"Dickson," I said, "I want you to find Mr. Lockhart and ask him if he would be so very kind as to come to my room—oh and, by the way, this is my brother, Commander Carey, Dickson."
The boy grew pale for an instant and then flushed a deep, rosy red. He was a cool young wretch as a rule and I had never seen him so excited before. I loved him for it. The boys knew all about my brother. They had read of his exploits in the Submarine E8. I was always being pestered with questions about him.
Bernard shook hands. "I am glad to meet you," he said.
Dickson was tongue-tied, but he gazed with an almost painful reverence at Bernard.
"Oh, sir," he stammered, "oh, sir"—and then could get no further. In desperation he turned to me. "I've done five hundred of the lines, sir," he said.
"Oh well, you needn't do any more," I answered.
"And please, sir, I've taken some more snapshots which I think you might like"—and with that the lad pulled out a little bundle of recently developed and printed photographs—he had a small kodak—and laid them on the table. Then he bolted and we could hear him leaping downstairs, bursting with the great news.
"He's got it badly," I remarked—"hero worship."
"Jolly good thing," my brother answered. "Lord, I remember when I was a midshipman of signals, how I worshipped the flag-lieutenant. I ran after him like a little dog, and I thought he was God. Healthy!"
We sat without speaking, waiting for Lockhart. My brother took up the little bundle of snapshots and looked through them. Then we heard a shuffling footstep in the passage and Lockhart entered. I introduced him and we shut and locked the door. Bernard looked the little man up and down for a minute or two, talking on indifferent subjects. And then, as if satisfied, he plunged into business. He didn't tell my colleague all that he had told me, but he told him enough to set Lockhart quivering with eagerness and excitement.
"You shall hear all I know, Commander Carey," he said. "After all, it isn't much, though"—he hesitated for a moment and then began:
"This man, Upjelly, our chief, is absolutely unfitted to be a schoolmaster. He takes not the slightest interest in the school. John, here, has found out, what I long more than suspected, that the Doctor's wild-fowling is really a colossal pretence."
"Does the school pay?" my brother asked.
"Just about. There may be a small profit, but not enough to keep any man tied down here if he has the slightest ambition or is anybody at all. And, you haven't met the Doctor, but you may take it from me that he is no ordinary man. There has always been an air of mystery and secretiveness about him. He neither asks nor gives confidences. It struck me from the very first that he was a man with an absorbing mental interest of some sort or other. What was it?—that is what I asked myself.
"Three weeks ago, the Doctor had a guest. It was a Mr. Jones, who frequently visits him, apparently for the shooting. My bedroom is on the floor below this. As you see, I am a cripple and an invalid. I often pass nights of pain, when I cannot sleep. On one such night, three weeks ago, the window of my bedroom was open and I lay in the dark. About half-past three in the morning I heard footsteps on the gravel outside, and the Doctor's voice. The night was quite still, though pitch dark. Then I heard another voice which I recognised as that of the man Jones.
"The voices drew nearer until the men were almost underneath my window. They were coming back from the marshes. I only know a few words of German, but I recognise the language when I hear it. They were speaking German."
My brother nodded.
"That Jones," I put in, "I have already told you, Bernard, was here when I arrived last night. He left for London this morning, taking the Doctor up with him in his car."
"Four days ago," Lockhart continued, "I wanted some waste paper to wrap up a pair of boots I was sending to be mended. I was in my room and I told one of the boys of my dormitory to go downstairs and get some. It was about nine o'clock at night. The boy brought back two or three newspapers. One of them was theCologne Gazette, very crumpled and torn, but with the date of only five days before. I have got it locked up in my writing-desk.
"To-day, being a half-holiday, I thought I would go out for a walk upon the foreshore. An overcoat rather impedes my movements, though I have to wear one sometimes. I thought I would take a scarf instead. I went into the hall, knowing that my scarf was in the pocket of my overcoat, and felt for it. The hall is rather dark and I could not see very well what I was doing. What I brought out of the pocket in which I felt was not my scarf, but—this!"
Lockhart quietly laid something upon the table, and we bent over to look at it. To me, at any rate, it was an extraordinary object. It was a sort of cross between a large watch and a compass, with a curious little handle. There were letters or figures, for a moment I could not say which, in a double row round the dial.
"Can you tell me what it is?"
My brother was shaken from his calm at last. He gave an exclamation.
"Yes, I can!" he said. "I know very well. But first, when was this photograph taken?"
With dramatic suddenness, he held out one of Dickson's prints. It was a picture of Mr. Jones' motor, with that gentleman at the wheel and the Doctor sitting on the far side, taken that very morning as they left for London.
"This morning," I said. "That is the Doctor and Mr. Jones going off to town."
"Mr. Jones at the wheel?" my brother asked.
"Yes, that is the fellow."
"Let me get it quite clear. The man, you say, walks like me?"
"Yes."
"Ah!" said my brother again, and his eyes had the look of a bloodhound on a leash. "And now I will proceed to explain to you the use of this pretty thing."
"This," said my brother, "is what is known as Charles Wheatstone's Cipher Instrument. It is a machine for writing in cipher. You see it has a sort of watch-face, which has the alphabet inscribed round its outer margin in the usual order, plus a blank space. A second alphabet is written on a card or paper and attached to the watch-face within the first alphabet. This has no blank space, and so there are but twenty-six divisions as against twenty-seven in the outer ring. Two hands are attached which travel at different speeds when the handle is turned. Accordingly, each time the long hand is carried forward to the blank space at the end of a word, the short hand will have moved forward one division on the inner ring of letters. Then a word is chosen as a key, written down in separate letters and the remaining letters of the alphabet are written in order beneath it. I'll show you. Suppose, for example, we choose the word 'English,' thus." He took a pencil and scribbled for a moment upon the back of one of Dickson's photographs:
ENGLISHABCDFJKMOPQRTUVWXYZ.
ENGLISHABCDFJKMOPQRTUVWXYZ.
"Now, if you read these letters downwards, you get this arrangement:
EAMVNBOWGCPXLDQYIFRZSJTHKU.
EAMVNBOWGCPXLDQYIFRZSJTHKU.
"This cryptographic alphabet is written on the inner card of the instrument, beginning at a point previously agreed on. Then, when a despatch is to be translated into cipher, the long hand is moved to that letter in the outer alphabet, and the letter to which the short hand points in the inner ring is written down. I need not go on, but I am sure the principle will be clear to you. These machines are in use in our Secret Service. But what I should like to point out to you in regard to this example is that the alphabet hereis in German."
We all looked at each other in silence.
"That is conclusive proof," I said at length. "Of course, you will have Doctor Upjelly arrested directly he comes back."
"Andthank you!" said my brother. "So kind of you to put up your little turn, Johnny! Will you have a cigar or a cocoanut? My dear boy, if we had this man arrested, ten to one his tracks would be absolutely covered and we could prove nothing. Don't you see, what we want to do is to catch him in the act, to find out what he does and how he does it. No such rough and ready methods!"—his voice became very grave and stern.
