"Gron is dat Land,Rohd de Kant,End witt de Sand—Dat is dat Wapen von Helgoland"("Green is the land,Red the cliff,And white the sand—These form the arms of Heligoland")
—as shown by the colours of the old Victorian postage stamps of the island.
"Stop!" exclaimed the German officer peremptorily. "You must not go below."
"Why not?" asked Hamerton coolly. "It is none too warm or pleasant standing out here in——"
And not knowing the German for "pyjamas", he pointed meaningly at the thin pink-and-white garment he wore.
"By order. You must not go below," replied the officer. "You will enter this boat, to be taken to be interviewed by the commandant of the fortress."
"But——" began Detroit indignantly.
"We can explain everything," said Hamerton. "We'll come out with you directly we get our clothes."
With that the Sub turned his back on the representatives of the Imperial German Navy, and made a step towards the companion hatchway, with a view to making himself more presentable and better attired for the depressing atmospheric conditions.
This laudable intention was nipped in the bud by a couple of bluejackets jumping out of their boat and agilely scrambling upon theDiomeda'scabin top.
For an instant Jack Hamerton's eyes glinted ominously. He was within an ace of knocking the intruders overboard but, recalling that such an act might be disastrous to his comrade and himself, he controlled his feelings with a strong effort.
"It's no use resisting, old man," said he to Detroit, who was beginning to follow the drift of things. "They have put us under arrest for contravening some silly regulation. We've got to go ashore in their boat. Hang it! How can a fellow stand on his dignity when he's rigged out in pink-and-white pyjamas?"
"Enter the boat instantly," ordered the German officer. "Your clothes will be handed to you."
The two members of theDiomeda'screw stepped into the boat. One of the officers boarded the yacht, and, accompanied by a seaman, entered the cabin. Presently the latter reappeared bearing an assortment of clothing.
Detroit grabbed his trousers and felt in his pockets.
"They have taken possession of my purse!" he exclaimed.
"And mine too!" added the Sub, after a hasty examination. "And my pocketbook and cigarette case! Here, this won't do!"
"Give way!" ordered the German officer.
"Stop!" said Hamerton. "Before we go we want our purses and other personal property that have been taken from our pockets."
"It is unnecessary," was the reply. "There will be no need for you to have money ashore."
The oars dipped and the boat glided towards a stone pier, leaving the junior officer and two men in possession of theDiomeda.
Hamerton made good use of his eyes during the passage. By a pure fluke theDiomedahad entered the newly completed artificial harbour, and was anchored within fifty yards of the nearest of a triple line of grey torpedo-boat destroyers. Beyond them, and closer inshore, were more than twenty of the latest type of German submarines, vessels of slightly over twelve hundred tons, and capable of action within a radius of seven hundred miles. One peculiarity he especially noticed: in addition to the twin periscopes there were four slender cylinders of almost the same height, although inclined at various angles with the deck.
So keen was his interest that the German officer leant forward and tapped him on the shoulder.
"You are forbidden to look about you," he said.
"All right, my attentive fire-eater," mused the Sub. "You've caught me napping. I ought not to have let you see that I was curious. All the same, I think I know what those tubes are for. If they are not pneumatic guns for discharging aerial torpedoes from a submerged submarine, I'll eat my hat."
Nevertheless Hamerton ignored the lieutenant's order, although he concealed to some extent the fact that he was making extraordinarily good use of his powers of observation.
The face of the cliff was bristling with heavy ordnance, some of the guns being at least equal to the heaviest weapons mounted on theRoyal Sovereignand her sisters—the latest completed battleships of the British Navy. As the boat drew nearer, the Sub could distinguish numbers of quick-firers mounted on the edge of the precipitous sides of the island, with searchlights on covered stands a short distance in the rear of the guns; while to prevent the possibility of unauthorized persons landing and scaling the cliffs, a formidable barbed-wire fence, projecting at an acute angle, rendered any attempt in that direction a total failure.
All the while Hamerton and his American friend were scrambling into their clothes, and by the time the boat ran alongside a sheltered stone jetty they found themselves "rigged out" in a medley of garments. Detroit was accommodated with one of his comrade's flannel shirts, since the German officer had not exercised any discrimination in the hurried selection of the garments. Hamerton, unable to button a waistcoat over his broad chest—for the two waistcoats provided both belonged to Detroit—gave up the attempt, and devoted his attention to his footgear. This was made up of two old tennis shoes that the Sub used for rough work on board, and one sock that had the day before been utilized as a "swab" for mopping up a capsized paraffin lamp.
"Say, this is hardly the rig for Coney Island!" exclaimed Detroit. "Guess we look like a pair of hoboes."
"I'll kick up a fuss about this, by Jove!" ejaculated the Sub furiously. "Directly I——"
"Silence!" interrupted the German lieutenant, mistaking Hamerton's attitude for a display of "bluff" on the part of a spy caught redhanded. "It is forbidden!"
"Everything seems to be forbidden as far as you are concerned, my friend," replied Hamerton. "You are certainly labouring under a delusion. I was——"
"Silence!" repeated the officer. "Ascend this moment."
He pointed to a flight of granite steps alongside of which the boat was being held by the bowman and the coxwain.
At the head of the steps stood a marine, dressed in a blue tunic, white trousers, and a brightly-polished brass helmet. The man brought his rifle smartly to the salute as the German officer passed, then, shouldering his piece, paced the quay in the stolid manner so typical of the Kaiser's soldiery.
Thirty or forty yards away stood another sentry; farther on there were more. The whole place seemed crowded with marines on duty, while every person that Hamerton could see wore either a military or a naval uniform. The civilian element was totally lacking.
The Sub had very little time to make the observation, for from the shelter of a stone building that served as a guardroom a file of marines appeared. With fixed bayonets they fell in on either side of the two members of theDiomeda'screw.
"Great snakes, we're arrested!" exclaimed Detroit.
"I imagined so long ago," replied Hamerton. "No matter, they can't bring a case against us. They've no proof. We'll be out of this mess within the next few hours."
Even as he spoke he remembered the confidential book hidden in the stove on board the yacht. If the officials should chance to discover that incriminating article! The thought struck the Sub in a very unpleasant manner, but the next instant his confidence returned. After all, he could explain, and the seaman Pfeil would, he felt sure, corroborate his statement.
"Now, what's going to happen?" asked Detroit, as the pair found themselves alone in a small, whitewashed room, with a heavily barred window several feet above their heads, and a securely locked door between them and the open air.
"Only another exhibition of German high-handedness," replied the Sub. "We'll spring a mine on them. They'll be rather surprised when they learn that you are the son of a United States official in high quarters, and that I am a British naval officer. We'll hold our tongues till we are face to face with the commandant: then, by Jove, we'll enjoy ourselves."
"Guess I wish I had decent things on," remarked Detroit, ruefully surveying his disreputable attire. "Say what you like, Jack, gold lace does not make a man, but a fellow can't stand on his dignity like this."
"I'll have a jolly good shot at it, anyhow," retorted the Sub. "Now, stand by, there's someone coming."
