[1]See Frontispiece.
[1]See Frontispiece.
It was five o'clock, low tide in the marsh creeks, and snow was falling lightly.
At high tide, the Doctor's Hulk rose considerablyabovethe bank of Thirty Main Creek. It was three yards from the solid mud of the salting, and when the bridge was dropped one went up an incline to reach the deck.
Now it was low tide. The deck of the hulk was a good five feet below the margin where I stood with my brother. It was still only three yards away—nine feet—nothing to a very moderate athlete.
By four o'clock the evening had come. By five it was dark as midnight. Bernard turned behind us to where two people were waiting.
"You quite understand?" he said in a low voice.
I did not turn round; for certain reasons I could not.
"Ready?" Bernard asked.
"Yes, old cock," I answered, "and I hope you can jump it!"
I was on my own ground. I had won a lot of pots in the long jump at Oxford. I thought I should rather snaffle Bernard on this job, which was wicked enough. We went back ten yards for the run. The snow was still falling softly and thickly. There was the deep ditch between the bank and the deck of the dim, desolate old Hulk. It looked very ugly, and as I held up my elbows and started the run off, I heard a stifled noise behind me. I knew what it meant, but I would not listen. This was no tune for sentiment.
I took off on the very edge of the yielding mud-bank, leapt downwards in a great curve, lighted full over the bulwark of the Hulk with a thud, slid forward on the ice-bound deck, and was brought up short against the cabin. I wheeled round as a man does after a long slant at Murren. The whole thing did not take more than a second or two.
Turning, I saw Bernard in the air. He lighted as I had done, but his foot slipped before he got his balance and he fell heavily, striking his head against the stump of the main-mast which, with a yard shipped, was used as a derrick to raise the bridge to the marsh.
He fell with a noise like a sack of potatoes. I went up to him, tried to raise him, and found that he was unconscious. Something like warm varnish was oozing out of his head. My fingers dabbled in it. What I thought does not matter. If he was dead, he was dead, though I was pretty certain a tough old bird like Bernard was only stunned. But I had my orders, and I left him where he lay.
I stood up upon that slippery deck and pulled out my magazine pistol. I looked round. There was nothing whatever to be seen but the softly falling snow. I tried a low whistle to the people on the bank, but there was no answer.
It is a good thing to be under discipline. I had my orders, I waited, listened, and heard nothing. Then I crept aft to where a big glass-roofed cabin had been built out on the deck. There was no light shining through the roof. The door was locked. I listened and there was no sound save the soft, falling noise of the snowflakes.
It was forrard, then, that I must go; and, treading with the greatest caution, I crept towards the bows of the old ship. The fo'c'sle hatchway loomed up before me. With cold, tingling fingers I felt for the door. It opened in the middle, in the usual way, and the hinges swung back as if they had been well oiled. Before me was the companion ladder—a dark well. With my pistol in my hand, I went down the stairs as noiselessly as a cat. I had only got to the bottom when a warm, stuffy smell came to my nostrils. I was in a triangular space roofed by heavy bulkheads. It was not quite dark, for a long rod of yellow light came from behind the stairs, where there was a door. I went up to it and listened. Everything was perfectly silent.
Then I pushed open the door and entered. What I expected to see, I cannot say, but I was prepared for almost anything. What I did see was entirely unexpected.
I found myself in a long saloon lit by a swivel lamp hanging from the roof. Dark crimson curtains were drawn over windows and possible portholes. The floor was covered with a faded Turkey carpet. Here and there a mirror was let into the wall. I saw a case of books and an excellent photogravure of the King, over a little grate in which glowed a fire of smouldering coke. There were two or three basket armchairs padded in cretonne. There was a central table, two little smoking-tables, and a sort of buffet at the side of a further door. Upon the buffet were glasses, syphons, and various bottles. There was a box of cigars upon the central table and a silver cigarette-box upon one of the smaller ones. I had come into a little, luxuriously furnished club-room, which struck upon the senses with an irresistibly homely and pleasant note as I looked round in wild amazement. There was even a brass kettle on a trivet by the fire, which was singing melodiously to itself. I stared round the place like a child, and caught sight of my face with open eyes and dropping jaws in one of the looking-glasses. What was I doing here? What had I tumbled into? What?...
I came back to myself just in time. There was a loud and sudden creak, the yawn of a partly open door. Then—Bang!
The gilt-framed mirror in which I had been gazing at myself smashed in the centre and starred all round, as something whizzed past my head with a ricochet.
Instinctively I crouched down upon the carpet, wheeling round as I did so.
The door at the opposite end of the saloon had been slid back. In the rather dim light from the hanging lamp, I saw a great, bearded, whiskered face, red, and framed in a fury of lint-coloured hair. It seemed just like a gorilla turned white and malevolent in a sudden ray of sunshine.
There was another deafening explosion: One! Two! Three! and the furious noise in the confined space of the cabin filled me with something of its own rage. I saw red. The warm and evil silence of this comfortable place had frightened me far more than this onslaught. Unharmed, I leapt to my feet.
As I did so, I saw that the man in the dark oblong beyond was feverishly pressing a clip into his magazine pistol. He would be at me again in a second, but I caught up one of the smoking-tables, heavy as it was, and charged him.
The table was iron, covered with beaten copper. I ran at the creature like a bull, and as he advanced a yard into the room I was on him with a frightful crash and down he went.
I fell also on to the tripod of the table and bruised myself badly, but I was too angry to think of that. I tore my shoulder from it and flung it to the other side of the saloon. The man growled like a mastiff, half rose from the floor, and then I had him by the throat.
I am a strong man; I think I said that at the beginning of this narrative. What I mean is that I could out almost any Sandow pup in no time. But as I caught this hairy-faced creature by the throat and felt his arms seeking for mine, then I knew that I was in for the time of my life. My hands sank into the great, muscular system of his neck. My thumbs were pressed on each side of the Adam's apple—Japanese fashion—and my fingers were feeling upwards for the final pressure on the jugular vein.
But, with all my weight upon him, he was so strong from the waist up, there was such a resilience in the massive torso, that he rose slowly, as if pressed by some hydraulic piston. As he rose, my legs slithered backwards. I tried to get some purchase with my toes to force him back, but it was useless. He came up almost to a sitting posture. Great hairy hands felt for my ears, and for a moment I thought it was all U.P.
Then I got my right leg under his left and heaved over.
We were upon our sides, the German uppermost, my hands still choking his life out of him. Naturally, in that position, my grip was bound to loosen. I could put no weight into it. But his arms were all sprawling. One was partly under himself and partly under me, the other beating me like a flail upon the ribs. I felt the sweat pouring from his face on to mine, and he smelt horribly of garlic. It was just touch and go.
Suddenly I whipped my numbed hands from the fellow's throat, slithered my arms down the front of his body, and gripped him round the lower ribs with a hug like a bear.
Of course, this was my long suit. There are not many people who can stand my affectionate embrace, especially when I am fighting for my life! I heard one rib crack, and I laughed aloud. I tightened the vice, and as the second went I knew it was all over. The brute made a noise exactly like the water running out of a bath, a sort of choked, trumpeting noise. His body grew limp. I disengaged myself and rose unsteadily to my feet.