"Quarter-deck!" I thought to myself.
"This has not got to be taken lightly," he went on. "I believe that fate has put my finger upon the very pulse of what has been puzzling the Admiralty for weeks. I honestly believe that here, in this lonely house, is hidden the intellect of the Master Spy of Germany. We are up against it. We must work in silence and in the dark. The slightest slip would be fatal. I cannot exaggerate the importance of this affair, nor," he concluded, looking keenly at Lockhart and myself, "nor the danger."
Little Lockhart's face positively brightened at this. "Danger!" he cried, as if someone had made him a present. "Then I shall be able to do something to help! We shall all be able to do something and——"
Lockhart started and broke off. At that moment, from behind Smith's classical dictionary and Liddell and Scott's Greek ditto there came a faint, muffled whirr.
"Good God, what's that?" said Lockhart.
"Oh, it's all right," I answered, and I expect I looked about as big an ass as I felt. "That is—er—a little contrivance of my own. By the way, you fellows must keep it absolutely dark."
To say that they watched me with interest is to put it mildly. I withdrew "Our House Telephone, Not a Toy, 27s.6d.net" from its hiding place. Doris was speaking. She knew that my brother had come and she was dying to meet him. Old Mrs. Gaunt was sleeping peacefully; in fact I fear, so prone are all of us to error, that Doris had administered just twice the amount of opiate that the doctor had prescribed.
Doris suggested that she and Marjorie should come at once to my room. They also suggested that we should dine there, with the connivance of a friendly housemaid. I told her to hold the line for a minute, and explained.
My brother's face lost all preoccupation. He was a naval officer, you will remember, and, though a distinguished one, was as young gentlemen in that Service usually are in both age and inclination.
"Can a duck swim?" said my brother.
"Well, I'll go," Lockhart remarked, with just a trace of his old bitterness.
"You sit where you are, old soul," I told him. "Bernard, both the girls are only stepdaughters of the Doctor, who, they have told me, did not treat their mother very well and who is a perfect tyrant to them. They're as true as steel; I can answer for them. They will be of tremendous help."
"Leave it all to me," he replied. "I am skipper of this from now onwards. You follow my lead."
A minute or two afterwards the girls came in. Doris, as I have already explained, was as pretty as Venus, Cleopatra, and Gertie Millar all in one, and she only beat Marjorie by a short head. All the other girls I've ever met were simply "also ran."
Marjorie's hair was black. She was a brunette with olive-coloured skin and green eyes, like very dark, clear emeralds. She was extraordinarily lovely. Indeed, all three of us had seriously considered starting a picture postcard firm, with the girls as models and I to manage it, so that Doris and I could get married and have Marjorie to live with us. Rather a good scheme, only it would have needed at least two hundred pounds capital, which we hadn't got! Doris had on her engagement ring, which she generally wore on a string round her neck, underneath her blouse. I had put thirty shillings each way on "Baby Mine" for the Grand National and it had come off—hence the ring.
"Let me introduce you to my fiancée, Miss Joyce," I said to Bernard.
He took her hand and bowed over it, looking out of the corner of his eyes at Marjorie.
Little Lockhart gasped. "Babe that I am!" he said, "blind mole! To think that I have lived in this house with young John Carey for so long, the house honeycombed with secret wires, and an illicit engagement in progress under my nose, and I knew nothing of it!"
"Well, you are not the only person, Mr. Lockhart," Marjorie said. "And now I am going to fetch up dinner. Cook is out for the evening. Amy is in the plot. We've got soup—only tinned, but quite nice; there's a round of cold beef; and we will make an omelette on John's fire."
"I'll come and help you carry the things," said my brother, and they left the room as friendly as if they had known each other for years.
"Well, what do you think of my brother?" I asked Doris. I'm afraid my arm was round her waist and I had forgotten Lockhart.
"I'm decidedly of the opinion," she said, "that Commander Carey knows more than enough to come indoors when it rains."
Lockhart here revealed qualities of an unsuspected nature—I had never really appreciated Lockhart until the night before.
"I happen to have, locked up in the cupboard of my sitting-room," he said, "a bottle of claret wine and a bottle of sherry wine. I will go and fetch them to grace this feast."
"You nasty, horrid villain, so you drink in secret, do you?" I remarked.
"Only Bovril, but please don't let it be known," was the reply, and then Doris and I were alone.
I have never been one of those people who kiss and tell, so I will pass over the next minute; but after some business of no importance, she put her hands on my shoulders and looked me straight in the face.
"John," she said, "there is something up!"
"What do you mean?"
"I don't exactly know, but there is something up. I can feel it—and something has happened, too, that I have got to tell you about. Before the Doctor left this morning, he told Marjorie that Mr. Jones had fallen in love with her and that she would have to marry him after the war was over, when he has straightened out his business affairs."
"Good Lord!" I said, "that thing? Why——"
"What have you got against him?" she asked quickly. "He's wealthy, the Doctor says, he has got good manners; of course, he's older than Marjorie, but he's not an old man. I thought you said you rather liked him?"
"I did say so, and I liked him better than ever after meeting him this morning. You know I had breakfast with the Doctor?"
"I know, and there is something up. Something to do with your brother—I am certain of it. But why do you object to Mr. Jones for Marjorie?"
"What does Marjorie say herself?"
"She told the Doctor"—the girls would never call the Doctor "Father"—"that if Mr. Jones had a million a minute and was the last man left on earth after a second flood, she would rather spend her life in the garden eating worms than marry him!"
"Marjorie's plenty of pluck," I answered, "and is obviously of romantic temperament. Anyone else in the wind?"
"Anyone else?" she said, with a bitter note in her voice, "whom do we ever see? We live as prisoners here, as you very well know, Johnny, and if it were not for you I should long ago have jumped into Thirty Main Creek and ended it all."
I held her close to me. "Dear," I said, "it will all come right, I am certain. Somehow or other, we shall be able to be married soon, and then you need never see Morstone or the Doctor any more."
"I love Morstone," she replied. "I love the lonely marshes and the bird-noises and the great red dawns and the sweet salt air, but"—she shuddered—"that fiend who married my poor dear mother and drove her to death, I would see burnt to-morrow without a pang of remorse. He has been worse lately, John, far worse. Mrs. Gaunt has been put to watch us like a spy. I can't tell whether he suspects anything about you and me. He may or may not. At any rate, there is something going on which frightens me. I've no doubt you will think me quite hysterical, quite foolish, and I feel it rather than know it, but I am frightened. Only this morning, the Doctor said things to dear Marjorie which were awful. He caught her by the arm and twisted it when she defied him, and his voice was so ugly and cruel, it seemed so inhuman, that I felt as if someone had put ice to the back of my neck. Oh, take me away soon, take Marjorie away too!"
