A Watch-dog of the North Sea: A Naval Story of the Great War

CHAPTER VIII

SPY AND SUPER-SPY

"She's torpedoed, sir!" exclaimed the coxswain as the "Pompey," after slowly recovering herself again, listed until her main for'ard-deck scuttles were awash.

"Hard-a-starboard!" ordered Tressidar. Then under his breath he added, "And those poor little kids on board."

Slowly the pall of smoke dispersed. Outwardly the cruiser showed no signs of her injuries. Swarms of seamen were strenuously engaged in lowering a collision-mat over the hole well beneath the water-line. Others were swinging out the boats.

The "Pompey" was doomed: not by the result of a hostile torpedo, but by an internal explosion. Stoker Jorkler's plot had succeeded, although not to the full extent that he had expected. The detonator had blown a large hole in the wing-plates, but fortunately the explosion had not communicated itself to the forward magazine. Had it done so, the end of the cruiser would have been sudden and complete: not one soul on board would have escaped.

Aft, although the shock of the explosion was distinctly felt, the effect was at first hardly noticeable. Amongst the visitors there was not the slightest trace of panic; in fact, it was with great difficulty that the gunroom officers' could prevail upon their youthful guests to abandon their play and go on deck. Promptly orders had been given to flood the magazines, thus preventing further danger in that direction.

Skilfully the duty boat was brought alongside the stricken cruiser, while almost at the same moment the pulling-boat containing Eric Greenwood and the money-bags rounded the ship's stern.

Assisted by brawny arms, the ladies and children were taken down the accommodation-ladder, the lower platform of which was now three feet under water, and placed in the boats. With full complements the steamboat and the one in which the A.P. was on duty pushed off, slowing down when at a safe distance to await developments.

Other assistance was speedily at hand. Since the cruiser's heavy boats could not be hoisted out in time and those in davits were insufficient for the officers and crew, it was as well that the "Pompey" was within easy reach of other vessels.

A dozen or more badly injured men were the next to be taken off; then, with the utmost precision and discipline, the rest of the crew gained the boats, but not before the collision-mat party for'ard were up to their knees in water.

Clouds of steam issued from the boiler- and engine-rooms, while at intervals muffled explosions of compressed air showed that the water-tight doors, already strained by the explosion, were unable to withstand the terrific pressure of the inflowing sea.

Captain Raxworthy, true to the time-honoured traditions of the service, was the last to quit the doomed ship. Barely had the boat into which he had jumped pushed off a dozen lengths when the huge vessel, shivering like a living creature, turned completely on her beam ends.

For some moments she remained thus, then, heeling still more until her topmasts touched the bed of the harbour, she disappeared from sight, with the exception of one end of her navigation-bridge that still projected a couple of feet above the surface.

As soon as the men landed they were formed up and mustered by divisions. The result of the roll-call showed that nineteen men were missing, and in addition to the dozen seriously injured, thirty men required surgical treatment. Amongst those missing was Stoker James Jorkler.

And when the liberty men returned it was informed that one man had "run." The absentee was reported under the name of Stoker Flanaghan.

In a clump of gaunt pine-trees, halfway up the summit of Ben Craich—the loftiest of the hills in the vicinity of Auldhaig Firth—stood the man hitherto known as Rhino Jorkler.

It is hardly necessary to remark that he was not a Canadian-born British subject. He was a German-American, his real name being Otto Oberfurst. By profession, previous to the outbreak of war, he was a mining-engineer, since then he had been a Secret Service agent in the employ of the German Government.

At first he was engaged in minor activities, under the direction of the notorious Boy Ed, but his zeal so impressed his employer that before long he was entrusted with a desperate mission in the Province of Quebec. Succeeding, he was handsomely rewarded out of the huge sums lavished by the German Government upon the questionable Secret Service and given an opportunity of transferring his activities to Great Britain.

Much as he preferred to work single-handed, he was ordered to report himself to a certain von Schenck, a director of the Teutonic espionage system that prevails in the United Kingdom.

Von Schenck had been, with the exception of periodical visits to Germany, resident in Great Britain for nearly thirty years. At sixty his powers of intellect were undimmed, and since success in espionage depends more upon wits than upon bodily strength and activity, his physical infirmities aided rather than embarrassed his sinister work.

He was of small stature, waxen-featured and grey-haired. He could speak English with a fluency that was faultless enough to take him anywhere without arousing suspicion. From other spies' experiences he knew that a precise regard for the intricate rules of English grammar was frequently a trap. Living unostentatiously in a small house on the outskirts of Edinburgh, he posed as a retired merchant under the assumed name of Andrew McJeames.

