Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Sixteen.In a Tight Corner.I was caught red-handed—caught as neatly as anybona-fideburglar who ever picked a lock!I had opened the trunk of a fellow visitor with a skeleton key; I had been caught in the very act of pilfering the contents. Indeed, at that very moment I held in my left hand a tiny leather box containing Engström’s diamond tie-pin and studs, while with my right hand I had been delving into his big trunk. Never was a capture neater or more complete. And, with the menace of the big revolver in Engström’s hand, and knowing something of my captor, I knew better than to attempt a rush for escape. I should never have reached the door alive!“Well, and what does this mean?” harshly demanded the Swedish engineer, in bad French, still covering me with his pistol. “And who are you?”Had Engström suspected who I really was, I knew he would have shot me out of hand and chanced all consequences: indeed, he would have had little to fear, for there would have been nothing more than a casual inquiry into the shooting of a thief caught red-handed. Moreover, dead men tell no tales, and Engström would have had no difficulty whatever in excusing himself by some hastily concocted story that I had attacked him as soon as he found me plundering his trunk. My disguise saved me, and it was evident he had no suspicion that I was anything but a common thief.I broke instantly into a torrent of excuses, putting down the little jewel box and the papers with as guilty an air as I could assume. The situation obviously required both tact and cunning, for I realised that I was in a tight corner and that a slip would cost me my life. I pleaded desperate poverty; I was an honest workman driven to evil courses by want; I am afraid I even invented a story of a wholly mythical wife and family in the last stage of starvation. Finally, I roundly promised amendment of my ways if he would but let me go. “Forgive me this time,” I implored. “Do forgive me—this will ruin me.”“You dog of a thief, I have caught you stealing from my room,” was his only reply. “I shall call the manager,” and he slammed the door and pressed the electric bell. “Send the manager here at once,” he commanded the messenger who answered the bell.Luigi came immediately, and there was a great scene in which my friend very cleverly worked himself into a state of virtuous indignation at the slur I had cast upon his hotel’s high reputation. He assured Engström that justice should be done forthwith, and actually handed me over to a police officer, and I was at once marched off as a common hotel thief.Guess my surprise when, as soon as we had turned the first corner, the officer whispered: “Monsieur Battini has told me all the circumstances. He did not telephone to the Bureau, but called me in out of the street. Dash away from me in a few moments when we come to a lonely place, and I will merely pretend to follow you. But, monsieur, get away from Lucerne as quickly as possible.”I smiled: Luigi had shown that he possessed a quick and ready resourcefulness. It was most fortunate that Engström, finding me with my skeleton keys on the floor, and his jewellery in my hand, had failed to suspect the truth.I slipped away at the first convenient corner, and an hour later was well on my way by the St. Gothard route to Milan, the excellent police officer undertaking to let Luigi know whither I had gone. I learned later that, when my “escape” was reported to him, Engström took the matter very quietly, and, beyond roundly abusing the officer for letting me slip through his fingers, did not propose any further action. As a matter of fact, having lost nothing, he was probably well content that the affair should end thus. I have no doubt that, masquerading in the name of another man, publicity was the last thing he would desire.Our problem now was how to deal with Engström and his associates. Obviously to arrest them, even if we had good ground for doing so, would have been to defeat our own object, for we wanted to find out all the details of the plot upon which they were engaged. But, as a matter of fact, they had done nothing up to this moment to bring themselves within the clutches of the law. Engström, it is true, was posing as someone else, but, so long as he did not attempt to profit by it, this was not a criminal offence. I decided to continue our investigations.Reaching Milan, I put up at the Cavour, where, of course, I was well known. A few hours later I received a long dispatch in cipher from Madame Gabrielle, and two days later an explicit letter from Luigi. I was also able to secure some further information regarding the mysterious engineer and his friends, and this decided me to go to Sweden myself and see the real Mr Engström.My journey to Malmö was uneventful, and, arriving there, I lost no time in repairing to the yard of Messrs Engström and Linner, the engineers. There, in the private office of the head of the firm, I soon found myself face to face with the principal, Mr Oscar Engström. He was a short, dark, alert little man, with charming manners, and I took a liking to him at once. I had not previously decided on my course of action, but after a few minutes’ conversation I decided on a policy of complete frankness. As rapidly as possible, I told him the full story of the man who had been using his name in London and on the Continent.At first he expressed himself as completely puzzled. He could not, he said, imagine what the object of the gang could be. They could hardly commit the firm to anything which would profit themselves, for no one abroad would act without inquiries. At length I happened to mention that Johnson-Meads had told me that the man had for disposal something connected with submarines.“With submarines!” he exclaimed in obvious surprise. “Why, we have in hand at this moment several submarine inventions, of which we own the patents. Two of them are completely secret, and they are in use only by France and Britain.”This put a new aspect on the affair. “I begin to see now,” I said, “why your name has been assumed. Have you heard of any attempt to secure the submarine secrets?”“None whatever,” replied Mr Engström. “Moreover, it would be extremely difficult, if not impossible. One of the appliances with which we are concerned is of such importance that, while we make the greater part of it, a vital portion is manufactured in England, and the apparatus is not put together until the whole is actually on the submarine for which it is intended. Consequently, unless a thief or spy secured copies of the plans both here and in England he would be powerless to profit by either. I may mention that this arrangement was arrived at with the British Admiralty at our express wish and suggestion. I am quite frank with you, Mr Sant.”“One more question, Mr Engström,” I added. “You are in a position to know of any important inventions in connection with submarine work. Have you heard of any recent invention which would bring it within the bounds of possibility that your double is acting honestly and has really something to sell?”“That is out of the question,” returned the engineer decidedly. “Unless the invention were German, in which case it would not come out of that country, I think I should certainly have heard something of it. Of course, we have rivals in our business, but there is a certain amount of freemasonry even among business rivals. I know all the people who are making submarine parts—there are very few who could or would tackle a big invention. Besides, if the man has an honest bargain to drive, why should he assume my name?”This argument was unanswerable. But I confess I was still a long way from guessing just what the bogus Engström and his friends were plotting.My next visit was to the Swedish police in search of information about Madame Bohman. Here, however, I was quite at fault. It was evident she was passing under an assumed name, and I could not succeed in identifying her among the long array of photographs of known German agents laid before me by the chief of the Swedish Secret Police.Arriving at Bergen, I received, before I sailed for England, a long telegram from Madame Gabrielle, telling me that Engström, Madame Bohman, and Thornton had left for Paris. Fearing that they would immediately recognise her if she followed them, she had telephoned the news to Hecq, and that astute official had promised to take the suspects under his own wing for the immediate future, pending my arrival.I proceeded to London, where, to my dismay, I learned that, although Madame Bohman had arrived in Paris with Thornton, Engström was missing.Twenty minutes later I was speaking with Hecq at St. Germain over the official telephone. Three days later I heard that Hecq’s men had succeeded in running the elusive Engström to earth at Marseilles, where he was staying at the Hôtel Louvre et Paix under the name of Jansen, and was constantly meeting a compatriot named Tegelmund.The situation at this moment remained a complete puzzle so far as the real objective of the gang was concerned. On the one hand, we had at Marseilles the mysterious individual who posed as the Swedish engineer, Engström. On the other, we had his known associates, Thornton and Madame Bohman, in Paris. Engström was living quite openly, with no appearance of concealment, at a good hotel, but he was quite obviously doing nothing and meeting nobody. The other two, however, were just as obviously lying low. They had taken apartments at a very small and not very reputable hotel in the Rue Royale, and both had changed their names, entering France with new and apparently perfectly genuine Swedish passports, issued only a few weeks previously.Our next discovery was a staggering surprise. One of our agents, who had been watching Madame Bohman, came in and reported that, late the previous night, she had left her hotel and walked swiftly to an obscure café in the Quartier Latin. She had entered the place, taken a seat at a table by herself, and called for a glass of wine. While she was drinking it, a man, very untidy and apparently half intoxicated, lurched up to the table and sat down facing her. She took no notice of him whatever, or he of her. Calling a waiter, the man ordered a double glass of Chianti. Our agent, seated at an adjoining table, saw her then glance quickly at the stranger, and a moment later she ordered an absinthe.Now, an order for a double glass of Chianti is unusual, especially in a disreputable café in a low part of Paris, and it is hardly customary for women to follow wine with absinthe. Our agent was struck by the oddity of the two orders and listened closely.Directly the waiter had placed the drinks on the table and left, the man, without even glancing at the woman, muttered something in an undertone which our agent could not catch. It was, however, evidently sufficient, for the woman drank up her absinthe, and, rising, left the café. She took no notice whatever of the man, and he paid, to all appearances, as little regard to her. Apparently half overcome by drink, he remained at the table, nodding drowsily, for a quarter of an hour. It was a clever bit of acting, but he forgot his eyes! Our agent caught a sight of them, and realised at once that the drunkenness was feigned.At length the man got up and lurched towards the door. The police agent at the same moment left by another exit into an adjoining street, and, casually turning the corner in the direction the supposed drunken man had taken, saw him a few yards ahead, walking steadily enough.Five minutes later he had overtaken Madame Bohman, and, walking side by side for a few hundred yards, they had a brief conversation and parted.Our agent was in a quandary. He had the strictest instructions not to lose sight of Madame Bohman, but he was a man of intelligence, and realised that a new factor had appeared on the scene. Accordingly, he decided to follow the man, and soon saw him enter a cheap boarding-house, letting himself in with a latchkey. Five minutes later we had the news, and a couple of men were at once detailed to take up the watch. Madame Bohman, we soon ascertained, had gone straight to her hotel.The boarding-house which the mysterious stranger had entered was closely watched all night. The next morning the man came out, and was immediately recognised as none other than Halbmayr himself! How he had got into France and Paris was a mystery, for the police had no register of his arrival. I may say here that this point was never completely cleared up, but it was very generally believed that he was put ashore by a submarine, and intended leaving in the same way.We now had him safely enough; he could not possibly escape. He was a known spy, and there was ample ground for arresting him. But this would have made mincemeat of our plans, as Hecq saw plainly enough.“Halbmayr is very dangerous,” he declared to me as I sat in his office the same day. “Evil work is on foot somewhere, and our friend the German is director of operations. He would not dare to show his face in France after meeting Brahe in Lisbon unless he were playing for a big coup. But, my dear Sant, what is his motive? What is he after? To that question so far we have got no reply whatever. And wemustfind the answer.”I agreed with my chief most cordially. “Give him rope,” I said, “and see if he does not hang himself. At any rate, he won’t escape us this time; we shall get him even if we don’t learn his secret. What worries me is that he may have done his nefarious work, and inflicted untold injury on the Allies before we nab him. But we must take some chances.”“The telegram sent by Brahe, or Thornton, to Engström just before the former left Lisbon mentioned two things,” said my chief. “The first was that Johnson-Meads was with them—in other words, that his suspicions had been allayed (which we know to be a fact)—and that ‘T.’ was here in Paris ‘to arrange further details and transit of machinery.’ What machinery? And who is ‘T’? ‘T’ must be Tegelmund, the man in Marseilles. We must look out for him.”