Outside, along the stone corridor, came the sound of spurs jingling on the pavement. Then the door was thrown open, and the lieutenant who had effected the arrest entered, accompanied by a major of infantry.
"You are British?" began the latter in tolerably fluent English. "What is your name, your station, your address of residence?"
"Before we go into these details, Herr Major," said Hamerton, "we should like to know why we are brought here?"
"That is to be told some time after," replied the military officer. "Tell me your names."
"Not at present," said the Sub sturdily. "We'll explain everything to the commandant. We request that we be taken to him with the least possible delay."
"Gott in Himmel!" ejaculated the major. "Do you know who I am?" and twisting his heavy, upturned moustache, their captor tried to impress the two prisoners with the fear of Teutonic officialdom.
"Cannot say I've met you before, Major," replied Hamerton carelessly. "Perhaps my memory is slightly at fault?"
"Sir, I am Major Karl von Schloss."
It was on the tip of the Sub's tongue to express his ignorance of the major's identity, but reflecting that perhaps, after all, it would be well to exercise discretion, he replied:
"I think I can remember that name, Herr Major."
"You will have good cause to do so," retorted the German grimly. "Now, your name?"
"Not until I see the commandant."
"And yours?" demanded the Major, addressing the American.
"Guess that can be held up a bit," replied Detroit.
"Held up? What you mean?"
"I'll explain to the commandant," said Detroit resolutely.
"Very good, if you can," remarked the Major, as he prepared to take his departure. "I will, nevertheless, tell you. You will be charged with espionage. You will be lucky if you get less than three years in a fortress, for we Germans have been plagued enough with foreign spies—especially English."
Sub-LieutenantJack Hamerton was fairly well-informed as far as British naval officers go, and his information regarding the island fortress of Heligoland was fairly extensive, but he still had a lot to learn.
He knew the history of the island from its capture by the British from the Danes in the first decade of the nineteenth century. For nearly ninety years Heligoland existed as a British possession, its safety entrusted to a handful of coastguards, its ordering to a British governor, and its spiritual welfare to a Lutheran pastor. Up till 1850 the then pastor used regularly to offer up a prayer in the presence of his flock that a storm might arise to cast a valuable wreck upon the cliff-bound coast, for the Frisian inhabitants of Heligoland were to a great extent dependent upon the unlawful harvest of the sea.
As for the governor, his office was little more than a sinecure, once the regulations forbidding gaming were enforced. It was said that one of these officials was responsible for the introduction of rabbits upon Sandy Island, in order that his guests might while away the otherwise tedious hours by indulging in a little shooting. To-day, where the twelve-bores of the sportsmen used to bowl over harmless rabbits, enormous Krupp guns, on disappearing mountings, are cunningly concealed in strongly protected pits, for Sandy Island—now known as Sandinsel—has been artificially increased until it is nearly twice as large in extent as Heligoland itself.
Even Heligoland has undergone a complete metamorphosis. The little red sandstone rock, barely three-quarters of a mile in length and a quarter of a mile in breadth, had long been threatened with destruction by the action of the sea. Neglected under British rule, the island seemed fated to be wiped off the map, for after every heavy storm huge masses of sandstone would slide into the raging waters.
But directly Heligoland became a German possession prompt steps were taken to prevent further inroads of the ocean. The worthless rock was destined to be one of the most powerful fortresses in the North Sea, and a perpetual thorn in Britannia's side. Accordingly a massive sea wall of granite was built to encircle the island and baulk the billows of the German Ocean. This done, the work of fortifying the island with modern weapons was begun, and had been rapidly yet secretly carried out.
The British Government was cognizant of the fact that Krupp guns had been mounted, presumably equivalent to the nine-inch weapons. But it did not know that the ordnance consisted chiefly of fifteen-inch guns, conveyed under the most elaborate conditions of secrecy to the island.
His Majesty's Intelligence Department knew of an ammunition tunnel piercing the island from north to west; it knew nothing of the presence of vast artificial caves filled with oil fuel, with discharging pipes capable of supplying a fleet of the largest battleships with crude petroleum in the minimum of time.
The British Admiralty official charts and sailing directions gave the depth of the anchorage in North Haven at less than four and a quarter fathoms anywhere south of a line drawn due east of Nathurn, the northernmost extremity of Heligoland. By the same authority the maximum depth in South Haven, and within a mile of the Unterland, was given as three and three-quarter fathoms. In reality, thanks to strenuous dredging operations between the two islands, a fleet of the deepest-draughted battleships could lie at anchor, protected from all winds by the enormous harbour works that had sprung into existence during the last fifteen or twenty years.
The natural features of Sandinsel Island were favourable for this work, for stretching in a north-westerly direction for almost three miles were a number of rocky ledges, many of their points drying at low tide. Already the Olde Hoven Brunnen and the Krid Brunnen were converted into firm ground faced with granite or ferro-concrete walls, while the work of reclaiming the Witt Klif Brunnen was actively progressing. Although Sandinsel had already outgrown its companion isle in point of size, reclamation works were in a state of activity at Heligoland itself. Wharves extending nearly a mile from Sathurn—the southernmost limit of the original rock—formed an efficient breakwater to South Haven; and the area thus enclosed had been adapted for the purpose of berthing twenty submarines and eighty first-class torpedo boats and destroyers attached to the Heligoland command.
The submarines were the latest creations of the renowned Krupp Germania yard—large, speedy, and capable of operating within a thousand miles of their base without having to be dependent upon fresh supplies of gasoline. Submerged, they could travel a distance that would bring them within striking range of any port on the east coast of Great Britain. They were armed, in addition to the four torpedo tubes, with two fourteen-pounders on disappearing mountings, and, as Hamerton had discovered, with high-angle pneumatic guns, so as to be able, even when submerged, to attack aircraft with a great possibility of success.
Undoubtedly the new Heligoland was a strong fortress for defence. It was more: it was a base for offence, for why were ocean-going destroyers and submarines stationed there if their sole duty was to defend the comparatively short stretch of coast line that forms the German Empire's bulwark on the North Sea?
Heligoland, like the newly created fortresses of Borkum and Westerland Sylt, was a menace, directed principally against Great Britain and the British Empire.
And by a strange freak of navigation theDiomedahad dropped anchor in South Haven. Possibly had the lighthouse been showing its powerful light Hamerton might have picked up his position even in the thick, drizzling rain; but, in accordance with notices supplied to mariners by the German Admiralty, the light was extinguished whenever night operations were in progress in the vicinity of Heligoland. The leading lights on Sandinsel and the lamps at the extremities of the Moles had likewise been temporarily discontinued; yet in spite of these disadvantages, the German authorities had the mortification of knowing that a small craft, unpiloted and unseen, had crept up to the anchorage in the dead of night.
On the face of it there could be no other explanation than that the crew of the yacht were spies. The failure on their part to show a light under the bowsprit by night, or hoist their national ensign to the masthead by day, was in itself suspicious; and, left to their own resources in their temporary prison, Hamerton and Detroit agreed that the action of the German authorities was to a certain extent justifiable.