With few exceptions von Schenck knew none of his vast army of spies by name, nor did they know of his identity. They were merely numbers—pawns in the great game of espionage played according to the rules and regulations of the degenerate Hun. In a few cases, however, the master spy was personally acquainted with his immediate subordinates, and amongst these was Otto Oberfurst.

It was at von Schenck's instigation that Oberfurst joined the British Navy at Portsmouth. He reckoned on the enormous odds of the newly enlisted stoker being promptly drafted to a vessel in the North Sea. By joining at the Hampshire naval port, less suspicion would be likely to be aroused than if he had entered the service at Rosyth or Cromarty.

Von Schenck was a keen motorist. For miles around the Scottish capital his powerful Mercédès car was known. His kindness in placing himself and his motor at the disposal of a certain military hospital was merely a cloak for a twofold purpose. It gave him an excuse to use the car, in spite of the half-hearted requests from the Government backed by a firm appeal from the Royal Automobile Club; it also enabled him to pick up valuable information from the wounded Tommies, whose pardonable desire to relate their adventures often led them to overrun their discretion. He made a point of never asking a question on service matters of his guests. He relied upon his skill in leading up to any particular subject of which he required information, and sooner or later his wishes were gratified. Within forty-eight hours the information was in the hands of the German Admiralty.

From his place of concealment Otto Oberfurst sat and waited while the lengthening shadows betokened the approach of another night. At frequent intervals he consulted his watch. It was almost identical with the one he had left in the double bottom of the "Pompey."

Occasionally he directed his attention to the dark brown ribbon that marked the position of the main road leading to Auldhaig, but his gaze was chiefly concentrated upon the land-locked harbour. The "Pompey," lying on the extreme west of the line of moorings, was plainly visible. To all outward appearances she looked to be the embodiment of armed security, protected as she was by triple lines of anti-submarine devices that barred the entrance to the firth. In addition to the numerous warships, ranging from large armoured cruisers down to the swift, well-armed craft of the destroyer flotilla, the harbour was protected by four distinct anti-aircraft batteries armed with the very latest type of guns. The positions of these concealed batteries the spy knew with startling accuracy. He also knew that a short distance inland from Auldhaig, and situated in a remote and naturally sheltered valley, was the important munition factory of Sauchieblair. Three times had German aircraft sought to discover the exact position of these immense works. On the last occasion bombs had missed the main cordite factory by two hundred yards; but that was more by good luck than good judgment, for never in the course of their flight over the Scottish coast had they been absolutely certain of their bearings.

Four o'clock. Otto Oberfurst, his hands shaking in spite of his strong nerve, awaited the result of his treacherous handiwork. Ten—twenty—thirty seconds passed, but still no terrific explosion that would rend the cruiser from stem to stern. A wave of horrible uncertainty swept over him. Perhaps suspicion had been aroused and the double bottom had been searched; or a flaw in the intricate mechanism of the timing-gear had prevented the deliberate catastrophe. In either case the failure would be of grave consequences to the German Secret Service plans. The actual proof that an attempt had been made to destroy a warship by internal explosion would make it advisable to discontinue activities in that direction. So long as the British attributed similar disasters to accident, well and good. They could set forth as many theories as they liked, provided that the real reason was known only to von Schenck and his associates.

Suddenly Oberfurst's cogitations were interrupted by the sight of a cloud of smoke leaping skywards from the cruiser. Four seconds later the muffled boom of the explosion was borne to his ears. He could see the vessel listing, but to his intense disappointment she showed no signs of being blown to pieces.

"Himmel!" he muttered. "It is not the magazine this time. I must have miscalculated its position. No matter, another English ship is out of action. Better luck next time!"

He waited until the "Pompey" had disappeared from view beneath the waters of Auldhaig Harbour, then, walking rapidly, he followed a mountain path leading away from the town.

Darkness had fallen when he arrived at a small stone cottage situated in a remote glen. With the ease of a man who was familiar with his surroundings, Oberfurst climbed the stile in the wall enclosing the garden, threaded his way along the winding path, and, avoiding an invisible obstruction in the form of an iron pig-trough, tapped softly upon the window-pane.

"Who's there?" inquired a high-pitched voice.

"All right, mother," replied the spy reassuringly.

Without further delay the door was unbarred and Oberfurst entered the cottage.

"I've run," he declared. "Couldn't stick it any longer."

"Eh?" The old woman eyed him sharply. "What's wrong now?"

