"That's the cause of it all," announced Octavius Smith, as he hooked out the offending object. "It's a book. How on earth did it get there?"
Stirling took the still moistened volume and examined the title page.
"It's a German book," he said. "Something to do with torpedoes."
"Is it?" grunted Smith. "I'll swear it wasn't there a fortnight ago. Anyway, I don't want to get into trouble about it in case we have to put into a German port. Heave the blessed thing overboard."
"Not much!" replied Stirling, quietly but firmly.
Smith looked at his companion with surprise depicted on his features. Stirling was generally of a complaisant disposition.
"Why not, you silly cuckoo? That will be enough to get us five years in a fortress, like my sixty-ninth cousins, John and Bill Smith. I'm not taking any, thank you."
"All the same, I don't think I'll throw it overboard. I've got to go ashore for more steak; we can't possibly eat that stuff—it's smothered with salt water. I'll pack up the book and send it to my address by registered post."
"Please yourself," retorted Smith ungraciously. "So long as it isn't on board I don't mind, but I'm hanged if I can see what possible use it can be to you."
"Never know your luck," replied Stirling as he backed into the cabin. "I wonder if there's any brown paper on board."
"Why not dry the blessed thing first?" asked Smith, always more thoughtful for others' pockets than he was for his own. "It won't cost so much for postage."
"Not a bad idea," was the reply. "I'll hang it up under the skylight. That's it. Now for the shore."
Presently Stirling returned with a fresh supply of steak. Once more the stove was lighted, and without further mishap the meat was served.
"Can't help thinking about those fellows who were collared at Heligoland," remarked Stirling.
"Don't see why you need worry about them," said Smith. "I wonder you don't suggest that they are our friends Hamerton & Co. in disguise. Anyhow, they took the risk and failed. Spying is a rotten game, when all's said and done."
"There I don't agree with you. It's an honourable profession. A few men risk their liberty in trying to gain information that in the event of war will save hundreds of their fellow countrymen's lives. It's necessary; both Great Britain and Germany have regular men for the purpose of espionage."
"Hanged if I looked upon it from that point of view; but it seems a downright low trick for a fellow to sell naval and military secrets."
"Rather! There I agree with you. There's a vast difference between a spy and an informer. The first is, I might also say, a humanitarian; the second is a traitor. There's no doubt about it, the Germans have the advantage of us in the espionage line. There isn't a Government building, dock, or battery on the east coast but is known to the German Government. They have spies everywhere."
"We have caught a few."
"Yes, we began at first by letting them off with a caution—gave kindly advice, so to speak. Then they collared some of our secret-service men and gave it to them fairly stiff. We retaliated, and the business became a ding-dong affair, each country increasing the severity of the punishments inflicted upon the spies they detected. But, as you said, five years is a bit stiff."
"Hallo! There's the harbourmaster!" exclaimed Stirling, catching sight of the official through one of the scuttles of the cabin. "I'll ask him about the newspaper."
Both men ran on deck. The crowd of Dutchmen was still in evidence, only the attention of the idlers was directed seaward, A telescope was being handed round, the usually stolid Delfzylers showing considerable eagerness to obtain a loan of the instrument.
"What is the matter, Mynheer van Wyk?" asked Smith.
"Only a German torpedo boat," replied the harbourmaster. "She is lying off the Dollart, though why I cannot make out."
"Nothing out of the way, is it?" asked Stirling. "It's German territory across the Dollart, isn't it?"
"Aye," replied Van Wyk. "But it is out of the common for a vessel of war to remain there. We are sending out a tug to see if she requires assistance. Look! We have signalled her, but she has made no reply."
"Are you busy for a moment, Mynheer?" asked Stirling. "We've found a German newspaper on board, and we want to know how it got there."
"I do not love the Germans, Mynheer, nor do I ever look at a German paper. I did not put it there. Perhaps your unfortunate fellow countryman placed it there?"
"We think not. We have a reason for asking. Do you think the master of theHoornleft it on board?"
"There stands Dick Apeldoorn, the mate of theHoorn," said the harbourmaster, pointing to a little wizened man leaning against a bollard and looking at the torpedo craft through a pair of binoculars. "He was the only man who went below, besides myself. Why not ask him?"
Dick Apeldoorn was positive he had not handled a newspaper for days, let alone a German one. He was a true Hollander, who looked upon the Germans as land grabbers, intent upon overrunning Holland directly they had an opportunity—if they could. He would scorn to be beholden to theTageblattfor any information.
"That settles one point," remarked Stirling to his companion. "The Dutchman didn't put the paper in the rack of the cabin; it's morally certain Hamerton couldn't; so who did?"
"Speculate upon it, my dear fellow. It's worth a page inThe Yachtsman's Journal. Conjecture something startling, only leave me in peace this afternoon. I must knock up a pot-boiler forThe Gentlewoman of Fashion, or there will be no shot in the locker when I get home. As it is, this blessed salvage business has seriously depleted the treasury."
Octavius Smith produced a "block" and a fountain pen, and was soon lost to his surroundings in dashing off about a thousand words an hour. When he did work he worked at a tremendous pace, and his companion knew the risk he incurred should he disturb him. So Stirling took up the log of theDiomedaand began to follow it from the time the yacht left Lowestoft on her momentous cruise.
As he read he compared the log with the chart, following Hamerton's notations with the deepest interest.
Suddenly he gave an exclamation of surprise. Smith, deep in his work, went on unheedingly. Stirling had come to the incident of theDiomeda'smeeting with the German torpedo boats and the rescue of Hans Pfeil.
"H'm! I wonder if I could get into touch with this fellow Pfeil," he meditated. "Perhaps he might be able to throw some light on the matter. At any rate I'll try. Here's the making of a sensational yarn in the log. But, hang it all! would 'Hans Pfeil, H.I.M. Navy, Germany,' be a sufficient address?"
Something prompted him to reach for the torpedo manual that hung from a hook under the skylight. Its pages were now almost dry, but it required a certain amount of caution to separate the leaves.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed Stirling.
"Shut up, can't you!" ejaculated Smith.
"Not much!" retorted Stirling, for on the flyleaf appeared the words: "Hans Pfeil. S.167;" and the counter-signature of the lieutenant commanding the torpedo-boat destroyer. "Not much! Chuck it, for the time being, old man, and listen. I've found out how the torpedo book came on board. At least I think I have. Hamerton mentions that he rescued a seaman washed overboard from a German destroyer. He gives the man's name. It is the same as the one appearing in the book."
"Well?"
"This Hans Pfeil might be able to give us some definite information. Of course I won't say a word about this book."
"I don't see what the fellow can do or say in the matter," objected Smith. "Hamerton in the log says he was transferred to a tramp steamer. That ends the business. Whatever happened to Hamerton and Detroit occurred some time after the incident."
"All the same I'll have a shot at it. I'll write, and pack up the torpedo book at the same time."
