CHAPTER XVIII
THE DERELICT OBSERVATION BALLOON
"Well done, old man!" exclaimed Tressidar as he climbed back into the basket car. "That was a brilliant idea of yours. Look here, you know something of aeronautical work; I don't, so you had better pilot this contraption."
Fuller shook his head.
"This isn't a clinking little biplane," he said, "It is completely at the mercy of the wind. But we mustn't grumble; we're leaving Sylt a long way beneath us."
Looking over the edge of the car, Tressidar could discern practically the whole of the long, narrow island, which is twenty miles in length and averaging two miles in breadth. Owing to the fact that it was dead low water the island appeared to be a vast peninsula, joined to the Schleswig shore by a broad belt of sand. North and south of the island and running respectively south-east and north-east were two extensive estuaries that almost met at the causeway connecting Sylt with the mainland.
"Which way are we drifting?" asked Tressidar anxiously.
"Hanged if I can make out," replied Fuller. "We've apparently struck a calm patch. The wind was certainly sou'sou'west when we kicked off. See—the smoke from those buildings: it had a decided drift towards the Danish frontier."
"A good easterly gale would be more my mark," said Tressidar. "We would then stand a chance of getting picked up by our patrol craft."
"Unless they started to shell us with the most amiable intention of sending a couple of supposed Huns to blazes," added the flight sub. "So, in the circumstances, Denmark is good enough for me, even if we are lucky enough to fetch it."
For some moments there was silence, broken only by the barking of a dog some thousands of feet below Then Fuller, who had been leaning over the side, shrugged his shoulders.
"We're dropping, I'm afraid," he announced. "It's close on sunset, and with the fall of temperature the buoyancy of the gas-bag suffers. See what you can chuck overboard."
The balloon, being hitherto used as a captive observation machine, was unprovided with an aneroid, or indeed any instrument for measuring the altitude. During the last ten minutes it had drifted steadily in a north-easterly direction, so that, unless the wind changed, the aeronauts were faced with the possibility of "landing" somewhere in the North Sea instead of the shores of Jutland.
Overboard went the rifle, two hundred rounds of ammunition, the telephone, and other miscellaneous articles, all of which stood a good chance of doing a certain amount of damage to the German torpedo-boats at the mouth of Lister Deep. A revolver and fifty small cartridges Tressidar retained, arguing with himself that they might be useful.
"There's a fog coming up," he said, after studying the panoramic view through a pair of binoculars. "A night mist, I suppose. It will make things jolly awkward when we do land."
"It will be a jolly good thing for us very soon," corrected Fuller. "Look, what do you make of that?" And he pointed in the direction of the now distant fortress of Sylt.
"Taubes," exclaimed Tressidar laconically.
"Or Fokkers," added the flight-sub. "Two of the brutes; they'll be hard after us in a brace of shakes. In fact I think they are heading in our direction already."
"Thank heaven it's getting dark," said the sub. fervently, for already the land was shrouded in the gloom of twilight. "And it's getting fairly thick up here. I can hardly discern the aeroplanes."
"They have a bigger object to look for than we have," said Fuller. "We'll have to do one thing or the other—go up or down. Going down means irreparable loss of hydrogen."
"There's nothing left in the way of ballast to sling overboard."
"Yes, in due course," remarked the flight sub. "I see a couple of straps round the basket. We'll have to strap ourselves to the netting and cut the car adrift. It's our only chance."
Tressidar realised the gravity of the situation. The balloon, by no means fully inflated when they boarded her, was appreciably losing lifting power both by the minute yet none the less certain porosity of the envelope and by the fall of temperature. He shuddered, strong-minded though he was, at the idea of having to literally hang in the air with the prospect of a terrific drop to earth should the thin cordage of the netting give way.
Presumably the German airmen were reluctant to plunge into the mist, that was now spreading far and wide and increasing in height. They were still climbing spirally, evidently with the idea of gaining an immense altitude before swooping down upon the derelict balloon.
And every moment's delay meant that their chances decreased and that the odds against the fugitives diminished.