"Mother" Taggach, the occupier of the cottage, was a shrivelled-up woman of seventy. She was an illicit distiller of whisky and a receiver of stolen property. The former occupation she plied in this remote cottage; the latter was carried on in a small shop in the outskirts of Edinburgh, where her son kept a marine store. Her minor activities consisted in assisting naval and military deserters, although since the war there was little call for her assistance in that direction. The few "bad hats" of the fleet at Auldhaig soon found out that at Mother Taggach's there were facilities for spending leave with the possibilities of obtaining spirits which, owing to the stringent regulations, were denied them in the town.

Stoker Jorkler was one of her patrons, but Mother Taggach, in spite of her failings, was a strong anti-German. Not for one moment did she suspect the true character of the spy.

"Yes," he continued in answer to her questions. "I've run—deserted. Nerves all gone."

"A pretty sailor you make," remarked the old woman witheringly. "So you want me to fix you up? It's very risky, you know."

"Very," agreed Oberfurst. "But if I'm nabbed I won't peach. Let's have a suit of civilian togs and before morning I'll be miles away."

"Five pounds, then," demanded Mother Taggach.

The spy produced the money. The old woman carefully counted and examined the notes, then from a wooden box she drew a bundle of clothes.

"There you are," she said. "Get along upstairs. You'd best be clear of my house in less than ten minutes."

Quickly Oberfurst effected the change. Beyond wearing civilian garb he made no attempt to disguise himself.

"Here's my old gear," he said, handing the woman a bundle containing his uniform.

"All right, I'll burn them," she remarked. "Though 'tis a waste of good stuff. Where might you be making for, might I ask?"

"Wick," he replied. "I've got a pal there."

He went out into the night and walked quickly until he approached the spot where the mountain path struck the highway running parallel with the east coast. Here he sat down, and from his pocket produced a razor and a piece of soap. In very short time he had shaved the top of his head and his eyebrows, while in place of his smooth chin he sported a greyish beard that would escape detection except under critical inspection. Then, instead of turning northward—for he had deliberately misinformed Mother Taggach—he set his face to the south and tramped briskly in the direction of far-distant Edinburgh.

CHAPTER IX

AN ADVENTURE ON THE HILLS

"I wish to goodness that sister of mine wouldn't do such erratic things," remarked Eric Greenwood.

"Oh!" rejoined Tressidar, with a veiled attempt at inconsequence. "What has she been up to now?"

The conversation occurred two days after the loss of H.M.S. "Pompey." The officers and men of the destroyed cruiser were temporarily berthed in a hulk that had been towed round from Chatham some months previously for use as a depôt-ship.

Mr. Greenwood had returned to Devonshire, declaring that the east coast of Scotland was a little too lively for a man of his mature years and sedentary habits. Doris, of course, remained at the Auldhaig sick-quarters.

"Going for lonely walks when she's off duty," explained the A.P. "Why on earth she doesn't get one of the nursing sisters to go with her I cannot imagine. When I proposed to accompany her, she promptly choked me off. This afternoon, she tells me, she's taking the train as far as Nedderburn, and is going to tramp back over the hills. From all accounts it's a rotten, unfrequented road."

"It is," agreed the sub.

"Yes," added Eric. "And I would insist upon going with her, in spite of her objections, only I am booked for the preliminary inquiry at the Senior's Officer's quarters. That's the penalty for keeping one's shorthand up."

Ronald Tressidar kept his plans to himself, but one of the first things he did was to consult a railway time-table. In it he found that the earliest train the girl could take was at 2.45 p.m. That meant that she would probably set out on her return at a quarter past three, since Nedderburn was only nine miles from Auldhaig and the railway journey took twenty minutes.

His next step, immediately after lunch, was to go ashore and pay a visit to the local garage.

"Sorry, sir," replied the proprietor in answer to the sub.'s request for the hire of a two-seater car. "I've nae ain in the place; but I hae a bonnie leetle motor-cycle and side-car."

"Suppose that will have to do," said Tressidar dubiously. "She'll take the hills all right, I hope?"

Receiving an affirmative reply, the sub. concluded negotiations for the hire of the unaccustomed mount, but before he was clear of the town he found that he had something fairly powerful under his control and also something that was not so very difficult to steer.

For the first two miles the road skirted the northern shore of the firth, then ascending a steep hill by means of a series of well-engineered zig-zags, it swept across a bleak upland. For the most part the country on either side consisted of sheep-pasture, rough stone walls taking the place of the hedges so common in the south. Here and there were thick clusters of gorse, growing to a height of nearly six feet. There were also clumps of gaunt pines that swayed mournfully in the stiff breeze.