"All right!" drawled Smith. "Please yourself."
And with that he refilled his pipe and resumed work.
Immediatelyafter the ending of the trial the two prisoners were separated. Hamerton was escorted through the streets of the Oberland, past the old Frisian church, and lodged in a massive stone building almost adjacent to the north-east angle of the barracks.
During and long previous to the British occupation of Heligoland this building had been used is a fish store. It stood on solidly constructed arched pillars, the entrance being by means of a flight of stone steps protected by a wrought-iron railing. Latterly the space under the vaulted arches had been enclosed by galvanized-iron fencing and utilized as a store for engineering tools and plant. The building above was subdivided into eight narrow rooms, each lighted by a rectangular window about three feet in height and eighteen inches in width. Each of these windows was heavily barred.
Surrounding this massive structure was a wall twelve feet in height, surmounted by revolving rods studded with steel spikes, and pierced by a narrow gateway sufficiently wide to admit the passage of a handcart. This wall abutted on the barracks, and the space between the house and the wall, paved with stone flags, served as an exercising ground for the prisoners who were confined within. These were mostly men serving long sentences for insubordination and other serious offences against military and naval discipline.
Just inside the outer gateway was a small guardhouse in which were quartered the soldiers detained to act as warders. Here Hamerton was handed over to the jailers, and compelled to have a bath and don a suit of blue-and-yellow cloth that made him look like a football player. All his personal belongings—and they were few in number owing to his hurried departure from the yacht—were taken from him, with the exception of his watch. This done, he was escorted up the exterior staircase of the main prison and placed under lock and key in the room at the north-eastern angle of the building.
"Well," he soliloquized, "if this is to be my quarters for the next five years—though I don't think it will be, as long as there is a strong man at the head of the Foreign Office—I may as well make myself comfortable. It's rotten being without Detroit though. They might have left us together. Now, let us see how the land lies."
His first step was to attempt to drag the iron bed frame across the floor and place it under the window.
"Confound it!" he muttered. "They've bolted the thing to the floor. No matter, I'll see what I can do with the stool."
Altering the position of that article of furniture to the desired spot, the Sub found that he could just grasp the bars of the window. Then, at the expense of a pair of skinned knees, he succeeded in drawing himself up sufficiently to be able to look out.
The aspect was not satisfactory. The outlook was to the paved courtyard, a high blank wall of a large building on the other side of the street, the upper part of the church tower, and an expanse of cloudy sky.
"Well, if I am condemned as a spy I jolly well will be one," he continued. "There's not much to be seen from the window, so the sooner I see about getting out the better."
With that he descended from his uncomfortable position and began to pace the narrow limits of his cell. Round and round he went, almost aimlessly. It reminded him of an incident of his youth. He had caught a hedgehog, and, wishing to keep it as a pet, had enclosed a small extent of grass-covered ground with a circular fence of wire netting. As soon as the hedgehog had uncoiled itself it began to run round and round the fence, its nose continually poking at the meshes in the hope of finding an exit. The animal eventually made its escape by burrowing. Good heavens! The thought suddenly occurred to him: why could he not burrow his way out of his prison?
He sounded the walls. They seemed solid enough. The floor, too, looked of far too massive construction to be disturbed without the aid of proper tools. It was paved with stones averaging two feet square, set in hard cement. Every flag he tapped with his heel. The result was not encouraging. No hollow sound rewarded his efforts.
"I'll tackle it somehow," he muttered.
His usually deliberate manner seemed to have deserted him on the first day of his imprisonment. He felt consumed by an almost overwhelming desire to exercise all his energy at once, only prudence asserted itself.
"I'll lie low for a day or so," he resolved. "It will give me time to find out what routine is carried out. If they don't inspect the cells during the night I'll be able to work unmolested. If they do, by Jove! it will be a risky business."
Just then came the sound of men's footsteps along the stone passage. Planting his ear against the door Hamerton listened intently. Again he was unrewarded, for not a word was spoken by the men without. A door was unlocked, slammed, and locked again, and the sound of footsteps grew fainter and fainter.
A little later a couple of soldiers entered the Sub's cell. One of them remained just inside the threshold, the other placed an earthenware plate containing a piece of black bread and a morsel of cheese upon the bed and a jug of water on the floor.
"Look here," said Hamerton, looking disdainfully at the frugal repast and addressing the men in their own language; "is this the best I am to have?"
"Ja," was the stolid reply.
"I've money. There's a fairly large sum belonging to me on the yacht. Can't I have food sent in to me from outside?"
"Ja."
"Will you let me have paper and pencil so that I can ask the commandant?"
"Ja."
"Very good; I'll give you a sovereign—that's equal at least to twenty marks."
"Ja."
The men backed out, relocked the door, and left Hamerton to his meditations and his supper. He ate all the food that had been provided for him, and drank about half the contents of the pitcher. The rest he saved to quench his thirst during the long hours of the night, for he had a foreboding that he would obtain very little sleep during the hours of darkness.
He half counted upon the return of the jailer with writing materials, but no one came. He must exercise his patience and wait. "If I get hold of my spare cash within a week I shall be lucky," thought he.
The increasing gloom of the cell warned him of the approach of night. While the light remained he arranged the coarse blankets of his bed. The supper plate he placed against the door, so that upon anyone attempting to enter, the clatter would warn him. Directly it became night the searchlights along the edge of the cliff flashed incessantly.
Partially divesting himself of his clothing, Hamerton lay down upon the uncomfortable bed. There he remained without any desire to sleep. His mind was revolving the events of the day. His unjust trial, the separation from his companion, rankled within his breast. He wondered how Von Wittelsbach, with all his cunning, would continue to conceal the identity of his victims. What were the secrets of the forbidden land that were so jealously guarded?
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap!
Hamerton raised himself upon his elbow and listened intently.
"What on earth's that?" he asked aloud.
The tapping sound was resumed. The noise seemed to come from the adjoining room.
"Great Scott! Is it someone trying to call me up in Morse?" he asked. "It may be Detroit."
Springing out of bed he groped for the plate that he had placed against the door. "Tap, tap—tap—tap, tap—tap," he signalled, the double sounds corresponding with the "dashes" of the Morse code.
To his inexpressible delight the question came.
"Is that Ham? I'm Det."
"How did you know I was here?"
"Guessed it."
"Think we'll be heard?"
"No; only be careful."
For the best part of an hour the friends conversed at the rate of about six words a minute. It was slow work, but the fact of being able to communicate at all was a source of mutual satisfaction. Caution prevented them from discussing any probability of escape, for should their jailers hear and understand the messages that passed between the prisoners it would be almost a certainty that one of them would be moved to a more remote part of the building.
At intervals during the night communication was re-established. Dawn found Hamerton weary-eyed and pale. He had not slept a wink.
At seven the warders appeared, bringing the Sub's breakfast. This consisted of a kind of coarse porridge and a slice of rye bread.