I was caught red-handed—caught as neatly as anybona-fideburglar who ever picked a lock!

I had opened the trunk of a fellow visitor with a skeleton key; I had been caught in the very act of pilfering the contents. Indeed, at that very moment I held in my left hand a tiny leather box containing Engström’s diamond tie-pin and studs, while with my right hand I had been delving into his big trunk. Never was a capture neater or more complete. And, with the menace of the big revolver in Engström’s hand, and knowing something of my captor, I knew better than to attempt a rush for escape. I should never have reached the door alive!

“Well, and what does this mean?” harshly demanded the Swedish engineer, in bad French, still covering me with his pistol. “And who are you?”

Had Engström suspected who I really was, I knew he would have shot me out of hand and chanced all consequences: indeed, he would have had little to fear, for there would have been nothing more than a casual inquiry into the shooting of a thief caught red-handed. Moreover, dead men tell no tales, and Engström would have had no difficulty whatever in excusing himself by some hastily concocted story that I had attacked him as soon as he found me plundering his trunk. My disguise saved me, and it was evident he had no suspicion that I was anything but a common thief.

I broke instantly into a torrent of excuses, putting down the little jewel box and the papers with as guilty an air as I could assume. The situation obviously required both tact and cunning, for I realised that I was in a tight corner and that a slip would cost me my life. I pleaded desperate poverty; I was an honest workman driven to evil courses by want; I am afraid I even invented a story of a wholly mythical wife and family in the last stage of starvation. Finally, I roundly promised amendment of my ways if he would but let me go. “Forgive me this time,” I implored. “Do forgive me—this will ruin me.”

“You dog of a thief, I have caught you stealing from my room,” was his only reply. “I shall call the manager,” and he slammed the door and pressed the electric bell. “Send the manager here at once,” he commanded the messenger who answered the bell.

Luigi came immediately, and there was a great scene in which my friend very cleverly worked himself into a state of virtuous indignation at the slur I had cast upon his hotel’s high reputation. He assured Engström that justice should be done forthwith, and actually handed me over to a police officer, and I was at once marched off as a common hotel thief.

Guess my surprise when, as soon as we had turned the first corner, the officer whispered: “Monsieur Battini has told me all the circumstances. He did not telephone to the Bureau, but called me in out of the street. Dash away from me in a few moments when we come to a lonely place, and I will merely pretend to follow you. But, monsieur, get away from Lucerne as quickly as possible.”

I smiled: Luigi had shown that he possessed a quick and ready resourcefulness. It was most fortunate that Engström, finding me with my skeleton keys on the floor, and his jewellery in my hand, had failed to suspect the truth.

I slipped away at the first convenient corner, and an hour later was well on my way by the St. Gothard route to Milan, the excellent police officer undertaking to let Luigi know whither I had gone. I learned later that, when my “escape” was reported to him, Engström took the matter very quietly, and, beyond roundly abusing the officer for letting me slip through his fingers, did not propose any further action. As a matter of fact, having lost nothing, he was probably well content that the affair should end thus. I have no doubt that, masquerading in the name of another man, publicity was the last thing he would desire.

Our problem now was how to deal with Engström and his associates. Obviously to arrest them, even if we had good ground for doing so, would have been to defeat our own object, for we wanted to find out all the details of the plot upon which they were engaged. But, as a matter of fact, they had done nothing up to this moment to bring themselves within the clutches of the law. Engström, it is true, was posing as someone else, but, so long as he did not attempt to profit by it, this was not a criminal offence. I decided to continue our investigations.

Reaching Milan, I put up at the Cavour, where, of course, I was well known. A few hours later I received a long dispatch in cipher from Madame Gabrielle, and two days later an explicit letter from Luigi. I was also able to secure some further information regarding the mysterious engineer and his friends, and this decided me to go to Sweden myself and see the real Mr Engström.

My journey to Malmö was uneventful, and, arriving there, I lost no time in repairing to the yard of Messrs Engström and Linner, the engineers. There, in the private office of the head of the firm, I soon found myself face to face with the principal, Mr Oscar Engström. He was a short, dark, alert little man, with charming manners, and I took a liking to him at once. I had not previously decided on my course of action, but after a few minutes’ conversation I decided on a policy of complete frankness. As rapidly as possible, I told him the full story of the man who had been using his name in London and on the Continent.

At first he expressed himself as completely puzzled. He could not, he said, imagine what the object of the gang could be. They could hardly commit the firm to anything which would profit themselves, for no one abroad would act without inquiries. At length I happened to mention that Johnson-Meads had told me that the man had for disposal something connected with submarines.

“With submarines!” he exclaimed in obvious surprise. “Why, we have in hand at this moment several submarine inventions, of which we own the patents. Two of them are completely secret, and they are in use only by France and Britain.”

This put a new aspect on the affair. “I begin to see now,” I said, “why your name has been assumed. Have you heard of any attempt to secure the submarine secrets?”

“None whatever,” replied Mr Engström. “Moreover, it would be extremely difficult, if not impossible. One of the appliances with which we are concerned is of such importance that, while we make the greater part of it, a vital portion is manufactured in England, and the apparatus is not put together until the whole is actually on the submarine for which it is intended. Consequently, unless a thief or spy secured copies of the plans both here and in England he would be powerless to profit by either. I may mention that this arrangement was arrived at with the British Admiralty at our express wish and suggestion. I am quite frank with you, Mr Sant.”

“One more question, Mr Engström,” I added. “You are in a position to know of any important inventions in connection with submarine work. Have you heard of any recent invention which would bring it within the bounds of possibility that your double is acting honestly and has really something to sell?”

“That is out of the question,” returned the engineer decidedly. “Unless the invention were German, in which case it would not come out of that country, I think I should certainly have heard something of it. Of course, we have rivals in our business, but there is a certain amount of freemasonry even among business rivals. I know all the people who are making submarine parts—there are very few who could or would tackle a big invention. Besides, if the man has an honest bargain to drive, why should he assume my name?”

This argument was unanswerable. But I confess I was still a long way from guessing just what the bogus Engström and his friends were plotting.

My next visit was to the Swedish police in search of information about Madame Bohman. Here, however, I was quite at fault. It was evident she was passing under an assumed name, and I could not succeed in identifying her among the long array of photographs of known German agents laid before me by the chief of the Swedish Secret Police.

Arriving at Bergen, I received, before I sailed for England, a long telegram from Madame Gabrielle, telling me that Engström, Madame Bohman, and Thornton had left for Paris. Fearing that they would immediately recognise her if she followed them, she had telephoned the news to Hecq, and that astute official had promised to take the suspects under his own wing for the immediate future, pending my arrival.

I proceeded to London, where, to my dismay, I learned that, although Madame Bohman had arrived in Paris with Thornton, Engström was missing.

Twenty minutes later I was speaking with Hecq at St. Germain over the official telephone. Three days later I heard that Hecq’s men had succeeded in running the elusive Engström to earth at Marseilles, where he was staying at the Hôtel Louvre et Paix under the name of Jansen, and was constantly meeting a compatriot named Tegelmund.

The situation at this moment remained a complete puzzle so far as the real objective of the gang was concerned. On the one hand, we had at Marseilles the mysterious individual who posed as the Swedish engineer, Engström. On the other, we had his known associates, Thornton and Madame Bohman, in Paris. Engström was living quite openly, with no appearance of concealment, at a good hotel, but he was quite obviously doing nothing and meeting nobody. The other two, however, were just as obviously lying low. They had taken apartments at a very small and not very reputable hotel in the Rue Royale, and both had changed their names, entering France with new and apparently perfectly genuine Swedish passports, issued only a few weeks previously.

Our next discovery was a staggering surprise. One of our agents, who had been watching Madame Bohman, came in and reported that, late the previous night, she had left her hotel and walked swiftly to an obscure café in the Quartier Latin. She had entered the place, taken a seat at a table by herself, and called for a glass of wine. While she was drinking it, a man, very untidy and apparently half intoxicated, lurched up to the table and sat down facing her. She took no notice of him whatever, or he of her. Calling a waiter, the man ordered a double glass of Chianti. Our agent, seated at an adjoining table, saw her then glance quickly at the stranger, and a moment later she ordered an absinthe.

Now, an order for a double glass of Chianti is unusual, especially in a disreputable café in a low part of Paris, and it is hardly customary for women to follow wine with absinthe. Our agent was struck by the oddity of the two orders and listened closely.