Wow, but I had had it! The beastly smoking-room waltzed round me; I staggered to the buffet like a drunken man. My hands were dark crimson.
Old Upjelly and his confederates were accustomed to do themselves well. I realised it as my eye fell upon the row of bottles—therein was much balm in Gilead. There was a long-necked one with "Boulestin" upon the label. I pulled out the cork at a venture and drank deep. It was just what I wanted. It was cognac, and my eyes cleared and my arms stopped trembling.
I do not suppose the whole affair had lasted for more than three minutes, and as I came to myself I realised the necessity for instant action. My late adversary was lying at the other end of the saloon, his head rocking in the open door which led to his own quarters. He was not unconscious. He frothed at the mouth like I once saw an old pike I caught with a spinner in the Broads. His eyes were red and glazed, and he breathed like a suction pump gone wrong. I saw he was harmless as far as further aggression went, but I thought it as well to make sure. I took the bottle and poured as much as I thought right into the chap's mouth. Then I snatched the cloth from the centre table, tore it into strips, rolled it up, and tied Master Fritz Schweitzer round the ankles. I pulled him to the wall and propped him up. I knew two of his ribs were broken, and I felt for his collar-bone. That, as it happened, was not broken. It did not matter much anyway if he died, though he was a long way from that. Still, we wanted him; so I took the cork out of the brandy bottle, wrapped it up in my handkerchief to make a sort of pad, shoved it in his mouth, and tied the end of the handkerchief round the back of his head. Then, when I had secured his hands, I felt we were getting on very well and I took a long breath.
I hurried up the companion-way to the deck. The keen night air, the still falling snow, made me sway for a moment like a drunken man. I heard a distant shout from the bank beyond, and with the shout was mingled a high, treble note. That pulled me together more than anything else, and I remembered what a perfect beast I had been not to let them know. Of course, they must have heard the shots and been in an agony of fright.
"Cheery-O!" I shouted. "Everything is all right, and I'll let down the bridge in a minute."
Then I stumbled aft to find my brother.
The fight in the cabin could not have been as long as I thought, for Bernard was just sitting up and rubbing his head. Incidentally, he was swearing sweet wardroom oaths to himself.
I forbear to reproduce them; they can only be indicated here.
"Help me up.... Have we made too much noise?... Have they heard us below?"
"That's all right, old soul," I said. "Feeling better now?"
"Don't talk so loud, you fool!" he hissed. "You'll spoil everything!"
"It's all right, old soul. I've said a few words to the crew. Now help me to lower this gangway."
Bernard never said a word of protest. He somehow felt it was all right, and in a minute more we had knocked the catch out of the toothed wheel which lowered the gangway and I let it gently down by the greased halliards.
Dickson max. came over first. Somebody followed him, so like Dickson max. as makes no matter. This someone, a slim boy in appearance, put its arms round my neck and nearly sobbed.
"It's all right, dear," I answered; "we've won the first trick. Now you and your knowledge of German come in. Remember you are on the King's service."
I do not know whether it was that or her relief at seeing me safe again—for both Doris and Dickson max. had heard the shots and the dulled noise of the fight below—but my girl pulled herself together in a moment.
Little sportswoman! she nipped down into the saloon quicker than Dickson max., whose Sunday suit she was wearing. Bernard and I would not have brought her into this business for anything had she not volunteered. But shewouldcome when she knew the truth. Neither of us knew German. It was essential that we should have someone with us who did. And in the wild welter of those momentous three days, I am afraid our sense of proportion was lost. We were all young. We were all out to save England if we could. This is my apology for Doris being with us. I shall not repeat it. The end justified the means so unforgettably, so gloriously.
The man, Fritz Schweitzer, was still unconscious. He lay like a log, bound and gagged, and an unpleasant sight, too. I felt rather proud of my work as I looked at him, but Doris ran forward.
"Poor fellow!" she said, "I must do what I can for him."
"Not now, please," Bernard answered quickly. "The first thing to do is to search ship. Remember that you heard nothing of Kiderlen-Waechter, who is waiting till midnight for Upjelly. The presumption is that he was to stay on board, yet we have seen no sign of him. Up with the drawbridge at once, John and Dickson, and then come back to me."
We tumbled up the companion and in a minute had raised the creaking bridge. It was impossible for anyone lurking on the ship to have got off in the short time we had been.
"Now then," Bernard said, when we got back to the cabin, "get out your pistol, John, and you and Dickson search this Hulk thoroughly. Miss Joyce will stay here with me. I wish to speak to her. Report to me at once."
We went through the narrow door from which Schweitzer had fired at me, and found ourselves in a small compartment in the bows of the boat. There was a cooking-stove, some pots and pans, some shelves of groceries and tinned goods, and a berth with tumbled, frowsy blankets, where the German had obviously been sleeping. Nothing there; and again traversing the cabin, we went up on deck.
The deck-house, as I have said before, was locked, but my weight soon disposed of that obstacle and, flashing my electric torch, with my pistol ready, I entered.
The place was simply a storeroom. There were eel spears, some leather cartridge magazines, a couple of old "cripple-stopper" guns, and so forth. Only one thing I noticed, and that was a new, stout rope-ladder, with bamboo rungs and zinc hooks at the top. Finally, we prised open an old hatchway and peered down into the musty darkness of the bottom part of the Hulk. Dickson ran and fetched the rope-ladder and I went down first. There was nothing whatever to be seen but the bare timbers of the ship. Everything had been gutted and there was a most horrible smell from a foot or two of bilge-water. It was certain that no one lurked unsuspected on board.
When we went down again to the cabin, I saw an extraordinary thing. My brother had picked up what remained of the table-cloth, had twisted it into bands, like what I had used on Schweitzer, and was tying up Doris! Her hair was down, too, flowing in a great mass below the shooting-hat she had worn.
"What on earth are you doing?" I asked.
"Shut up," he said, "you will see in a minute. Now, Miss Joyce!"
With her arms tied closely behind her, her feet free, Doris smiled and went out of the cabin.
"Now for this swine," said my brother, and taking the soda-water syphon from the table, he squirted it with great force and precision into the wretched Schweitzer's face, till his beard looked like the fur of a water-rat and his eyes opened slowly.
"Take off the gag," said my brother.
I did so.
"Now prop him up in a sitting position—yes, get one of those cushions—that's it."
Then Bernard put some brandy into a tumbler and held it to the fellow's lips. He sucked greedily and gave a great groan.
Suddenly, as we stood there, there was a slight thud and patter of feet upon the deck above. We all heard it distinctly, and the German's eyes gleamed. My brother turned and dashed out of the cabin, Dickson and I following him. There was a loud shriek, a girl's shriek, and a scuffle, and then my brother said in an angry voice:
"The Fräulein von Vedal—sent to warn these spies. Bring her down!"
Then I began to understand.
Doris fought like a cat. She was almost too realistic; but we hauled her down into the cabin.
"Tie her up," said my brother in a hoarse voice of command.
We tied her up, sitting her in an arm-chair, and reefing our ropes so that she could not stir.