"Good morning!" said Hamerton, as a preliminary to further conversation.
"Ja," came the response.
"Are you bringing the writing materials?"
"Ja."
Without waiting to be questioned further the men took the plate that they had left overnight and went out.
"That fellow won't break his jaw through too much talking," commented the Sub. "One blessing, they didn't trouble us during the night. I'll start tunnelling this very evening."
An hour later the door was opened again. This time there were two different soldiers. One of them carried a broom, which he gave to Hamerton and signed that he should clean out his cell.
"I speak German," announced the Sub.
"Ja," came the reply in a tone meant to imply that the information was not of the slightest interest to the taciturn fellow.
They waited till Hamerton had completed his task. The broom and the breakfast utensils were placed outside the cell, and the Sub was ordered to follow his jailers.
"They overheard us signalling," he thought. "We are to be kept apart."
However, such was not the case. Hamerton was conducted into the exercise yard and allowed to walk up and down for the space of nearly an hour. This over, he was taken back to his cell and locked in.
At tea-time he deliberately dropped the earthenware plate upon the stone floor, and selecting a pointed fragment hid it under his bed. When the jailers returned, one of them carefully gathered up the remaining fragments, received the Sub's explanations with the perpetual "Ja", and went out.
The Sub reckoned that he would be uninterrupted until seven o'clock; he had nearly three hours to conduct operations. Selecting a slab of stone in a dark corner of his cell adjoining that tenanted by Detroit, he began to attack the cement. It was almost as hard as iron. The fragment of earthenware was a most unsatisfactory tool, for at the end of three hours he had made only a deep scratch in the cement, and had chafed his hands till they were covered with blisters. Yet so intent had he been on his stupendous task that, until he "knocked off", he was unaware of the damage he had wrought to his hands. That night he spent in alternately communicating with Detroit and attacking the stubborn cement, snatching a few hours' sleep towards morning.
Exercise time came round. On the previous day he had kept his eyes well about him, studying the relative position of the windows and the ground, and mentally measuring the height of the enclosing walls. This time he paced up and down, never walking over the same track twice. He kept his eyes on the ground, hoping to find some piece of metal which he could press into his service. With his eyelids half-closed his demeanour excited no suspicion amongst the soldiers detailed to keep him under observation.
Presently he caught sight of what appeared to be a rusty nail, almost buried in the narrow strip of cultivated ground bordering one side of the paved courtyard.
Thrice he passed it before he purposely tripped over a conveniently uneven stone, and fell full length upon the ground, his hands sprawling in a seemingly vain endeavour to save himself. Even his wooden-faced guards smiled at the sight of the Englishman kissing the ground. But when Hamerton regained his feet a piece of steel, nearly seven inches in length, was reposing within his sleeve.
As soon as he was relocked in his cell he eagerly examined his prize. It was a portion of a steel prong, doubtless snapped off by a sudden contact with the stone wall. It was rusty, but the rust had not eaten deeply into the metal. It rang truly when dropped upon the floor. Hamerton would not have parted with it under present conditions for a hundred pounds.
The next thing to be done was to find something suitable for a handle. Experience had already taught him the need for a protection for the hands.
Upturning the stool, he examined the joints of one of the legs. It was not screwed, but merely jammed into the thick wooden seat. Before wrenching it off he bored a hole into one end with the pointed part of the steel, enlarging the hole sufficiently to be able to insert the blunted end. This took him nearly two hours' continuous work, but at the finish he found himself in possession of quite a sharp and efficient tool.
Well before the time of his jailers' visit he withdrew the steel and hid it in the under side of the bed, replaced the leg of the stool, and resigned himself to a period of inaction.
As soon as it became dark the searchlights were switched on. Hamerton could see the giant beams travel slowly across the sky, although most of the searchlights were trained to sweep the surface of the sea. At frequent intervals the bark of quick-firers shook the solid building. A night attack, one of the frequent attempts upon Heligoland by the Borkum flotilla of destroyers, was in progress. Similar manoeuvres were of almost nightly occurrence.
The detonations of the ordnance were of immense service to Hamerton. He could begin operations with less chance of being detected, for the rasping of the steel point against the cement was inaudible during the firing.
Nevertheless, it was slow work chipping out minute particles of the stoutly resisting substance. Frequently he paused to gather up a handful of the debris and hurl it out of the window. In two hours he had cut out the cement to a depth of two inches round the fairly large slab which he had fruitlessly attacked with the fragment of the broken earthenware plate.
Shortly after eleven o'clock the firing suddenly ceased, although the searchlights were still flashing across the sky. There was now more need for caution. The Sub stuck grimly to his task, pouring water into the little rectangular trench in order to deaden the sound of the steel. Several times he had to "knock off" in order to reply to a signalled message from Detroit.
"You are not communicative to-night," tapped the latter.
"No, not in the sense you mean," replied the Sub. He would dearly have liked to inform the American of the work he was undertaking, but, fearing that the conversation was possibly being listened to by a third person, he refrained. "I'm dead tired," he added.
"Of doing nothing?" asked Detroit.
Hamerton looked at his bruised and blistered hands and smiled grimly. The irony of the American's question tickled him.
Far into the night he toiled. The stone showed no sign of loosening in its bed. Again and again he ground the edge of the piece of steel and attacked the stubborn cement, which seemed to possess the toughness of iron.
"I'll carry on for another quarter of an hour," he said to himself, as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "I wonder what's——"
The rasping of a key being inserted into the lock of the door caused him to start to his feet. There was no time to replace the leg of the stool, which was lying on its side. Thrusting the precious implement under the mattress, Hamerton leapt into the bed, drew the blanket well over his face, and simulated a snore.
The door was thrown open. There was a pause. It seemed to the Sub like the slow passing of at least half an hour. In his heated imagination he fancied the intruder had discovered the signs of his handiwork. He could discern through his almost closed eyelids the glimmer of a lantern upon the whitewashed stone walls of the cell.
He attempted another snore. It was a dismal failure; it seemed to him more like a pig's grunt than anything else he could think of. Then the light vanished, the door was closed with less noise than it had been opened with, and once more he was alone.
For nearly ten minutes Hamerton lay still. He was half-afraid that the suspicions of his visitor had been aroused, and that the man had gone away to bring the guard and make a thorough examination of the place. At length, pulling himself together, the Sub got out of bed, removed the steel from its handle, and replaced the leg of the stool. The dust that he had not thrown away he mixed with grease from the remains of his supper, and worked it into the crevices surrounding the stone that he was determined to remove.
This done, he threw himself upon his bed, and, being thoroughly tired out, was soon in a sound, dreamless sleep.
Fourdays passed. Hamerton's jailers, in spite of the monotonous "Ja's", had neither brought the promised writing materials nor taken any steps to help the prisoner to recover his money.