After a while the road began to descend with a long, easy gradient. Away on his right he could just discern the galvanised iron roofs and tall brick chimneys of the Sauchieblair Munition Works. It was only from this part of the road that any distant view could be obtained of the magazines without climbing any of the surrounding hills. Just beyond this spot was a fairly extensive wood.

"I'll bring up here and have a pipe," thought the sub. "I am in plenty of time, and it's only a few miles to Nedderburn."

Leaving the cycle and side-car, he paced up and down the road, for the air was much too keen to stand still. Then, having assured himself that there was plenty of petrol in the tank—experience had taught him that there are such things as leaking carburetters and petrol pipes—he restarted.

Less than a mile from the outskirts of the little village of Nedderburn he espied a trim figure walking briskly in his direction. It was Doris Greenwood.

Presently Tressidar's fears gripped him.

"Hang it!" he soliloquised. "What possible excuse can I have for coming out here?"

With a motor-cycle travelling at twenty miles an hour there is little time to decide upon any matter, but by the time the sub. slowed down he had framed some sort of excuse which might or might not hold water.

"Hulloa, Doris!" he exclaimed in well-simulated surprise. "Whatever are you doing in this unfrequented road?"

"Merely walking for exercise," she replied.

"To Auldhaig? It's a long way. Can I give you a lift?"

"Why, you are going in exactly the opposite direction," declared the girl laughingly. "And to find you riding with an empty side-car, Ronald. Now, what does it mean?"

"I'll deal with your question," replied Tressidar, striving to gain time to find a suitable explanation to meet her previous remark. "I couldn't hire a car and I can't ride a motorbike solo, so I had to hire the side-car to keep me balanced. It's quite true that I was going in the wrong direction, but there's no reason why I shouldn't turn the affair round."

"If you are riding with a set purpose," continued Doris remorselessly, "I wouldn't think of detaining you. You evidently are making for somewhere."

"Yes, I am," admitted Tressidar boldly. "I came along here to meet you. It's no use mincing matters. Look here, what do you say to a run out as far as Tuilaburn? It's only seven miles further, and the road across the moors is simply top-hole. We'll be back at Auldhaig well before lighting-up time."

Doris assented. She was not one of those irresponsible young ladies who coyly pretend not to be able to make up their minds. She really admired the tall, bronzed naval officer who had handled the duty steamboat so magnificently in going to the aid of the doomed "Pompey." It was not without ulterior motives, which were now being realised, that she had "choked off" her rather too attentive brother.

Before the girl took her place in the car Ronald assisted her to don his oilskin coat—the same that she had worn on that memorable trip in Auldhaig Harbour. It formed an ideal protection from the biting wind.

Almost before they were aware of it, they ran into Tuilaburn. Here they had tea and talked—of many things. It was close upon lighting-up time when the return journey began.

"By Jove! the little engine does pull well," remarked Tressidar as the motor-cycle ascended the long gradual rise out of Nedderburn. "We'll be in Auldhaig before it's time to light up, you see if we won't."

The words were hardly out of his mouth when, with an ominous succession of bumps, the back tyre punctured.

"The result of boasting," declared Doris cheerfully, as the sub. dismounted and examined the outer cover.

"A nail," he announced. "That's good. It will save me from searching for a small puncture. I'll mend the inner tube in less than ten minutes."

Once again his optimism was at fault, for the cover was an obstinate one to remove. The tube, a butted one, was then patched and replaced. By the time they were ready to resume their journey it was lighting-up time.

For nearly ten minutes Tressidar attempted to get the head-light to burn. It stubbornly refused duty. Examination showed that the carbide was already saturated and useless for illumination.

"We'll risk it," declared the sub. "It's a hundred to one chance that we meet anyone on this unfrequented road, especially a policeman."

"I should not like to see our names figure in a police-court report," remarked Doris.

"No; but they might appear in a very different sort of document," added Tressidar boldly.

Doris made no reply. It was now too dark for her companion to notice the expression on her face. Vaguely he wondered whether he had bungled again.

"What's that glare over there?" asked the girl as they emerged from a little wood on the crest of the hill.

"Only the munition works at Sauchieblair," replied Tressidar. "It's rather strange that a Government factory should show such an amount of light."

"It's out," exclaimed Doris ten seconds later. "What does that mean—a Zepp. warning?"

"Shouldn't wonder," answered her companion. "It's just the sort of night—dark and practically no wind.... Oh, bother!"