Then Bernard took off his hat and made a low, ironic bow.
"Gute Nacht, gnädiges Fräulein!" he said—I believe it was all the German the fellow knew—and then, with a wave of his hand, summoned us to leave the cabin. We did so; he locked the door and ascended to the deck.
"Now then," he whispered, "let down the drawbridge with as much noise as possible and then go over it. Directly we are on the other side, we must take off our boots and creep back down to the cabin door."
"What a ruse!" I heard Dickson max. say to himself in an ecstasy of joy—he was given to using words from the more highly coloured adventure books he read—"Oh, my aunt!"
We managed it beautifully, and got into the little space at the foot of the companion, outside the cabin door, with hardly a sound.
Doris was sobbing bitterly and there was a low growl from the gigantic German, which resolved itself into words at last. Then the sobs ceased and Doris answered. We none of us could understand a word of the ensuing conversation, but I reconstruct it here from what was told me afterwards, and I am sure it is accurate enough.
"Who are you, Fräulein? What have they done to you?"
"Hush, they may hear!"
"Who are they?"
"They are the Police, the English Police. Everything is found out. I am the Fräulein von Vedal. My father has been arrested, but I slipped off in these clothes to try and warn you and Admiral Kiderlen-Waechter. He must not be taken if it can be helped. If he escapes, my father says there is yet a chance. He spoke to me in German until the police silenced him. They do not understand our tongue, these dogs of English."
"His Excellency has gone with his gun upon the marsh. He wished to pass the time until midnight, when the Graf von Vedal was to arrive with the papers. He will be back at seven. I was about to prepare his coffee, which takes a long time, for His Excellency is very particular. Now what shall we do? Have they gone?"
"I think so. I heard them let down the bridge."
"And so did I. But they can't be far away. Do they know that the Admiral is here?"
"I can't tell, but I don't think so. If only I could get free!"
"Oh yes, Fräulein, if only you could! As for me, it matters nothing, but His Excellency must escape. Then he can meet Her to-night and warn Her—even though the precious papers are all lost. He could go off in Her and escape that way. You know all about Her, Fräulein?"
Doris shook her head. "No," she said. "Tell me."
"If they have not told you already, Fräulein, I must not do so. I am sworn. I thought perhaps you knew everything."
"You won't tell me? If I can get away it would be of help for me to know."
"No, Fräulein; I am sworn and I must obey orders...."
"And now I think," said my brother, unlocking the door and speaking in his usual voice, "we've heard as much as we are likely to."
We all trooped into the cabin and, taking out his pocket-knife, Dickson max. cut the cloth strands which held Doris in the chair.
The German's face grew dead white. His jaw dropped, his eyes blazed like flames; he gave a roar of baffled fury and strained at his fastenings with gigantic strength, the muscles at his temples standing out like blue cords. I never before or since saw such hideous rage.
"Stop that!" my brother said, whipping out his revolver and pointing it straight at the fellow.
It was of no use, however. Again that gigantic bellow swelled out into the night. Dickson saved the situation. There must be something in these boys' books after all, for I never saw a gag more quickly and deftly inserted.
"And now, tell us exactly what you have learnt, Miss Joyce," Bernard asked.
She did so in a very few sentences, putting up her hair at the same time, standing before the mirror which Schweitzer's pot-shot at me had cracked. Strange creatures girls are!
"Half-past six," said Bernard, looking at his watch. "Now for the Admiral. Get that drawbridge up again."
We did so, and shortly after my brother joined us.
"There will be some signal," he said; "one of us must personate that brute down below. You are the biggest, John, and the broadest."
"There's an oilskin and a sou'wester hanging in the man's bunk, sir," said Dickson.
"Just the thing. Cut along and fetch them."
I rigged myself up in these clothes as well as I could, and went down again into the cabin, from where I was to emerge at the signal.
"We must manage it as best we can," said my brother. "Dickson and I will go and hide behind the deck-house. When you hear the signal, whatever it is, he will whistle or something, then come up heavily and let down the bridge. He is sure not to speak loudly, so if he asks a question, just growl out something so that he can't hear it till he gets on deck. Remember he has got a gun, and grapple with him the moment you can. We will be with you in a second."
I sat and waited, smoking one of the Doctor's cigars and with a brandy-and-soda in front of me—I did not see why I shouldn't. My ears were wide open, but everything had gone so well up to the present that I did not remember any uneasiness or fear. I was just wondering whether I should light another cigar when I heard something so silvery sweet and unexpected that I jumped.
Somewhere out in the night, close by, came the silver pipe of a whistle. I never heard anyone whistle so musically before or since. It was the "Lorelei" that I heard, the sweet, plaintive music of the Rhine maiden. I cannot explain it, but it gave me a lump in my throat.
At the sound, the bound giant struggled violently, but he made little or no noise, and what he did was drowned by my heavy footsteps as I walked through the cabin and stumbled up the companion.
On the shore, three yards away, was a figure in fowler's kit, which I had no difficulty in recognising as that of my friend Mr. Jones. I heard him say something, but there was a good deal of wind all round and I ignored it, letting down the drawbridge slowly for him to come on board. It had hardly bridged the chasm when he stepped briskly on to it and came over like a flash. He had his gun on his left shoulder, and he handed it to me, saying something in German. I took it with my left hand, stepped aside for him to pass, and then kicked him smartly upon the shin. It is an invaluable dodge; a West-end Bobby told me of it; and down he went full length on his face with an oath.
Well, the rest was not difficult. My fourteen stone was on the small of his back in a minute. My brother, who had employed the interval of waiting in discovering a coil of wire, had his hands whipped round behind his back in no time, and Dickson max. sat on the wretched Admiral's head as if he had been a horse. We left his feet free, because we wanted to get him down into the cabin. I held him by the shoulder while my brother pressed the barrel of his Mauser pistol—one of the few good things that ever came out of Germany, by the way—into the nape of his neck. He came like a lamb and we sat him down in the same arm-chair that Doris had just occupied. The wire came in very handy indeed. We made a cocoon of it round him until he could not stir hand or foot.
"And now," my brother said, "our next guest will not be here for some little time. Supper is, I think, clearly indicated. Doris, supposing you and Dickson see what the galley has to offer—some tinned food, I think you said, and coffee? Excellent. Meanwhile, I and John will talk to this gentleman."
Von Waechter—I call him this for short; people should not have such beastly long names—von Waechter glanced slowly round the cabin, taking in everything. He saw Schweitzer lying gagged upon the floor, the smashed mirror, the bottle of cognac, everything, and I will do him the justice to say he never moved a muscle of his face.
"Well now, sir, you will understand that the game is up," said my brother quietly.
The man nodded in a meditative sort of way, as if he was considering whether that was true or not.
"Ah, my friend Mr. John Carey!" he said.
"Yes, Mr. Jones," I answered, "and this is my brother, Commander Carey, of His Majesty's Navy."
Von Waechter bowed as well as he was able. "Ah," he said, "I am a prisoner of war, I see."
My brother shook his head. "I'm afraid not, sir," he replied; "I'm afraid you are a captured spy."