The balloon, still falling, was now swallowed up in the fog. To descend prematurely meant either falling upon the German island of Rom, or else into the German territorial waters. In either case recapture was a foregone conclusion.
The low drone of an air propeller announced the disconcerting fact that one of the Fokkers was approaching. Quickly the noise increased, but in which direction—whether above or below—neither of the British officers could determine.
Then, with a rush of displaced air that caused the balloon to sway violently, the aeroplane swept beneath it at the rate of an express train. Too late had the Huns spotted their quarry. To attempt to rise would result in collision with disastrous results to friend and foe. All the Huns could do was to depress the horizontal steering-rudders and dip sharply underneath the balloon before describing a curve and approaching it at an altitude that would enable them to use their weapons of offence. In this case the Germans hoped to recapture the two officers alive, and with that object in view they were endeavouring to perforate the envelope of the balloon sufficiently to send it with comparative slowness to the ground.
"Now!" exclaimed Fuller.
Both men hacked desperately with their knives they had found in the car. The basket dropped and was lost to sight in the darkness. Tressidar and his companion, clinging to the network, were almost unaware of any change of altitude, although there was a slight downdraught of air, until the balloon emerged from the bank of mist into the gathering darkness.
Tressidar gave a sigh of relief. There were no signs of the second German aeroplane. Evidently it was engaged, as was its consort, in hunting for the balloon in the fog, which was very much like looking for the proverbial needle in a bottle of hay—with the grave risk of an aerial collision thrown in.
By degrees the drone of the propellers died away and complete silence reigned. It was becoming bitterly cold. The two men, ill-clad for a night in the clouds, shivered violently. Their hands lost all sense of touch. Had it not been for the leather straps that encircled their bodies they would have been compelled to drop—to be dashed into unrecognisability upon the ground six thousand feet below.
Half an hour passed. Overhead the stars were shining brightly. Obliquely beneath them a dull blurr of light was visible. It was the searchlights of Sylt. Further away, and in the opposite direction, lights of varying intensity glimmered through the now dispersing fog.
"Hurrah!" exclaimed the flight sub. "The coastwise lights of Denmark. They can't be German, for the bounders are as cautious about showing as much as a candle-light as we are. That patch of luminosity must be the town of Esbjerg."
"We're getting nearer," declared Tressidar after another interval, during which the balloon had revolved half a dozen times on its own axis, for in the absence of the cable connecting it with the earth the supplementary gas-bag failed to serve its purpose of keeping the balloon steady.
"And falling," added Fuller. "We'll have to stand by for a jolly good old bump, I fancy."
They had now good reasons for supposing that they were over Danish territory, for beneath them numerous lights were twinkling. It was as yet only nine o'clock, and the villagers had not yet retired to rest. To the southward—for the aeronauts were now able to determine the cardinal points of the compass by means of the Pole Star—the lights ended abruptly, indicating the frontier line between a nation at peace and a nation at war.
"Rub your hands well," cautioned Fuller. "You'll have to be slippy getting that buckle unfastened. Directly we touch we must cast off simultaneously, or one of us will have another voyage through the air. We are now less than a thousand feet up, I think."
The balloon was again falling, although its descent was by no means rapid. The chums could now hear sounds coming from the country beneath them; even a horse trotting and a man whistling. Yet, with the exception of the lights, nothing was visible. Even the nature of the country, whether flat or hilly, open or wooded, was veiled by the darkness.
"What's that?" asked Tressidar, as a number of dark conical projections seemed to flit past only a few feet beneath them.
"Tree tops," replied Fuller. "We've just missed being left on the top branches of some pines. By Jove, there's quite a steady breeze. If we crash into anything there'll be trouble."
Almost as he spoke Tressidar's feet came in contact with the ground. Then like an indiarubber ball the balloon shot ten feet in the air and again dropped, until the sub. found his boots trailing over a field of grass.
"Stand by!" shouted Fuller warningly. "Mind you don't get entangled in the netting."
Both men unbuckled their straps. They were now clinging with both hands to the network. The bumps became more and more violent, as the balloon lost buoyancy, but at the same time their rate of progress over the ground was too quick to enable them to find a footing.