"Directly we explain matters to the commandant we'll be released," said Hamerton; "but I don't see the fun of having to give explanations to that arrogant sweep of a major."
"Nor I," added Detroit. "And I guess I'd just like to have half a dozen rounds with that yellow-haired lieutenant. I'll bet the other fellow is having a high old time rummaging our belongings."
The Sub did not reply. Again the thought of what might happen if the compromising Schwartz-Kopff torpedo book were discovered flashed across his mind. He almost wished that he had tossed the thing overboard, for he had not had an opportunity of reading it and committing the salient facts to memory, and its recovery by the German authorities would mean not only that the information was lost to the British Admiralty, but that the crew of theDiomedawould be placed in a very awkward predicament.
"It's real rotten being hung up here," continued the American. "See, the sun is shining again." He pointed towards the single-barred window four feet above their heads, through which the sunshine was streaming brilliantly. Even as he spoke the shaft of light was suddenly obscured, and a dull whirring sound came from without.
"Here, give me a leg up!" exclaimed the Sub. "Bend down, and I'll get upon your back."
Detroit immediately complied, and with considerable agility Hamerton clambered on to his friend's shoulders.
With hardly an effort the muscular American stood upright, in spite of the Sub's bulky proportions, and Hamerton was able to grasp the bars of the window and look out.
He was not disappointed in what he saw. An enormous military Zeppelin had just descended, and was being guided by several hundred soldiers along the sandy stretch between the Unterland and the sea. The afterpart, with the twin propellers and rearmost nacelle, was alone visible from the Sub's outlook. The car contained a Krupp seven-point-five-centimetres automatic gun, firing twelve-pounder shrapnel shells specially intended for use against hostile aeroplanes. At a range of four thousand yards the flying portions of the shell covered a radius of twenty yards, while the disturbance of the air caused by the explosion of the projectile was calculated to imperil the equilibrium of any heavier-than-air craft within a hundred yards of the point of detonation.
On the upper side of the rounded aluminium envelope was a small platform on which stood another automatic gun on a vertical mounting, so as to be able to fire at any aeroplane that might venture to assail the Zeppelin from above.
To each of these platforms were attached two small cigar-shaped ballonettes, fitted with life-lines. These were obviously intended to act as aerial life-buoys should disaster overtake this mammoth of the air; but what struck Hamerton most forcibly was the sight of a couple of officers standing in the rearmost nacelle and actually smoking cigarettes.
"These fellows have a supreme faith in the nonporosity of their gasbag," he thought. "With that immense volume of hydrogen, and the fate of previous Zeppelins in their minds, I am surprised that they dare risk such a thing. I wonder if they've discovered another gas of the same or greater lifting-power than hydrogen? Or perhaps some of the German savants have found a means of rendering hydrogen non-inflammable. I'd like to find out, by Jove!"
The Zeppelin came to a standstill with her nose almost touching the Waalhorn monument, and her tail within a few feet of the disused lifeboat slip. With the utmost celerity several lengths of hose were coupled up, and the work of replenishing the petrol tanks was begun. The two officers who were smoking descended from the nacelle and walked away in the direction of the Oberland, a mechanic gave the signal, the hoses began to swell, and the liquid, under the force of gravity, poured into the storage tanks.
The sound of approaching footsteps caused Hamerton somewhat reluctantly to descend. Detroit, red in the face, had already begun to realize that, muscular though he was, the Sub's weight could not be borne with equanimity.
The door was unlocked and thrown open. A file of marines with side-arms entered, headed by a sergeant. Without a word the men surrounded the two prisoners; the non-commissioned officer pointed meaningly towards the open door.
Through the cleanly kept streets of the Unterland the two comrades were hurried, then up the zigzag path communicating with the plateau known as the Oberland, where the larger portion of the residential buildings was situated. Hamerton recognized the old and the new lighthouses and the Bull Beacon from sketches on the Admiralty chart; but he was somewhat surprised to find that even in the short journey between the Unterland and the Government House there were no less than ten large guns in armoured casemates, searchlights galore, and a network of ammunition lines, on which ran trucks actuated by electric power.
In front of the Government House stood a lofty flagpole, from which fluttered the German national ensign. One thing he remarked was that every passer-by saluted the emblem of the Mailed Fist.
"Guess I'll bet you a dollar we're free in less than twenty minutes," said Detroit to his comrade, as they were marched up the stone path towards the commandant's dwelling.
Before Hamerton could make any remark, one of the hitherto silent and stolid marines turned his brass-helmeted head and added: "I don't tink!"
General Heinrich von Wittelsbach,the commandant of the garrison of Heligoland, was a man of fifty-five years of age, of medium height, corpulent and choleric. His iron-grey hair, growing low on his forehead, literally bristled; the ends of his bushy eyebrows well-nigh touched the tips of his upturned moustache, which as the result of years of training outvied those of his Imperial master.
Von Wittelsbach was a pronounced Anglophobe, and on that account was a great favourite with the German Crown Prince. On the other hand, his hot-headed outbursts against everything British were discountenanced by the Kaiser, who took a more level view of things. The time was not yet ripe for Germany to measure steel with the nation that in the Teutonic mind formed the sole barrier to colonial expansion, and for the present it was considered advisable to remove Von Wittelsbach to a more remote sphere, where his activities could be prosecuted in secret and with an energy that suited the old veteran's ideas to a nicety. So the general was placed in command of the important military and naval station of Heligoland.
Like most German officers Von Wittelsbach was badly attacked by the espionage mania. In his eyes every man not in German uniform was a spy. In one or two instances he had burned his fingers rather badly, for, having caused supposed spies to be arrested and sent to the Supreme Court at Leipzig for trial, he failed to make good his case. A section of the German Press, loath to miss a chance of revenge upon the autocratic Von Wittelsbach, held him up to ridicule. The general vowed that the next time there would be no mistake, and took the precaution of obtaining authority to try supposed spies summarily, instead of sending them to the Saxon town.
Still attended by their armed guards, Hamerton and Detroit found themselves in the room where the preliminary examination was to be held. It was to be a trial behind closed doors, for in addition to the prisoners and the file of stolid marines the only persons present were General Heinrich von Wittelsbach, Major Karl von Schloss, Naval-Lieutenant Schwalbe—the officer who had effected the arrest—and a military secretary.
The room was a large one, simply furnished as an office, the only attempt at ornamentation being the presence of a large bust of the Kaiser set in a niche above the mantelpiece. At one end of the room stood a table about twenty feet in length and fifteen in width, the top being carefully covered with a green baize cloth. Had that covering been removed, Hamerton would have been able to see a chart of the North Sea, the land being shown in relief. On this, from information supplied by trustworthy agents, the position of every unit of the British fleet was recorded as quickly as reports came to hand. Every battery, aircraft station, regimental depot, and railway communication was carefully shown, so that a reliable and up-to-date plan lay ready to hand when "The Day" came.