The work of loosening the refractory stone made steady progress. Once or twice the Sub fancied that it was shaking in its hard setting. He even went so far as to break off the tip of his steel instrument in a vain attempt to prise up the slab. The experiment was almost a disastrous one, for Hamerton had to regrind the steel ere he could start afresh. Luckily it was still long enough for the purpose, and also more rigid, while he had still the broken part as a supplementary tool.
"Hans," remarked Hamerton to one of the jailers in quite a casual tone, when the fellow brought a basin of soup to the prisoner, "could you let me have a little pepper?"
The man eyed Hamerton suspiciously; then, instead of the monotonous "Ja ", he demanded:
"What for? I suppose you would like to have some? It would come in useful to throw in my eyes, and you would try to break out of prison, eh?"
"No," replied the Sub coolly. "I can assure you that I would not use it for that purpose. I have a cold in my head."
"Better, then, apply to see the doctor."
"It's not worth that. I have always found pepper an excellent remedy when nothing better is to hand. Can't you get me a little?"
"I'll see," replied Hans.
A quarter of an hour later he re-entered the cell.
"Here you are, Englishman," he said, handing Hamerton a small paper parcel. "It's strong enough to blow your head off."
"Thank you, Hans!" said the Sub.
Directly the man went out Hamerton placed the packet of pepper in the only pocket of his coat, in which there was already a couple of handkerchiefs and his watch.
"I didn't think I should obtain the pepper so easily," he soliloquized. "It will come in very handy before many days are past."
Hamerton made a late start that evening. Detroit was in a very communicative mood, tapping out messages with tremendous zeal, till his friend had to caution him not to make so much noise, through fear of being overheard.
It was just twelve when Hamerton, using the steel as a lever, found to his great delight that the stone was actually loose. For the next half-hour he worked like one possessed, with the result that the slab was displaced. Half-dreading the outcome of his investigations, Hamerton groped cautiously with his hand into the deep cavity. Almost at arm's length his fingers touched a mass of rubble. The floor was hollow.
Now, for the first time since his incarceration, the Sub wedged the door of his cell by means of the stool. Thus he was fairly safe from interruption, and in the event of a nightly visitation he might be able to replace the stone and hide the traces of his handiwork before admitting his jailers.
This done, he attacked the slab adjoining the hole in the floor. By dint of much heaving he succeeded in displacing it without having recourse to the tedious process of chiselling out the cement.
"I wish I had a box of matches," he muttered. "Only a mole could find its way about in that hole. Well, here goes!"
So saying, he lowered himself into the pit, so black that by contrast his cell was fairly illuminated, for the searchlights were constantly flashing skywards.
Between the under side of the stone floor and the rubble on which he stood was a space of about eighteen inches in height. It was like sitting on the summit of a mound, for the surface descended on all sides. Hamerton was standing on the crown of one of the vaulted arches of the store under the prison cells. During his exercise hour in the courtyard he had made the discovery that the room on the ground floor was vaulted.
"Easy ahead!" he muttered between his closed teeth, for the dust rose in clouds in the confined space. Before he had crawled very far the height increased sufficiently for him to be able to kneel upright. Then his hands came in contact with a wall—the division between his cell and that occupied by the American.
"Rough luck!" he ejaculated. "More miniature pick-and-shovel work, I suppose. Ah, there's Detroit tapping again! Sorry I can't attend to you, old man."
Groping with his left hand Hamerton followed the course of the parting wall, hoping that he might find an opening into the space beneath Detroit's cell. His hopes were realized, for almost at the junction with the outer wall of the building was a gap in the stonework.
"It will be a tight squeeze, by Jove!" he ejaculated. "I'll risk it; but what a mess I'll be in!"
He had not before taken into consideration the fact that the state of his clothes would "give the show away" to his jailers. Retracing his steps he regained his cell, and promptly stripped off his hideous prison garb, shook out the dust, and laid the garment on the bed.
Once more he dropped into the hole, and with more confidence crawled to the corner of the space where he had located a means of communication with the corresponding cavity on the other side of the dividing wall.
It was a dangerous performance wriggling through the narrow aperture. More than once Hamerton had to stop through sheer exhaustion. The rough stonework grazed his ribs and lacerated his elbows and thighs. It seemed as if he stood a great chance of becoming jammed, for, having succeeded in forcing his shoulders through, his hips obstinately refused to scrape between the sides of the opening. To add to his discomfort, the air was far from pure, and he was seized by an attack of dizziness.
Temporarily panic-stricken, he struggled furiously and contrived to back out of his dangerous predicament.
"It will mean enlarging that hole," he thought. "I've done enough for the time being. To-morrow night I'll have another shot at it."
With this resolution he returned to his cell, washed off the dirt, and turned in, glad to rest the bruised angularities of his aching body.
Presently he began to ponder over the difficulties that had beset him. "Either I'll have to make that hole larger or I'll have to reduce my fat," he said to himself, with a laugh. "Talk about a square peg in a round hole, or a round peg in a square hole. By Jove! I'm an ass. The hole is square right enough, but my midship section isn't round—it's oval. If I had only kept my hips in two opposite corners instead of trying to squeeze through on my stomach I could have done it hands down. I wonder what the time is?"
He sat up and pulled out his watch. There was too much gloom to see the hands.
Even as he looked a brilliant beam of light flashed straight in through the window. It was a quarter to one. For a few seconds only the searchlight rays played upon the building; then all was darkness, rendered the more opaque by reason of the sudden change.
"A searchlight from an airship," exclaimed the Sub. He knew perfectly well that since from his window he could see nothing of the searchlight apparatus placed on the fortifications, it was conversely impossible for one of those searchlights to throw a direct beam through the window of his cell.
In a trice he was out of bed. Propping the partially dismembered stool against the wall, he climbed up to the window and looked out. He was just in time to see a large Zeppelin in the act of descending somewhere to the left of his prison. By the arrangement of the cars he knew that it was not the same craft that he had seen recharging her petrol tanks on the morning of his arrest.
"I wonder whether they are stationed here?" he asked himself. "An airship of that size must need an enormous shed, yet I'll swear I never saw one when I was being taken ashore. And they would never risk mooring a lubberly craft like that in the open."
As there was nothing more to be seen, the Sub clambered down from his insecure perch and prepared once more to turn in. Suddenly he felt inclined to put his theory to the test. It was not yet one o'clock, four precious hours yet remained ere dawn. He would make another attempt to squeeze through that baffling hole in the wall.
This time he succeeded with comparative ease, although his bruised hips gave him a bad time of it during the operation. In his sense of elation pain and discomfort were forgotten, for he was now underneath the cell occupied by his comrade, with only six inches of stone floor to separate them.
It puzzled Hamerton considerably to know how the stone flags were supported, since there was a cavity underneath the floor, but now he made a discovery that he had hitherto overlooked. The floor had been constructed at a fairly recent date, and was supported by slight iron girders, spaced about eighteen inches apart, which were in turn supported by small brick piers rising from the upper side of the vaulting. Fortunately the Sub had by chance decided to remove a stone that was only partly resting on a girder and held in position by a wedge-shaped stone—the second one that he had removed.