She clung to me in a passion of appeal, and then and there I resolved that, come what might, we would marry and leave this ill-omened and mysterious place.
"What a long time they are!" Doris said after a moment or two, when I had soothed her. "Oh, here they come!"
But it wasn't, it was only Lockhart, who knocked at the door loudly and waited for several seconds before coming in with his contribution to the dinner.
"I'll run down and hurry them up, as there is no one about," I said.
"You'll do nothing of the sort!" she replied quickly. "Really, what a babe you are, John!"
I was just the least bit in the world offended, not seeing why I should not hurry up the truants, especially as I was extremely hungry again; but they came at last, carrying two piled trays of provisions. I had never seen Marjorie look prettier. Her eyes were brighter than ever, and she showed not the slightest trace of unhappiness. Obviously, she had quite forgotten the events of the morning.
I cannot tell you what fun the dinner was. The soup was top-hole—mock turtle, and one of Elizabeth Lazenby's finest efforts. Lockhart was a tremendous success as butler, and the "claret wine"—I should have thrown it at my scout's head at Oxford—tasted like "Château la Rose" at least.
Bernard and Marjorie made the omelette over my fire, while the rest of us sat waiting and Lockhart and I smoked a cigarette. Marjorie ordered my brother about most unmercifully. Suddenly, it was nearing a critical moment and both of them were crouching over the pan, I happened to turn my eyes in their direction. They were not looking at the omelette at all. They were looking at each other and their faces were almost solemn. Then it burst upon me and I fear I was indiscreet. I said aloud: "The very thing! Oh, my holy aunt, the very thing!"
They whipped round.
"What is?" Bernard asked.
"Why, the omelette, you blighter!" I replied, and kicked Doris under the table. She understood at once. Girls are so quick, aren't they?
When we had eaten the omelette and the round of cold beef had "ebbed some," as I once heard a Rhodes' Scholar say at Oxford, my brother rose, glass in hand.
"Mr. Vice," he said, "the King!"
I had dined in the wardroom with Bernard when he was on board theTerrific, and I knew what to do.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the King!" I said, and we drank that loyal toast in silence. Somehow it altered the mood of each individual. A gravity fell upon us, not sadness or boredom, but we stopped to think, as it were. Only two hundred miles away, over the marshes and over the sea, the great German battleships were waiting. Nearer than Penzance is to London, the armies of England at that moment were shivering in the trenches round Ostend. And in Morstone House School—what was there that hung undefined, but heavy and secret, like a miasma upon the air?
Then Bernard said: "Miss Joyce, I have taken the liberty to bring you a little present from London."
"'Doris,' please," she answered.
"Very well then, Doris. It is a bracelet, a little affair of turquoises and pearls, to commemorate our meeting and in the hope that you will always be a good girl and love your brother-in-law."
"Oh, Commander Carey!"
"'Bernard,' please!"
"Well then, Bernard, how sweet of you!"
Poor Doris, and Marjorie too, were not in the way of getting many presents. Upjelly saw to that!
My brother put his hand in his pocket, and then into another pocket, finally into a third. He hesitated, he stammered, and looked positively frightened. It was the first and last time I ever saw the old sport thoroughly done in.
"Damn!" he said, and then grew more embarrassed still. "I am the biggest fool in the Service. I remember now I left the case on my dressing-room table at the Morstone Arms."
Poor little Doris's face fell. She could not help it. But I had a bright idea.
"Oh, that's all right," I said. "There's a certain young imp of mine called Dickson max——"
"Dear boy!" Marjorie murmured, and my brother looked at her quickly.
"He's seventeen, and quite trustworthy," I went on. "He will be delighted to run and fetch it. Anything to be out of school at night!—and as I am headmaster of this East Anglian Eton, I can do as I like. I will ring for him."
Lockhart looked slightly upset, but I didn't care.
"But I thought," my brother remarked, "that this was somewhat in the nature of a—well, shall we say 'secure-from-observation' dinner party."
"Oh, Billy Dickson won't breathe a word," Marjorie said emphatically.
"Well, you command this ship," my brother said, "and it is up to you. Certainly I should like to send for the bracelet, and if you don't keep Whale Island discipline aboard, it's not my affair."
I rang for Dickson max. He arrived, knocked at the door, stepped in, and then his eyes grew very round indeed, but he said not a word. I told him what was wanted and asked him if he would go.
"Rather, sir," he said, "I would be only too delighted."
I gave him the key of the masters' door.
"It's a bitter cold night," my brother put in, "supposing you take my coat and this shooting hat. It'll keep you as warm as toast."
Of course Dickson max. would have scorned the idea of an overcoat under ordinary circumstances, though Bernard didn't know that. But the opportunity of wearing the ulster of a Wing-Commander of Submarines, who had been wounded off Heligoland, was too much for the youthful mind. He flushed with pleasure, and I won't swear that, as he went out into the passage, he didn't salute.
I went downstairs with him, helped him on with the big coat—he was the same height as Bernard and much the same figure—and pressed the heather-mixture shooting hat on his head.
"Now scoot as hard as you can go," I told him, opening the door, and he was gone like a flash into the dark night.
When I got back there was a curious silence. Somehow or other we none of us seemed to know what to say. I can't account for it, but there it was. It was then that my brother came in and I found a side of him I had only suspected but never seen before.
Leaning forward in his chair, he began to talk very quietly, but with great earnestness. I saw what he was up to. He was leading the conversation very near home indeed. It was astonishing how he dominated us all, how we hung on his words and how the sense of sinister surroundings grew and grew as he spoke.
It was the girls who responded. The skill with which he introduced the subject was enormous, but they were marvellously "quick in the uptake." It was Marjorie who leant forward, her great eyes flashing and her lips compressed to a thin line of scarlet.
"Commander Carey," she said, "don't think that I or my sister are entirely ignorant that there is something very wrong about this place. You have turned our thoughts into a new channel."
She was wearing a blouse with loose sleeves, ending in some filmy lace. Suddenly, with her right hand, she pulled up the left-arm sleeve. There were three dark purple marks upon her white arm.
"That was this morning," she said, nodding once or twice. "And now speak out, if you have anything to tell us, about the man who killed my mother as surely as if he did it with a gun, and who has done his best to ruin the lives of my sister and myself. Speak without fear!"
Then Bernard, in crisp, low sentences, told the girls and Lockhart exactly what he believed. The wind howled outside and hissing drops of rain fell upon the window-pane. The fire crackled on the hearth, the smoke of our cigarettes rose in grey spirals in the pleasant, lamp-lit room. It was a strange night, how fraught with consequences to England, the two beautiful girls, the little cripple, the third-rate schoolmaster, and even the young naval officer himself, did not know!