Directly the waiter had placed the drinks on the table and left, the man, without even glancing at the woman, muttered something in an undertone which our agent could not catch. It was, however, evidently sufficient, for the woman drank up her absinthe, and, rising, left the café. She took no notice whatever of the man, and he paid, to all appearances, as little regard to her. Apparently half overcome by drink, he remained at the table, nodding drowsily, for a quarter of an hour. It was a clever bit of acting, but he forgot his eyes! Our agent caught a sight of them, and realised at once that the drunkenness was feigned.

At length the man got up and lurched towards the door. The police agent at the same moment left by another exit into an adjoining street, and, casually turning the corner in the direction the supposed drunken man had taken, saw him a few yards ahead, walking steadily enough.

Five minutes later he had overtaken Madame Bohman, and, walking side by side for a few hundred yards, they had a brief conversation and parted.

Our agent was in a quandary. He had the strictest instructions not to lose sight of Madame Bohman, but he was a man of intelligence, and realised that a new factor had appeared on the scene. Accordingly, he decided to follow the man, and soon saw him enter a cheap boarding-house, letting himself in with a latchkey. Five minutes later we had the news, and a couple of men were at once detailed to take up the watch. Madame Bohman, we soon ascertained, had gone straight to her hotel.

The boarding-house which the mysterious stranger had entered was closely watched all night. The next morning the man came out, and was immediately recognised as none other than Halbmayr himself! How he had got into France and Paris was a mystery, for the police had no register of his arrival. I may say here that this point was never completely cleared up, but it was very generally believed that he was put ashore by a submarine, and intended leaving in the same way.

We now had him safely enough; he could not possibly escape. He was a known spy, and there was ample ground for arresting him. But this would have made mincemeat of our plans, as Hecq saw plainly enough.

“Halbmayr is very dangerous,” he declared to me as I sat in his office the same day. “Evil work is on foot somewhere, and our friend the German is director of operations. He would not dare to show his face in France after meeting Brahe in Lisbon unless he were playing for a big coup. But, my dear Sant, what is his motive? What is he after? To that question so far we have got no reply whatever. And wemustfind the answer.”

I agreed with my chief most cordially. “Give him rope,” I said, “and see if he does not hang himself. At any rate, he won’t escape us this time; we shall get him even if we don’t learn his secret. What worries me is that he may have done his nefarious work, and inflicted untold injury on the Allies before we nab him. But we must take some chances.”

“The telegram sent by Brahe, or Thornton, to Engström just before the former left Lisbon mentioned two things,” said my chief. “The first was that Johnson-Meads was with them—in other words, that his suspicions had been allayed (which we know to be a fact)—and that ‘T.’ was here in Paris ‘to arrange further details and transit of machinery.’ What machinery? And who is ‘T’? ‘T’ must be Tegelmund, the man in Marseilles. We must look out for him.”

Chapter Seventeen.“The Plot Revealed.”Within a week the man Tegelmund, accompanied by Engström, arrived in Paris and took up his abode in an obscure hotel near the Gare du Nord. But, though we kept a careful watch upon the pair, Engström, ever elusive and resourceful, suddenly disappeared! For six days he was absent. Then, as suddenly and mysteriously, he appeared again at the hotel.Aubert, who had been detailed to watch Tegelmund, now reported that the latter had been across to the Orleans goods station, inquiring about some heavy cases of goods which had arrived from Lisbon.“I have contrived to open one of the cases,” he said. “It contains some complicated and apparently delicate machinery, with a small dynamo. Apparently it is some sort of wireless plant, but, beyond that, I cannot make head or tail of it.”At Aubert’s suggestion I went late one night to the Orleans goods yard. Aubert, by methods of persuasion not wholly original, had contrived to make friends with one of the officials, and we had no difficulty in securing access to the great goods shed, now silent and deserted, in which the mysterious cases lay. Prising open one end of the topmost case, I inspected the contents as closely as I could with the aid of my pocket flash-lamp. Within was what certainly appeared to be a wireless plant of some kind, but it was of a description entirely new to me, and I could not see enough of it to gain any idea of its purpose. Of course we dared not risk unpacking it. But we had made a great advance. The big cases could not be secretly moved, and our friend, the goods official, undertook to let us know promptly when he received orders to release them.We waited in patience for a week, but still the cases remained untouched and uncalled for. Then came an incident which threw a flood of light on the proceedings of our enemies, though it told us nothing of their real motive; we were to learn that later.One day I was strolling aimlessly along the Boulevard des Capucines, when I heard my name pronounced in accents of delighted surprise. Turning round, I instantly recognised an old friend in the person of Captain A—, who was one of the experts attached to the submarine branch of the British Admiralty.“My dear Sant,” he exclaimed joyfully. “Who would have thought of meeting you here? I am alone in Paris. I know no one and am bored to death. What have you got on hand now? I thought you were in New York.”“I certainly didn’t expect to meet you here,” I replied. “What has brought you over?”“Come and have some lunch, and I’ll tell you all about it,” he replied, and we repaired to an adjoining café, where Captain A— promptly ordered lunch in a private room.“We’ve got a new thing on hand in the submarine line,” he told me as soon as the waiter had left the room. “You know we have been trying some experiments in German waters lately, and the Hun destroyers have been so confoundedly active that our fellows have had to pass a lot of their time sitting on the bottom. As a consequence, some of the crew have suffered terribly for want of fresh air. We have a very good system of purifying the atmosphere, but it is not sufficient owing to the long periods the boats have to stay under water, and a number of men have collapsed and died from suffocation. Indeed, one boat only escaped with more than half her crew totally incapacitated.”I was keenly on the alert. Was I, I wondered, coming to grips at last with our problem?“Well,” Captain A— went on, “we have been offered a new apparatus, which, if half of what the inventor tells us is true, will enable us to give the Hun a very bad time. We are assured that by its help a boat can stay under water for five days without the slightest risk.”“Five days!” I repeated incredulously. “Why, it’s impossible!”“So I thought,” he rejoined, “but when Engström and Linner vouch for anything, you’ve got to listen.”“Engström and Linner!” I gasped. Things were getting “warm” indeed.“Yes,” he replied. “Mr Engström is in Paris now with his invention, and we are going to test it off Havre.”Then I sprang my mine. “Would you be surprised to learn,” I asked, as coolly as I could, “that your Mr Engström is not Mr Engström at all, but a German agent passing under his name?”I have seen a good many badly surprised men in my life, but I never witnessed before or since such a spectacle of hopeless astonishment as Captain A— presented when he grasped the full significance of this announcement. He sat staring at me, his mouth wide open, and with dismay written legibly on every line of his countenance.“But, Sant,” he gasped. “Are you sure? Mr Engström came to us in London and told us all about it. He explained that the inventor was a Spaniard who would not trust the ‘neutrality’ of the Spanish Government in the matter, and that he had brought his invention to Engström’s with the idea of getting the best terms from one of the Allies.”“I have no doubt that the man posing as Engström came to you,” I replied. “But, none the less, he is not Engström at all.”“Then what is his game?” countered A—. “He has offered us the fullest test before we adopt his machine, and has not asked for a cent.”“That remains to be seen,” I answered, “but it bodes no good to the Allies. What does he propose?”“He has offered to instal the apparatus on one of our newest types,” replied A—, “and she is on her way to Havre for the purpose. We are to make any test we like, and, in fact, I am here to see the test carried out. The only condition he makes is that his machinery shall be sealed, and not opened until after the test has proved it to be satisfactory.”I began to see light. “Did he propose to go with you?” I asked.“No,” replied A—, rather ruefully, I fancied. “He said the machinery was so perfect that it would practically run itself from our electric accumulators, and that he would give us an absolutely free hand with it.”“I wonder how many of you would have come back?” I said meaningly.A— swore fervently, and I saw by the gleam in his eyes that he was fully awake to the possibilities of the trap into which he had been so nearly led.Our task now, barring some unforeseeable contingency, was fairly easy; there was a good prospect of ensnaring our foes in the pit they had so skilfully dug for us.“The matter is up to you now,” I told A—. “I’m going to drop out till the very last minute. But I shall be with you then. It is of the utmost importance that we shall do nothing to scare these very wary birds. What is your plan?”“Well,” said A—, “it seems to me I had better go ahead as if nothing had happened. The arrangement is that Engström shall take his apparatus to Havre and instal it on E77. We are then to put to sea for the tests, and are to meet him later and inform him of our decision.”“That will do all right,” I said. “I shall come on board the submarine before Engström arrives, and then I think we shall surprise him.”A— departed at once to make the final arrangements and I busied myself in sending off some telegrams arranging for the final downfall of the Hun plotters.A week later I found myself on board E77 at Havre. The mysterious cases had been sent on, and with them came Engström, with Thornton and Tegelmund, who professed to be interested in the venture—the former financially, the latter as the inventor. Tegelmund was in high glee at being thus afforded an opportunity of putting his device to a thoroughly satisfactory test. We also had a big surprise in the arrival of Halbmayr, who arrived in Havre under the name of Mennier. That he should have ventured on the scene at all showed how intensely interested he was.Engström declared that the fitting of the machinery would occupy fully three days, and we, of course, humoured him in every way possible. A— made himself particularly agreeable, playing the part of host to perfection, and it was evident that the conspirators never even dreamed that their nefarious designs were suspected by the genial naval officer who showed such an enthusiastic interest in the wonderful stories with which they plied him on the merits of their great discovery.The three days went by. Four great cases of machinery had been duly shipped on board, and Engström, Thornton, and Tegelmund spent many hours daily at their work in the interior of the submarine. Of course I could not appear—I should have been recognised at once—but among the crew of the submarine were a couple of the smartest men of the Sûreté, who kept the bogus engineer and his associates under the closest scrutiny. They reported to me that Engström appeared to be the only one of the three with any great amount of mechanical knowledge, and that, while Tegelmund worked assiduously at his machine, the others spent most of their time carefully examining the details of the British vessel, in which they showed the greatest interest. I began to get at last an inkling of the plot!The fourth day dawned—the day of thedénouement. Early in the morning I slipped on board the submarine, and when the two conspirators arrived we made our coup.Engström, when he came on board with Tegelmund, found himself suddenly confronted by the Commander, with a stalwart bluejacket standing on either side of him. He was curtly informed that he could not go below.“But you promised!” he shrieked, livid with vexation.“True!” said the Commander. “But you call yourself Oscar Engström, of Malmö, and I happen to have the real Mr Engström here.”The engineer went white to the very lips as Mr Engström, who had come post-haste from Stockholm in response to my urgent cable, emerged from behind the conning-tower, closely followed by myself. The false Engström began a vehement protest, but ceased suddenly, for, glancing round, he saw Tegelmund also under guard. The game was up!A few minutes later, with Engström and Tegelmund safely in irons, the Admiralty experts who had come over from London began a minute examination of the wonderful “invention.” They soon discovered that the cases contained a jumble of wires and odds and ends of mechanical scraps simply thrown together to look complicated, and of no value whatever for the renewal of vitiated air.The real object was only revealed when we had got to the very heart of the amazing collection of rubbish. There, cunningly hidden among much that was superfluous, was a highly efficient electric motor, wonderfully made and controlling a powerful bomb by machinery, set to detonate the explosive after six hours’ running. The machinery was to have been operated by the electric batteries of the submarine, and had the E77 gone to sea and begun the “tests” of the bogus apparatus, not a vestige of the vessel or the crew would have been seen again, and the secret of her loss would have been locked for ever in the depths of the Atlantic.But this, we found, was only a part of the plot—perhaps even the least important part. Tegelmund, finding himself trapped, turned craven and revealed the whole story. The real object of the spies was to get the fullest possible details of the internal arrangements of a British submarine of the latest type, and how well they had succeeded was shown when we cast our net a little wider.Directly Engström and Tegelmund were in custody, an innocent-looking signal flag flew from the masthead of the submarine, and the officials of the Sûreté ashore made their pounce. Thornton and Halbmayr were seized at once at their hotel, and in their possession we found a wonderful series of drawings in which many of the secrets of the submarine were fully explained. A telegram to Paris brought about also the arrest of Madame Bohman, and a few days later the German agents were safely immured in the convict prison at Tours, where they were sent by the sentence of a court-martial summoned immediately to deal with their case. Their guilt in this particular case was too clear for any possibility of denial, but I am glad to say that their arrest opened up a way to us to deal the Hun Secret Service a blow from which it has never fully recovered. Enormous piles of documents were seized and carefully examined, with the result that numerous associates of Thornton in England found themselves in durance vile “for the duration,” and so many fingers of the Hidden Hand were lopped off that the hand itself was badly crippled for many months to come. How the fingers grew and were again cut off I hope to tell at some later date.