"It's about time I gave Detroit a hint," he thought. "I'll tap out a message as lightly as possible, in case the sound travels to another part of the building."
"Am crawling under the floor of your cell," he announced. "Will try and join you either to-night or to-morrow. Have you anything you can use to help shift one of the stones?"
"Nothing," came the reply. "But hustle some; I'm right keen on seeing you."
Considering Hamerton had been "hustling" like a nigger for hours this request struck him as being a cool one; but, guessing rightly that it was owing solely to Detroit's enthusiasm at the prospect of being joined by his chum, the Sub began to tackle the new phase of his arduous task.
Feeling for a stone that projected farther than the rest, Hamerton began to tug at it with his hands. It was seemingly immovable. He realized that the only way to shift it was to dig out the cement, as he had done in the case of the one in his cell. But there was a difference. He had to be on his back; the dust fell upon him, getting into his eyes, nose, and mouth, and causing him acute discomfort. Only by his sense of touch could he determine whether he was attacking the cement or merely the hard stone.
At length his physical strength began to fail; his arms refused to obey the dictates of his active mind. Reluctantly he abandoned his task for that night and painfully crawled back to his bed. It was then a quarter-past three. For close on two hours and a half he had toiled under adverse conditions, yet the result of his labours was satisfactory. He had almost established a direct communication with his friend without having recourse only to conversation in Morse.
With this solace to act as balm to his wearied body the Sub was soon fast asleep, nor did he awake till his jailers appeared with his breakfast.
Onthe following night, as soon as the bugles sounded "Lights out", Hamerton returned to his labours. Barricading the door and wrenching up the loosened slabs of stone, he descended beneath the floor, wriggled through the hole in the parting wall with comparative ease, and with renewed energy began to prise away at the stubborn cement. At about every quarter of an hour he would seize the projecting stone and shake it violently. Perhaps he had become hardened to the work, for he imagined that the cement was not so hard or tenacious as it had been when he began operations. "The cement is cracking," signalled Detroit, who for the last two hours had been lying at full length on the floor feeling for the first decisive tremor of the paving stone.
Then Hamerton had an inspiration. He knew that the stone was wedge-shaped; perhaps by pressing upwards against it he might force it out of position.
Crouching immediately under the projecting piece of masonry, he applied his shoulder to the base of the wedge and exerted all his strength.
For a few seconds there appeared to be no result, then, almost without warning, the stone gave quite a couple of inches, till it was flush with the adjoining slabs.
Detroit felt it rise. Desperately he wrenched at it with his bare hands. Hamerton, rolling over on his back, pushed as hard as he could with his foot. The next instant he felt the American's sinewy fingers grasping him by his toes.
"Chuck it, old man!" whispered the Sub. "That's my toes you've got hold of."
"Guess I don't care, so long as I've got hold of some part of you," was the glad response. "Let's have your hand, then."
It did not take very long for the hole to be enlarged sufficiently to allow Hamerton to enter the American's cell. By a sheer piece of luck the aperture bore the same relative position to the floor as did the one in the adjoining room. It was almost in the corner, where, in the daytime, by contrast with the light filtering through the window, it was almost dark.
For some considerable time the reunited comrades whispered in tense, excited tones, their conversation being the outcome of joy rather than the discussion of a definite plan of action. But by degrees they grew calmer, and Detroit asked what the next move was to be.
"Get out of this show as soon as possible," announced Hamerton with determination.
"And then? We are not paladins; we cannot hope to overpower the whole garrison. There are sentries at every few yards; every boat is guarded. We will have to remain hidden on this little rock till hunger compels us to give ourselves up."
"We'll risk that. In almost every enterprise there is an element of chance that oft leads to success. Once we break out of this place we'll have a good look round. They've condemned me as a spy, and, by Jove, I'll do a little espionage!"
"And I'll have a shot at it," added Detroit. "Who knows but that some day the United States Navy may be glad of certain information concerning this island."
"'Of course we may stumble upon a boat," continued Hamerton. "In that case we'll appropriate her without the slightest compunction, get under way, and trust to luck to be picked up by a passing steamer. A few miles either to the north or south, and we'll be right in the regular steamer tracks across the North Sea."
"But the searchlights?" objected Detroit. He was game enough for any enterprise, but with natural caution he preferred to weigh up the risks.
"If we start just before dawn we need not worry about searchlights. I noticed they ceased operations at 4 a.m. the other day. We ought to be able to put five miles between us and the rock before it is light enough for them to spot us."
"All right, then!" assented the American. "But we're not out of the wood yet. What's the next performance?"
"I'm off back to my cell. Take care to replace the stone carefully and fill up the joints with dust. I'll leave you this little tool—I can't let you have the handle, for, as you see, it's the leg of a stool. If you feel particularly energetic, old man, you might start at the sockets of the window bars. You'll have to be very cautious. Do they march you out for exercise?"
"Every day. Why?"
"I have an hour of it also. Thus I was able to take stock of the building. Your window is directly above a flight of steps; mine is some distance clear of it. Consequently your window is the more convenient one for us to tackle."
"I'll have a slog at it."
"Good! Well, I'm off. Au revoir till to-morrow night!"
The next day passed in a most tedious fashion. Hamerton was on thorns more than once, for in his heated imagination he fancied that his jailers purposely prolonged their visits to his cell.
"To-morrow," announced Hans, "you will roll up your blankets. Clean ones will be served out. You will also have to scrub your floor, because the governor of the prison and the medical officers are going to make an inspection."
This was disconcerting news. It was a case of to-night or not at all, for it was quite evident that should the two comrades not succeed in making their escape before the morrow, the visiting authorities would be almost certain to discover the displaced stones in the floor.
Accordingly the Sub continued his preparations. In spite of his hearty appetite he set aside one-half of his day's rations, since it was doubtful whether he would be able to obtain food outside.
Evening came with a furious easterly gale. The wind howled, heavy drops of rain fell in torrents and beat in at the open window, for during the summer months the glass was regularly removed from all the prison cells.
Hamerton welcomed the storm. It was an asset in their favour, although for the time being it was useless to expect to be able to get away from the island in a boat.
"How are you getting on?" he asked, as he crawled into Detroit's cell.
"Guess I've just about shifted those bars," was the American's reply. "The cement was rotten."
"It's too early to make the attempt yet," said the Sub.
"Rather," agreed Detroit; "besides, we haven't made the ropes yet. Bear a hand with this blanket; we'll soon manage that, I think."
"Pretty tough stuff," commented Hamerton, as the property of the German Government was remorselessly torn into strips. "All the same I'd rather have a good piece of manila or three-strand hawserlaid tarred rope. Even a sheet would make a better rope."