"It has long been suspected," my brother concluded, and his voice sank almost to a whisper, "that one master-mind has been behind all the German espionage, both before and during the war. There is in existence, our Intelligence Department has had indubitable evidence of it, a King of Spies, so subtle of brain, so fertile in resource, that, even now, we cannot find him. We do not know for certain, but it is rumoured that this man's real name is Graf Botho von Vedal, though what name he passes under now none can say."
Doris's eyes clouded. She seemed as if she was making an effort of memory.
"Was he once 'Wirklicher Geheimrat'—Privy Councillor to the German Emperor?" she asked.
Bernard stared at her. "So I am told," he said. "What do you know about him?"
"I can't tell you," she answered with a dazed look upon her face—"some childish memory. The name was familiar. My sister and I speak German as well as we speak English, you know."
"If I could put my finger upon that man," my brother continued, "then one of the gravest perils to which England lies open at the moment would be removed."
"Where is he?" Lockhart asked, speaking like a man in a dream.
We all looked at each other, and there was dawning consciousness and horror in every eye.
"Yes," came from my brother at length, and as he spoke he withdrew one of Dickson's little photographs from his pocket—I hadn't seen him put it there—"and also, what is Admiral Kiderlen-Waechter doing in England?"
We all knew that name. The papers had been full of it at the beginning of the war. Kiderlen-Waechter was the chief of the German Submarine Flotillas. It was owing to his ingenuity and resource that ship after ship of our gallant Navy had been torpedoed, even in the Straits of Dover themselves.
"What do you mean?" I gasped.
"What I say, John. For, unless I am much mistaken—of course, I may easily be mistaken—the gentleman who drove away with Doctor Upjelly to London this morning is that very man."
"Mr. Jones?" Marjorie cried. "The man the Doctor swore that I must marry when the war is over?"
Bernard's eyes blazed. "What?" he said quickly, "I heard nothing of that!"
The two were looking at each other very strangely when there was a knock at the door. It opened and Dickson max. came in.
He went up to my brother and put down a little case of red morocco by his side.
"There you are, sir," he said.
I looked up sharply. There was something unusual in the lad's voice. He caught hold of the back of Lockhart's chair and swayed as he stood. Then we saw that beneath the upturned collar of the overcoat one cheek was all red and bleeding. There was a line across it like the cut from a knife.
"What on earth is the matter?" I cried, in great alarm.
"Oh nothing, sir," he answered, "only as I was coming through the Sea Wood—I took the shorter way—I thought I heard someone behind me. I turned round, and just as I did so there was a noise like a banjo string, and something went past my head singing like a wasp. Then I found my cheek all cut."
"What did you do? Who was it?"
"I plunged into the bushes, sir, but could not find anyone. Then I pulled out my electric torch, and, sticking in the trunk of a tree, I found this."
The boy unbuttoned his coat and held out a long, slim shaft. It was an arrow, such as is used in archery competitions, but the edge had been filed sharp.
"Some silly blighter trying to frighten me," said Dickson max., and then, with a little sob, he fell in a faint upon the floor.
I bent over him and forced some wine between his lips. Bernard looked round the room with a set, stern face.
"They are not losing any time," he said quietly. "You see, they know that I am here, already."
Note.—For convenience sake I end the first portion of this narrative at this point. It divides itself into three parts quite naturally, as I think my readers will agree when they have read it all. At any rate, on this night was formed that oddly assorted, but famous, companionship which led to such great results. We swore no oaths, we made no protestations. There was no need for that.
Note.—For convenience sake I end the first portion of this narrative at this point. It divides itself into three parts quite naturally, as I think my readers will agree when they have read it all. At any rate, on this night was formed that oddly assorted, but famous, companionship which led to such great results. We swore no oaths, we made no protestations. There was no need for that.
Doctor Upjelly returned on the afternoon of the third day after he left for London. Directly I heard his trap drive away and knew that he was in his study, I went into his house and knocked at the door.
"I have very grave news to tell you, Doctor," I said.
He started. I distinctly saw him start and he flashed a quick look at me. One might almost have thought that he was frightened, but he swallowed something in his throat and his voice was calm and cold as ever when he answered.
"And what is that, Mr. Carey?"
"I am sorry, I am very sorry, to say that Dickson max. has run away."
There was a momentary silence. I could almost have sworn it was one of relief on the big man's part.
"What do you mean, Mr. Carey? Ran away from school?"
"Yes. He got out of his window on the very night you went. We did not discover it until the next morning. We scoured the country round, thinking it was merely a mischievous escapade, but found no traces of him. I then thought it my duty to acquaint his father at once, so I went to Norwich on my bicycle during the afternoon of the day after the discovery. To my immense surprise, I found the boy there. He had walked to Heacham station and taken the train. He stated that he was tired of school and it was his intention to enlist. His father seemed to concur in the view after we had had a long talk together. Of course, I endeavoured to get the boy back, for the sake of the school, but it was useless. Mr. Dickson seems a weak sort of man, and he says that he is going to do his best to get an equipment and pay what is necessary for Dickson to join the Public Schools Corps."
The Doctor, who was sitting down, his hand clutching a little brown travelling-bag on the table near him, did his best to show some concern. It was poorly done, however, and I could see that he did not care a rap one way or the other.
"I hope you don't blame me, sir?" I said, "but I could not have foreseen anything of the sort. It has never happened before."
"No, no. Not in the least, Mr. Carey. I am sure you acted most promptly and wisely in going at once to the boy's father. And his brother?"
"His brother is still here and steadfastly refuses to say anything about the affair. As far as I have been able to find out, he was quite in ignorance of his brother's intentions."
"Well, well. Of course, I am sorry to lose the boy, but I like his spirit," said Doctor Upjelly, without a gleam in his eyes or any warmth in his voice. "After all, perhaps he will be better employed in defending his country than in learning Latin grammar here—have a cigar, Mr. Carey."
He handed me his case, a most unusual proceeding.
"And how is your brother?" he said. "I trust he is benefiting by our pure air and that you have already been able to show him some sport."
I shook my head. "There is another strange thing I have got to tell you, Doctor," I replied, pretending to be busy with the lighting of my cigar, though I took very good care to watch his face reflected in the mirror over the mantelpiece. What I saw was significant. Now, indeed, the little black eyes gleamed for an instant, and the big, cruel mouth twitched—once. I felt, as surely as if I had been told, that Upjelly knew something of what had happened on the night of his departure.
"Yes," I said, "a most unfortunate affair! My brother was coming up to see me at the school during preparation and I had previously directed him to follow the short cut through the Sea Wood. It was quite dark, and as he was coming along, finding his way as well as he could, a most unprovoked attack was made upon him."
"An attack, Mr. Carey? You surprise me! Who could attack anyone on our marshes?"