Within a week the man Tegelmund, accompanied by Engström, arrived in Paris and took up his abode in an obscure hotel near the Gare du Nord. But, though we kept a careful watch upon the pair, Engström, ever elusive and resourceful, suddenly disappeared! For six days he was absent. Then, as suddenly and mysteriously, he appeared again at the hotel.

Aubert, who had been detailed to watch Tegelmund, now reported that the latter had been across to the Orleans goods station, inquiring about some heavy cases of goods which had arrived from Lisbon.

“I have contrived to open one of the cases,” he said. “It contains some complicated and apparently delicate machinery, with a small dynamo. Apparently it is some sort of wireless plant, but, beyond that, I cannot make head or tail of it.”

At Aubert’s suggestion I went late one night to the Orleans goods yard. Aubert, by methods of persuasion not wholly original, had contrived to make friends with one of the officials, and we had no difficulty in securing access to the great goods shed, now silent and deserted, in which the mysterious cases lay. Prising open one end of the topmost case, I inspected the contents as closely as I could with the aid of my pocket flash-lamp. Within was what certainly appeared to be a wireless plant of some kind, but it was of a description entirely new to me, and I could not see enough of it to gain any idea of its purpose. Of course we dared not risk unpacking it. But we had made a great advance. The big cases could not be secretly moved, and our friend, the goods official, undertook to let us know promptly when he received orders to release them.

We waited in patience for a week, but still the cases remained untouched and uncalled for. Then came an incident which threw a flood of light on the proceedings of our enemies, though it told us nothing of their real motive; we were to learn that later.

One day I was strolling aimlessly along the Boulevard des Capucines, when I heard my name pronounced in accents of delighted surprise. Turning round, I instantly recognised an old friend in the person of Captain A—, who was one of the experts attached to the submarine branch of the British Admiralty.

“My dear Sant,” he exclaimed joyfully. “Who would have thought of meeting you here? I am alone in Paris. I know no one and am bored to death. What have you got on hand now? I thought you were in New York.”

“I certainly didn’t expect to meet you here,” I replied. “What has brought you over?”

“Come and have some lunch, and I’ll tell you all about it,” he replied, and we repaired to an adjoining café, where Captain A— promptly ordered lunch in a private room.

“We’ve got a new thing on hand in the submarine line,” he told me as soon as the waiter had left the room. “You know we have been trying some experiments in German waters lately, and the Hun destroyers have been so confoundedly active that our fellows have had to pass a lot of their time sitting on the bottom. As a consequence, some of the crew have suffered terribly for want of fresh air. We have a very good system of purifying the atmosphere, but it is not sufficient owing to the long periods the boats have to stay under water, and a number of men have collapsed and died from suffocation. Indeed, one boat only escaped with more than half her crew totally incapacitated.”

I was keenly on the alert. Was I, I wondered, coming to grips at last with our problem?

“Well,” Captain A— went on, “we have been offered a new apparatus, which, if half of what the inventor tells us is true, will enable us to give the Hun a very bad time. We are assured that by its help a boat can stay under water for five days without the slightest risk.”

“Five days!” I repeated incredulously. “Why, it’s impossible!”

“So I thought,” he rejoined, “but when Engström and Linner vouch for anything, you’ve got to listen.”

“Engström and Linner!” I gasped. Things were getting “warm” indeed.

“Yes,” he replied. “Mr Engström is in Paris now with his invention, and we are going to test it off Havre.”

Then I sprang my mine. “Would you be surprised to learn,” I asked, as coolly as I could, “that your Mr Engström is not Mr Engström at all, but a German agent passing under his name?”

I have seen a good many badly surprised men in my life, but I never witnessed before or since such a spectacle of hopeless astonishment as Captain A— presented when he grasped the full significance of this announcement. He sat staring at me, his mouth wide open, and with dismay written legibly on every line of his countenance.

“But, Sant,” he gasped. “Are you sure? Mr Engström came to us in London and told us all about it. He explained that the inventor was a Spaniard who would not trust the ‘neutrality’ of the Spanish Government in the matter, and that he had brought his invention to Engström’s with the idea of getting the best terms from one of the Allies.”

“I have no doubt that the man posing as Engström came to you,” I replied. “But, none the less, he is not Engström at all.”

“Then what is his game?” countered A—. “He has offered us the fullest test before we adopt his machine, and has not asked for a cent.”

“That remains to be seen,” I answered, “but it bodes no good to the Allies. What does he propose?”

“He has offered to instal the apparatus on one of our newest types,” replied A—, “and she is on her way to Havre for the purpose. We are to make any test we like, and, in fact, I am here to see the test carried out. The only condition he makes is that his machinery shall be sealed, and not opened until after the test has proved it to be satisfactory.”

I began to see light. “Did he propose to go with you?” I asked.

“No,” replied A—, rather ruefully, I fancied. “He said the machinery was so perfect that it would practically run itself from our electric accumulators, and that he would give us an absolutely free hand with it.”

“I wonder how many of you would have come back?” I said meaningly.

A— swore fervently, and I saw by the gleam in his eyes that he was fully awake to the possibilities of the trap into which he had been so nearly led.

Our task now, barring some unforeseeable contingency, was fairly easy; there was a good prospect of ensnaring our foes in the pit they had so skilfully dug for us.

“The matter is up to you now,” I told A—. “I’m going to drop out till the very last minute. But I shall be with you then. It is of the utmost importance that we shall do nothing to scare these very wary birds. What is your plan?”

“Well,” said A—, “it seems to me I had better go ahead as if nothing had happened. The arrangement is that Engström shall take his apparatus to Havre and instal it on E77. We are then to put to sea for the tests, and are to meet him later and inform him of our decision.”

“That will do all right,” I said. “I shall come on board the submarine before Engström arrives, and then I think we shall surprise him.”

A— departed at once to make the final arrangements and I busied myself in sending off some telegrams arranging for the final downfall of the Hun plotters.

A week later I found myself on board E77 at Havre. The mysterious cases had been sent on, and with them came Engström, with Thornton and Tegelmund, who professed to be interested in the venture—the former financially, the latter as the inventor. Tegelmund was in high glee at being thus afforded an opportunity of putting his device to a thoroughly satisfactory test. We also had a big surprise in the arrival of Halbmayr, who arrived in Havre under the name of Mennier. That he should have ventured on the scene at all showed how intensely interested he was.

Engström declared that the fitting of the machinery would occupy fully three days, and we, of course, humoured him in every way possible. A— made himself particularly agreeable, playing the part of host to perfection, and it was evident that the conspirators never even dreamed that their nefarious designs were suspected by the genial naval officer who showed such an enthusiastic interest in the wonderful stories with which they plied him on the merits of their great discovery.