In spite of his objections Hamerton tackled the task with energy, and as a result of their joint labours the comrades had the satisfaction of being in possession of thirty feet of apparently serviceable rope.
"Time!" whispered the Sub laconically.
Five minutes sufficed to complete the removal of the bars. Hamerton, having made one end of the rope fast to the bed frame, clambered up the ledge, and listened intently. Not a sound was audible above the howling of the wind and the hissing of the rain. The Heligoland searchlights were not running, but from Sandinsel four powerful beams were swaying across the cloudy sky like gigantic inverted pendulums.
"All clear!" he whispered.
Detroit handed up the coiled rope. The Sub was about to drop it into the black vault beneath him, when he saw the glimmer of a lantern on the rainswept pavement below. Crouching on his narrow perch the Sub waited. The rays of the lantern reflected in the puddles of the courtyard; it glinted upon naked steel and upon the brass helmets of a file of soldiers.
"What's up?" whispered Detroit, unaware of the reason of the delay.
"Hist!" exclaimed Hamerton, not trusting himself to say more.
Straight towards the staircase came the men. The Sub felt his head throbbing violently. They were more than likely sent to escort the alleged spies to another place of detention.
With a dull crash the butts of a dozen rifles struck the stone pavement as the men halted and grounded arms. With bent shoulders, in a vain attempt to shelter themselves from the rain, the soldiers waited while the sergeant, lantern in hand, ascended the steps, followed by an enormous bloodhound.
Hamerton durst not crane his neck to see what went on almost underneath the window. He could distinguish Hans's voice replying to the sergeant's questions, but the din of the storm prevented the listener from understanding the nature of the conversation.
Then, after what seemed to be an age of terrible suspense, the Sub saw the sergeant return to his men. The soldiers recovered their arms, faced about, and marched towards the outer gateway. The light vanished, and the tramp of their feet was soon lost in the moaning of the wind.
Hamerton waited no longer; at any moment the jailers might intrude. Noiselessly he allowed the coil of blanket-rope to drop into space, then, grasping one of the bars which still remained, he assisted Detroit to clamber up beside him.
"You go first," he whispered. "You're lighter than I am. If the rope should break when I descend, don't wait, but clear out."
"I won't," replied Detroit. "We'll stand by each other at all costs. Well, here goes!"
The next moment he was lost to sight. Hamerton could feel the rope stretching and jerking under the strain of the descending man's weight. Presently the tension ceased. The American had reached the steps beneath the window.
Without hesitation Hamerton followed. He realized that should the soft fabric give way a fall of about ten feet, followed by a headlong tumble down the stone steps, would be the inevitable result, and to a man weighing close on fifteen stone that was far from pleasant to contemplate.
But the rope stood the strain, and with a muffled exclamation of thankfulness Hamerton felt his feet touched one of the stone steps.
"Heave away!" he whispered, placing the rope in Detroit's hands. Both men pulled their hardest. The blanket rope parted, leaving about ten feet of it in their possession. Then the American saw his companion do a strange act. Hamerton drew a packet from his pocket, and, holding his nose tightly with his left hand, scattered something on the ground. It was as much as Detroit could do to restrain his curiosity.
The outer wall with its array of spikes presented little difficulty. Detroit clambered on to Hamerton's shoulder, grasped one of the revolving rods, and passed the bight of the rope around it. By this means he was able to draw himself up and crouch astride of the obstacle until Hamerton swarmed up beside him. The drop on the other side was a more nerve-racking ordeal, for neither of the fugitives knew what was beneath them. Fortunately it was a vegetable garden belonging to one of the jailers, and the soft earth effectually neutralized the otherwise nasty jar of a twelve-foot drop.
Once again Hamerton stopped to scatter something from the packet. Detroit recognized it now. It was pepper. It nearly made him sneeze. Then he realized what his companion was about. Hamerton meant to baffle the bloodhounds that were kept on the island for the purpose of assisting the sentries in arresting all suspicious characters and maintaining the jealously guarded secrets of the island fortress.
"Now, which way?" whispered Detroit. "To the Unterland?"
"Rather not," replied the Sub. "It's too well guarded. We'll strike inland and make good use of our liberty until the alarm is raised."
Guided by the chain of searchlights, which were now in full swing, Hamerton and his companion set off in a north-westerly direction. Once clear of the buildings they felt the force of the wind, which had now backed to the north-west. It was a struggle for them to keep their feet. Every now and again a vicious blast would bring them up "all standing", as Hamerton would have described it in naval parlance. As for the rain, it was too torrential to aid their flight, for at any moment they might blunder upon the sentries, since they could see barely twenty yards ahead, and that only very indistinctly.
Away on the right a wind motor, perched on a cast-iron tower, added to the din. It was one of several used for generating electric current for the searchlights, and could, if necessary, be lowered into a concrete-lined pit, so as to be out of reach of a hostile fire.
Hamerton pushed forward, counting the number of the steps he took. At the sixty-first he stopped abruptly and threw himself flat upon the grass, an example that Detroit promptly imitated.
Just in front of them was a high barbed-wire fence. On the furthermost side a sentry was standing, his hands resting on the muzzle of his rifle and his head bowed till the brim of his flat-topped cap touched his fixed bayonet.
For nearly five minutes the man remained in this position, though fortunately his face was turned slightly away from the two recumbent figures on the ground. Then, sloping his rifle, the sentry faced about and stolidly marched away, following the direction of the fence.
"There must be some object in posting a sentry so far from the road and away from the cliff," thought Hamerton. "I'll investigate."
With that he rose to his feet, grasped the lowermost of the barbed wires, and held it up as high as the tension would allow. The quick-witted American understood, and, throwing himself flat on the ground, crawled under the formidable fence. In turn he performed a like service for the Sub, and the two adventurers found themselves within an entanglement out of which they could not easily escape should their presence be detected by any of the sentries.
While negotiating the fence Hamerton noticed one remarkable thing: the standards supporting the spiked wires were set in hinged sockets. Also, about five feet from the fence lay several half-rounded pieces of metal, each about ten feet in length.
"They are in the habit of lowering the fence for something," said the Sub to himself. "These sections are to place over the wire when it is lying on the ground. Seems as if they take rather fragile objects into the enclosure; which, I wonder?"
"Steady on!" cautioned Detroit. "Here's something."
The something proved to be the stone facing of a steep incline cut into the earth. The investigators had the choice of two routes, either to bear away to the left and follow the natural terrain, or take the right-hand direction and descend the incline. They chose the latter.
The shelving ground was slippery with rain. Close to the concrete wall was a small channel through which the surface water poured in a miniature torrent. Extreme caution was necessary, since at any moment the two comrades might find themselves precipitated over the edge of a pitfall.
"Come this way," said Hamerton in a low voice. "I want to find out the width of this incline." And setting off at right angles to his previous direction he began to measure the distance. At the eightieth pace—equal to one hundred and twenty feet—the adventurers found themselves confronted by a wall similar to the one on the other side of the incline. They had stumbled upon a broad way, leading they knew not whither or for what purpose.