The back tyre was again bumping on the ground.

"I vote we abandon ship," suggested Tressidar. "We'll push the thing just off the road and walk the rest of the way. I'll tell the man to send for it in the morning, Hope you don't mind the tramp, Doris?"

They alighted. Tressidar was in the act of urging the heavy motor-cycle upon the slight rise by the roadside when with a rush and subdued roar a powerful motor-car with obscured lights flashed by. Well it was that the cycle was clear, otherwise there was every possibility of its being run down by the reckless road-hogs.

"Three red lights," exclaimed Doris, indicating the rear lights of the disappearing motor. "That's rather unusual."

"There's no law against a fellow having as many red rear lights as he wants so far as I know," said Tressidar. "It's certainly unusual. I say, I believe the car's stopping. Let's get them to give us a lift into Auldhaig."

The motor was now on a slight rise almost four hundred yards from the spot where the motor-cycle had been abandoned. It displayed three red lights vertically.

Before the sub. and his companion had walked more than twenty yards the three lights were increased by three more, so that there was a vertical string of six. At the same time the car was being backed from the side of the road on to the sward.

"Doris," exclaimed Ronald hurriedly, "will you stay here a little while?—do you mind? I'm going to see what those fellows are up to. It looks jolly fishy. You're not nervous?"

"Not a little bit," declared the girl. "Only take care of yourself."

"I'll try," rejoined the sub. "Don't make a sound. If—that is, supposing I don't come back, you had better make your way to Nedderburn and telephone to the senior officer of Auldhaig; but I fancy that there'll be no need for that."

Taking to the grass, Tressidar stole cautiously in the direction of the stationary car. His footsteps made no sound upon the springy turf. As he approached he bent low, taking advantage of the cover afforded by the numerous gorse bushes.

"So that's your little game," he mused. There were two men with the car. One, by the aid of the partly screened head-lamp, was consulting what was evidently a prismatic compass. The other, acting according to the movements of his companion's hand, was slowly shifting the car in its own length.

The mystery of the six red lights was now no longer a mystery. To the sub.'s keen intelligence the whole thing was as clear as daylight. The lid of the tool-box at the rear of the car had been partly raised until it formed an angle of 135 degrees with the back of the body. The lid, being of burnished metal, served as a reflector, so that the three red lights appeared to be six in a straight vertical line.

And that line pointed in the direction of the Sauchieblair Munition Works.

"That will do," said a voice in German—a language of which Tressidar had more than a general knowledge. "We're right on the exact bearing. Call up Pfeiller and inform him that our position is fixed."

The fellow who had been engaged in manoeuvring the car stepped inside the coupé. The faint cackle of a low-powered wireless apparatus was faintly borne to the sub.'s ear.

"Pfeiller reports all right at his position," announced the man after a brief interval.

"Let us hope he is sure on the point," remarked the German with the compass.

"He is a careful man at that sort of work," said the other reassuringly. "Now comes the worst part of the business—the waiting. Himmel! I t is cold on these hills."

"If she picks up the coast lights without difficulty she ought to be here by eight o'clock," said his companion. "These English have already had warning. That is why they have turned out the lights. Can you imagine them, friend Otto, cowering in darkness, waiting for one of our incomparable Zeppelins to blow them to pieces? And there is not even a puny, so-called anti-aircraft gun nearer than Auldhaig."

Ronald Tressidar had heard enough. His first impulse was to retrace his steps quietly and make his way to Nedderburn to procure assistance. But upon further consideration he came to the conclusion that before the spies could be made prisoners the Zeppelin's work might be accomplished. Prompt measures were necessary.

Creeping away to a safe distance, the sub. removed his heavy great-coat. To have the unencumbered use of his limbs was essential to the work he proposed attempting.

Again he stalked the two Germans. Unheard and unseen he gained the remote side of the car, then working round the front he leapt upon the nearmost of the spies.

Throwing his muscular arms round the fellow's head and applying his knee to the small of his back, Tressidar hurled him heavily to the ground. In falling, the fellow grabbed frantically at the sub.'s ankles. The check was but momentary, but sufficient to put the second Teuton on his guard.

Whipping out a pistol, he fired almost point-blank at the British naval officer.

Whether he was hit or otherwise Tressidar did not pause to consider. Bending low and hunching his shoulders, he charged the armed man, and butting him in the chest sent him flying backwards a good five yards. The pistol was jerked from his grip and fell in the centre of a gorse-bush.

Carried onwards by the momentum of his furious charge, the sub. tripped across the plunging limbs of his opponent and pitched headlong on the ground.