The President made no attempt to address the prisoners in German. Schwalbe had already acquainted him with the fact that one of the accused spoke that language fairly well, but Von Wittelsbach told him that he would not listen to a vile smattering of the language of the Fatherland by one of these rascally Englishmen. So all communication between the President and the prisoners was to be made through the medium of the former's secretary.
"You are accused of unlawfully committing acts of espionage against the imperial defences of Heligoland," announced the secretary. "Accused, what have you to say?"
"Not guilty," replied Hamerton and Detroit firmly.
There was a few moments' silence, broken only by the scratching of a pen as the secretary recorded the replies.
"What is your name?"
"John Ambrose Hamerton."
"Your profession, other than that of a spy."
"I am not a spy," declared the Sub forcibly.
"Your occupation, then?"
"Sub-Lieutenant of His Britannic Majesty's Navy."
"Ach!" ejaculated Von Wittelsbach, rubbing his hands. "Good! Look up his record, Herr Schwalbe."
The lieutenant took down a leather-bound volume, and Hamerton was somewhat surprised to hear the record of his various appointments read out.
A shade of disappointment flitted over the commandant's face when he heard that the whole of the prisoner's sea time had been spent on tropical stations. He had hoped that this English officer belonged to one of the ships of the Home Fleet.
"And your name?" demanded Von Wittelsbach through his secretary, addressing the American.
"Oswald P. Detroit, aged nineteen, American citizen, native of Richmond, Virginia, U.S.A. Say, my man, any further information you may require will be trotted out with the utmost celerity."
The secretary stared, unable to grasp the full meaning of the verbosity of the accused. Lieutenant Schwalbe turned and whispered into the President's ear.
"An American?" repeated Von Wittelsbach, hardly able to master his surprise. "Are you certain?"
Receiving an affirmative reply, the President leant back in his armchair and reflectively stroked his moustache. Here was a new phase, one that he had not bargained for.
It did not take him long to make up his mind.
"Remove the accused," he ordered. "The evidence for the prosecution is not yet complete. Inform them that they must be kept in confinement till Friday next."
"I presume we will be given an opportunity of communicating with our friends?" asked Hamerton.
For the first time Von Wittelsbach replied to the prisoner direct.
"No," he replied; "spies are not entitled to any consideration of that description. What news we think fit to give to your friends in England—and America—will be imparted in due course. Marines, remove the accused."
General Heinrich von Wittelsbach waited till the sound of the retiring file of marines had ceased. He was still pondering over the scheme that had suddenly suggested itself. His subordinates, knowing his fiery disposition, stood motionless, waiting for their commandant to speak.
"Schwalbe," he exclaimed at length, "has the yacht been carefully examined?"
"Lieutenant Dort is still on board, sir."
"Have a signal made for him to come ashore immediately."
"Very good, sir," replied the lieutenant, showing remarkable energy as he made for the door.
"Now, Von Schloss," continued the commandant, as soon as Schwalbe had taken his departure. "We will discuss this matter. I may as well mention that I had no idea that one of the prisoners was an American subject. You think his statement is correct?"
"It may not be, sir."
image: spies
image: spies
[Illustration: "'SPIES ARE NOT ENTITLED TO ANY CONSIDERATION OF THAT DESCRIPTION'"]
[Illustration: "'SPIES ARE NOT ENTITLED TO ANY CONSIDERATION OF THAT DESCRIPTION'"]
"The best thing we can do is to proceed with the case against both prisoners. To release one would be prejudicial to the interest of the Fatherland, even though he be an American—which I doubt."
"What, then, sir, do you propose to do to satisfy any enquiries on the part of the United States Ambassador at Berlin? There is bound to be an outcry; these Americans are so upset over little trifles."
"There I agree, Herr Major. You say that the prisoners have not given their names to anyone belonging to the garrison before appearing here? No? Ach! I have it. Of course they are spies?"
"Undoubtedly, sir. The mere fact that they came in under cover of night, evaded our patrol boats, and brought up close to our latest submarines is suspicious. Add to that the fact that they hoisted no ensign and made no attempt to communicate with the harbour officials, and the case is as clear as daylight."
"Rutter," said the general, addressing his secretary, "what names did the accused give?"
"John Ambrose Hamerton and Oswald P. Detroit, sir."
"That is a mistake. Cross the names from your notebook. Now tell me a common English name."
"Smith, sir."
"Then enter the names of the prisoners as John and Wilhelm Smith, brothers, of London."
"John and William Smith, sir," corrected the secretary, and without evincing the faintest surprise he made the alterations according to the commandant's directions.
"But the yacht, sir?" expostulated Major Von Schloss, who was beginning to see the drift of his superior's plan.
"That I have not overlooked, Herr Major. Wait until Lieutenant Schwalbe returns. Meanwhile, Rutter, let me have those papers for signature."
The secretary handed his chief a bundle of documents, and stood ready with a blotter. Von Wittelsbach did not shirk his work. Unlike many highly-paid British Government officials, who perfunctorily place their signatures to documents while hardly condescending to acquaint themselves with the nature of their contents, the commandant carefully read every paper before putting his signature to it.
At the same time he was no blind devotee of red-tapism. Amongst that pile of papers there was not one that could be regarded as purely formal; every one had some direct bearing upon the vast establishment under his command.
Before this particular task was completed Lieutenant Schwalbe returned, accompanied by Lieutenant Dort, the officer who had been left in charge of theDiomeda. Seeing their superior engaged, they drew themselves up and stood stiffly at attention till the last signature had been written and the documents handed back to the secretary.
"Well, Herr Dort, any evidence?"
"I have had the yacht ransacked, sir, and nothing incriminating has been found."
"Nothing, sir?" said the commandant meaningly.
"Unless I except the charts—they're useless as far as the defences of the island are concerned—a telescope, and a camera."
"Camera? Any plates or films exposed?"
"There were four films out of the twelve exposed, sir."
"Have you had them developed?"
"Yes, sir, they will be dry in less than half an hour; but the views are only of some English and Dutch fishing boats."
"And, Herr Dort, another matter. Have all traces of your search on board the yacht removed, and make all snug. Directly it becomes night detail a torpedo boat to tow this craft towards Norderney Gat. When within a league or so of the lightship cut the yacht adrift."
"And scuttle her, sir?"
"No," replied the commandant after a moment's reflection. "No; only cast her adrift with all sail set. Report to me in the morning. Now, Major, you see what I am aiming at, and what I mean to carry out?"
"Yes, sir," replied Von Schloss.
"Then draw up a report to the effect that two Englishmen, John and William Smith, were detected in the act of spying upon the fortifications of Heligoland. Give a description as different as possible of the prisoners, and any other details that may tend to remove suspicion as to their actual identity. Have the report telegraphed to Berlin, and say I propose to deal with the accused by virtue of the power vested in me by the recent Imperial decree. Send a similar dispatch to Reuter's agent, and the news will be all over the world in less than half an hour from its receipt. I think this plan will suit admirably; do not you, Herr Major?"
"But the prisoners, sir?" asked Von Schloss, who, although the task was repugnant to him, had no option but to obey orders. "How long do you propose to keep them in detention?"