The three days went by. Four great cases of machinery had been duly shipped on board, and Engström, Thornton, and Tegelmund spent many hours daily at their work in the interior of the submarine. Of course I could not appear—I should have been recognised at once—but among the crew of the submarine were a couple of the smartest men of the Sûreté, who kept the bogus engineer and his associates under the closest scrutiny. They reported to me that Engström appeared to be the only one of the three with any great amount of mechanical knowledge, and that, while Tegelmund worked assiduously at his machine, the others spent most of their time carefully examining the details of the British vessel, in which they showed the greatest interest. I began to get at last an inkling of the plot!

The fourth day dawned—the day of thedénouement. Early in the morning I slipped on board the submarine, and when the two conspirators arrived we made our coup.

Engström, when he came on board with Tegelmund, found himself suddenly confronted by the Commander, with a stalwart bluejacket standing on either side of him. He was curtly informed that he could not go below.

“But you promised!” he shrieked, livid with vexation.

“True!” said the Commander. “But you call yourself Oscar Engström, of Malmö, and I happen to have the real Mr Engström here.”

The engineer went white to the very lips as Mr Engström, who had come post-haste from Stockholm in response to my urgent cable, emerged from behind the conning-tower, closely followed by myself. The false Engström began a vehement protest, but ceased suddenly, for, glancing round, he saw Tegelmund also under guard. The game was up!

A few minutes later, with Engström and Tegelmund safely in irons, the Admiralty experts who had come over from London began a minute examination of the wonderful “invention.” They soon discovered that the cases contained a jumble of wires and odds and ends of mechanical scraps simply thrown together to look complicated, and of no value whatever for the renewal of vitiated air.

The real object was only revealed when we had got to the very heart of the amazing collection of rubbish. There, cunningly hidden among much that was superfluous, was a highly efficient electric motor, wonderfully made and controlling a powerful bomb by machinery, set to detonate the explosive after six hours’ running. The machinery was to have been operated by the electric batteries of the submarine, and had the E77 gone to sea and begun the “tests” of the bogus apparatus, not a vestige of the vessel or the crew would have been seen again, and the secret of her loss would have been locked for ever in the depths of the Atlantic.

But this, we found, was only a part of the plot—perhaps even the least important part. Tegelmund, finding himself trapped, turned craven and revealed the whole story. The real object of the spies was to get the fullest possible details of the internal arrangements of a British submarine of the latest type, and how well they had succeeded was shown when we cast our net a little wider.

Directly Engström and Tegelmund were in custody, an innocent-looking signal flag flew from the masthead of the submarine, and the officials of the Sûreté ashore made their pounce. Thornton and Halbmayr were seized at once at their hotel, and in their possession we found a wonderful series of drawings in which many of the secrets of the submarine were fully explained. A telegram to Paris brought about also the arrest of Madame Bohman, and a few days later the German agents were safely immured in the convict prison at Tours, where they were sent by the sentence of a court-martial summoned immediately to deal with their case. Their guilt in this particular case was too clear for any possibility of denial, but I am glad to say that their arrest opened up a way to us to deal the Hun Secret Service a blow from which it has never fully recovered. Enormous piles of documents were seized and carefully examined, with the result that numerous associates of Thornton in England found themselves in durance vile “for the duration,” and so many fingers of the Hidden Hand were lopped off that the hand itself was badly crippled for many months to come. How the fingers grew and were again cut off I hope to tell at some later date.

Chapter Eighteen.The Mysterious Cylinders.After over two years of strenuous work without a holiday I found myself at length free, and I found myself one morning busy in my rooms in Curzon Street making final arrangements for a trip to Worcestershire to spend a fortnight with Doris and her mother in their lovely country home. I was jaded and fagged, for I do not mind confessing that my work recently had considerably affected me, and I was looking forward with eager anticipation to the delights of a stay in the country. I had not seen Doris for some months, though of course we were in constant communication, and I was naturally longing for a sight of her.But I was destined to another disappointment. Just as I was finishing my packing the telephone rang. I found the call was from Morgan, one of the ablest of the Government Experts on Explosives, and he had a curious story to tell me. When I had listened to what he had to say I realised with a heavy heart that my long-promised holiday must be again postponed. I rang up Doris on the telephone and, having broken the news to her, hurried off to Morgan’s office.I found the expert in a state of utter bewilderment. He was an acknowledged authority on explosives, but a problem had been set before him which had baffled him completely.A few days previously a mysterious explosion had occurred in some public gardens at Mile End. While a keeper was clearing away a pile of rubbish he found a curious-looking metal cylinder lying in a flower-bed, and while he was examining it it exploded with a tremendous report, injuring the man so severely that he had to be taken, in a very critical condition, to the East End Hospital.A search by the police had a curious result. In other flower-beds a number of similar cylinders were found. They were very tiny, being only about an inch and a half in length and about a quarter of an inch in diameter. They contained a substance which was evidently the explosive. At one end a piece of wire was attached, evidently as a means of exploding them, and at the other end was a strip of soft lead.Morgan showed me some of the cylinders, and frankly confessed his ignorance of what they contained.“I thought I knew every explosive in existence,” he told me, “but this is something entirely new. It must be tremendously powerful, judging by the size of the cylinders and the effect of the explosion on the unfortunate gardener who found the first one.” As I held one of the small cylinders, studying it with great care, an idea came to me.“May I borrow this for a few days?” I asked. “I think I may be able to help you.”“Certainly,” replied Morgan; “but be careful. We don’t even know how it is exploded.”Next day I was in Paris, and took train to Vemeuil l’Étang, some thirty miles from the capital, where I called on the manager of a certain well-known factory.When I showed him the little cylinder he examined it with minute attention and carefully withdrew some of the mysterious explosive. This he placed under a microscope and a moment later said:“Monsieur is undoubtedly correct! It is some of our product, herbethite, the invention of our chief director, Mr Herbeth, and the most powerful explosive known to modern science. None has been used in actual work yet, and the only sample that has left our factory is that which was stolen. It is a great secret.”“Has some been stolen, then?” I asked quickly.“Yes. Fortunately we discovered the thief—a workman named Pasquet—and we thought we had recovered all that had been taken. Evidently we were wrong and some of the stuff has got into bad hands. Pasquet is awaiting trial by the Assize Court of the Seine.”I returned to Paris and saw the Minister of Justice, to whom I made a certain proposal. Not without demur, he finally agreed, and I went to the prison armed with authority for a private interview with Pasquet.I met the thief in a small room in the governor’s quarters of the prison. I found him to be a man of about thirty, quite obviously of the hooligan type, and I soon guessed from his conversation that he had been in the first place the tool of others, who, when they had made use of him, had abandoned him to his fate.He was naturally resentful and vindictive. I told him I had authority to offer him a free pardon, and a reward which would give him a decent start in life if he would give us the fullest information in his power. He was suspicious, however, and it was not until my promise had been confirmed by the governor of the prison himself that he consented to speak.His promise once given, he made a clean breast of everything, and his information was so startling that I could hardly credit it. Possibly he saw my incredulity, for he said quietly: “Monsieur will find that I am telling the truth. Why should I lie? My whole life and liberty are in pawn for my veracity.”I admitted that this was reasonable, and promised to, push things forward as quickly as possible. Something about the man had appealed to me, and I wondered whether, after all, he might not contain the makings of a decent citizen.My first concern was to send a wire to Madame Gabrielle, who was in Edinburgh, and the following evening she met me in my rooms in Curzon Street, where I unfolded the whole story to her.“Of course, we are not yet on firm ground,” I pointed out to her. “Pasquet alleges that the real name of his friend Shackleton is Von Schack and that he is a Prussian engineer officer.“Pasquet first met Shackleton in London, and later on Shackleton approached him at Verneuil with another man, whom he introduced as Norman, and they offered to buy some herbethite from him for three thousand francs. Pasquet told me that he was very hard up owing to his wife’s long illness—I have ascertained that this is quite true—and the temptation proved too much for him. It is only fair to him to remember that, though he looks an abandoned ruffian, he bears a good character as a husband and father, and it seems to be the fact that the only money he spent out of that which he received from Shackleton and Norman went to purchase necessities and delicacies for his wife. The money really seems to have saved her life.“Anyhow, he stole a quantity of the herbethite, which Shackleton and Norman packed in golden syrup tins and took to England. When Pasquet stole a second lot he was discovered, and the dangerous stuff was found at his lodgings and recovered before he could hand it over to the two men, who pretended to be English.“One fact of importance at least is established,” I added, “namely, that Schack formerly carried on business as a watchmaker at Newcastle, and sold his business to an Englishman a month before war broke out.”For weeks we hunted in vain for Shackleton. I visited Newcastle, and found that the man to whom he sold the business had later joined the Army. This meant a journey to France for me, and I had an interview with the man at a certain brigade headquarters in the Somme battle area.“Shackleton was undoubtedly a foreigner and I should say probably a German,” the watchmaker, now a corporal, told me. “When he left he asked me to forward any letters that might come for him, and gave me the address—‘Care of Soulsby, High Street, Bristol.’”With that information I went straight from the British front to the great Severn port. Here I found that Soulsby kept a newsagent’s shop near Bristol Bridge, to which letters could be addressed. He did a big business in this way, for the address was very handy for sea-going men.Soulsby at first refused to give me the smallest information about his clients, but a sight of my authority opened his mouth, and as soon as he realised that something serious was on foot he was only too willing to help me.“Of course, Mr Sant,” he said, “you will understand I have no knowledge whatever of the man. But I know that the Bristol Channel ports are full of spies, and it is very generally believed that few vessels leave here unknown to the German submarines lurking about the mouth of the Channel. If I can help you at all, I shall be delighted.”I then learned that Shackleton had called about a week before, taking away several letters addressed to him, and that he usually called at intervals of a week or ten days. Soulsby promised to let me know at once as soon as he came again, and I wired to the wily Aubert to come to Bristol and keep observation.Within three days, as I walked with my assistant along Victoria Street towards Temple Meads, he pointed out a middle-aged, keen-eyed, dark-haired man, who had little of the appearance of a Teuton. He looked like a well-dressed, prosperous business man. Yet it was he who had induced the unfortunate Pasquet to steal the herbethite, and he was certainly engaged in some nefarious and deadly plot. For although the actual volume of the stolen explosive was not great, so tremendous was its power that the quantity in the hands of our foes was sufficient to wreak almost unimaginable havoc in half a dozen cities in England. Mr Herbeth had looked very grave when he learned from Pasquet through me that the amount stolen was enough to fill two of the small cans used to hold golden syrup—about a pint and a half altogether.“I hope monsieur will trace it in time,” he said earnestly. “There is enough of it in their possession to destroy half London.”We soon found out that Shackleton was living in furnished rooms at Clifton and had one close friend, who, after some difficulty, we proved to be his accomplice Norman.One morning Aubert arrived at my hotel and reported that the pair had gone to the station and taken tickets for London. At once I advised Madame Gabrielle by telephone to be on the platform at Paddington and watch them wherever they went. I myself took the next train to London, and, driving to Curzon Street, awaited her report.But although I sat up until after two o’clock the next morning, she did not arrive and I received no word from her! What contretemps had occurred? I was seriously uneasy, for I had impressed upon her the vitally important nature of our task, and if she failed or met with any mishap we should be in a serious predicament, for we had no trace whatever of any of Shackleton’s associations in London, and anything might happen before we could run him to earth again among the teeming millions of the metropolis, the safest hiding-place on earth.It was not until six o’clock the next evening that I received, by express messenger, a hastily scrawled note in which Madame Gabrielle said:“Be extremely careful! They have discovered me, and I am being watched, so cannot come near you. Great things are in progress. Get someone to watch Shackleton, who is at the address below. Some great plot is in progress—that is certain.—G.”Without a moment’s delay, I slipped round to Whitehall, and very soon an expert watcher was at the address given by Madame.Twelve hours later, I was filled with dismay by a telephone message which told me that neither Shackleton nor Norman had been to the address given. They had both disappeared!

