on top of him. He writhed and struggled to free himself, and succeeded in getting his right hand to his hip pocket, from which, with an effort, he drew his loaded revolver.

Challis guessed rather than knew what was in the man's hand. In an instant he had seized the German's wrist, twisted the hand under it, and secured the weapon from the helpless fingers.

"Now," he said, speaking for the first time, "I think I've got you. If you move I'm goin' to use this here pistol. You're an enemy, and you may take it from me I don't care if I shoot you dead here and now no more than if I killed you on the field of battle."

Seligmann was lying with his face to the grass, panting, writhing, heaving under the weight of the constable's knee planted in the small of his back, while the cold ring of the revolver muzzle was pressed against the bone behind his ear and the policeman's forefinger was twitching at the trigger.

Thus they remained for some minutes, the one utterly helpless, the other resolute, alert, and astonishingly strong.

In those tense minutes Challis wondered what he was going to do. He did not want to use the revolver as anything else than a menace, and yet he knew that if he should move there would be a struggle, during which, by some trick or dexterity, his captive might escape.

In the back pocket of his overcoat was a pair of handcuffs. But how could he get hold of them without dropping the revolver? How could he hope to fix them on the German's wrists?

But if he could not get at the handcuffs, at least he could summon help. There were houses within call. The nearest was Sunnydene, for which Seligmann had no doubt been shaping; the next was Green Croft, then Major Redisham's. He managed to draw out his whistle, while his captive straggled more desperately than ever to get free. Just as he raised the whistle to his lips, he heard the quick patter of feet along the road. He blew a long, shrill blast.

Seligmann heaved himself upward with a mighty effort; but the revolver muzzle was pressed yet more forcefully against his skull, and the constable's knees were almost breaking his back.

The footsteps approached swiftly, and at length the flash of an electric torch shed its slanting ray upon the desperately struggling pair.

"What's up? Hullo, Challis, I've been searching for you."

It was the voice of Mark Redisham. He had received a telephone message from the police-station, bidding him find Constable Challis and help him to waylay this same suspected motor-car, coming from Buremouth.

"Quick! Feel in my back pocket for the handcuffs," Challis ordered, dropping the revolver and seizing his prisoner's two wrists. "Right. Now hold his head while I put 'em on. Then you can drive him and me to the police-station."

There was a sharp clip as the steel rings were locked upon the German's wrists. Mark went to the car, turned up the lights, and got ready. They bundled the prisoner into the body of the car, where Challis sat with him, covering him with the revolver. Mark drove off through the town, and soon brought up at his destination. In the car they discovered a complete wireless outfit, a signalling lamp, and a handbag containing certain compromising documents.

"Yes," said the Superintendent, when Seligmann was safely locked in a cell. "He has been busy with that wireless apparatus to-night. Some of his messages were jammed, but not all of them. Not all."

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