"A matter of two years. Ere then will come 'The Day'. After that it matters little whether this John Hamerton be John Smith or otherwise. Now, gentlemen, you know your orders; above all, impress upon every man in this affair the utmost importance of secrecy and reticence. Tell them to spread the report that the two Englishmen are to be released to-night and taken clear of the island in their yacht by one of our torpedo boats. Decide upon the details between yourselves, but in any case report to me early to-morrow morning."
Onthe day following the preliminary examination of the two alleged spies the London evening papers published with double-leaded headlines:
"TWO ENGLISHMEN ARRESTED AS SPIES"
(Reuters Special.)
"Hamburg, Tuesday, 5 p.m. Telegraphic advice from Heligoland reports that two Englishmen, giving the names of John and William Smith, and aged about forty, were arrested on a charge of espionage early this morning. It is alleged that the prisoners, taking advantage of a dark and rainy night, eluded the cordon of patrol boats and succeeded in landing upon Sandinsel. When arrested they were in the act of photographing a highly important part of the defences. The open motor boat in which they visited the island has been seized, and drawings and photographs of various government establishments and ships were found concealed behind the petrol tanks. The accused, who admitted that they were in the employ of the British Intelligence Department, will be tried summarily by the Governor of Heligoland, General Heinrich von Wittelsbach, on Friday next. It is understood that the British Consul at Bremen has applied to have access to the prisoners."
"Hamburg, Tuesday, 5 p.m. Telegraphic advice from Heligoland reports that two Englishmen, giving the names of John and William Smith, and aged about forty, were arrested on a charge of espionage early this morning. It is alleged that the prisoners, taking advantage of a dark and rainy night, eluded the cordon of patrol boats and succeeded in landing upon Sandinsel. When arrested they were in the act of photographing a highly important part of the defences. The open motor boat in which they visited the island has been seized, and drawings and photographs of various government establishments and ships were found concealed behind the petrol tanks. The accused, who admitted that they were in the employ of the British Intelligence Department, will be tried summarily by the Governor of Heligoland, General Heinrich von Wittelsbach, on Friday next. It is understood that the British Consul at Bremen has applied to have access to the prisoners."
This announcement naturally caused a great deal of comment amongst the British public. The general opinion was that the alleged spies knew the risk they were running and must take the consequences. Various attempts were made on the part of the press to discover the identity of John and William Smith. Enquiries at the Naval Intelligence Department gave no tangible result. The authorities there expressed their ignorance of the whole business.
The morning editions on the following day came out with highly coloured reports emanating from imaginative German journalists; but the only particle of truth was the information that the request of the British Consul at Bremen had been refused. In order to give the accused every possible advantage a military officer of high rank had been dispatched from Berlin to act as "prisoners' friend". Owing to the possibilities of important military and naval secrets being disclosed at the impending trial, the proceedings were to be conducted behind closed doors.
Even with this announcement the Great British Public maintained its customary apathy. Had some Polish revolutionary been tried under similar circumstances in far-off Russia a certain section of the British Press would have howled itself black in the face at the injustice and inhumanity of the proceedings. In this instance it was merely an attempt on the part of two venturesome Englishmen to gain notoriety at the expense of risking our amiable relations with a friendly State. John and William Smith must take the consequences.
In a paper of the same date appeared a short column headed:
"FEARED FATALITY TO TWO ENGLISH YACHTSMEN
"A ketch yacht, namedDiomeda, has been brought into the port of Delfzyl by the Dutch steam trawlerHoorn. The master of the trawler reports having found the yacht derelict, with all sails set, nine miles N.N.W. of Norderney. There are three yachts namedDiomedain Lloyd's Register, but from the Dutch skipper's description the abandoned yacht is the property of Mr. Octavius Valerian Smith of Lowestoft."
"A ketch yacht, namedDiomeda, has been brought into the port of Delfzyl by the Dutch steam trawlerHoorn. The master of the trawler reports having found the yacht derelict, with all sails set, nine miles N.N.W. of Norderney. There are three yachts namedDiomedain Lloyd's Register, but from the Dutch skipper's description the abandoned yacht is the property of Mr. Octavius Valerian Smith of Lowestoft."
At ten o'clock a telegram was handed in at the London offices ofThe Yachtsman's Journal. It was from that paper's Lowestoft correspondent:
"Smith, ownerDiomeda, reports yacht chartered Sub-Lieutenant Hamerton, R. N. Owner starting Delfzyl immediately. Shall I accompany?—Stirling."
"Smith, ownerDiomeda, reports yacht chartered Sub-Lieutenant Hamerton, R. N. Owner starting Delfzyl immediately. Shall I accompany?—Stirling."
The editor thought over the message for some minutes. Here was a chance of obtaining copy direct from the scene of the disaster. He would dearly like to steal a march on his contemporaries. The mystery might prove far more exciting than it looked according to the morning dailies. But there was the expense;The Yachtman's Journalhad not a large amount of capital behind it. Of course, Stirling would not want a large sum for the trip, but there were the travelling expenses.
A thought struck him: why not consult his friend Thompson, the news editor of the influentialWestminster Daily Record?
"Is that you, Thompson?" he asked on the telephone after several vain attempts to get through.
"Yes, old man," replied the editor ofThe Westminster Daily Record, who recognized his friend's voice.
"Anything fresh about the yacht found adrift in the North Sea?"
"Nothing—why?"
"Just heard she was chartered by a naval officer. I fancy there's something behind this. Stirling, my Lowestoft correspondent—a smart, reliable fellow; I know him personally—has just wired to ask if he should go to Holland."
"Well?"
"He can speak German and Dutch remarkably well."
"Hanged if I can see what you are driving at, old man. Send the young chap by all means if you want to. By the by, what's the naval officer's name?"
The editor ofThe Yachtsman's Journaldiplomatically ignored the latter question.
"I'd send him like a shot," he replied, "only it's a question of,£, s., d.What do you say? Will you guarantee half the expenses? It's a chance of a good scoop, the information to be solely for our joint use."
Thompson grunted.
"No," he said brusquely; "can't be done. It's not of sufficient interest to the general public."
"Not when a naval officer is involved?"
"H'm—well, I'll tell you. Send your man. If the stuff's of use to us we'll pay all expenses. Anything out of the ordinary he can wire us. If there's nothing meriting notice we'll only pay a quarter of the expenses. Game?"
Something seemed to whisper in the mind of theYachtman's Journaleditor: "Accept his terms. You'll be sorry if you don't."
"Agreed," he replied.
"Right! Ring off," was Thompson's laconic acceptance, and he resumed his chair in order to tackle the final proofs of the evening's issue.
Shortly after eleven Gordon Stirling, amateur yachtsman and yachting correspondent ofThe Yachtman's Journal, received a wire from town:
"Proceed to Delfzyl. Wire report if urgent. All expenses guaranteed."EDITOR."
"Proceed to Delfzyl. Wire report if urgent. All expenses guaranteed.
"EDITOR."