After over two years of strenuous work without a holiday I found myself at length free, and I found myself one morning busy in my rooms in Curzon Street making final arrangements for a trip to Worcestershire to spend a fortnight with Doris and her mother in their lovely country home. I was jaded and fagged, for I do not mind confessing that my work recently had considerably affected me, and I was looking forward with eager anticipation to the delights of a stay in the country. I had not seen Doris for some months, though of course we were in constant communication, and I was naturally longing for a sight of her.

But I was destined to another disappointment. Just as I was finishing my packing the telephone rang. I found the call was from Morgan, one of the ablest of the Government Experts on Explosives, and he had a curious story to tell me. When I had listened to what he had to say I realised with a heavy heart that my long-promised holiday must be again postponed. I rang up Doris on the telephone and, having broken the news to her, hurried off to Morgan’s office.

I found the expert in a state of utter bewilderment. He was an acknowledged authority on explosives, but a problem had been set before him which had baffled him completely.

A few days previously a mysterious explosion had occurred in some public gardens at Mile End. While a keeper was clearing away a pile of rubbish he found a curious-looking metal cylinder lying in a flower-bed, and while he was examining it it exploded with a tremendous report, injuring the man so severely that he had to be taken, in a very critical condition, to the East End Hospital.

A search by the police had a curious result. In other flower-beds a number of similar cylinders were found. They were very tiny, being only about an inch and a half in length and about a quarter of an inch in diameter. They contained a substance which was evidently the explosive. At one end a piece of wire was attached, evidently as a means of exploding them, and at the other end was a strip of soft lead.

Morgan showed me some of the cylinders, and frankly confessed his ignorance of what they contained.

“I thought I knew every explosive in existence,” he told me, “but this is something entirely new. It must be tremendously powerful, judging by the size of the cylinders and the effect of the explosion on the unfortunate gardener who found the first one.” As I held one of the small cylinders, studying it with great care, an idea came to me.

“May I borrow this for a few days?” I asked. “I think I may be able to help you.”

“Certainly,” replied Morgan; “but be careful. We don’t even know how it is exploded.”

Next day I was in Paris, and took train to Vemeuil l’Étang, some thirty miles from the capital, where I called on the manager of a certain well-known factory.

When I showed him the little cylinder he examined it with minute attention and carefully withdrew some of the mysterious explosive. This he placed under a microscope and a moment later said:

“Monsieur is undoubtedly correct! It is some of our product, herbethite, the invention of our chief director, Mr Herbeth, and the most powerful explosive known to modern science. None has been used in actual work yet, and the only sample that has left our factory is that which was stolen. It is a great secret.”

“Has some been stolen, then?” I asked quickly.

“Yes. Fortunately we discovered the thief—a workman named Pasquet—and we thought we had recovered all that had been taken. Evidently we were wrong and some of the stuff has got into bad hands. Pasquet is awaiting trial by the Assize Court of the Seine.”

I returned to Paris and saw the Minister of Justice, to whom I made a certain proposal. Not without demur, he finally agreed, and I went to the prison armed with authority for a private interview with Pasquet.

I met the thief in a small room in the governor’s quarters of the prison. I found him to be a man of about thirty, quite obviously of the hooligan type, and I soon guessed from his conversation that he had been in the first place the tool of others, who, when they had made use of him, had abandoned him to his fate.

He was naturally resentful and vindictive. I told him I had authority to offer him a free pardon, and a reward which would give him a decent start in life if he would give us the fullest information in his power. He was suspicious, however, and it was not until my promise had been confirmed by the governor of the prison himself that he consented to speak.

His promise once given, he made a clean breast of everything, and his information was so startling that I could hardly credit it. Possibly he saw my incredulity, for he said quietly: “Monsieur will find that I am telling the truth. Why should I lie? My whole life and liberty are in pawn for my veracity.”

I admitted that this was reasonable, and promised to, push things forward as quickly as possible. Something about the man had appealed to me, and I wondered whether, after all, he might not contain the makings of a decent citizen.

My first concern was to send a wire to Madame Gabrielle, who was in Edinburgh, and the following evening she met me in my rooms in Curzon Street, where I unfolded the whole story to her.

“Of course, we are not yet on firm ground,” I pointed out to her. “Pasquet alleges that the real name of his friend Shackleton is Von Schack and that he is a Prussian engineer officer.

“Pasquet first met Shackleton in London, and later on Shackleton approached him at Verneuil with another man, whom he introduced as Norman, and they offered to buy some herbethite from him for three thousand francs. Pasquet told me that he was very hard up owing to his wife’s long illness—I have ascertained that this is quite true—and the temptation proved too much for him. It is only fair to him to remember that, though he looks an abandoned ruffian, he bears a good character as a husband and father, and it seems to be the fact that the only money he spent out of that which he received from Shackleton and Norman went to purchase necessities and delicacies for his wife. The money really seems to have saved her life.

“Anyhow, he stole a quantity of the herbethite, which Shackleton and Norman packed in golden syrup tins and took to England. When Pasquet stole a second lot he was discovered, and the dangerous stuff was found at his lodgings and recovered before he could hand it over to the two men, who pretended to be English.

“One fact of importance at least is established,” I added, “namely, that Schack formerly carried on business as a watchmaker at Newcastle, and sold his business to an Englishman a month before war broke out.”

For weeks we hunted in vain for Shackleton. I visited Newcastle, and found that the man to whom he sold the business had later joined the Army. This meant a journey to France for me, and I had an interview with the man at a certain brigade headquarters in the Somme battle area.

“Shackleton was undoubtedly a foreigner and I should say probably a German,” the watchmaker, now a corporal, told me. “When he left he asked me to forward any letters that might come for him, and gave me the address—‘Care of Soulsby, High Street, Bristol.’”

With that information I went straight from the British front to the great Severn port. Here I found that Soulsby kept a newsagent’s shop near Bristol Bridge, to which letters could be addressed. He did a big business in this way, for the address was very handy for sea-going men.

Soulsby at first refused to give me the smallest information about his clients, but a sight of my authority opened his mouth, and as soon as he realised that something serious was on foot he was only too willing to help me.

“Of course, Mr Sant,” he said, “you will understand I have no knowledge whatever of the man. But I know that the Bristol Channel ports are full of spies, and it is very generally believed that few vessels leave here unknown to the German submarines lurking about the mouth of the Channel. If I can help you at all, I shall be delighted.”

I then learned that Shackleton had called about a week before, taking away several letters addressed to him, and that he usually called at intervals of a week or ten days. Soulsby promised to let me know at once as soon as he came again, and I wired to the wily Aubert to come to Bristol and keep observation.

Within three days, as I walked with my assistant along Victoria Street towards Temple Meads, he pointed out a middle-aged, keen-eyed, dark-haired man, who had little of the appearance of a Teuton. He looked like a well-dressed, prosperous business man. Yet it was he who had induced the unfortunate Pasquet to steal the herbethite, and he was certainly engaged in some nefarious and deadly plot. For although the actual volume of the stolen explosive was not great, so tremendous was its power that the quantity in the hands of our foes was sufficient to wreak almost unimaginable havoc in half a dozen cities in England. Mr Herbeth had looked very grave when he learned from Pasquet through me that the amount stolen was enough to fill two of the small cans used to hold golden syrup—about a pint and a half altogether.

“I hope monsieur will trace it in time,” he said earnestly. “There is enough of it in their possession to destroy half London.”

We soon found out that Shackleton was living in furnished rooms at Clifton and had one close friend, who, after some difficulty, we proved to be his accomplice Norman.