Doctor Upjelly, or the Graf von Vedal as my readers may choose to think of him, never came to the Hulk that night.
If this is not the most sensational part of my narrative, it is certainly the grimmest. It must be told quickly. It is too horrible to linger upon.
I was not there myself, but I put it down from the words of an eye-witness.
The reason that I was able to be out on the marsh at five o'clock without suspicion was that, early in the morning after my brother and I had overheard everything in the gun-punt, I went to the Doctor and asked for a day off. I said I was going to London to have a final shot at enlisting. I knew from what I had heard him say to Kiderlen-Waechter that it did not matter twopence to him either way, whether I went or stayed. He, himself, was making all preparations for flight. He gave me leave quite readily.
Before I pretended to go I told Lockhart everything. It was arranged that he and Dickson major, whom he was to take into his confidence to a certain extent, were to watch the Doctor with the utmost care.
I drove to Blankington-on-Sea in Wordingham's trap, went a station or two up the line, was met by the Admiralty motor car, made a great circuit of country, and got back to Cockthorpe within four hours.
Meanwhile Lockhart and Dickson major watched the Doctor. This is the story, the horrible story.
Doris slipped out without notice, dressed in Dickson max.'s clothes—that has already been explained. The late afternoon went on. The boys finished their work, played a dreary punt-about of football, and came in to tea. Lockhart was in charge.
After tea, 'prep.' began. Old Pugmire had shuffled off home. Old Mrs. Gaunt was still groaning in bed. At eight-thirty the younger boys went up to their dormitories, only four of the elder ones remaining downstairs. Lockhart left them to their own devices—they were roasting chestnuts, I heard—and waited in his own sitting-room.
At nine o'clock, Marjorie Joyce came hurriedly from the Doctor's wing and tapped at Lockhart's door. The Doctor had told Amy, the housemaid, to light a fire in his bedroom. He said that he would have much writing to do and that when it was finished he would go out upon the marshes to shoot, as usual.
I can picture the scene quite well. Pretty Marjorie, panting, with wide eyes, in the door of Lockhart's sitting-room; the staunch little man, keen as a ferret, wondering what this meant. He knew from me, of course, that Upjelly was to go to the Hulk that night with hisdossierof plans and betrayals.
They sent for Dickson major from the senior boys' room. They were closeted together for nearly ten minutes. Then Marjorie led them quietly from the school-wing into the Doctor's house.
The Doctor, at that moment, was having supper by himself. He would not be upstairs for quarter of an hour. Marjorie showed Lockhart and the lad to the big bedroom with the dancing fire upon the hearth. Dickson major had a nickel-plated revolver, of which he was very proud.
"If anything happens, sir," he said, "I can do him in with this."
Then Dickson major was put under the bed, where he lay, grasping his revolver, keen as mustard, glad to be in the mysterious business of which he had been told so little and in which his elder twin was so actively engaged.
A tear comes into my eye as I think of that quiet bedroom and those two poor conspirators waiting for von Vedal, doing their little best, such as it was.
There was a big, green curtain, running on rings, in an alcove of the bedroom. Behind this, the headmaster of Morstone kept a lot of clothes which he never wore and never even looked at. Here the ardent cripple, Lockhart, was ensconced.
There is something comic in the business—the schoolboy and the ferret-faced master hidden in this fashion. I think that all sinister tragedies have their bizarre element of comedy—comedy to change so swiftly into horror.
In twenty minutes the Doctor came up. He strode into the room with a firm step, carrying a brown leather bag, which he placed upon the table by the fire. Then he locked the door. He took off his coat, warmed his soft, pink hands at the fire, unlocked the bag, spread a mass of documents from it upon the table, and began to write steadily.
There was a round clock upon the mantelpiece which ticked incessantly. It was a quick and hurried tick that came from the clock, and sometimes it seemed to be accentuated, to be a race with Time; at others, it was slow as the death-watch.
The Doctor wrote on. He covered sheet after sheet with swift, easy writing. When each sheet was done, he blotted it and added it to the pile on his left hand.
He had written for three-quarters of an hour, and the hidden watchers had made no sound whatever, when the big man suddenly jumped up from the table. They heard his chair crush over the carpet; they heard him sigh deeply, as if with relief.
Then Dickson major, peeping under the valance of the bed, saw his headmaster go to the mantelpiece, open a box of cigars, select one and light it. It was a long, black, rank Hamburg weed, and the pungent smoke curled round the room as the man stood with his back to the fire, looking down upon the table.
The smoke went round and round. It grew thick. It curled and penetrated everywhere. It penetrated behind the green curtain where, in an agony of rheumatism and tortured bones, little Lockhart was standing.
Lockhart coughed.
The boy underneath the bed was watching all this. He saw the Doctor turn quietly and swiftly towards the alcove. He took three soft steps, pulled the curtain aside, and drew Lockhart out.
It was horrible. Von Vedal said nothing at all. His great hand descended upon the shoulder of the cripple and he drew him into the middle of the room—into the full light of the lamp—looking down at him with a still, evil scrutiny.
Lockhart spoke. He did not seem a bit afraid. His curious voice jarred into the quiet, firelit room with almost a note of triumph in it.
"You've found me, Doctor Upjelly; but you've lost everything, Graf von Vedal!"
Dickson said that the Doctor, bending lower, turned Lockhart's face upwards with his disengaged hand, pulling it towards the light. The boy was paralysed. The fingers of his right hand grew cold and dead. The revolver lay in them like a ton weight. He could not move or cry out. He could do nothing.
With the greatest deliberation, von Vedal took Lockhart by the throat. He felt in his trouser pocket and pulled out an ordinary penknife. Still clasping his prisoner, he opened the blade with his teeth; and then, without the slightest haste or sign of anger—I cannot go on, but there was a thud and the gallant little cripple lay writhing on the floor.
Von Vedal peered over the edge of the table at him for a moment, and then pushed him gently away with his foot. Then he sat down and began to write again.
It was as if he had brushed away a fly.
He wrote on, and the boy beneath the bed fainted dead away. When again the poor lad's eyes opened, he saw the great, white face bent over its papers, the firm hand moving steadily from left to right, heard the resolute scratch and screech of the pen as it traversed the pages. But he saw also that the huddled heap upon the floor was moving slowly.
With infinite effort, though without a sound, the cripple's arm crept down the side of his dying body. With infinite effort, and with what agony none of us will ever know, Lockhart withdrew the pistol with which I had provided him. He could not lift his arm, but there was movement in his wrist. Slowly, very slowly, the hand rose from the floor.
The flash and crash were simultaneous. Upjelly's mouth opened wide. He tried to turn his head and could not. He coughed twice and then sank quietly forward upon the records of his treachery.
The shot broke the nervous bonds in which young Dickson had been held. He scrambled up from beneath the bed. He ran round the table with averted eyes and bent over Lockhart. There was a little hissing noise, like a faint escape of gas. Dickson bent his ear to the mouth of the dying man.
"Take Miss Marjorie to Wordingham—Inn—village. Gather up—all those papers. Put them in bag. After—Miss Marjorie—Inn—run—fast as you can—to—Doctor's—old Hulk—Thirty Main. Give everything—Mr. Carey. Good-bye, boy...."