Suddenly their boots caught in the top rail of a fence.
"Let go!" shouted Fuller.
Tressidar obeyed promptly, to find himself sprawling head downwards in a ditch. Regaining his feet, he found his chum kneeling a few feet from him. There was no sign of the balloon. Relieved of the twenty-four stone weight of the two passengers, it had soared upwards once more and had vanished from their sight.
CHAPTER XIX
THE DESERTED HOUSE
For some moments Tressidar could do nothing but cling to the fence. He was still under the influence of vertigo, caused by his flight through space. Everything seemed to be revolving round and round. But for the support he would have been unable to stand.
"I'm feeling beastly giddy," he gasped.
"Not unusual," replied Fuller briskly. "Sit down and clap your head between your knees. You'll soon feel all right. You are not used to this sort of work."
"And it strikes me I never will be," thought the sub. as he carried out his companion's instructions.
"Better?" asked the flight sub. "Good! I knew you would be. Now, what's the plan of action? I vote we go cautiously, to make sure that we are in neutral territory. We'll have to get decent clothes before daybreak. We're positively not respectable."
"Look here," said Tressidar. "What happens if we are on Danish soil? Do you think we'll be interned if we are discovered? If so, I'm not having any."
"Can't say," replied Fuller. "The Danes are jolly good fellows, but they are sticklers for international propriety. You see, they are in fear of the Huns. They haven't forgotten the loss of Schleswig-Holstein. Is there a British vice-consul at Esbjerg, I wonder?"
"I should imagine so," answered his chum. "But how on earth can we get in touch with him while we are wearing these multicoloured travesties of apparel? We would be run in on sight, and then there would be the deuce of a bother. I don't like the idea of cooling our heels in a Danish internment camp until the end of the war. No, the only thing I can suggest is to turn burglars. In short, sneak some clothes and food, and then make for Esbjerg. We're bound to find a vessel bound for England. As for the stuff we sneak, we must make reparation at the first convenient opportunity."
"I'm on," replied Fuller laconically.
"Then north-east is our course. We'll investigate at the first cottage we come to that doesn't show a light. Suppose I'd better stick to this?" And he held up the revolver in the starlight.
"Might be useful," agreed Fuller. "Especially in this 'dunno where 'e are' district."
Keeping by the side of the fence, the two men stole cautiously along for nearly two hundred yards, till they found their progress barred by a wire railing supported by stout wooden uprights.
"'Ware barbed wire," whispered Fuller.
"It's not barbed," declared Tressidar, running his fingers along a section of the wire. "That's another fairly sound proof that we are somewhere in Denmark, as, I believe, the Danish Government forbids the use of that beastly barbed stuff. I guess the fellow who invented barbed wire has something on his conscience if he's still alive. It must have cost thousands of lives in this war."
Several fields were traversed before the two officers came to an abrupt halt. Not so very far away was a road. They could hear footsteps and then the gradually increasing roar of a motor-cycle.
"A German by the beastly sound of the engine," declared Fuller. "It's almost as guttural with its explosion as a Hun jabbering away in full blast. Look here, this road won't do. Too many people about. Edge away to the right and keep parallel to it."
Within the next hour the chums passed close to half a dozen houses. Lights within showed that the occupants were still up. Caution urged the fugitives to give these buildings a wide berth.
"I'm getting horribly peckish," announced Fuller. "I could swallow a basin full of steerage cocoa without the faintest qualms, and I don't think I would jib at a weevily biscuit. What's that over there?"
He pointed to the faint outlines of a house which, unlike the others they had passed, was unlighted, and also not surrounded by outbuildings. On the side facing them was a row of tall poplars that sighed mournfully in the breeze.
"That's the ticket," agreed Fuller. "Only remember: if you're nabbed I give myself up. We sink or swim together on this trip."
Fortunately the ground was fairly soft, and the sub's wooden-soled foot-gear made no sound. The canvas uppers, too, had no tendency to squeak, but how the soles would behave if they came in contact with a tiled or cobbled pavement was another matter.