"That is just what I cannot understand. He says he heard a sort of twanging noise, unlike anything he had ever heard before. Then something struck him on the cheek, cutting it deeply. He shouted and ran about in the dark, but could hear no sound, nor could he find anyone. He arrived at the school with a bad cut on his face, bleeding profusely. I bandaged it up as well as I could, gave him a little whisky-and-water, and then accompanied him home, taking my ten-bore with me, though we went by the road. Nothing happened, and the thing is a complete mystery. My brother is, of course, not in a very good state of health after his wound. He is confined to the inn, and will be so for some days, so I fear he will get very little shooting at present. He's afraid of the cold getting into his cheek."
"Dear me, dear me, what an extraordinary occurrence! Confined to the inn, you say?"
"For at least another week, if he is wise."
I could have sworn the great, fat face wrinkled with relief, and after we had discussed the incident for some little time, the Doctor advancing all sorts of ingenious theories, I turned to leave. Just as I was going, he asked me if I were going to shoot that night. I said that I should very much like to, as the geese were working well and there were reports of many widgeon about. Still, I thought it my duty to be with my brother; so that, after preparation, I was going down to the inn and should stay there for some time.
"Quite so, quite so," Upjelly replied. "I am sorry for both of you in losing your sport; but certainly you ought to be with your brother."
"I thought of staying till late, if you don't mind," I said. "He is rather feverish."
He swallowed the bait like a fat trout. "All night, if you wish," he said, "all night. You will certainly not be wanted here. Yes! A good idea! Why don't you get Mrs. Wordingham to put you up a bed?"
"If you really think I can be spared?"
"My dear Carey, on an occasion of this sort it is a pleasure for me to dispense with your services—not that they will be wanted in any way, for I don't suppose any more of my young ruffians are likely to run away to enlist."
"Then thank you very much; that is what I will do."
"Yes, by all means. And, for my part, I think I shall go out and try my luck. I must see if I can't shoot for both of you and bring back a goose or two."
Then I went away.
Lockhart and I had tea with the boys as usual. There was an air of suppressed excitement in the dining-hall. The exploit of Dickson max. had fired the imagination of everyone, though possibly a keener observer than was among his companions might have detected a suppressed and unholy joy in Dickson major, which was not entirely due to his brother's escapade. I had always thought that a weak spot in our plan. If the Doctor had known anything at all about the characters of his pupils, he would have realised that where Dickson max. went, Dickson major went too. Fortunately the Doctor did not.
At half-past eight I dressed in fowling kit, a grey sweater, a coat of nondescript colour, grey flannel trousers, and great thigh boots for the marsh. My headgear was an old, dun-coloured shooting hat, the lining of which could be pulled down to make a mask for the face, with two holes to see through; for it is essential to the wild-fowler to wear nothing too light or too dark, to show no glimpse of a pink face, because the wild goose, as even the greatest big-game hunters of the day allow, is the wariest of all created things. Then I took my heavy ten-bore, with its dulled barrels and oxydised furniture, slipped my three-inch brass "perfects" loaded with B.B. into my pockets, and telephoned to Doris.
It was all right. The Doctor was in his own room having supper, and Marjorie was with him. It was impossible that he could see me leave in fowling kit, and in a moment more I had wished my dear girl good-night and was out in the dark.
The wind cried in the chimneys of the old house with a strange and wailing note. The moon was not yet up, and the far-distant sea drummed like an army. As I turned towards the Sea Wood, some great night-bird passed overhead with an eerie cry, like a man in pain.
For myself, my heart was beating rapidly, my teeth were set and I felt nothing of the cold. To-night, if ever, we were to discover the secret of the marshes. My brother had taken the helm of the ship, and his decks were cleared for action. His foresight and resource were admirable. Nothing escaped him, and we were meeting the dark plot with another which allowed nothing to chance. This is what had happened.
We patched up Dickson max. as well as we could—the cut was not deep—and then my brother took him into Lockhart's room. What he said to the lad I did not know, even now I do not know, but they came back with the boy's eyes sparkling. He walked like a man—in those ten minutes something had transformed him from a laughing schoolboy into a different being. We took him at once to the Morstone Arms, and there my brother spent a long time with Sam Wordingham and his wife. They were as true as steel, this worthy couple. They were not told everything, but it was explained to them that this was "Government business" of the highest importance, and that in the King's name they must aid Bernard in every possible way.
It did me good to see Sam's nut-brown face hardening into resolve, and the excitement in his eyes. Dickson was put to bed in an attic of the rambling old inn and the door was locked.
Before it was light that morning my brother stole out, walked five miles in the opposite direction to Blankington-on-Sea, caught the fish train from a village in the neighbourhood of Cromer, and was in London at the Admiralty by mid-day. He returned in a fast motor car that night. The car was housed in the garage of the Lieutenant of Coastguards at Cockthorpe, four miles away. It was to be ready for any emergency, and by eleven o'clock my brother was back at the Morstone Arms.
On the morning of that day, I indeed went to Norwich on my snorter. She seemed to rise to the occasion, for she did the forty miles to Norwich in two hours and without any mishap. I interviewed the Rev. Harold Dickson and swore him to secrecy, and I never saw a parson more delighted. His sons were true chips of the old block, and after lunch at the "Maiden's Head" the clergyman almost cursed his age and cloth that he was not also available for the service of his country.
Finally, and this provision of my brother was extraordinarily wise, as it afterwards appeared—though he could have had no idea of what we were to discover at that moment—three of the crew of his own submarine, all recovering from wounds, but all taught and handy men, were, even now, upon their way from Harwich to lodge unobtrusively at the coastguard station at Cockthorpe, where they could await Bernard's orders.
I went through the Sea Wood, towards the inn. This was a place that had been planted to shelter the cultivated fields behind from the keen marsh winds. As one advanced into it from the coast side, the furze, among which innumerable rabbits played, gave way to elders and other hardy shrubs. It was about a quarter of a mile long and not more than two hundred yards in breadth. The timber was all stunted and bushy, the undergrowth was rank and thick. The trees led a life of conflict; they were accustomed to swing there all night long in fierce winter tempests; it was a remote and savage place, where even the pheasants of Lord Blankington hardly ever came.
I pressed through the narrow path until I came to a little open space, a cup or hollow through which a sluggish stream wound its way on to the marsh. Here, the bushes were thicker than ever and the stream widened into a pool covered with innumerable water-hen that made cheeping noises in the night. It was covered with them as I came up noiselessly; one could see the little black dots upon the livid, leaden expanse.
I sat down, looked at my watch—I had a fowlers' watch with what is called the "radium dial" that showed the time in any darkness—and found it was just half-past nine. Waiting till a gust of wind had died away, I whistled the first three bars of "It's a long way to Tipperary." There was no response and I whistled again. The last note had hardly shivered away when I felt a hand upon my shoulder and I jumped like a shot man.
"It's only me, sir," sounded in my ear with a triumphant chuckle; "I stalked you pretty well, didn't I, sir?"
"You young devil!" I replied, "you nearly frightened me out of my life!"
"I thought I would try and see what I could do, sir," said Dickson max.