CHAPTER X

THE FOILED RAID

Before Tressidar could recover himself the second German gripped him by the throat, at the same time shouting to his prostrate comrade to bestir himself and find the pistol.

Although his opponent was a heavy, muscular man the British officer, taken at a disadvantage, did not hesitate to attempt to equalise matters. In spite of the pressure of the Hun's fingers on his windpipe, he raised his knees and lashing out literally hurled the German from him.

Agilely turning over, Tressidar sought to regain his feet, but as he did so the fellow he had previously felled leapt upon his back, striking him over and over again with his clenched fists; while the other man, in spite of being temporarily winded, came again to the attack.

In the midst of the desperate struggle Tressidar was most agreeably surprised to hear a voice shouting, "Come on, men. Collar those fellows."

The impending assistance caused the two Germans to take to their heels. Without waiting to ascertain the numbers and strength of the rescue party, they made off, leaving the car and various instruments behind.

Tressidar regained his feet. He could discern the heavy tread of approaching footsteps. He hastened to meet his rescuers, until sheer astonishment brought him up "all standing." The rescue party consisted of one person—Doris Greenwood.

"Are you hurt, Ronald?" she asked in an anxious whisper.

"No, I don't think so," replied Tressidar. "But why——? I thought I told you to sheer off."

"It's not insubordination," said the girl. "You are not my superior officer, you know. I heard the firing and the sound of men scuffling, so I did my level best to imitate a man's voice, and at the same time I stamped hard upon the ground. Have they gone?"

"Yes; but if they find out that you're only a girl—a jolly plucky one, I must say—they may take it into their thick heads to renew the attack. I'll find that pistol and be on the safe side."

While the sub. was searching for the lost weapon, Doris listened intently.

"I cannot hear anything of them," she reported.

"That's rather a pity," said Tressidar, as he groped in the prickly furze. "They may still be hanging round, waiting to stalk us. Hurrah! I've found it."

His hand had come in contact with the barrel of the pistol. He withdrew the firearm, to find that it was a powerful weapon of the automatic type. Examination of the magazine revealed the fact that there were seven unexpended cartridges.

"Where's your great-coat?" asked Doris.

"I left it down there," replied Tressidar, indicating the dim outlines of the gorse-bushes on the other side of the road.

"You'll get a fearful cold without it. Go and get it," continued the girl authoritatively. "We have no sympathy with patients at Auldhaig Sick Quarters who get pneumonia through their own carelessness."

Tressidar laughed.

"I feel inclined to take the risk," he retorted. "But I suppose I'd better obey your orders, even if you won't obey mine."

Holding the pistol in readiness for a surprise attack, the sub. stole cautiously to the place where he had left his great-coat. Without interruption he regained his property and rejoined his companion, then he listened intently. Not a sound broke the stillness of the night.

"Well, we've had to abandon a motor-cycle and side-car and we have a gorgeous motor-car in exchange," said Tressidar. "I say, I hope you are not in a great hurry?"

"Of course not," replied Doris with surprise at the question. "Nursing sisters are not required to be back before nine."

"It may be long after nine," said the sub. seriously. "Stand by while I shift this car. I'll tell you why presently."

The motor-car being on a slight gradient was fairly easy to move even without starting the engine.

"Why, you haven't moved it half a yard," exclaimed Doris

"Precisely. That is all that is necessary just at present. Now let me explain. These fellows were expecting a Zeppelin. It's on its way, I believe, but there's little or no danger for us, I may say. Somewhere—in what direction or how far away I don't know—is another car, showing, I presume, a string of red lights like this beauty. Viewed from an airship, there will be two lines of red lights visible. These, if continued indefinitely, will intersect at a certain spot. There the Zepp. is to drop her bombs; and the desired place is Sauchieblair Munition Factory. Unfortunately I cannot alter both bearings, but by clewing this car round a few feet the point of intersection will be altered at least a couple of hundred yards. I hope it will be four or five hundred, but it won't do to alter the bearing too much in case it doesn't cross the other one."

"And then?"

"We must wait until the Zepp. has come and gone. If we abandon our post our Germans may return and readjust the position of the car. Hulloa! what's that? There's some one coming. Just get into the car, Doris. It's a pretty substantial affair, unless I'm much mistaken."

Doris obeyed without demur. Tressidar, with his pistol ready for instant action, crouched behind the body of the car.

Evidently some harmless individual was approaching. They could hear footsteps crunching on the hard gravel road, but still, the sub. could afford to take no risks of a treacherous onslaught.