On approaching closer to the house, Tressidar made the discovery that it was surrounded by a stone wall of about seven feet in height. This he skirted until he found that the front of the building abutted on a narrow lane that evidently joined the highway at no little distance.
At first the sub. thought that the house was empty, until he noticed drawn curtains over the windows. Possibly there were lights within, for the fabric was heavy and impervious to illumination. There were shutters also, but these had not been drawn-to.
Having completed the circuit of the building, Tressidar paused to consider his next step. One thing he felt fairly certain of there were no dogs on the premises, otherwise even his light footfalls would have aroused them. A strange quietude brooded over the place. Although furnished, it was temporarily without its occupiers.
Thrice he essayed to scale the wall, but owing to his exertions and lack of food the task was beyond him.
"Say, old man," he whispered as he rejoined his chum, "come and give me a leg up. There's a tough bit of wall to tackle. After that it looks simple enough. No need to stop here. Keep close to the wall. If the place is empty, as I think it is, I'll open the door for you."
With Fuller's assistance the sub., having thrown off his boots, found himself astride the wall. On the other side was a rough lean-to shed, which extended to the wall of the house. The roof creaked but held as Tressidar made his way with great care and deliberation over the tarred boards. He was now able to reach a small window without undue exertion.
"Wish to goodness I had a diamond," he soliloquised as he pressed gently and firmly upon the resisting glass. "Hulloa. There's a stack-pipe. I wonder if the guttering will hold?"
Steadying himself by the stack-pipe, Tressidar hauled himself up until he stood upon the window-sill. He was now able to reach the eave of the roof. Testing the spouting with his weight he came to the conclusion that it was fairly sound.
"Now or never," he muttered, and with an agile spring he drew himself up sufficiently to enable him to clamber on the tiled roof. As he expected, there was a dormer-window less than ten feet to his left.
The tiles creaked as he trod. A stork, nesting between one of the chimneys and the roof, flew noisily away, the sudden apparition of the large bird nearly causing the sub. to slide over the edge of the tiles. For some moments he listened intently. No sound from the immediate vicinity reached his ears. Evidently it was safe to proceed.
The dormer-window was diamond-paned. The leads offered little resistance as he pressed against the glass. In a very short space of time he had removed a piece of glass nearest to the fastening; then, inserting his hand, he threw open the casement and drew aside the heavy curtain.
With his head and shoulders thrust into the room the sub. listened again. The noisy ticking of a clock was the only sound that caught his ear.
"Jolly queer sort of house," thought he; "one might imagine it was in good old England. It's the only one that shades the inside lights, and they are mighty particular about doing it. Even this attic window was bunged up."
The open casement was just large enough to allow him to squeeze through. The floor-boards creaked alarmingly as they took his weight. Again he listened. The sound was enough to awaken the soundest sleeper, unless he or she were stone deaf.
"By Jove! A burglar must be a pretty plucky sort of individual," mused Tressidar as he groped his way to the low doorway and commenced to descend the steep, rickety stairs. "Feeling one's way about in a strange house and in total darkness requires some doing, especially with the risk of being bowled over with a poker thrown in."
Systematically the sub. proceeded with his investigations, examining every room as he came to it, until he found himself on the ground floor. Luck was in their favour, for the house was temporarily without its lawful occupants.
The front door was locked. The key had been removed, so the sub. directed his attention to the back entrance.
The massive bolts grated loudly as Tressidar opened the door. There was no necessity to call to Fuller. The flight sub. had heard the unbolting process and was waiting close at hand.
"Stand by," whispered Tressidar. "I'll hand you over a stool."
By the aid of this useful article Fuller had no difficulty in scaling the wall. Together the chums entered the house, and rebolted the door.
"Now we can get a light if we can find matches," said Tressidar. "Every window is curtained. I took the precaution of leaving ajar the window that I tackled first. If we have to beat a retreat, that's our way out."
"I wonder why you rebolted the door."
"Because if we did clear out by that way we would have to scale the wall," replied the sub. "By the window we land at once on the roof of a shed which is almost level with the wall. That's a jolly sight easier. Good! Here are some matches."