One morning Aubert arrived at my hotel and reported that the pair had gone to the station and taken tickets for London. At once I advised Madame Gabrielle by telephone to be on the platform at Paddington and watch them wherever they went. I myself took the next train to London, and, driving to Curzon Street, awaited her report.

But although I sat up until after two o’clock the next morning, she did not arrive and I received no word from her! What contretemps had occurred? I was seriously uneasy, for I had impressed upon her the vitally important nature of our task, and if she failed or met with any mishap we should be in a serious predicament, for we had no trace whatever of any of Shackleton’s associations in London, and anything might happen before we could run him to earth again among the teeming millions of the metropolis, the safest hiding-place on earth.

It was not until six o’clock the next evening that I received, by express messenger, a hastily scrawled note in which Madame Gabrielle said:

“Be extremely careful! They have discovered me, and I am being watched, so cannot come near you. Great things are in progress. Get someone to watch Shackleton, who is at the address below. Some great plot is in progress—that is certain.—G.”

“Be extremely careful! They have discovered me, and I am being watched, so cannot come near you. Great things are in progress. Get someone to watch Shackleton, who is at the address below. Some great plot is in progress—that is certain.—G.”

Without a moment’s delay, I slipped round to Whitehall, and very soon an expert watcher was at the address given by Madame.

Twelve hours later, I was filled with dismay by a telephone message which told me that neither Shackleton nor Norman had been to the address given. They had both disappeared!

Chapter Nineteen.Spy’s Letter Deciphered.Back in Curzon Street, completely at a loss, I flung myself into a big arm-chair, and over a succession of pipes tried to piece our disconnected facts into a consecutive whole. Shackleton, or Schack, had moved from Newcastle to Bristol before the war, and I had little doubt that he had done so by express orders from the Königgrätzer-strasse. From this I argued mentally that Bristol would almost certainly be the seat of his main activities, and that his early return thither might be looked for with some degree of confidence. Added to this, we knew from the frank declaration of a high port official that the Bristol Channel towns were swarming with spies, and I felt little doubt that they were acting under Schack’s direction. On the whole, now that we had apparently lost the two men in London, Bristol seemed the most promising base for our operations.I decided therefore to return, and, leaving Madame at the Grosvenor in London, I took Aubert with me, together with an English secret agent whom I will call Moore.Moore took lodgings opposite Shackleton’s house in Bristol and at once opened an unwinking vigilance over the place. For a fortnight, however, there was no sign. In the meantime two letters arrived, addressed to Shackleton, at Soulsby’s. These were opened by the authorities, photographed, and, after being resealed, were delivered in the ordinary way.In one of the letters, which had been posted in London and purported to be an ordinary business transaction, was the statement:“We are having great difficulty with our clients Johnson and Phillips, so we have placed the matter in the hands of our solicitors for advice.”This letter ostensibly came from a firm of estate agents in the Harrow Road. I made an immediate inquiry, and was not altogether surprised to learn that no such a firm existed. In the meantime I studied the letter on the assumption that it contained a spy cipher, and after some hours’ work succeeded in extracting from its apparently innocent contents the following startling message:“Angoraniawill convey troops from Montreal on 30th proximo.”This set me at work with furious speed. An inquiry at the port offices showed me that the great liner was at the moment lying at Avonmouth, and that she would sail for Montreal a week later in order to bring over several thousand Canadian troops.Shackleton now made what was to me, I confess, a very welcome return to the scene. I had been seriously perturbed by the fear that we had lost him. While he was under my own immediate observation I felt capable of checkmating his designs, but the knowledge that an able enemy agent was at large and uncontrolled, with enough herbethite in his possession to create an appalling disaster, worried me more than I can tell.Shackleton appeared on the scene the day after the delivery of the letter we had intercepted and photographed. Where he had been in the interval we never learned, but he did not arrive in Bristol from London; that was certain, for every train, day and night, was closely watched. Evidently the letter meant a good deal to him. He went at once to Avonmouth, closely followed by Moore. To our intense surprise, he seemed very well known at the docks and was freely admitted everywhere. He walked along the quays for some time, and we noted his obvious interest in theAngorania, now busily getting ready for her coming trip. We learned later that Shackleton had very cleverly wound himself into the confidence of a local shipping agent, and by this means had secured such frequent admission to the docks that his presence there was accepted almost as a matter of course.I now began to feel practically certain that theAngoraniawas the object of the conspirators, and that the herbethite was the means to be adopted to bring about her destruction. But how?Madame Gabrielle was to solve the question for us. The great liner was timed to leave at six o’clock, and an hour earlier the boat-train had arrived from London, bringing an unusually large assembly of passengers. These included several Government officials on their way to Canada, a number of highly placed military officers, and the members of two or three important war commissions.Some time after the arrival of the train, a shabbily-dressed woman in a battered old hat pushed rudely against me. I turned, and to my amazement recognised Madame Gabrielle. She was obviously almost at the end of her strength, pallid with fatigue, and with deep circles round her eyes which spoke eloquently of exhaustion.She made me a sign to follow her and slipped away from the crowd, which was hastening to the gangway. Directly we reached a quiet space, she gasped out:“Norman has booked cabin Number 189 on theAngorania, in the name of Nash. I followed him to the shipping office and overheard.” A moment later she fainted and fell heavily into my arms.I carried her at once to a waiting-room, and, handing her over without ceremony to the woman in charge, dashed at top speed for the quay where theAngoraniawas lying, now almost ready for departure. Not even for the sake of Madame Gabrielle would I venture a moment’s delay.The “last bells” were ringing for the steamer’s departure as I rushed on to the quay. As I neared the gangway I saw, to my utter amazement, the man Norman stroll leisurely from the ship with the very last of the people who had been on board for the customary farewells. Evidently he was not going by the vessel at all. A moment later the gangways were withdrawn and the big liner moved away. Norman remained on the quay with the crowd, idly waving a real or pretended farewell to some supposed friend on the crowded decks.I have cursed myself for my stupidity many times since, and even now I shudder at the thought of how nearly the dastardly plot against the liner came to success. The vessel was well under way when the idea flashed into my mind: “He has left the explosive on board!” How I failed to divine this earlier I cannot imagine. I suppose Norman’s return from the ship threw me temporarily off my guard.But, in any case, there was not a second to be lost. TheAngorania, heading down Channel, was gathering speed every moment, bearing somewhere on board enough explosives to sink her in ten seconds with the loss of hundreds of precious lives.Boldness was the only course possible. I called a couple of dock police, and, showing them my authority, instructed them to arrest Norman at once. Before the spy could recover from his surprise, he was safely in custody and relieved of an extremely efficient automatic pistol.And now for theAngorania. I rushed to the “competent military authority,” and briefly laid the facts before a veteran Colonel, in whom a life of splendid service to the Empire had bred a capacity for swift decision and prompt action.“She won’t go far, Mr Sant,” he said cheerily, as he picked up the telephone.A moment later I caught the crackle of wireless, and to my relief read the message: “To Q.Q.” (theAngorania’scode letters). “Heave to immediately and await instructions.—Port Commandant.” A few minutes later a clerk brought in theAngorania’sacknowledgment.A quarter of an hour after I was aboard a British destroyer, which tore out into the Channel, and at thirty-five knots was flying along in the wake of theAngorania. We soon overhauled the big liner, and as we neared her could see the crowded passengers, evidently puzzled at the unexpected stoppage.As soon as I got on board, I accompanied the Captain to his private cabin and told him the facts. Sending for the purser, he ordered him to bring on deck at once all the luggage which had come on board in the name of Nash. “And carry it carefully,” he added, as he told the purser what it contained.By great good fortune, there was only one big trunk in the hold, and it was readily accessible. The rest of Nash’s luggage was in his cabin. We soon had the lot on board the destroyer, where the torpedo officer rapidly overhauled it.In the big trunk, resting quite unconcealed on the top of a pile of clothes, were two tin canisters labelled “Golden Syrup.” I could not repress a shudder.“I think this is what we want,” said the torpedo officer grimly, as he carefully picked up the dangerous canisters. And then he did a brave thing.“If you don’t mind, sir,” he said to the Captain, “I will take them out in a boat and examine them myself.”The Captain nodded silently, and a few minutes later the ship’s dinghy dropped over the side. The torpedo officer took his seat and rowed away alone, the canisters on the after-thwart winking in the blazing sunshine. He was literally taking his life in his hands. We could not let the liner go until we were sure we had got what we wanted, and no one could be sure that the mere lifting of the canister lids would not explode the terrible compound they contained.Half a mile away from the ship the rowing-boat came to a stop. Through our glasses we saw the torpedo officer deliberately pick up the canisters and without hesitation prise up the patent lids. A moment later he waved to us, and at once commenced to row back to the ship.“All right, let her go; I’ve got the stuff,” he shouted, as soon as he was within earshot, and a tremendous cheer went up from the crew, who in the mysterious “wireless” of the sea had learned what was afoot. A signal fluttered from the bridge of the destroyer. TheAngoraniadipped her pennant in acknowledgment, and soon the great liner was hurling herself through the sea on her interrupted journey.The rest of the story is soon told. The herbethite, we found, was covered with a thin layer of sweets, and at the customs examination of luggage Nash had boldly lifted the lids and coolly showed the sweets to the officer. It was done so naturally as to defy any possible suspicion. But in the bottoms of the tins we found two exquisitely made detonators, fashioned in the shape of watches, and timed so as to explode the herbethite some twelve hours after the time fixed for the departure of the ship. These removed, the tins could be handled with comparative safety.We made a clean sweep of the conspirators. No details were ever given to the public, and the stoppage of the big liner was easily explained away to the passengers. We found out that the small cylinder picked up at Mile End had been intended for the purpose of blowing up a munitions train in an important tunnel outside London, but the conspirators found the approaches too closely guarded and gave up the project. They were all sent to Paris for trial on a charge of stealing herbethite, and were eventually sentenced by court-martial to fifteen years’ imprisonment.Madame Gabrielle, I am glad to say, received a handsome reward from the British Government, for our success was entirely due to her. She had followed Norman without food or rest or sleep for nearly three days, and was in the last extremity of fatigue when she gave me her final and all-important message. Pasquet, I am glad to say, justified the impression I had formed of him, and I had the satisfaction of seeing him develop into a respectable member of society, happy in the society of his wife, now fully restored to health, and again enjoying the confidence of his employers. We were able, through him, to account for all the stolen herbethite, and it was a relief to know that none of the terrible compound remained in the hands of our enemies.