"Halt!" shouted Tressidar as the man came within ten paces. "Who are you? What are you doing here?"

The stranger, a big, hulking fellow, halted promptly enough, and in broad Scotch declared that he was only a shepherd on his way home.

"And I'm a naval officer," announced the sub. "I call upon you in the King's name to render assistance. Is your sight good? Can you hear well?"

Receiving a disjointed affirmative reply from the almost dumfounded shepherd, Tressidar continued:

"That's capital. Now, I want you to stand here and keep a bright look-out. There are two suspicious characters knocking about. They are not armed—at least, with firearms, for I've taken the only pistol they possessed. Directly you spot them—that is, if they make up their minds to come back—let me know as quietly as possible. Eh, what's that? You hope they do? Good man! You are a tough customer to tackle with that heavy stick of yours."

The Scotsman, a brawny specimen in spite of his years, for he was nearly sixty, nodded his head with a confidence that assured the sub. of a reliable and energetic ally. Leaving him at his post, Tressidar returned to the car.

"I fancy I heard firing," he remarked.

"Yes," agreed Doris. "I saw flashes. See, there they are again."

She pointed away to the south-east. The crests of the distant hills were silhouetted against a succession of pale flashes and the glare of half a dozen searchlights, while the low rumble of a series of explosions could just be distinguished.

Then the flashes ceased, although the giant beams still searched the sky—and searched in vain. The huge target presented by the Zeppelin had been lost to sight.

"There's something overhead," declared Tressidar. "It's an aerial propeller, but for a Zepp. it's very subdued. You're not nervous, Doris?"

The girl smiled.

"Being nervous wouldn't be of any use, so I must be brave," she replied. "As a matter of fact I am rather enjoying the experience. Do you think——"

A lurid flash and terrific crash, the sound appearing to emanate from a spot within a hundred yards from where they waited, interrupted her words. The flash was followed by two others in quick succession, and then a perfect hail of high-explosive bombs. The Zepp. was hurling down missiles as fast as she could from a height of less than two thousand feet upon what her commander took to be the Sauchieblair Munition Works. In point of actual fact the bombs were dropping, thanks to Tressidar's resourcefulness in altering the position of the leading lights, on the grassland full a mile from the Huns' particular objective.

For nearly twenty minutes the futile operation of bomb-dropping continued. Once or twice the sub. turned to look at the shepherd. The man was gazing stolidly into the darkness with his back turned upon the German firework display. He had been set a particular task and whole-heartedly he was carrying it out.

At length, as if suspecting that they were being tricked, the crew of the Zeppelin ceased hurling explosives. They switched on two powerful searchlights, which, playing in an almost vertically downward direction, swept the ground in order to discover the magazine buildings. To do so the airship had dropped to less than a thousand feet.

"They'll find the place, I'm afraid," thought Tressidar. "If only our people had even a couple of anti-aircraft guns——"

The shepherd touched his arm and pointed down the road in the direction of Auldhaig. Approaching at a furious rate, their presence only apparent by the noise they made, were several motor-cars armed with quick-firers on vertical mountings. Others, with travelling searchlight projectors, accompanied them. The lights were temporarily screened, since the position of the hostile airship could be fixed by the fact that she was playing her searchlights upon the ground.

The mobile quick-firers made no attempt to get into action until the cars were almost abreast of the spot where Tressidar and his companions were. Had they done so, the chances were that the falling shrapnel bullets would do considerable damage to the lightly built roofs of the munition works.

Suddenly six anti-aircraft guns opened fire simultaneously. The air was torn with the shriek of the high-velocity projectiles and the sharp reports of the weapons. The explosion of the shells threw a blaze of light upon the silvery envelope of the gigantic night-raider. It seemed as if it would be impossible for her to escape the wide effect of the bursting projectiles.

Doris clasped her hands and waited, fully expecting that the huge floating fabric would either burst into flame or drop, a crumpled mass of metal, upon the ground.

The Zeppelin lurched. Her bow part tilted sharply downwards. Her searchlights were switched off. At the same time the British searchlights threw their concentrated beams upon their quarry. Smoke was pouring from the hard-pressed airship, until her outlines were hidden by the pall of vapour.

Then, to an accompaniment of a perfect tornado of exploding bombs for the airship had hurriedly thrown out her remaining supply of missiles, the Zeppelin shot vertically upwards with almost incredible velocity. Growing smaller and smaller to the sightseers, it gradually grew more and more indistinct, until the searchlight men were unable to locate its position. The last seen of her was that she was travelling slowly in a south-easterly direction.