His hand had come in contact with a box on the mantelshelf. Close by was a candlestick with a candle in the holder and a short piece in the bowl. Arguing that one of the first things the returning occupiers would look for would be the candlestick, Tressidar took the spare piece of candle and left the other undisturbed.
"Looks like a second-hand-clothes dealer's," remarked Fuller as the two officers entered the back bedroom on the first floor.
The room was long and narrow, extending from front to back. The ceiling was low and heavily beamed. At one end of the room, its canopy screen effectually blocking the window, was an old four-poster bed. On it was laid a suit of clothes. More masculine garments were thrown negligently over chairs and sofa. A medley of coats and trousers hung from pegs in an open wardrobe. A fur-lined great-coat had been thrown upon the floor.
"Take your choice, old man," said Fuller with a grin. "We'll stuff our discarded emblems of servitude up the chimney. It doesn't look as if they had a fire here very often. Wonder who the old josser is?"
Five minutes later the chums were rigged out in worn but serviceable garb. They would easily pass for well-to-do Danish artisans.
"Now for grub," decided Tressidar. "Let's forage in our unknown host's larder."
"Evidently no shortage of food in this establishment," said Fuller, as the two officers ate with a voracity that would have raised a storm of protest in the ward-room of one of H.M. ships. "Dash it all! I feel another man already. Now, what's the plan?"
"Esbjerg, as soon as possible. We'll either have to stow ourselves on board a tramp bound for a British port, or else throw ourselves upon the generosity of her skipper. These Danes are downright good fellows.... It's very quiet down here. I'm curious to know more about the owner of this remarkable place."
"I think your wish will be gratified," rejoined Tressidar grimly, as a motor-car that had driven up at high speed stopped outside the house. "Lights out! Up aloft as sharp as we can."
The two amateur cracksmen had barely gained the bedroom when they heard the key grate in the lock. Then a voice exclaimed in German:
"That will do, Karl. Take this car as far as Rodgrund's farm and await us there. It will not arouse suspicion. Now, Herr Oberfurst, at your service."
CHAPTER XX
TRESSIDAR SOLVES A MYSTERY
Tressidar nudged his companion. German! Their interest was aroused. Although it was no doubt quite a common occurrence for the guttural language of the Hun to be spoken on the Danish frontier, the warning given to the chauffeur of the car to avoid suspicion was in itself a mystery.
The sub. had yet to learn the identity of Herr Oberfurst.
"Yes, I have had a fairly quick journey," said the spy. "Fortunately we did not fall in with any of our incomparable unterseebooten."
"Donnerwetter! I wish I could say the same," retorted the second German crossly. "The frontier is a bore. Why on earth you couldn't arrange to meet me in Hamburg is beyond me."
"A thousand pardons, Count," declared Oberfurst volubly. "Everything depends upon secrecy. It is easy enough to cross the frontier, I admit, but it is returning to Danish soil that is the difficulty. Here am I, an accredited American Red Cross agent, furnished with passports by the owl-eyed British Government. So long as I remain in Denmark there is no cause for suspicion, but should I set foot in the Fatherland, unseen difficulties beset me. My plan is, therefore, I think, an admirable one. Karl Hoeffer is the soul of integrity so far as Germany is concerned. This house of his is well suited for our purpose. Is that not so?"
"I suppose you have good reasons, friend Otto," replied the Count. "But time presses. The 'Nordby' leaves Esbjerg at tide-time tomorrow morning—a matter of seven hours from now. Well, what have you to report? Is the damage done in the latest raid as extensive as the commander of LZ142 states?"
Otto Oberfurst made a noise that indicated a negative reply.
"Then what?" demanded the count eagerly.
"The airship never got within twenty miles of Manchester, Count; and as for the damage stated to have been done at Newcastle, I have personally visited the town and can find nothing of the kind. Twenty bombs were dropped, all around a small station on a branch line. Doubtless our airmen were deceived by the presence of a mountain lake. It may have looked like an arm of the sea. And how peculiar the English people are! So long as they are not injured or their property destroyed they laugh at our Zeppelins."
"The fools!" ejaculated the count impatiently. Then—
"Now tell us about your work, Herr Oberfurst. Have you a copy of the British Admiralty chart of the shoals of Straits of Dover minefield?"