"Keep to this side," continued Hamerton. "It's more sheltered."
"Better not," objected Detroit. "If there are any people about they will naturally choose the lee side of this wall. We can't get much wetter, and we stand a better chance over there."
"Right!" assented the Sub. He was not above paying good heed to the American's sagacity.
Accordingly they retraced their steps to the left wall of the incline and then resumed the downward direction. Higher and higher grew the wall, till it was lost to sight in the darkness. It seemed as if they were descending into the bowels of the earth. Presently both men involuntarily paused. Through the rain-laden atmosphere came a red glare. It only lasted a few seconds and then disappeared.
"A furnace," whispered Hamerton. "Luckily it was not on our side. Ha! what's that?" His feet came into contact with the metal rail of a narrow-gauge tram line, emerging from a cave-like chamber in the wall and running athwart the incline. Further investigations revealed the presence of a siding on which were several trucks laden with coal. The trucks had been filled by means of a number of shoots. Close by, under a lean-to shed, were nearly a hundred barrels, some empty and lying in disorder, and others filled and stacked in tiers.
Even as Hamerton and his companion were making this discovery an arc lamp above their heads was switched on, flooding the ground with its powerful light. Simultaneously the door of the subterranean store was thrown open and a row of trollies, propelled by an electric motor, emerged from a tunnel that had hitherto escaped their notice.
To stay where they were meant detection. Flight was equally dangerous, since they would have to cross the brilliantly lighted ground. By a common impulse the Sub and his comrade vaulted into two upturned barrels.
They were just in time. The trucks came to a standstill almost opposite their place of concealment, and a squad of men, dressed in engineers' uniform, began to fill the tilt-wagons. This they did by the aid of small electric cranes. Rapidly the heads of the requisite number of barrels were stove in, and the casks, raised by means of cliphooks attached to the wire ropes of the cranes, were emptied into the waiting trucks.
Hamerton could overhear the sergeant in charge of the party grumbling about the weather.
"Be careful, men," he cautioned; "if the moisture gets to the alum there will be a row. Now, sharp with the trucks, or Herr Captain will be in a rage. 'Z 21' must be filled before daylight. Hurry up, I say."
Away rumbled the trucks, the men either clambering upon them or returning to the subterranean room from which they had emerged. The arc lamp was switched off and all was dark once more.
Then the blaze of red light reappeared. Hamerton understood. This was the hydrogen factory where the gas for filling the Zeppelins was manufactured. He remembered that woollen or linen fabrics saturated in a solution of alum become practically non-inflammable. There were the men shovelling lumps of alum into one of the retorts.
"I have it," he muttered triumphantly. "They have discovered a process of making hydrogen practically non-explosive. By Jove! I wish I could wrench the secret from them. However, it's a step in the right direction."
Noiselessly the pair emerged from their place of concealment. Detroit was curious to know the nature of the conversation, but for the present it was extremely hazardous to speak. He had, however, made the discovery of the former contents of the barrel in which he was hidden, for happening to put his finger to his lips the unpleasant taste of alum asserted itself.
Stepping cautiously over the tram lines, since one of them might be a "live rail", Hamerton and Detroit resumed their down-grade journey till they had traversed nearly a quarter of a mile of the incline.
"I believe we've tumbled upon the approach to a submarine tunnel to Sandinsel," whispered Detroit.
"Much too wide for that," replied the Sub, "unless, of course, there is a subsidiary tunnel. But, look, we are getting to the end. There's rock ahead of us."
The incline terminated in a large circular basin roughly two hundred yards in diameter. Opening out of it were three lofty artificial caves, hewn out of the sandstone. This much Hamerton was able to observe in a momentary burst of starlight through a rift in the swiftly-moving clouds.
"Come on," he said. "We're in luck's way. There's no one about. Follow the cliff; I'm curious to see what is in these caves."
The first cavern was apparently empty. The floor was paved with slabs of cement, the walls were of glared brick. Close to the mouth was a little hut, the door of which was locked; but judging by the number of insulated wires running from it the Sub concluded it was the operating station for lighting the vast recess.
The second cave, its entrance being almost at an angle of ninety degrees with the first, was tenanted. Both men recognized in the snub-nosed object projecting far above their heads the bow of a military Zeppelin.
Hamerton could have danced with sheer delight. He had discovered what was supposed to be the shell-proof lair of three powerful airships. Deep in the bowels of the earth they were immune from hostile shell. A high-angled fire might result in a projectile dropping into the vast circular pit, but the possibility of the aircraft being damaged by fragments of shells was guarded against by the provision of massive steel doors sliding on rollers.
Evidently the Zeppelins were being made ready for a flight, for the doors were wide open. In the third cavern lights burned at the farthermost end, and a party of officers and men were busily engaged in overhauling the after-car.
"Seen enough?" asked Detroit. "Let's quit."
"Suppose we must," replied Hamerton reluctantly. "It must be close on dawn, and we'll have to find a place to stow ourselves away."
"I say," began the American.
"Well?"
"That airship facing the incline can come out of its dogbox all right, but I don't see how the others can be turned. There can't be more than a few feet between their extremities and the cliff when they are hauled out."
"They can be guided round by ropes."
"Hardly. The faintest bump would do no end of damage."
"I wish the whole crowd of them would meet with no end of damage," said the Sub vengefully. "But come on, we mustn't hang about here till morning. I heard those fellows say that one of the airships was to be made ready by daybreak."
"One minute; I guess I'd like to look around over there," said Detroit, pointing to the centre of the circular bed of the pit. So saying, he made his way cautiously from the shelter of the cliff, and Hamerton, guessing that his comrade was on the verge of a new discovery, followed.
For the first ten yards the floor was literally covered with a network of tram lines. There were treble parallel tracks, points, and sidings galore. It reminded the Sub of a miniature Clapham junction.
Presently Detroit stopped abruptly.
"I thought so," he announced. "We've hit the edge of a gigantic turntable. This is how they slew round their blessed Zeppelins."
The floor of the turntable was almost as smooth and level as a billiard table. There was not a single projection that would form the slightest hindrance to its intended burden. Almost in the centre were a couple of flat trapdoors for the purpose of gaining access to the machinery underneath, but the actual moving of the turntable was controlled by means of electric switches from a cabin close to the wall of the basin.
"Say, why not hide down there?" suggested Detroit, pointing to one of the trapdoors.
"Good idea!" assented Hamerton. "I don't suppose anyone goes down except to oil the machinery. The place looks large enough to hide a dozen people quite comfortably. Besides, we might be able to see something by daylight. Give me a hand with this lid."
Luckily the traphatch was not locked. The authorities regarded themselves as being immune from the inquisitiveness of intruders and the mischievousness of small boys.