One last gasp, and the word "England!" sighed out into the bedroom.
Just after midnight, my brother and myself sat crouching behind the bulwarks of the Hulk.
It was the weirdest hour, the strangest scene, that my eyes had ever looked upon. Snow was falling fast, and yet, somewhere above, there was a moon. It was all white and ghostly-green, shifting, moving, unreal, as befitted the horrors which pressed us close. Yet we were exultant; I can testify to that. "The Judge was set, the doom begun"; in our hearts was the fiery certainty of success.
In the deck-house were Bernard's three men, Scarlett, Adams, and Bosustow—all of whom had served with him in his own ship. Below, in the saloon, Doris, old Lieutenant Murphy of the Coastguards, and the two Dickson boys were waiting.
Let me give the very briefest resumé of events up to the present.
Dickson major had fulfilled his trust. He had taken Marjorie Joyce to Mrs. Wordingham at the inn; then he had come to us with the bag of papers. He had told us everything. All we told Doris was that her sister had been taken to the inn and that her stepfather was arrested at the school. We had to keep Doris with us for a time, but old Lieutenant Murphy, who was now entirely in our confidence, would take her back to the village when the adventure of the night was over. His car was waiting there and Doris and Marjorie would both find refuge with Mrs. Murphy at Cockthorpe.
The prisoners, Kiderlen-Waechter and the German boatswain, had been moved into the galley, where one of the lads was watching them.
It was cold beyond thinking. The snow fell softly on us till we were blanketed with white. Bernard was whispering.
"You see, old John, I look at it this way. When we searched Kiderlen-Waechter an hour ago we found the signal. Doris translated it for us. The lamp is lit in that box they fitted up so carefully in the bows. It can only be seen straight up the Creek. They'll make for that."
"What do you think it is?"
"They've spoken of it as 'She'—it's a boat, of course. I should say either one of those wretched little coasters, or possibly even a fishing-smack. She'll stand a mile out at sea and they'll row into the Creek with a longboat, for the plans. There is a huge manœuvre on—what it is we can't tell yet, and it's touch and go to-night whether we snooker them or whether we don't. You are ready for anything?"
"Anything! So old Upjelly's dead, and poor little Lockhart!"
"He died for his country, as you and I may do to-night, old John. Shed the sentimental tear on some future occasion. What?"
His voice rose a little. Scarlett, who was on the look-out, had crept along the deck and touched Bernard on the shoulder.
"Come forrard, sir, if you please," the man said in a hoarse whisper. He could hardly get the words out, and at first I thought his teeth were chattering with cold, but it was not so.
We crept to the bows of the Hulk and peered over the broken, rotting taffrail. Two feet below was the beam of the signal lamp shining up the creek towards the sea. The snow had temporarily stopped in this part of the marsh and the moon was bright. Thirty Main stretched away ahead as far as we could see, two hundred yards long and a hundred wide, of black, gleaming steel. The tide was full at flood.
Scarlett handed my brother a pair of night-glasses. Bernard gazed through them for twenty seconds, and then they fell softly on the deck.
"Oh God!" he said in a low voice, "so it isthat, and I never thought of it before! Fool! Fool!"
I stared out also, not daring to say a word. No man can see better at night than I. Whatwasthat? Something slowly floating down the centre of the creek, a black, oblong patch. Was it two or three duck swimming landwards with the tide?
Then the black patch lifted itself from the water. It seemed to have a long, narrow tail—the whole thing was curiously distinct in the moonlight. In a second I realised that something wasbeing pushed up from below. I had never seen anything like it before. I experienced that hideous sensation in the pit of the stomach that comes to people who are face to face with the unknown and the unexpected for the first time in their lives. All this happened in half a minute. The black, oblong thing was now high in the air on the end of a pole which came straight up through the middle of the creek. Something else was rising, a black hump, which grew and grew, until a grey tower stood there;—stood there but moved slowly towards us—or did it begin to recede?
I heard Bernard's voice: "Stand by the lamp!"
"Aye, aye, sir!"
Scarlett was bending low over the bows of the Hulk. In the middle of the waterway something long and lean was showing. There was a soft, metallic clang, and then, from the centre of the dark, floating object, a light flashed quickly, three times. Immediately I heard the click of the shutter of our own lamp and saw the occulting beam below flash and disappear in answer.
I knew, I think in some subconscious way, I must have known from the very first. The whole thing, in its magnificent and unsuspected daring, its malevolent simplicity, struck me like a blow. This was a German submarine; this was the channel by which the Master-Spy, von Vedal, and his agents had been sending information to the enemy! On my own quiet marshes, in Thirty Main Creek!
"One of their 'D' class, sir; same as our 'E.' Crew of fifteen, no quick-firing gun, and probably wireless. Handy little craft, sir!"
"They'll be coming aboard in a minute, Scarlett."
"Aye, aye, sir. If you look, sir, you'll see they are getting one of those collapsible boats up. New thing, sir, and very handy. Holds six. Ah!"
I could see quiet and purposeful activity round the conning-tower of the submarine. A group of dark figures was silhouetted in the moonlight, and presently a little boat, like a bobbing cork, lay by her side.
Three men got into it and it pushed off. It went towards the other side of Thirty Main.
"Concealed moorings, sir," Scarlett whispered. "They've been here before. It's dead water, and the ship'd drift, if ..."
I heard no more. I watched breathlessly. The boat went to the far side of the creek and remained there for nearly two minutes. If there was a cable, I did not see it, but presently the boat turned and came rapidly towards the Hulk.
"John, take him quietly to the cabin and shove him in—it's the Commander coming aboard," my brother added. "Scarlett, get back into the deck-house and light that lamp. Mr. Carey is dressed like the German boatswain, and he will show the officer straight into the deck-house. It's ten to one the sailors won't come up. Remember to do your job without the slightest noise—you, Adams, and Bosustow."
"Out him, sir?"
"I'm afraid so. There is no other way. Directly it is over, take off his clothes and bring them down into the cabin. Mind the men in the boat hear nothing."
"Aye, aye, sir."
Then my brother turned to me. The boat was now almost by the side of the Hulk.
"You understand, John?" he said.
I touched his arm, afraid to speak.
"Then go and get the rope-ladder."
I stepped to the deck-cabin and saw the three sailors standing round it among the litter of shooting gear. A smoky lamp hung from the ceiling. Scarlett passed me the ladder. I took it and went to the side—my brother had disappeared.
There was a low hiss seven feet below. I hissed, too, fixed the ladder hooks, and dropped the rest of it. One of the sailors caught it, while the other steadied the boat, and a slim man of just over middle height came up like a cat. He wore some sort of dark uniform, what it was I could not see. The collar was turned up round his face, which appeared to be clean-shaved.
I saluted and stepped towards the deck-house. He followed me without a sound.
Then I tapped on the door, which opened immediately, and as it did so I shot him in with a smart blow between the shoulder-blades. There was just one little gasping sound, and that was all. The door closed gently. The two sailors below in the boat sat quietly enough. I went down into the saloon.