Stirling gave a whoop of delight when he read his sailing orders, and considerably astonished his landlady by executing a dance round the room. Perhaps such an exhibition was pardonable in a high-spirited youth of nineteen, but Mrs. Grimmer surveyed her paying guest with evident concern and unrestrained curiosity.
"It's all right, Mrs. Grimmer," he explained. "I'm off to Holland for a few days."
"Not in that little boat of yours, sir?"
"No, by steamer. I'll have to leave here before twelve. Now I must pack my bag. You might ask Dick to take a note round to Mr. Smith for me."
The note was simply to the effect that the writer had made arrangements to accompany the owner of theDiomedato Delfzyl, and would meet him at the station at 12.15.
This written and dispatched, Gordon Stirling proceeded to cram a variety of clothing into a serviceable leather bag, regardless of how they were stowed so long as the bag could be closed.
Stirling was very fortunately situated. He held an appointment at Lowestoft under the Inland Revenue; he had just started his annual leave and was meditating a trip on the Broads. To that end he had drawn a small sum from the savings bank, to which was added the greater part of his last month's salary, and thus he found himself with a little over twenty pounds in his pocket and fourteen days in which to spend it. Here was a chance of having a holiday on the Continent, with the prospects of getting hold of some exciting news and recouping all his expenses. Truly he was in luck's way.
"Glad you managed it," was Octavius Smith's greeting as the two met at the railway station. "Look alive and get your ticket. Single to Harwich only, mind."
Octavius Valerian Smith was a striking contrast to his companion, for Stirling was a short, thick-set fellow with a perpetual beam on his rounded features, whereas the owner of theDiomedawas over six feet in height and as slender as the proverbial barber's pole. It would be difficult to describe his complexion. Exposure to the salt-laden breezes of the North Sea had tanned his features to a brick-red colour. In spite of his approximation to Euclid's definition of a line he was muscular and sinewy, and as hard as nails. Possessed of small private means, he augmented his income by writing, and made a fairly good thing out of it. Few of the hundreds of love-sick maidens who read the romantic stories appearing in various women's journals under the name of "Reginald Beaucaire" would recognize their favourite author in the person of the taciturn-featured O. V. Smith.
Yet even in the flood tide of literary success there are irritating counter-eddies—periods of pecuniary embarrassment. The owner of theDiomeda, always careless with his money while he possessed any, had a few days before found himself in low water.
This inevitable condition compelled him, much against his will, to charter the yacht to Sub-Lieutenant Hamerton, and now he was on his way to recover his most precious possession from the hands of the Dutch salvors.
"You've got the yacht's papers, I hope?" asked Stirling as the train glided out of the station.
"No, I haven't. How could I? They went with the boat."
"Then how do you propose to establish your identity? The Dutchmen won't feel inclined to hand theDiomedaover until you prove you are the lawful owner."
"I've sufficient documentary evidence," replied Smith. "You leave that to me."
"If you're satisfied I am," remarked Stirling. "By the by, what were those fellows like who chartered her?"
TheDiomeda'sowner proceeded to give a detailed description of the unfortunate Hamerton and his chum Detroit. This done, he took up a newspaper and began to read, while Stirling wrote an account of the two supposed victims for the benefit of the patrons ofThe Yachtman's Journal.
"By the by," said Stirling, "is there any more news about that spy case? I suppose the two men are no relations of yours?"
"We all belong to the great and noble family of Smiths," replied the literary man oracularly. "It's a bit confusing at times, especially when one receives a blue envelope intended for a very distant relation. I've had some."
Octavius once more buried himself in his paper. Stirling resumed his scribbling, and thus the time passed until the train reached Harwich.
It was half-past eleven on the Thursday morning when Smith and his companion arrived at Delfzyl. Both were dead tired, for the tedious railway journey, especially between Zwolle and their destination, was the last straw.
The good folk of Delfzyl were evidently thought-readers, for directly the Englishmen left the station they were surrounded by a gesticulating mob, every man, woman, and child in the crowd pointing out the way to the quay where theDiomedalay.
It was low tide, the Dollart and the estuary of the Ems River were one expanse of sand and mud. The yacht lay against a staging of massive piles. On the quay was a line of stolid Dutchmen, all peculiarly garbed in quaint cutaway coats, baggy trousers, klompen or wooden shoes, and dull-black high-crowned hats. There they stood, hands in pockets, long pipes in their mouths. Hardly a word was being spoken. They seemed perfectly content to stand on the quay-side and gaze meditatively at the mysterious craft that the steam-drifterHoornhad brought in.
The arrival of the Englishmen with their attendant throng roused the lethargic Dutchmen. They too added their voices to those of their fellow townsfolk.
"Thank goodness the yacht seems all right," ejaculated Smith fervently. "Let's get on board. It's the only way to escape the babel."
TheDiomedalooked exactly as if she had been lying on her own moorings in Lowestoft harbour. Her sails were neatly furled, her flemished ropes were exactly where they ought to be, her decks had been washed down, her brasswork glittered in the sunlight.
"How are we going to get on board?" asked Stirling, regarding the twelve-foot drop from the stage on to the deck with apprehension. "Besides, the cabin is locked, and you haven't the keys."
"I'll manage it," replied the owner confidently. "Stand by and throw me down the luggage when I reach the deck."
At this juncture a man interposed his bulky frame and held up his hands.
"Mynheer Englishman must see the harbourmaster," he announced.
"Where is the harbourmaster?" asked Smith.
A score of voices joined in giving him directions. Forty hands or more pointed in the direction of the red-tiled house, with green doors and window frames, where dwelt Cornelius van Wyk, the guardian of the maritime interests of Delfzyl.
"You do the tongue-wagging, old chap," said Smith to his companion as they were ushered into a spotlessly clean parlour. The mob of curious townsfolk, debarred from entering by the sturdy demonstrations of the harbourmaster'shus-vrow, lapsed into comparative silence. Pipes were filled, precious matches handed round, and the expectant throng waited for the Englishmen's reappearance.
The two travellers had to wait nearly an hour for the official's appearance. Van Wyk had gone down the estuary on duty. Meanwhile his wife brought refreshments, for which both men were truly thankful, as they had eaten nothing since leaving The Hook.
"You, Mynheer, are the owner of this yacht?" asked the harbourmaster on his return. He spoke excellent English, with an East Anglian accent, acquired by reason of his frequent intercourse with vessels hailing from the ports of Norfolk and Suffolk. "You, of course, have the papers?"
"No," replied Smith. "They are on board."
"I think not, Mynheer. I had to make examination, and there are no papers."
"They were in a cupboard on the port side of the for'ard bulkhead," asserted the owner.
Van Wyk shook his head.
"I remember that cupboard. It is empty."
"Is it likely that two men should disappear and take the yacht's papers with them?" asked Smith.
The harbourmaster shook his head.
"Curious things happen at sea," he said. "Dirk Apeldoorn, the mate of theHoorn, told me the yacht had all her sails set. The tiller was not lashed; her dingy was towing astern. She was pointing towards the land, first on one tack and then on the other. It was this strange thing that attracted his attention. But, Mynheer, why should the papers disappear? Without them who can tell who is the owner?"