Detroit descended first by means of a vertical iron ladder. Hamerton followed, and was in the act of reclosing the lid of the aperture when the whole of the Zeppelin sheds and approaches were illuminated by arc lamps fixed from brackets to the side of the cliff.
And right in the centre of that blaze of light, his head and shoulders showing conspicuously above the level of the turntable, Hamerton remained as if rooted to the spot. The sudden glare temporarily blinded him. He felt incapable of moving hand or foot.
"Lookslick!" hissed Detroit. "Don't stand there looking in the air."
The American's words roused Hamerton to action. Quickly he descended below the level of the floor of the turntable, the flap fell with a dull thud, and the two fugitives found themselves in darkness, save for a faint circle of light where the exterior glare filtered through the narrow space between the round platform and the edge of the pit in which it stood.
Then came the tramp of many feet. Not knowing whether they had been "spotted" by a keen-eyed sentry, Hamerton and his comrade remained on the thorns of expectancy. Alternate hopes and fears flashed across their minds in quick succession. Detroit was mentally bemoaning the rashness that prompted Hamerton to suggest the exploration of the aircrafts' subterranean shelter instead of making for the base of the cliffs; while the latter regretted that he had not been able to continue his nocturnal tour of investigation.
Yet, although men were running hither and thither, none came across the floor of the turntable. Trucks were rumbling along the tram lines, men were shouting in guttural tones, electric motors were whizzing and buzzing. The place, hitherto practically deserted, resembled a gigantic beehive.
"They are not looking for us," whispered the Sub. "They are evidently getting one of the Zeppelins ready for a flight. I hope we won't be disturbed. We may as well have a tour round our limited quarters, to make ourselves acquainted with our hiding place."
"Go steady," cautioned Detroit.
"Trust me for that," rejoined Hamerton, "We don't want to electrocute ourselves, or start the turntable spinning round at the rate of knots."
"Like a new form of joy-wheel," added the American. "It would be a bit of a joke to see the soldiers attempting to reach the traphatch with the platform spinning round at twenty miles an hour."
Their eyes were now getting accustomed to the gloom, for there was a fair amount of reflected light that at first was almost unnoticeable after the powerful glare without.
The place of refuge was certainly expansive, but much of the space was taken up with complicated machinery. The turntable itself worked on steel rollers set in a "race", the upper bearing surface consisting of steel skeleton trestles, which in turn supported the revolving platform. Between the latter and the edge of the circular concrete wall was a width of less than eight inches, insufficient to allow a man to crawl through. The only means of gaining the machinery chamber was by the two trapdoors.
"Shall we barricade the hatchways?" asked Detroit.
"No use," replied Hamerton. "It would only arouse suspicion. Then we should either be starved out or run the risk of being potted, for the floor is not proof against rifle fire. No, the best thing we can do is to keep quiet. Should anyone come we must endeavour to dodge behind some of this gear."
"Guess I'm getting precious hungry," remarked the American.
"Now you mention it I begin to have a sinking sensation: a kind of famine and hunger strike rolled into one. But we can't go too strong in the provision line."
Six half-slices of rye bread, two small pieces of cold meat, and about a pound of fish formed the sum total of the commissariat, barely sufficient, even with stringent economy, to last over twenty-four hours.
The food, after reposing in their pockets, was not pleasing to the eye, but adverse circumstances settled all qualms. Both men ate with avidity, though sparingly.
At length daylight gained the mastery over artificial lighting, and the arc lamps were extinguished. With the morning the rain ceased and the wind dropped.
Peering through the gap between the turntable and the encircling wall, Hamerton could see the sun shining upon the upper portion of the red sandstone cliffs that enclosed the vast artificial basin. His field of vision was limited, but he was able to come to the conclusion that the floor of the airship sheds was nearly two hundred feet below the surface of the tableland that comprised the major part of the island.
Between each pair of caverns constructed for the accommodation of the Zeppelins was an iron ladder running perpendicularly up the sheer wall of sandstone. These were connected by an open lattice platform just above the crown of the arch formed by the caves, and were evidently for the purpose of facilitating the movements of the airships when entering or leaving their bases. Curiously enough, both Hamerton and Detroit had previously failed to notice these ladders when making a circuit of the basin.
"They are naval airships," announced the Sub, for men were swarming up and down the ladders with a seeming recklessness that only seaman dare show, and they were wearing the uniforms of the German Imperial Navy.
"Here she comes," said Detroit, as the huge bulk of a Zeppelin emerged slowly yet steadily from its resting place.
"What a superb target!" commented the Sub. "A dose of shrapnel would knock the whole concern to smithereens, while one of our seaplanes with a one-pounder automatic gun would make rings round her."
"I don't know so much about that," said Detroit. "Just look at the aluminium body just abaft the 'midship car. It's been holed at one time, and they've put a patch on it."
"An accident, perhaps," rejoined Hamerton. "The airship looks rather old."
Over the heads of the two watchers passed the unwieldy craft. Now they could hear the jar of the framework as it settled on the turntable. Then, with hardly a sound and barely a tremor, the platform began to move until the bows of the Zeppelin pointed in the direction of the great incline. The six propellers began to revolve, and the airship, gathering way, rose rapidly and steadily, keeping almost parallel with the slope. Then, gaining an altitude of nearly five hundred feet, she circled slowly and disappeared beyond the limits of the vision of the two spectators in the pit.
Within a quarter of an hour of its leaving the cave the Zeppelin returned to earth. Anchored fore and aft it strained and staggered in the still strong wind. The officers and crew descended by means of a rope ladder, then the holding ropes were cast off and the aircraft bounded upwards. Hamerton could see that it was still connected with the ground by a flexible steel rope. The propellers were revolving and the rudders set hard over, consequently the Zeppelin was describing circles in the air at a height of a little over five hundred feet.
"What's the game?" asked the Sub.
The words were hardly out of his mouth when the sharp, rapid detonations of a pom-pom were heard. Almost simultaneously with the screech of the projectiles sinister dark marks appeared on the aluminium cover of the Zeppelin; yet to the Sub's surprise the one-pounder shells without exception did not burst, neither did the airship appear to lose its reserve of buoyancy.
For nearly fifteen seconds the firing continued. Nearly four times that number of projectiles had been fired, many of the shot-holes overlapping each other.
Upon the conclusion of this severe test the Zeppelin was brought down, and, controlled by about fifty men holding guide ropes, was taken down the incline.
As it neared the turntable Hamerton was able to come to some conclusion as to the nature of the self-closing material surrounding the ballonettes. In one place the havoc wrought by the concentration of several projectiles had completely torn off a strip of aluminium measuring roughly two feet six inches by two feet. Within the cavity could be seen the inner lining of aluminium, which had been badly perforated, thus releasing all the hydrogen from that particular ballonette. At the edges of the perforations a substance resembling dirty cotton waste had been forced out. Only the width of the fissure prevented the closing up of the textile fabric.