Quick as I was, my brother was before me. He was talking earnestly to Doris in a low voice. I stood at the door at attention, and I think I never saw a stranger scene.
Old Lieutenant Murphy, in uniform, was seated at the table. His nostrils were opening and shutting in his tanned face. He was exactly like an old dog brought to the hunt for the last time. The door into the galley was half open. Dickson major stood there with a magazine pistol in his hand. Dickson max. sat opposite the lieutenant, his face a mask of determination and strength. It was wonderful.
"You quite understand, Doris? You can be brave?"
"I quite understand, Bernard."
"Then we will wait a minute. Sit down, John."
We all sat down—waiting. One minute—two minutes passed. Then came a light tap upon the door. It opened and Scarlett entered. His face was rather red, and he breathed heavily. On his right arm he carried a bundle of clothes.
My brother looked at him with a lift of the eyebrows, and Scarlett nodded, placing the clothes on the table.
"Go through these clothes, Lieutenant," Bernard said. Then he turned to Scarlett and whispered.
The man saluted and disappeared. A few seconds after, my brother beckoned to Doris.
"Now, then," he said, "be brave!"—and then, turning to me, "Stand out of sight on deck, John, and be ready to help."
We crept up on deck. To my unutterable surprise, Doris went to the side and leant over. She spoke in German and in a very low voice.
"She's telling them that they're to come up on board and have a drink," my brother said.
The two figures below rose with alacrity. The first one ascended the ladder as Doris whipped down the hatchway into the cabin. The second sailor followed his companion.
I was not called upon to help, thank Heaven! Scarlett, Adams, and Bosustow rose from nowhere.
"That accounts for three," said my brother, but I turned my head away not to see what was going on.
When we were again down in the cabin I was shaking like a leaf.
"Drink this," Bernard said sternly, "and pull yourself together. It is War, don't you understand that, man?"
Doris was leaning over the table by the side of Lieutenant Murphy. In front of her was a paper. The lovely face, oddly boyish under its cap, was wrinkled with scrutiny.
"It is special orders," she said at length, "addressed to Admiral Kiderlen-Waechter. The plans are to be taken on board the submarine at once." Her voice broke for the moment, but she made a great effort at control, and the next words came from her slowly and distinctly. To me, I think to all of us, they were like the strokes of a tolling bell.
"The German battleship, Friesland, has eluded our Fleet in the North Sea. Our Fleet has been decoyed towards the Scotch coast by a sortie of the enemy from Kiel. The battleship is approaching this part of England. She is attended by destroyers and submarines. She is convoying three troop-ships, each of which contains two thousand German troops. The rendezvous is for two o'clock to-morrow afternoon, when Captain von Benda is to deliver my stepfather's plans to the German Admiral. The landing of the raiding force is to be effected on these marshes some time during to-morrow night."
"To-night," said my brother, looking at his watch and snapping it into his pocket.
Then there was a dead silence.
Bernard sat down at the table and buried his head in his hands, motioning us to be silent. For fully five minutes he remained thus, and what was going on within his mind I could but faintly guess. I knew, at any rate, and so, I think, did old Lieutenant Murphy, how enormous and incalculable were the issues that hung upon the decision of the young Commander, whose face was hidden from us.
When Bernard looked up again his eyes were very bright and he was smiling.
"Go on deck, John," he said, "and order the men to come down."
They came down, and Scarlett had upon his arm another bundle of clothes.
"Attention!" said my brother.
The three sailors stood stiffly by the door.
"Dickson major!"—Dickson major came out of the galley.
"Dickson max.!"—the elder brother sprang to attention also.
"John!"—I stood as stiffly as the rest.
"These men are under my orders, and they will go to death with me. You three are different. There is no time to explain everything now, but there is just a chance of saving this country from disaster. It is only a chance, mind. It is a forlorn hope. We may fail in half an hour: we may fail in twenty-four hours. In fact, it is almost certain that we shall. Still, are you coming?"
Well, of course there wasn't any palaver about that. It was settled in a minute. Then Bernard turned to old Murphy.
"Lieutenant," he said, "I am sorry that we are not going to have you with us, but you've got plenty to do ashore."
"I'm damned sorry too, sir, for, by George, I'd like to have a smack at 'em before I die!"
"You may yet. Now, please take your instructions. You know the marsh. Get off with Miss Joyce as quickly as possible. Take her to join her sister at the Morstone Arms. Then call up the coastguard for miles round. Come here to this Hulk—you won't see us in any case—and have the prisoners secured safely. Then send these despatches."
My brother sat down and began to write in cipher on leaves torn from his notebook. He looked up once.
"John," he said, "suppose you go up on deck with Doris. Make not the slightest noise, but make your adieux."
We stole up, and I held my girl in my arms for a minute. She did not see the dark stains which splashed the snow upon the boards.
"Good-bye, dear," I said. "Remember that I loved you more than anything else in the whole world!"
Oh, she was wonderful! "Of course, I shall always remember how you left me to-night," she whispered. "But you are coming back. Something tells me that. Yesterday I was a quiet girl living an ordinary life. To-night, nothing can disturb me, nothing can frighten me. I have supped too full of horrors, dear John, but I am glad, and proud and happy!"
It is hardly necessary to say more. Within five minutes the old lieutenant and my girl had passed away like ghosts from the near shore and I was down in the cabin again.
Bernard was taking off his clothes and putting on those of the dead captain of the submarine. Scarlett and Adams were already dressed in the uniform of the German sailors. Bosustow stood in his shirt and drawers, and so did my two school-boys.
"You see, it's like this, Johnny," Bernard said. "As far as we can judge, there are about twelve men in that submarine. We've got to kill them; there is no other way. We've got to take that submarine out into the North Sea and we have got to fight her ourselves. The Germans will be looking out for us. They will think us their despatch boat right enough. We may be able to stop them before our own supports get out of Harwich, for Lieutenant Murphy will be telegraphing all over the country within two hours. It is touch and go, but we've got to do it."
There was an odd, dual sound, instantly suppressed. I looked sternly towards the end of the saloon. It came from Dickson max. and Dickson major, and if it was not a chuckle of intense and supreme delight, it was a strangled "hooray." The three sailors standing at attention moved not an inch, but I caught Scarlett winking at his right-hand man.
Bernard smiled grimly for an instant. I knew the signs. He was really happy. Then he went on.
"Now, Scarlett and Adams will row the boat to the submarine. I shall sit in the stern impersonating the captain, who has recently been killed in action"—and, to my surprise, Bernard saluted. "You will be in the bows, John, and they may take you for that fellow, Schweitzer, in there. Bosustow, and Mr. Dickson, and Mr.——" he looked inquiringly at Dickson major.
"Harold," was the reply.
"Oh yes, Mr. Harold Dickson will swim in the wake of the boat. We have eight magazine pistols. Three will be in the sternsheets. The brevet-lieutenants and the petty officer"—you should have seen my lads' faces as they were commissioned!—"will swim to the ladder on the submarine's quarter and follow us down. But be careful that, in the rough and tumble, you don't shoot any of the first attacking party. Is all clear?"