"It is here," was the reply. "One of von Schenck's men obtained it for me from a compatriot who is actually employed in the British Hydrographic office. Can you imagine an Englishman working in the German Admiralty? Ach! It is playing into our hands."
Tressidar could hear the crackle of the linen-backed paper as the count unrolled and examined the highly important chart.
"Yes," he said slowly. "This is quite genuine. It tallies with reports through other sources. You mentioned Herr von Schenck: how is he?"
The spy hesitated before replying.
"He is well," he replied simply.
"You speak strangely," said the count sharply "What is amiss?"
"A slightly personal matter," explained von Oberfurst. "In short, a pecuniary affair."
"Explain."
"It is following the 'Pompey' business."
Tressidar gave an involuntary start. His hand went to the butt of the revolver in his pocket. He felt sorely tempted to descend and confront the two spies with the muzzle of the weapon until he realised that in a neutral country it is well to be discreet.
"He agreed to pay me twenty thousand dollars," continued von Oberfurst. "I did my work. The cruiser, as you know, was sunk. But von Schenck declared that the destruction was not complete. The ship is capable of being raised and repaired. I doubt it. All the same, he would not give me more than ten thousand dollars, and what is worse he made the draft out in marks, and unfortunately a mark is no longer what it was."
"You have my sympathy; nevertheless I must upbraid you on your lack of duty towards the Fatherland," said the count. "The fall of the mark is but temporary. After the war, when the German arms are victorious—— But let that remain. I will guarantee the difference between the amount von Schenck originally promised and what you actually received. More, I will instruct your New York bank to place to your credit another ten thousand dollars provided you perform another service."
"And what is it?" asked the spy eagerly.
"This torpedoing of neutral vessels is a praiseworthy affair," explained the count. "It will give our mercantile fleet an undoubted advantage after the war, but unfortunately at the present juncture it cuts both ways. Neutrals don't like it, which is natural. Not that we care a pfennig for their likes and dislikes. At the same time they are showing signs of reluctance to supply us with necessary commodities. They plead the rigours of the English blockade, but that is a mere excuse. Now, the Imperial Chancellor has asked me to engineer a scheme to enlist the sympathy of neutrals to a corresponding resentment towards England. Then the desired goods will roll in fast enough."
"I follow you so far," observed von Oberfurst.
"As a man of supreme intelligence you would," rejoined the German flatteringly. "Now, to the point. You are returning in the 'Nordby' to-morrow. A British submarine has been reported off the Vyl Lightship. It is reasonable to conclude that the 'Nordby' will be subject to a scrutiny if not to actual examination. Now, what I want is that you fire a charge of explosive on board the steamer at the psychological moment when the submarine appears."
"I hardly see how," objected von Oberfurst. "There will be no opportunity for me to get below. And the risk to myself——"
"Ach! You do not think enough," said the count deprecatingly, and contradicting the words he had used a few moments previously. "You are berthed aft? There is no danger to you from an explosion in the hold. You may be certain that in the excitement that follows the appearance of the submarine the attention of all on board except yourself will be directed towards it. It will be an easy matter to slip below. The after-store hatchway will most certainly be uncovered. You will drop the bomb, with a short-time fuse lighted, into the hold, return on deck and await events. All the damage done will be below the water-line, and there are boats. It will not be a long row to the Vyl Lightship. And, just think, ten thousand dollars for a comparatively simple piece of work compared with which the sinking of the 'Pompey' was a colossal task."
"I would prefer to use the clockwork detonating gear. It is infinitely safer," objected Oberfurst.
"Impracticable," decided his companion. "It is no use setting the thing hours ahead. It is a question of minutes. Say three: that will give you ample time to light the fuse and return on deck."
Apparently the spy made a gesture that denoted unwillingness—for the count continued:
"The Americans, as you know well, have a saying 'Money talks.' Here is a sum on account," and the two British officers could distinctly hear the crinkling of crisp paper.
"No gold," said the spy firmly. "The Fatherland has plenty in reserve for use in circumstances such as the present."