He was in a black suit. I fear it was his Sunday-best. He wore no collar and his face and hands were covered with burnt cork—a grimy, sooty apparition the young imp looked, but, nevertheless, one couldn't have seen him a yard away.
"You've done very well," I said. "Stick to it. The Doctor isn't such a marshman as I am, and if you come up to him like that—well, you won't have a difficult task. You know where I and my brother will be?"
"Yes, sir," he whispered—"in the gun-pit at the head of Garstrike."
"Right you are. Now out along as quickly as possible and bring us news by midnight if you can."
"I am going to lie in the rhododendrons in the Doctor's garden," he said. "He's sure to come out by his private door, and I'll follow him to Heligoland if necessary."
I gave him a pat on the back, and as I looked round he had already melted noiselessly into the dark and I was alone.
In the inn I found my brother. The kitchen was full of labourers drinking their last pint before closing hour at ten. In the private bar old Pugmire was babbling over his gin, but in the sitting-room beyond, with curtains drawn, Bernard was all ready for the enterprise, dressed just as I was.
"Well?" he asked.
"It's all serene. I've met Dickson and he is watching the Doctor now. In about three-quarters of an hour the inn will be closed and all the men gone home. Then we can set out."
Mrs. Wordingham came in with two bottles of that famous strong ale which is kept for twenty years and which is the best antidote against the cold of the marshes known to the wild-fowler—only an amateur takes spirits upon the saltings.
We drank it in silence.
"I don't know what is going to turn up to-night," said Bernard. "I trust to your knowledge of the marshes implicitly. But remember this, old soul, it is not a lark of any sort. We shall be in the gravest danger. I cannot exaggerate the importance of what we are doing. The Admiralty itself is waiting for news. I am not dramatic in any way, Heaven knows! but I'll let myself go for a minute. I believe, John, that it may well be that we two, and the others who are helping us, hold the destinies of England in our hands. God grant that we shall be successful!"
"I think we shall."
"I believe we are on the right track. But there is one thing I want to say. Supposing, just supposing, that one of us does not come back to-night, and assuming it is me"—here Bernard hesitated and looked at me rather ferociously.
"Well?"
"Well, just give this to Miss Marjorie Joyce, will you?" He pulled a signet-ring from his little finger, a ring that had been our governor's.
I told him to keep his hair on and that I would.
At a quarter past ten we slipped out of the big door of the inn, skirted the Sea Wood without entering it, and went down upon the foreshore. It is necessary that I should give you some idea of the famous Morstone marshes, and to the description I will add a rough-drawn map which will help to make things clear.[1]
If you look at the map of England, you will see Wells marked at the top right-hand corner of the Wash. Then comes a long, blank space till you get to Sheringham and finally to Cromer. Blankington-on-Sea was the next town to Wells on the west. Then five miles east of it comes Morstone. So much for our geographical position.
Looking north, there was nothing between us and Iceland; looking a little north-east, we were only three hundred miles from Cuxhaven, about three hundred and twenty miles to Heligoland, and nothing like that to the Frisian Islands just below the mouth of the Kiel Canal. So much for that, and now to be more local.
From the foreshore, it was about a mile and a half over the marshes to the sea at low tide. At ordinary high tide it was about a mile. With spring tides and a rare off-sea wind blowing due north, the marshes were covered right up to the foreshore. This happened about twice in the year, and then they were only covered for a depth of about five or six feet, if that. The foreshore, as it is called, is a somewhat misleading term. It did not in the least resemble what one generally associates with the word. It was simply a grassy bank covered with furze bushes and with a grass road going right along it. The coarse grass sloped down till the mud was met. Now this mud was a sort of turfy peat on the surface, covered with marrum grass. One could walk on it with perfect safety, it was as hard as an ordinary field, but it was everywhere intersected with creeks of varying depth. Some of these were little runnels a foot deep, some of them had steep sides of ten or twelve feet and were crossed by narrow planks in permanent position. The sides were of mud as black as a truffle—I have really no other simile which so exactly fits the case—and at the bottom was two or three feet of water covering softer and more dangerous mud.
At high tide these deeper creeks had seven or eight feet of water in them. Then, at various points upon the marsh, were creeks which were really like tidal rivers, only that they ended at the foreshore, as a railway line ends at a terminus. These were huge trenches, wider than the widest canal, some of them seventy or eighty yards across. The walls of mud were precipitous, twenty and even thirty feet high. The largest of these had many feet of water in them at all states of the ebb and flow, but when the tide was full they were almost brimming and could have floated a fair-sized ship.
Anything more utterly desolate and forlorn, even on a bright, sunlit day, than these sullen, winding waterways, so far from the habitations of man, can hardly be conceived. They were the haunt of innumerable fowl. Herons stood on the brink and transfixed flat-fish with their long, spear-like beaks. The wild duck gathered in the little bays and estuaries formed by their convolutions. The red-shank and the green-shank whistled over them at all hours.
The two largest creeks of all were known as Garstrike and Thirty Main. It was from the heads of these waters that the gun-punts started on their dangerous nightly mission, following this or that creek in and out, wherever there was water. Garstrike had always ten feet of water in it at low tide, but Thirty Main was the largest by far. It stretched straight away from the sea to the foreshore. There was always at least thirty feet of water in its black, evil-looking depths. At high tide, sixty would have been nearer the mark. It wound among the marsh, the centre of endless smaller creeks which ran into it, the great ganglion of the whole system of nerves.
It was the study of months to know the marsh. Death had come to many fowlers there who did not know its complexities and who omitted to carry an illuminated compass for night work. Many men had been cut off on an island of mud covered with the purple sea-thistles, the bronze-green marrum grass, and the rank vegetation of the saltings. And some had been waiting in a minor creek when the tide came fast and swift through all the intricate waterways, who were unable to climb the steep sides of slippery mud, and so met their fate.
We crossed the foreshore in a minute and a half and came down upon the mud. The frozen grass crackled under our boots like little rods of glass. The shallow pools were all frozen over as we made our way round the curving shore of Garstrike.
We were on the right bank, and here and there we had to go along some of the smaller creeks that flowed into it. It is no joke to walk over a twelve-inch plank in the pitch dark with a ten-foot ditch of mud and water below. As an old marshman, I was used to it, though I had known many new-comers give these bridges a miss at the first start off. But Bernard skipped over like a bird, and after a quarter of a mile or more of slow progress, aided by my illuminated compass and a faint, ghostly light from the rising moon, we got to the gun-pit marked upon the map.
Immediately to our left was a low punt-house dug into the steep mud-bank of Garstrike and entered at the shore end by a rough ladder. The pit was five feet deep; there was a rough board for a seat and there was about a foot of water in the bottom—rain-water, which had fallen during the last few days. This, however, was nothing, and we scrambled in and sat down.
I had taken my ten-bore to the Morstone Arms, but Bernard had told me to leave it there. He had given me a heavy Service pistol, which fired ten shots in as many seconds, together with an extra clip of cartridges for the magazine. He had another in the pocket of his coat.