Back in Curzon Street, completely at a loss, I flung myself into a big arm-chair, and over a succession of pipes tried to piece our disconnected facts into a consecutive whole. Shackleton, or Schack, had moved from Newcastle to Bristol before the war, and I had little doubt that he had done so by express orders from the Königgrätzer-strasse. From this I argued mentally that Bristol would almost certainly be the seat of his main activities, and that his early return thither might be looked for with some degree of confidence. Added to this, we knew from the frank declaration of a high port official that the Bristol Channel towns were swarming with spies, and I felt little doubt that they were acting under Schack’s direction. On the whole, now that we had apparently lost the two men in London, Bristol seemed the most promising base for our operations.

I decided therefore to return, and, leaving Madame at the Grosvenor in London, I took Aubert with me, together with an English secret agent whom I will call Moore.

Moore took lodgings opposite Shackleton’s house in Bristol and at once opened an unwinking vigilance over the place. For a fortnight, however, there was no sign. In the meantime two letters arrived, addressed to Shackleton, at Soulsby’s. These were opened by the authorities, photographed, and, after being resealed, were delivered in the ordinary way.

In one of the letters, which had been posted in London and purported to be an ordinary business transaction, was the statement:

“We are having great difficulty with our clients Johnson and Phillips, so we have placed the matter in the hands of our solicitors for advice.”

This letter ostensibly came from a firm of estate agents in the Harrow Road. I made an immediate inquiry, and was not altogether surprised to learn that no such a firm existed. In the meantime I studied the letter on the assumption that it contained a spy cipher, and after some hours’ work succeeded in extracting from its apparently innocent contents the following startling message:

“Angoraniawill convey troops from Montreal on 30th proximo.”

This set me at work with furious speed. An inquiry at the port offices showed me that the great liner was at the moment lying at Avonmouth, and that she would sail for Montreal a week later in order to bring over several thousand Canadian troops.

Shackleton now made what was to me, I confess, a very welcome return to the scene. I had been seriously perturbed by the fear that we had lost him. While he was under my own immediate observation I felt capable of checkmating his designs, but the knowledge that an able enemy agent was at large and uncontrolled, with enough herbethite in his possession to create an appalling disaster, worried me more than I can tell.

Shackleton appeared on the scene the day after the delivery of the letter we had intercepted and photographed. Where he had been in the interval we never learned, but he did not arrive in Bristol from London; that was certain, for every train, day and night, was closely watched. Evidently the letter meant a good deal to him. He went at once to Avonmouth, closely followed by Moore. To our intense surprise, he seemed very well known at the docks and was freely admitted everywhere. He walked along the quays for some time, and we noted his obvious interest in theAngorania, now busily getting ready for her coming trip. We learned later that Shackleton had very cleverly wound himself into the confidence of a local shipping agent, and by this means had secured such frequent admission to the docks that his presence there was accepted almost as a matter of course.

I now began to feel practically certain that theAngoraniawas the object of the conspirators, and that the herbethite was the means to be adopted to bring about her destruction. But how?

Madame Gabrielle was to solve the question for us. The great liner was timed to leave at six o’clock, and an hour earlier the boat-train had arrived from London, bringing an unusually large assembly of passengers. These included several Government officials on their way to Canada, a number of highly placed military officers, and the members of two or three important war commissions.

Some time after the arrival of the train, a shabbily-dressed woman in a battered old hat pushed rudely against me. I turned, and to my amazement recognised Madame Gabrielle. She was obviously almost at the end of her strength, pallid with fatigue, and with deep circles round her eyes which spoke eloquently of exhaustion.

She made me a sign to follow her and slipped away from the crowd, which was hastening to the gangway. Directly we reached a quiet space, she gasped out:

“Norman has booked cabin Number 189 on theAngorania, in the name of Nash. I followed him to the shipping office and overheard.” A moment later she fainted and fell heavily into my arms.

I carried her at once to a waiting-room, and, handing her over without ceremony to the woman in charge, dashed at top speed for the quay where theAngoraniawas lying, now almost ready for departure. Not even for the sake of Madame Gabrielle would I venture a moment’s delay.

The “last bells” were ringing for the steamer’s departure as I rushed on to the quay. As I neared the gangway I saw, to my utter amazement, the man Norman stroll leisurely from the ship with the very last of the people who had been on board for the customary farewells. Evidently he was not going by the vessel at all. A moment later the gangways were withdrawn and the big liner moved away. Norman remained on the quay with the crowd, idly waving a real or pretended farewell to some supposed friend on the crowded decks.

I have cursed myself for my stupidity many times since, and even now I shudder at the thought of how nearly the dastardly plot against the liner came to success. The vessel was well under way when the idea flashed into my mind: “He has left the explosive on board!” How I failed to divine this earlier I cannot imagine. I suppose Norman’s return from the ship threw me temporarily off my guard.

But, in any case, there was not a second to be lost. TheAngorania, heading down Channel, was gathering speed every moment, bearing somewhere on board enough explosives to sink her in ten seconds with the loss of hundreds of precious lives.

Boldness was the only course possible. I called a couple of dock police, and, showing them my authority, instructed them to arrest Norman at once. Before the spy could recover from his surprise, he was safely in custody and relieved of an extremely efficient automatic pistol.

And now for theAngorania. I rushed to the “competent military authority,” and briefly laid the facts before a veteran Colonel, in whom a life of splendid service to the Empire had bred a capacity for swift decision and prompt action.

“She won’t go far, Mr Sant,” he said cheerily, as he picked up the telephone.

A moment later I caught the crackle of wireless, and to my relief read the message: “To Q.Q.” (theAngorania’scode letters). “Heave to immediately and await instructions.—Port Commandant.” A few minutes later a clerk brought in theAngorania’sacknowledgment.

A quarter of an hour after I was aboard a British destroyer, which tore out into the Channel, and at thirty-five knots was flying along in the wake of theAngorania. We soon overhauled the big liner, and as we neared her could see the crowded passengers, evidently puzzled at the unexpected stoppage.

As soon as I got on board, I accompanied the Captain to his private cabin and told him the facts. Sending for the purser, he ordered him to bring on deck at once all the luggage which had come on board in the name of Nash. “And carry it carefully,” he added, as he told the purser what it contained.

By great good fortune, there was only one big trunk in the hold, and it was readily accessible. The rest of Nash’s luggage was in his cabin. We soon had the lot on board the destroyer, where the torpedo officer rapidly overhauled it.

In the big trunk, resting quite unconcealed on the top of a pile of clothes, were two tin canisters labelled “Golden Syrup.” I could not repress a shudder.

“I think this is what we want,” said the torpedo officer grimly, as he carefully picked up the dangerous canisters. And then he did a brave thing.

“If you don’t mind, sir,” he said to the Captain, “I will take them out in a boat and examine them myself.”

The Captain nodded silently, and a few minutes later the ship’s dinghy dropped over the side. The torpedo officer took his seat and rowed away alone, the canisters on the after-thwart winking in the blazing sunshine. He was literally taking his life in his hands. We could not let the liner go until we were sure we had got what we wanted, and no one could be sure that the mere lifting of the canister lids would not explode the terrible compound they contained.

Half a mile away from the ship the rowing-boat came to a stop. Through our glasses we saw the torpedo officer deliberately pick up the canisters and without hesitation prise up the patent lids. A moment later he waved to us, and at once commenced to row back to the ship.

“All right, let her go; I’ve got the stuff,” he shouted, as soon as he was within earshot, and a tremendous cheer went up from the crew, who in the mysterious “wireless” of the sea had learned what was afoot. A signal fluttered from the bridge of the destroyer. TheAngoraniadipped her pennant in acknowledgment, and soon the great liner was hurling herself through the sea on her interrupted journey.

The rest of the story is soon told. The herbethite, we found, was covered with a thin layer of sweets, and at the customs examination of luggage Nash had boldly lifted the lids and coolly showed the sweets to the officer. It was done so naturally as to defy any possible suspicion. But in the bottoms of the tins we found two exquisitely made detonators, fashioned in the shape of watches, and timed so as to explode the herbethite some twelve hours after the time fixed for the departure of the ship. These removed, the tins could be handled with comparative safety.

We made a clean sweep of the conspirators. No details were ever given to the public, and the stoppage of the big liner was easily explained away to the passengers. We found out that the small cylinder picked up at Mile End had been intended for the purpose of blowing up a munitions train in an important tunnel outside London, but the conspirators found the approaches too closely guarded and gave up the project. They were all sent to Paris for trial on a charge of stealing herbethite, and were eventually sentenced by court-martial to fifteen years’ imprisonment.

Madame Gabrielle, I am glad to say, received a handsome reward from the British Government, for our success was entirely due to her. She had followed Norman without food or rest or sleep for nearly three days, and was in the last extremity of fatigue when she gave me her final and all-important message. Pasquet, I am glad to say, justified the impression I had formed of him, and I had the satisfaction of seeing him develop into a respectable member of society, happy in the society of his wife, now fully restored to health, and again enjoying the confidence of his employers. We were able, through him, to account for all the stolen herbethite, and it was a relief to know that none of the terrible compound remained in the hands of our enemies.

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