"I have these," replied Smith, pulling out several documents relating to the transaction between Hamerton and himself.
"Heaven forbid that I should doubt you," exclaimed Van Wyk, "but duty is duty. I have the keys; I am authorized to receive the money due for salvage; but before I can allow you on board I must have a declaration on oath that you are in truth the owner, and a copy of the yacht's papers."
"But," expostulated Smith, "I am the owner, you know."
"It is easy to say so, Mynheer. I might say I am the Prince Consort, but without proof——?"
"This looks like a week's business," said Smith savagely, as the twain regained the cobbled street. "I suppose the old chap is within his rights. We'll have to write off to the Board of Trade for duplicates of the Certificate of Registry and the Declaration of Ownership."
"And make a sworn declaration before a lawyer that you are indeed Octavius V. Smith," added Stirling.
Two days later the owner of theDiomedaskipped out of the post office at Delfzyl, holding in triumph a blue envelope with the inscription "On His Majesty's Service". Ten seconds later his exultation was changed into deep disgust, for the Board of Trade authorities had asked for additional information. They had already heard that the yacht had been picked up practically intact. Her papers were known to be on board when she left Lowestoft; what explanation, they asked, had Mr. Smith to offer for their disappearance? Pending satisfactory evidence the Board declined to issue duplicate certificates.
Time was pressing. In desperation Octavius Smith penned a lengthy epistle explaining that he was in utter ignorance of the fate of the documents, and that the harbourmaster of Delfzyl had flatly refused to give up possession of theDiomedauntil such documentary evidence were forthcoming.
Two more days passed. Then, with a promptitude surprising for a British Government Department, the duplicates arrived.
"Ah! That is all in order," exclaimed Mynheer van Wyk. "All that is now required is to pay the salvage. Then you take possession."
"I see," agreed Octavius Smith, though not with any degree of enthusiasm. He had no doubt that the executors of the supposed deceased Jack Hamerton would ultimately pay all expenses in connection with the redemption of theDiomeda, but for the present he would have to be out of pocket. "What is the value of your yacht?" asked the harbourmaster, who also held the office corresponding to that of British Receiver of Wrecks.
"Two hundred pounds," replied the owner.
Van Wyk slowly turned over the documents before him.
"That may be so," he remarked; "but I see no copy of the bill of sale. How am I to know that this is the value of the yacht?"
"My word for it," replied Smith heatedly.
"Is not good enough," added the harbourmaster.
"Then why in the name of thunder didn't you ask me to get it with the other papers?"
Van Wyk shrugged his shoulders.
"I shall require it," he said simply.
"What's wrong now?" asked Stirling, as his chum rejoined him in the street.
"Every mortal thing. Wants a copy of the bill of sale to prove how much I gave for the yacht. Luckily I have that at home. I'll wire for it. This petty officialdom is enough to make a fellow wild."
"I thought petty officialdom existed only in England. Such used to be your opinion," said Stirling slyly. "Buck up, old man, we'll soon be afloat. By the by, here is a newspaper. They've given these sixty-ninth cousins of yours pretty stiff sentences, by Jove!"
Octavius Smith glanced at the printed matter, "'Pon my word, they have," he replied. "After all, they were asking for it."
Theeventful day fixed for the trial of the two alleged spies came at last. Hamerton and Detroit found themselves, not, as they expected, in a crowded court, bristling with lawyers, witnesses, and keenly interested spectators, but in the same room in which the preliminary examination had taken place.
The court was modelled on the lines of the tribunal in the Zabern incident. It was virtually within closed doors, the military and naval element constituting judges, prosecutors, and witnesses.
Only Von Wittelsbach's warped sense of Imperial devotion, coupled with his cast-iron belief that the accused were really spies, urged him to proceed with his plan. To him it was inconceivable that two foreigners should be able to navigate a yacht in thick weather and in the dead of night right up to the strictly prohibited anchorage reserved for the exclusive use of the "Mosquito" flotilla of the Imperial German Navy.
He was, of course, unable to form any definite idea of the amount of important information that the alleged spies had acquired. They might have gained priceless secrets during the short period the yacht was at anchor under the lee of Heligoland or they might have had their plans nipped in the bud by their prompt arrest.
In any case he concluded that the release of the accused would result in a menace to the safeguards of the empire, and that must be avoided at all costs.
It cannot be said that his immediate subordinates would have been completely in accord with his ideas had the true facts been known to them. Even Von Wittelsbach had his doubts as to whether he could overcome their sense of justice and fair play. On the other hand, the officers—imbued from the day they first donned the uniform of the German Empire with the outstanding idea that a soldier must unquestionably obey orders—were not likely to cause obstacles to the commandant's plan could he but impress upon them that the prisoners were spies, and as such a serious danger to the welfare of the State.
Von Wittelsbach was quite convinced in his own mind that once the alleged spies were convicted they would be kept out of mischief till the necessity for strict secrecy regarding the naval and military preparations of the Fatherland ceased to be of paramount importance.
Great was Hamerton's and his companion's consternation when they found themselves indicted under the names of John and William Smith, on a charge of unlawfully obtaining information of the Sathurn, Waalhorn, and Kordberg batteries situate upon the Island of Heligoland; the Braaknocke, Kalbertan, and Olde Hoven batteries on Sandinsel Island; and the submarine and torpedo-boat harbours in South Haven, adjacent to the said Island of Heligoland, such acts being unlawful and prejudicial to His Imperial Majesty the Emperor and the German people.
For three hours the tedious case dragged on. There was a call for witnesses for the defence, and, none being forthcoming, the president asked if either of the accused wished to give evidence on his own behalf.
Through the interpreter Hamerton strenuously denied that either he or his companion was guilty of spying; that by a sheer fluke they found themselves in a prohibited anchorage; and that, had they been asked, they would at once have tendered their apologies and set sail.
"As regards the book dealing with the Schwartz-Kopff torpedoes," continued the Sub, "I can easily account for its being in my possession. It fell from the clothing of a German seaman, Pfeil by name, whom we rescued after falling from your torpedo-boat destroyer S167. No doubt the man, if produced, will corroborate my statement."
Von Wittelsbach looked astounded. This admission took him completely by surprise. Then with an effort he concealed his astonishment and ordered the court to be adjourned for luncheon. In the interval he sent for Lieutenant Dort.
"What is this about the Schwartz-Kopff manual?" he asked. "Where is the one you found on the yacht?"
"I found nothing of that description, Herr Commandant," replied the lieutenant.
"The prisoner says he had one. You must have overlooked it. And now that accursed yacht is drifting in the German Ocean with a priceless secret stowed away on board. I would give twenty thousand marks to get her back again. Hasten and order the fourth flotilla to cruise in search of her."