"Himmel! You cannot carry ten thousand marks in gold to England."
"I do not intend to do so, Count. I will see that it is placed in the Esbjerg branch of the Danish State Bank."
"Ach! You are perverse," almost shouted the Kaiser's emissary. "Do you think that the car is laden with gold?"
A rupture seemed imminent, until Otto Oberfurst, overcome by his innate greed, exclaimed:
"Well, Count, under protest I will take the notes; but they must be at the local rates of exchange."
"And how is von Arve?" inquired the count.
"Himmel! I have neither seen nor heard of him for weeks," declared the spy. "He was to have gone to Rosyth. I fear the worst, especially as these English have shot three unnamed German agents in the Tower of London. This secrecy is, believe me, very trying to one's nerves. Imagine a man working hard and risking everything for the love of the Fatherland, as many of us are now doing. Then without warning, without even a chance of his name being announced so that all good Germans could honour his heroic sacrifice, he vanishes—and an unnamed corpse occupies an unmarked grave in an English fortress."
"You are getting quite melodramatic, my friend," remarked the count suavely. "A draught of honest Bavarian beer will set you up. I, too, am hungry and thirsty. Within another half-hour we must part company."
The two conspirators rose. Tressidar could hear the shuffling of their feet and the movement of the chair-legs on the oaken floor.
"Come and bear a hand like an old campaigner," said the count, and the twain made their way to the larder.
"We'll have to be moving," whispered Tressidar. "Wait until those fellows make a noise with the plates and bottles, then get to the window."
Creeping with the utmost caution lest the creaking of the floor would betray their presence, the two chums gained the window. The sub., knowing the "lay of the land," went first, dropping noiselessly upon the tarred roof of the outhouse. Then, guiding the flight-sub.'s feet, he waited until Fuller stood beside him.
Having reached terra-firma, the chums retrieved their wooden-soled foot-gear. These they carried with them until they could find a suitable hiding-place.
"We'll make for the high road now," decided Tressidar, when they were at a safe distance from the spies' meeting-place. "We'll pass muster in these togs, and I don't suppose we'll be questioned."
"By Jove! I would like to scrag that fellow," exclaimed Fuller. "The bounder who kippered the 'Pompey,' I mean."
"So would I," agreed Tressidar. "It's a mystery to me how he was able to place the explosives on board. Never mind; we'll lay him by the heels."
Briefly he explained his plan of action.
"Capital, if it works," decided the flight-sub.
Dawn was breaking as the two chums trudged wearily into the little Jutland town of Esbjerg. Guided by a seaman's unerring instinct, they made straight for the harbour.
It was now a little more than half flood. Lying alongside the western pier, that with the mole encloses the outer tidal harbour, were several small tramps with steam raised. They were still aground, and would be for another hour. Amongst them was a wall-sided, grey-hulled steamer, with the Danish colours painted conspicuously on both sides as well as the name "Nordby" in letters six feet in height.
The work of loading was not yet complete, for gangs of stevedores were carrying sacks of smoked bacon and kegs of butter from the quay to the hold. A sleepy young officer was directing operations. He was the only member of the ship's complement visible. The rest of the officers and ship's crew were below.
"Any use trailing in with the crowd?" asked Fuller, indicating the men engaged in loading the vessel.
"I think not," replied Tressidar. "We'll mark time until the skipper puts in an appearance, only I hope he'll come on deck before our man arrives."
Presently a short, rotund man skipped agilely up the gangway. The sub. rightly concluded that he was the pilot, for as he gained the deck the mate sung out an order and the crew emerged from the fore peak. A little later the skipper came on deck and made his way to the bridge, where he remained for some time in animated conversation with the pilot.
Meanwhile the hatches were secured and the last of the stevedores returned to the shore. Half a dozen passengers boarded the ship, but whether the spy was amongst them Tressidar was unable to determine. He wished he had taken the risk of having a look at the fellow while he was conversing with the count.
As each passenger gained the head of the gangway he was addressed by a steward and told which was his cabin, but as every man had to show his ticket it was pretty evident that the two Englishmen could not smuggle themselves on board without an almost certain risk of being challenged.