"Certainly, sir," said Dickson max., with a sublime and effective impudence I could never have compassed. Already, in his magnificent mind, Dickson max. trod the quarter-deck and wore a sword. And the curious thing was, as we all crept up to the deck, that those tried veterans, Scarlett, Adams, and Bosustow, accepted the situation without a doubt.
Then we started. My brother gripped me by the hand as I went down the ladder, and it was the only sign of emotion that he showed.
"Good old John!" he whispered. "I've sent Marjorie a message by Doris."
The submarine lay in the middle of the Creek, a hundred and fifty to two hundred yards away. As our boat drew near, the moonlight became obscured and there was a sudden drift of snow. We shot alongside, and there was a gleam from a lantern shining down upon us.
It showed me a curving steel ladder, which went up over the fish-back of the thing to a long, low deck with a light railing running round it. Two men were standing there, and as we made fast, one of them came half-way down the ladder and held out his hand to me. I took it, stumbled for an instant, and found myself upon the steel platform. At my back, the conning-tower rose eight feet high above me. Within three yards was an oblong hatchway, from which a faint, orange light came upwards, turning the snowflakes to dingy gold.
Scarlett was beside me in a second. I took the man nearest and caught him by the throat. He had no time to gasp or cry out. I pressed him back over the rail, which held—Krupp steel, I suppose. There was a slight "snick"—it was not that of breaking metal—and I shot the sailor over the far side, where he sank like a log.
Then I turned. A furious and silent fight was going on between Scarlett and the other seaman. They swayed and rocked this way and that. They panted just like the sound of a bellows blowing up a fire. I waited, trying to get in a grip. Figures moved past me and disappeared down the hatchway, but I hardly saw them. Scarlett swung his enemy towards the conning-tower, and then I got my chance. I "collared him low"—Rugger three-quarter style—and brought him down upon the deck. The man gave a loud shout, but it was drowned by a furious noise below. There was no more necessity for silence. I pulled out my pistol and there was an end of the German. Scarlett jumped up like a gymnast, and together we heaved the body overboard.
"The swine's bin and bit my ear!" said Scarlett. "Now then, sir, come on!" and he swung himself over the hatchway and dropped.
I followed. It is impossible to describe what I saw—at any rate, my pen is not equal to the task. For a moment, I was blinded by brilliant light, through which a multitude of figures danced and leapt, like people in a dream. My ear-drums were almost split by the noise. There was a horrible, bitter smell in my nostrils, and my throat felt as if I was swallowing a bullet of lead.
Then, as things cleared, and I suppose it could only have been an instant before they did so, I found myself in a gleaming tunnel, surrounded by unfamiliar machinery.
A man lying within three yards of me, his face like wet, red velvet, suddenly jerked up his body like a marionette. His arms shot out, there was a deafening explosion, and something rang behind my head like a gong smitten without warning. I shot him in the body, and then I saw three dripping figures growling and worrying upon the floor like wolves. They rolled about with a crash and clank of metal until the great arm of the Cornishman, Bosustow, rose and fell three times like a flail.
At the far end of the tunnel, there were more reports, and then I saw my brother walking along a sort of grating and coming towards me.
Everything seemed to rock and dissolve. I fell back against an upright of some sort or other and my senses nearly went. I thought I was in bed at Morstone House School and the seven-o'clock bell was tolling.
Once more, things cleared. Everything gradually became distinct. The infernal noise, the wild welter of sound, was hushed. Only two yards away from me, a man dressed as a sailor was kneeling before my brother, who held a pistol to his head. The man's hands were held up, his face was a white wedge of terror, and a constant stream of words bubbled from his livid lips.
"Yes, sir. Karl, sir. Coming, sir. Porterhouse steak, sir, what you always used to like. No, sir—Swiss really—not a German. Oh, Captain Carey, don't kill me, sir"—the voice rose into a shriek of agony—"I am Karl, sir!"—the words came in an ecstasy of conviction. "Karl, head-waiter at the Portsmouth Royal! Why, sir, you've tipped me half a crown twenty times. Oh, sir ..."
My brother's face seemed cut in granite, but he began to laugh.
"Tie this up!" he said, and Adams ran forward—Adams was all black and red and his clothes were torn.
Then Bernard turned to me.
"By God!" he said, "we've done it, John, we've done it so far!"
Then I realised that, save for the whining creature being trussed upon the grating, the crew of the German submarine were all dead.
"Mr. Dickson!"
"Sir!"
"Instruct the boatswain to pipe all hands tidy ship."
It was the man Adams who, fumbling in his clothes, produced a whistle which shrilled loudly and acted as a strange tonic to us all.
"I give you quarter of an hour," Bernard said. "Bodies to be heaved overboard; gratings to be swabbed as well as possible in the time. Get a hose overboard, Mr. Dickson, and have the hand-pump manned."
Then Bernard took me by the arm and led me up the slippery ladder. We stood upon the long, narrow deck, and the snow fell over us like a mantle.
"Now, old boy," he said, "pull yourself together. All has gone well, but in half an hour we must be out in the North Sea, five fathoms deep. Feel a bit sickish? Oh, you'll get over that in a few minutes. We have only just begun."
The bees were humming through the orchard with a long, droning sound as I lay in the hammock of my old home, once more a careless boy. My eyes were closed, but the bright sun shone upon my face, and Peters, my father's old butler, was coming over the grass to tell me that tea was ready.
He touched my arm.
It was not Peters; it was a pale, clean-shaved fellow with an obsequious manner, who held a wooden bowl of steaming milk and coffee in his hands. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. The deep, droning noise, which had seemed like the bees of childhood in my dream, was the noise of engines not far away. I had slept three hours in the hammock, as my brother had insisted, and here was the captured German waiter bringing me coffee. I took it, but half-awake, and watched the man go to two other hammocks which stretched away in front of me. The Dickson boys tumbled out of them and I became fully conscious of where I was.
For the moment, but only for a moment, I was unmanned. The horror of all that we had been through so recently rolled over me like a flood. The shambles that the submarine had become, the ruthless killing of fourteen men—the horrible little snick as I broke the back of my own victim!...
But it passed. The coffee was excellent and invigorating, and in a minute I tossed the empty bowl into the hammock and stood upon a steel grating, looking about me with wide eyes.
At that moment my brother came up, walking briskly, like a man at home. He seemed changed in some way, and I realised what it was—the policeman on his beat, and unbuttoned and at ease, the parson in his pulpit or trimming roses in the rectory garden, are two very different people.
"Where are we?" I said. "What has happened?"
"You've had a very good sleep, John. You went off like a log directly I had the hammock slung. It was necessary, too, or you'd never be fit for what is coming."
"Have we started?"
"Started!" he grinned. "We're thirty miles away from Morstone Marshes, abreast of Skegness, I should judge, which, as far as I can calculate, is about sixty miles to the westward—and heading straight out into the North Sea. We're just crossing the line of the Rotterdam boats from Hull."
"But there is no movement!"
"No, my son, because we're twenty-five feet under water, that's why. Now, you had better come and look round the boat; I shall have to explain everything to you and show you what you will have to do later on." He turned to the Dicksons. "You come, too," he said, "and if ever the three of you have your wits about you, have them now. You've got to learn in an hour or two what it takes an ordinary seaman six months to learn—or part of it, at any rate."