"It is already too late, sir. The yacht was picked up by a Dutch trawler and towed into the Dollart. I thought——"
"You thought, dolt!" interrupted the commandant angrily. "Yet it may not be too late. Find out at what port this yacht is lying. Get our agent there to keep us well-informed of all that occurs. The craft will doubtless be sailed back to England. After to-day you will cruise off the Dollart. It will not be necessary to keep out of sight of land provided you raise no suspicion. Two torpedo boats will be sufficient, or even one. Directly the yacht sets sail our agent will wire to me. I will communicate with you by wireless if you do not observe her leaving port. Then do something that will enable you to take possession of the vessel without exciting undue attention."
"We could disable her by collision, sir."
"Excellent. Mind you do it; but take care that she is not sunk. Then tow her back here. We will then be able to discover the all-important book that this fool of an Englishman has babbled about."
Von Wittelsbach was extremely reticent during the luncheon interval. In his innermost mind he devoutly wished that he had exercised more discretion before issuing orders that Hamerton and the American were to be arrested as spies. But the die had been cast. He had taken the first step. His iron will must see the business through. And then the complication in connection with the torpedo manual? He realized that if the book still remained on board the yacht it would sooner or later be discovered. To allow a confidential book like that to fall into the hands of a foreign Government—the British, above all!—was bad enough. Add to that the consternation that the discovery of the book would occasion; and it became fairly evident that there would be embarrassing questions raised by parties interested in the supposed deceased crew of the yacht. Hence his anxiety to regain possession of theDiomeda.
When the court reassembled it was merely to conclude proceedings. The prisoners were found guilty and sentenced to five years' close confinement in the fortress of Heligoland.
A confidential report drawn up in Von Wittelsbach's own handwriting was dispatched to the Admiralty at Berlin, and an official account of the trial sent to the Press. The latter had been carefully censored by the commandant. He felt tolerably safe, except for the fact that theDiomedawas not back in South Haven at Heligoland. His secret was shared by five men only: the others present in the court were, owing to their inability to understand English, ignorant of the material facts of the case. Each of those five he thought he could rely upon, since their career depended solely upon the commandant's periodical reports to the German War Office.
And strangely enough his motives were actuated by a hatred of the British Empire; his deep reluctance to swerve from a resolution once formed, and an overwhelming desire to serve the Fatherland, completely overruled all sense of fair play.
"Thankgoodness we are on board at last!" exclaimed Octavius Smith, as the two chums entered the companion-way of theDiomeda. "Those Dutchmen seem the essence of honesty. As far as I can see not a thing is missing."
"Except the papers," added Stirling.
"Of course; but I mean since the yacht was picked up. We'll have an overhaul to make sure."
"Strikes me I am not setting the Thames on fire over this business," remarked Stirling ruefully. "I've sent off three separate reports, but, between you and me, they are not startling enough to merit the expense of sending me out here. I suppose I lack journalistic ability to put the finishing touches to a rather bald account of the accident."
"Conjecture ought to be the journalist's sheet-anchor."
"Unless his theories are contradicted in the next issue, my dear chap. Then there's a breeze. But when do you propose sailing?"
"As soon as we get a fair slant of wind. I've no mind to go plugging against a south-wester for a week on end."
"I hope to goodness we get a fair breeze before that, or my leave will be up. But let's to work! We'll examine everything carefully and make an inventory of all that belongs to the late charterers. We'll turn out the contents of that rack first."
"Hold on; here's the logbook," exclaimed Smith. "I wonder if Hamerton—poor chap—entered anything in it. By George, he has!"
The entries extended up to 1 a.m. on the fateful Tuesday morning. The sighting of the Norderney light, the error in the compass course, and the fact that the yacht had been steered in a north-westerly direction to claw off the sandbanks and the mouth of the Elbe were set down in the Sub's handwriting.
"Five fathoms. Something wrong. Still heavy rain," read the last entry.
"Seems funny," remarked Stirling thoughtfully. "They speak of a strong breeze, and sailing under reefed mainsail, close-reefed mizen, and storm jib. That is early on Tuesday morning. That same evening the yacht is picked up forty miles in almost the opposite direction to the course shown in the log. Her reefs were all shaken out, and she had her large jib."
"Perhaps the wind dropped during the day."
"Then why wasn't that part recorded in the log? Hamerton seems to have been most conscientious in writing it up. Every hour there is a fresh entry, yet at 1 a.m., when it is blowing hard, there is a sudden break."
"H'm! I don't know. There's your chance to use your gift of conjecture."
The work of clearing the rack on the port side of the cabin proceeded apace. It was not a congenial task separating the effects of the two missing men from such articles as belonged to the owner.
Suddenly Stirling gave a low whistle.
"What do you make of that, old man?" he asked, holding up a carefully folded newspaper.
"Nothing," replied Smith laconically. "I can't make head or tail of German: never could, and don't want to—why?"
"It's a copy of theTageblatt."
"And what of it?"
"Look at the date: Tuesday the 10th inst. Now how would Hamerton get hold of a German newspaper without going ashore? Mind you, this is the date on which the accident is suppose to have occurred."
"Rather extraordinary. But perhaps the skipper of theHoornleft it there."
"Hardly likely. He had been out in the North Sea for a week before he picked up the yacht. Directly he brought her in here she was handed over to the harbourmaster. I think I'll see Van Wyk. He may be able to throw some light upon the matter."
"Wait till after lunch. He's bound to be out somewhere. Look here! I'll finish this sorting business; suppose you carry on and fry that steak."
"Righto!" replied Stirling, and reaching for a paper parcel containing a pound of very juicy steak he disappeared into the fo'c'sle.
Very soon the "Primus" stove began to roar, and an appetizing odour filled the interior of the little craft.
Smith cleared away the pile of articles from the rack and proceeded to prepare the table for the meal. In the midst of his activities the sliding door of the fo'c'sle was thrust back, and Stirling's head and shoulder's appeared, backed by a cloud of vapour with which the little compartment was filled.
"Blessed if I can understand what's wrong with the oven," he exclaimed, wiping the tears from his eyes, for the smoke had caused them to water freely. "It went all right for about five minutes, then there was a regular burst of beastly smelling smoke."
"Let me have a look at it," said Smith, with grim determination in his voice. "I'll soon see what's wrong. Open that forehatch, old chap, and let's get rid of the infernal smoke."
The raising of the hatch and the accompanying cloud of vapour was the signal for a chorus of exclamations from the line of phlegmatic Dutchmen on the quay, who, for want of something better to do, were passing the time in meditative contemplation of theDiomeda. The roaring of the stove deadened all external sound, but a minute later the occupants of the fo'c'sle were saluted by a deluge of water. Imagining that a fire had broken out on board, two of the good folk of Delfzyl had adroitly poured a couple of buckets of water down the forehatch.
Hurried explanations and a profound apology from the well-meaning Dutchmen followed. The crew of theDiomedaonce more dived below to change their saturated garments.
"Now let's have another shot at it," said Smith, as he removed the steak, soaked with salt water, to a safe distance from the stove. "There's something fizzling away in the double bottom. Hand me that screwdriver, my young friend."
It was an easy task to remove the front of the stove, revealing a deep cavity in which was a steaming mass of paper.