"Hulloa! What the deuce have we got here?" inquired a deep, hearty voice. "Car with a blaze of red lights, by Jove!"

Towards the Mercédès car strode a burly, great-coated figure in the uniform of a lieutenant in the R.N. Air Service. Following him were seven or eight men from the crews of the motor batteries.

"You have here a car belonging to a couple of German spies," said Tressidar, advancing to meet the lieutenant.

"Nothing like being candid about the business," rejoined the latter drily. "And who might you be?"

The sub. announced his name and rank.

"You have a lot to explain," said the Air Service officer. "There have been cases of Germans masquerading in British uniforms, you know. You must consider yourself under arrest."

Tressidar raised no objection. It was useless to do so. He realised that, in the circumstances, the lieutenant was perfectly justified in what he did. He only wondered how Doris would take it.

Greatly to his surprise he heard the girl laugh merrily.

"Good evening, Mr. Waynsford," she exclaimed.

The young lieutenant, completely taken aback, did not immediately reply. Striding to the door of the car, he merely returned the compliment and waited for Doris to continue.

"I can answer for Mr. Tressidar's loyalty," she continued. "You see, Mr. Waynsford, we are stranded on the hills. We had to abandon a motor-cycle and we found a motor-car. In fact, Mr. Tressidar captured it. Now I think I'll let you continue the narrative, Ronald."

"By Jove!" ejaculated the lieutenant. "That was quite a 'cute move on the part of the spies, Tressidar, and most smart on your part. I believe we've winged that Zepp. Hulloa!"

A petty officer came up at the double. He was one of the men attached to the portable wireless telegraphy car.

"The Zepp.'s reported flying low over Saltkirk, sir," he announced. "She dropped one bomb on a cottage. Woman and four children blown to bits. The airship was last seen making slowly to the east'ard."

"Very good," commented Waynsford. "We can do no more. Can you pilot the captured car into Auldhaig, Tressidar?"

"Don't think I'd better risk it," replied the sub. "I'm not used to a Mercédès. A British-built car is more my mark."

He had other reasons for declining to be his own prize-master. It would not be fair to Doris to let her risk her life in a strange car and on a rough, hilly road. On the other hand, he did not like the idea of letting Lieutenant Waynsford have the pleasure of the girl's company. Already he was a little jealous of the fellow, he decided. How did Doris get to make his acquaintance during her as yet brief stay at Auldhaig?

"All right, then," rejoined Waynsford. "I'll give you a lift in my car, and get a couple of hands to run the Mercédès to Auldhaig. 'Fraid you'll find rather cramped quarters," he added, as he held open the metal door in the armoured sides. "The shoulder-piece of the quick-firer is awfully in the way."

A moment later the cars were jolting and swaying at forty miles an hour along the road, barely slowing down as they tore through the crowded streets of Auldhaig, for the Zepp. had brought men, women, and children from the houses, all eager to hear of the work done by the anti-aircraft guns.

In this they were disappointed. The gunners, modest when it came to relating their own deeds, were not inclined to give particulars, especially as they were not definitely certain as to whether the Zepp. was crippled.

Having escorted Doris to the gates of the hospital, Tressidar bade her a hasty farewell and hurried towards the harbour. He had already outstayed his leave, and although the extenuating circumstances warranted the breach of discipline, he was anxious to know what was being done afloat. It was now close upon ten o'clock. At ten-thirty he was to go on duty in the guard-boat, which at Auldhaig was the "harbour service" torpedo-boat No. 445, an antiquated craft but quite good enough for the work allotted to her.

Auldhaig Harbour was now comparatively empty. The armoured cruisers had left during the afternoon to rendezvous off the Isle of May; the destroyers had gone to relieve the outer patrol in the Firth of Forth, and the "opposite numbers" had not yet returned to the base. The only vessels left were a couple of light cruisers undergoing refit, four torpedo-boats, and a couple of large fleet auxiliaries.

By this time the steam pinnace had taken the sub. off to the hulk in which the ship's company of the ill-fated "Pompey" were quartered. Tressidar was only just able to snatch a hasty meal before the torpedo-boat was ready to cast off.

Thanking his lucky stars that it was a fine night, although bitterly cold, Tressidar gained the deck of the waiting craft. As he did so the officer of the watch came to the side of the hulk and leant over.

"Message just come through, Mr. Tressidar," he exclaimed. "Zeppelin reported down about fifteen miles south-east of Dunletter Head. All available craft ordered to proceed and investigate. Good luck!"