So we sat and waited. Bent on more pleasant business, we should have had our guns ready in our hands, waiting for the sound of birds flighting overhead as the moon rose, coming from the sand-banks out at sea inland to the stubbles. But now our ears were tuned to a different music, and I am not ashamed to say that I heard some artery within me beating like a drum.
It was a solemn hour and strange indeed was the business we were upon. The whole marsh was alive with voices. There was the long, hushed roar of the sea, the fifing of the wind, and then the countless cries of the night-birds. A great heron flapped away somewhere over Thirty Main, with its hoarse "frank, frank"; there was a rustling whistle far overhead as a company of widgeon flashed by at thirty miles an hour; a paddle of duck were quacking somewhere on the other side of the creek; and then, faint at first, but growing nearer and nearer, came that sound which, to the wild-fowler, is the finest in the world and which many and many a man and woman has said to be the strangest sound in nature.
The wild geese were coming. I can never think of that sound without a tightening of the muscles, almost a lump in the throat. It is like a vast pack of ghostly hounds up in the sky, which cuts into the night like nothing else can do, and instinctively I felt for my gun. But it was not to be that night. They passed over us not more than eighty yards high—well within the range of a heavy gun—and the noise was deafening in our ears as the great wedge-shaped formation sped by.
"By Jove, that's good!" I heard Bernard whisper.
It was the one chance of the night. No more geese worked our way, and for an hour we sat motionless, growing colder and colder, but patient still.
Then, at last, there was a low whistle and a crouching figure appeared on the edge of the pit.
"I've followed him, sir. He came out of the school with his gun and went straight on to the foreshore. He walked for nearly a mile towards Cockthorpe. I crouched behind the furze bushes and he never saw me. He was walking very fast. He passed the head of Thirty Main and then went down on to the mud, following the bank until he came to the Hulk. The bridge was out and he went on board. Then he pulled it up—and there he is now. I saw a light struck and a candle lit from one of the windows in the side. Then something was pulled over it, and I came away here as fast as I could."
"The Hulk!" I said. "Of course, I might have thought of that before!"
"What is it?" Bernard asked.
"It is the hulk of an old coaster of about eighty tons. It is permanently moored in Thirty Main Creek. Upjelly bought it for twenty pounds some two years ago and has had it fitted up. In the summer he sometimes camps out there. In the winter he uses it as a base for shooting on the marshes. There are three or four on the saltings between Wells and Cromer."
"Then we must go there at once. How can we approach it?"
"It is moored some three yards from the shore—there is deep water right up to the banks on either side of Thirty Main Creek. It's reached by a light bridge and a handrail, which anyone on board can pull up after him by means of a derrick on the stem of the old main-mast. If we were to approach over the mud, we should hear nothing, but we can go by water and get to the far side. Wordingham's punt is ready in the house close by. It will take us half an hour poling up to Garstrike and then back again down the long, winding creek of Morstone Miel. That brings us out into Thirty Main Creek—which we can cross and hug the opposite side. The Hulk lies in a little bay. When we get nearly there, we shall have to paddle, just as we 'set to birds.' We shan't make a sound, and we ought to hear something or see something if there is anything to be seen or heard."
"You'll let me come with you, sir?" Dickson asked eagerly.
I shook my head. "It's a two-handed punt," I said, "and there's no room for anybody else—you ought to know what a fowling punt is by this time. It's dangerous enough for two experts. No, Dickson, you've done very well indeed and I'm proud of you. You must cut home now as quietly as possible and go to bed at the Morstone Arms. Whatever you do, don't show your face at the window in the morning. I'll come and tell you everything."
I could see the boy was very disappointed, but a word from Bernard comforted him.
"You're a first-class scout, Dickson," he said; "I wish I had you on board my ship. If you obey orders as you have been doing and anything comes of this business, I'm not at all sure that I can't promise you a billet."
If Dickson flushed under his burnt cork, I did not see it, but his voice was tremulous with joy. There was no mistake about it this time. He saluted, and in a moment more was gone.
"Now," I said, "come along. You don't understand punt work, do you, Bernard?"
"No," he said, "only shore shooting. I've been in some queer craft in my time, but here 'you 'ave me,' as the cabman said. You must be skipper of this cruise!"
We hurried over the few yards separating the pit from the punt-shed. I went down the ladder first and unlocked the door. We found ourselves in a long, narrow shed with a little landing-stage along one side and some lockers above it fixed to the wall. In the middle lay the punt, painted a dull green-khaki over its mahogany, almost invisible at night. The big gun stretched out far over the bows; everything was ship-shape and in order, for Wordingham was a tidy man, and this punt, which with its gun had cost a hundred and fifty pounds, had been given him by a wealthy fowler, an officer in the Guards, who loved to come down in peace time for a week on the waterways of East Anglia.
"Now," I said, "be careful. You get forrard and lie down on your stomach. Yes, that's it; brace yourself against the recoil piece of the gun. Lie as if you were going to fire it when we come within shot of birds on the water. That'll trim the boat. I'll punt until we get near. Then I'll in-pole and paddle. Remember you mustn't move and you mustn't make a sound."
We glided out on to the black water of Garstrike Creek. The banks sheltered us somewhat from the wind, but it was nearly high tide and every now and again a freshet sent waves lapping against the low sides of the punt; and occasionally a cupful of water or a lash of spray came over. My brother told me, long afterwards, that it was one of the strangest experiences of his life, and I suppose that the first night in a punt must indeed be that to the tyro. To me, it was ordinary enough, but my blood ran fast and free as I realised that we were out for bigger game than geese or duck to-night.
Our progress will be seen by the dotted line upon the map. We went up Garstrike, keeping close to the right bank. Then, quite suddenly, the smaller miel opened out. We made a sharp turn, and now the banks were scarcely more than two yards from us on either side, while punting was easier owing to the shallow water. At low tide, it would have been almost impossible to go from Garstrike to Thirty Main. We followed the sinuous turnings of the small creek for some twenty minutes, in and out between the black walls, like people walking in some dark alley. Then Miel Creek opened out and we shot on to the broad waters of Thirty Main.
Here we were on what seemed a wide river. There was an immediate sense of space and freedom and the sea became more choppy. Punting was impossible. I knelt down and with infinite caution stretched myself upon my stomach, my head between my brother's legs. Then I got out the paddles, which were small implements held in the hand, in shape resembling nothing quite so much as a pair of large butter pats, or shall I say a couple of ladies' hand-mirrors. With my arms over the side, I gradually propelled the punt round the curve where, in a little bay, the Hulk was lying. It is thus one approaches the "paddle" of duck or geese upon the water for the last hundred and fifty yards. Progress is by inches. The long grey punt steals noiselessly towards its quarry until the supreme moment when the gunner pulls the lanyard, the pound and a half of shot speeds upon its mission, and the punt rears like a horse.