I am not going to describe everything I saw in detail. This is a story of action, and I always skip the descriptive parts in books, myself. The Johnnies only put them in to fill up. I expect they are paid so much a page, if the truth were known! Still, I must try and give some picture of the strange and unfamiliar world in which I found myself. Here I was sailing under the sea for all the world like someone in Jules Verne, experiencing something that only the tried men of the navies ever know.
I was in a long, narrow tunnel, most brilliantly lit. The air was warm and close, tainted a little with a faint suggestion of chemical fumes. It was rather like being in a chemist's shop in winter time when a large fire is burning.
Immediately to my right, the German waiter was busy over a little electric stove, in a doorless compartment not bigger than a bathing machine, Pots and pans hung above him and there were shelves covered with wire netting containing stores of food. We passed him, and I judged, from the breadth from side to side, that we were standing almost in the middle of the submarine.
Upon white-painted gratings, my brother's sailors moved here and there with bare feet, quiet and alert in their jumpers. The light was caught by, and reflected again, from innumerable pieces of shining machinery, brass and silver and dull bronze. There was a tension both of physical atmosphere and mental excitement, strange and unnatural to me, but which those who go beneath the waters and explore the mysterious deep always have with them.
We walked down a central gangway and stopped by two powerful gasolene engines, one on each side—long, lean, polished monsters, that lay inert, but ready to leap into action on the turn of a switch and the pulling of a lever.
"Those are the engines which run the boat when we are on the surface—'awash,' we call it. We can do seventeen knots then—I am assuming that this German boat is about equal to one of our own of its class, though I have already come across several remarkable improvements in her. We are running now by electric motor and doing about twelve knots, which is first-class, but I'm pushing her along for all I know."
We passed onwards and to where Bosustow stood beaming over three great purring, spitting dynamos, a piece of cotton waste in one huge paw.
"Oh, they're daisies, sir," he said, as he patted coils of insulated wire in an ecstasy of appreciation. "They can show us something, sir, the Germans can. The sleeve that carries the commutator is keyed to the armature shaft on an entirely new system; it's a fair miracle of ingenuity. But where they beat us hollow is in the accumulators. I've not had time to inspect them thoroughly, but if we get out of this, then the whole of our system will have to be altered."
We all bent over a rail towards the great accumulator tanks below, and I felt a faint, acrid odour rising up from them.
"You're smelling electricity, sir," said Bosustow to me. Then he turned to a big, table-like switch-board which controlled the flow of current from below and commanded all the electrical machinery on board. He fingered the big, vulcanite handles as if he loved them and stroked the shining flanged rim of the volt meter as a mother strokes her child.
"Now Mr. Carey understands something about machinery, Bosustow," said my brother. "You can trust him to follow out your directions without making any blunders, I think. John, your station will be by Bosustow until you are wanted forrard, but there is no need for you to stay now. There is a good deal more that I must say."
All the voices were sharp and staccato, my own sounded like that in my ears when I answered. They echoed and rang in the heavy air of the sealed, steel tube, voices that were not quite free and natural, for all their readiness of tone.
We turned and went forward again, passing an open doorway and a few steps which led upwards to the conning-tower. The gangway ran at each side of it.
The long, tunnel-like vista grew narrower and the roof began to slope downward to a point. In front of us, in the extreme bows of the boat, were two huge, circular steel doors, like the doors of a safe, clamped and locked by an intricate mechanism.
"These are the mouths of the torpedo expulsion tubes," said Bernard. "We carry six torpedoes, I am glad to find—two more than I should have expected in a boat of this size—and, by Jove, we shall want 'em! If we throw away a single one, the game will be up, I expect. The torpedoes are run into these tubes along steel rails. They're discharged from the tubes by compressed air from the air tanks below. I see here the pressure is several thousand pounds to the square inch. In some boats we send out the tin fish by exploding a few ounces of cordite, but the air is the better way."
He turned to where Scarlett was busy and I saw a submarine torpedo for the first time. I confess there was a little inward shudder as I looked upon the deadly thing that could send the largest battleship afloat to the bottom in a few minutes. It was like a huge fish of steel with a large propeller at one end.
"These are beauties," Bernard said, "and to think that we are going to have the chance of using them against their original owners!" He chuckled.
"The propelling engines," he went on, "are inside—for you must remember that a torpedo is a little ship in itself and is not a projectile at all. There are three hundred pounds of trinitrotoluene in this beauty—we've done away with the old-fashioned gun-cotton now—and she's got a range of seven thousand yards—over four miles, Johnny, my boy! Now, Mr. Dickson and Mr. Harold Dickson, you will stay here with Scarlett. It will be your part, when we go into action, to fire these torpedoes. There ought to be six or seven of you to do it. There are only three, and two of you are quite untrained. Scarlett, get to work at once and give these gentlemen a practical drill. Show them exactly what they will have to do and explain the orders that will come from me. Miss out anything superfluous; remember we've hardly any time. Just teach them what is absolutely necessary."
"Aye, aye, sir!" said Scarlett, and as we turned back I heard him at once beginning his lecture.
And now we came to the most interesting part of that world of marvels, to thebrainof the submarine. Adams stood in the first stage of the conning-tower, his hands upon a little leather-covered steering-wheel. In front of him was a gyroscopic compass and a row of speaking-tubes. A light threw a bright radiance upon a framed chart hanging on the wall, marked everywhere with faint purple pencil lines.
Bernard glanced at the compass and gave the man a few directions. Then we went up a short ladder of half a dozen rungs into the highest chamber of all.
It was perfectly circular. There was just room for two or three people, and the steel roof was two feet above our heads. A great tube came down through the roof and disappeared beneath the open grating of the floor. It was like the mast of a ship going through the cabin down to the very gar-board strike. There was a row of brass clock-faces with trembling needles and oddly shaped gauges, in which coloured liquid rose and fell. The whole ganglion of nerves met here in the cerebellum of the ship, and at a glance its commander knew exactly what she was doing, her speed, her depth below the surface of the water, the pressure—a thousand other things which I am not competent to name. The whimsical idea came to me that it was like lifting up the top of a man's head and seeing the thoughts which controlled every motion of his body.
There were charts, also, spread upon a semi-circular shelf of mahogany, with dividers, compasses, and a large magnifying glass.
Fastened to the wall, just above this shelf, was something that touched me strangely. It was a photograph in a silver frame, the photograph of a young, light-haired girl, and upon it was written in German, "An meinem lieber Otto."
Bernard saw it too and sighed. "It's the skipper's girl," he said. "Poor chap! he'll never see her again in this world! It was an ugly death to die, John!" and his voice had a note of deep feeling in it. "But it had to be, and Scarlett told me that he didn't know what hurt him.
"Now," he continued, "I'm going to show you something." He pulled out his watch and then, leaning over to the wall, he snapped over something like the stunted lever of a signal box. Then he pressed a button and a bell rang somewhere far down below. A hoarse voice sounded in our ears from a speaking-tube, and there was a quick, throbbing, pumping sound from the column in the wall.