But there was to be no roar or concussion to-night.
The moon was now high, though it was obscured by driving clouds. There was only a faint and phosphorescent radiance. This was all the better for our purpose, and anyone upon the look-out could hardly have distinguished the grey thing creeping towards the Hulk with such infinite slowness.
We drew nearer and nearer. Thirty yards ... twenty ... ten. Then I stopped paddling. It was full high tide, absolutely dead; that moment when flow and ebb alike are suspended.
We came alongside the high walls of the old ship without a sound, our hands fending the punt from its curved, barnacle-studded timbers. Long swathes of green weed hung from the sternpost as we edged our way round to the port side.
Now I had never visited the Doctor's Hulk. When I first went to Morstone I thought it strange that he did not ask me, but he had never done so and the matter passed from my mind. I knew nothing, certainly, of its internal arrangements. At the same time, I had been over a similar hulk moored off Wells-next-to-Sea, which belonged to a wealthy maltster there, and I knew that the same carpenter had fitted up both boats. From what I remember, there was a cabin built out on deck with a glass roof, while the hold below had been fitted up partly as a winter smoking-room and dining-room, partly as berths for sportsmen who wished to sleep after their toil.
I was quite right. The old portholes of the boat had all been done away with, but a large square window, some four feet above our heads, bulged in the side of the Hulk. No light could be seen, but the top of the window was open, and, even as we glided up, a whiff of cigar smoke came out and we heard the murmur of voices.
The murmur of voices! The Doctor was not alone upon the old coaster. Something was brewing within its sea-worn timbers. We were nearing the heart of the mystery at last!
Instinctively, we both stood up. The punt rocked perilously, but we steadied it by holding on to the lower part of the window. Once, it nearly slipped away from beneath our feet and my brother crouched down again and caught at a great clump of barnacles, motioning me to listen.
For a moment or two I could hear nothing but a guarded rumble—it was like voices heard by chance through a telephone. Then the wind happened to drop and they became quite clear.
I started with surprise, for, though I could see nothing, I was certain that there were three people on board the Hulk. Upjelly's cool, incisive tones struck immediately upon the drum of the ear. Then came another voice, a hoarse, rough voice which I did not know; and finally a third that I did.
It was the voice of Mr. Jones, and I bent down and whispered to my brother.
Then, as I rose again and listened with my very soul, I shivered with disappointment.
The people within were speaking in a language I did not understand—save only a very few words. They were speaking in German!
It seemed that Upjelly was giving instructions of some sort or other. His voice had a ring of command in it that I had never heard before. It was like a hammer on an anvil, and unless I was much mistaken, it vibrated with excitement.
The answers came quickly enough.
"Ja, gnädiger Herr," or, "Gewisz, das hab' ich gleich gethan."
That presented no difficulties whatever. Upjelly was speaking to someone, obviously an inferior, who replied, "Yes, sir," or, "Certainly, I have already done it."
Then Jones cut in, and here again I noticed an entire change in the quality of the man's voice. It was not Jones speaking now, it was the renowned Kiderlen-Waechter, of whom my brother had spoken three nights ago, or I would have eaten my hat. There was no mistaking the keen, arrogant note of command. The bland Mr. Jones never spoke like that, though the voice was the same. Then I distinctly heard the sound of a door either being shut or sliding in its grooves. There was the splutter of a match, the sound of a gurgling syphon, and, to my intense relief, Doctor Upjelly and his unseen companion began to speak in English.
"No, it's impossible. I have, in my safe at the school, all the plans. Our secret service on this coast has been working untiringly. For three days at least, after to-morrow night, the plans will hold good. In them is the station of every patrolling ship, full maps of this part of the coast, the disposition of forces—everything necessary for the Admiral. The tide to-morrow night will be even higher than it is now. The moon is waning; weather conditions point to a dark, tempestuous night to-morrow. She will come and take you away with the plans."
"Which I shall deliver to the Admiral within twenty-four hours, for the rendezvous is arranged, and I shall meet him in the middle of the North Sea."
"I shall be sorry to lose you, Admiral Kiderlen-Waechter."
"It will only be for a time. I shall soon return—as you know."
There was a sound of laughter, low, guttural, and strong.
"And what will you do, von Vedal?"
"To-morrow night I shall be with you, as you know, and see you go. Then I shall take my stepdaughter to London, to the house you know of, where I shall await you. The issue will not be long and you can claim your reward. I shall leave the school, ostensibly for a day or two, but it will never see me again, as you can understand. Fritz has put that meddling Commander Careyhors de combat—the arrow was a clever idea and no one suspects. As a matter of fact, I don't suppose for a moment that his visit was anything but just what it appeared to be—for purposes of rest and a little sport and to see his brother.Gott im Himmel, what fools these people are! Now, take for example that brawny young donkey, Mr. John Carey, my assistant-master. He fancies himself in love with my elder stepdaughter, Doris."
"And he may well be so, for she is a beautiful and charming young lady. Would I not do anything in the world for her sister?"
"Oh well, yes; I forgot, von Waechter. Love is not an event that has occurred to me. But this young Carey has actually rigged up a telephone between his room and Doris's. It is the most transparent device. I knew all about it twenty-four hours after it was done. I shall leave Doris behind at the school, and if this young lout cares to marry her and become headmaster of Morstone College, I'm sure he is very welcome—that is, provided there is any Morstone College left in three days from now."
"I will see to that. I rather like that boy, and a detachment of our marines shall guard the place and keep it from harm. That is all, I think."
"That is all."
"What time is it?"
"It's one o'clock—a little too early to go home. We must go upon the marshes and fire a few shots. I have already three duck to carry home as the result of our labours. But let us have another cigar and wait for twenty minutes."
Again there was the striking of a match.
"Fritz will be all right, I suppose?" said Waechter.
"He will be perfectly all right. Not a soul suspects that there is anyone on board this Hulk, and he's well hidden in the fo'c'sle. A faithful fellow that!"
"You would say so if you had seen him as I have! He is the cleverest engineer in the whole of our Submarine Service, cunning as one of your own wild geese, and absolutely to be depended upon—unless ..."
"Unless?"
"Well, I'm a good judge of men, and we must take people as we find them. Chief-officer Fritz Schweitzer is a perfect spy and a first-class officer of submarines. Awash or under the surface, he knows no fear. But a little, able-bodied seaman, six weeks ago at Kiel, gave him a thrashing in a Bierhalle till he wept. One thing we must remember to-morrow—everything must be said in German. I like to talk English, as you know. It pleases me to be taken for a sedentary city gentleman, it's my little vanity, von Vedal, but, for safety's sake, to-morrow night, when She comes ..."
"Quite so. Have you finished your cigar? Then let us go up on deck and see what the night is like."
There was a slight grating sound and an almost imperceptible swish as the gun-punt swung away from the side of the Hulk, swept round the miniature headland and raced for the mouth of the Miel Creek.