"The crew look to be pretty hefty chuckers-out," remarked Fuller ruefully, as he looked at the stalwart Danes. "Pity we hadn't knocked up the British vice-consul. I suppose the only thing to be done is to go straight on board and make a clean breast of it to the skipper. These Danes are awfully decent fellows, and their sympathies are almost always pro-British. The trouble is, that neither of us can speak Danish, although perhaps the skipper knows English."
Just then a cab drew up close to the pier and a tall, upright man with a trim torpedo beard alighted. A porter hastened to convey his somewhat scanty belongings. As he did so, a portmanteau slipped from his grasp and, rebounding on the planking of the pier, struck the owner a smart blow on the shin.
"Confound you, you idiot!" he exclaimed.
At the words, uttered in an unmistakably west-country accent, Tressidar walked straight up to the stranger.
"Excuse me," he said. "We're in a regular hole. We are British officers and have escaped from Germany. Can you help us to obtain a passage in the 'Nordby'?"
"You have not broken your parole, I trust?"
"We were never asked to give our parole," replied the sub. "We managed to get away from Sylt."
"Then you must be pretty smart," replied the stranger. "From all accounts it is a pretty tight place to be cooped up in. By the bye, what are your names?"
Tressidar gave the name and rank of his companion and himself
"And mine is Holloway, late navigating lieutenant of the 'Sunderbund.' I'm interned, but the Danish Government have given me ten days' leave on parole. Suppose it won't be infringing any of the conditions if I do give you a hand. Here's some of the necessary. The shipping agent's office is just round the corner. You'll have to look sharp."
With hurried thanks the two chums hastened to purchase their tickets. Directly the lieutenant had mentioned his name they had both recalled the loss of the "Sunderbund," a destroyer that had run aground in Danish waters, and, while helpless, was subjected to the fire of four German light cruisers in defiance of all international regulations. But for the prompt intervention of a Danish torpedo-boat that, regardless of risk, had interposed between the stranded British craft and her unscrupulous assailants, the crew of the "Sunderbund" would have been massacred—there is no other word for it. As it was, the survivors—the officer and twenty-seven men—were rescued and interned.
Without a hitch Tressidar and Fuller found themselves safely on board the "Nordby."
The steward, although guessing from the absence of luggage that the two passengers were British prisoners of war or else men who had been interned and had not been on parole, received them with imperturbable gravity.
"I am anxious to know how you did the trick," said Lieutenant Holloway, as the three Britons paced the deck.
"If you don't mind we'll cut the first part of the yarn," replied Tressidar, making sure that no stranger was within earshot. "We had particular reasons for choosing the 'Nordby.'"
Briefly yet comprehensively he related the incident of the previous night, and that the spy was expected to sail on the "Nordby" with the intention of blowing her up.
"By Jove!" said Lieutenant Holloway fiercely. "Wish to goodness I wasn't bound by my parole. I'd like to have a hand in the business. Unfortunately I cannot. You say the spy isn't on board yet?"
"So far as we can surmise," rejoined Fuller. "You see, we heard him but didn't have a chance of examining the cut of his jib. Hulloa, here's a late bird. Wonder if 'tis he?"
An overcoated man was hurrying to the gangway. Disregarding the solicitations of the porters, he carried his own baggage, which consisted of two large, brass-bound attaché cases.
Nodding familiarly to the steward, the man descended the companion.
"Well?" asked Fuller, turning to his chum, but to his surprise he saw that Tressidar was in the act of straightening himself out, having just completed the task of refastening his boot-lace. "I say, you're a pretty sort of fellow. How on earth could you scrutinise a man if your face is looking at your boots?"
"I saw quite enough of him to satisfy me," replied Tressidar. "What I was afraid of was that he might recognise me."
"Recognise you?" echoed Fuller in amazement and incredulity.
"I said 'recognise me,'" repeated the sub. firmly. "Now I can understand the 'Pompey' affair. That fellow—I knew him in a minute in spite of his beard and moustache—was stoker on board the cruiser."
"Then you must have a wonderful memory," remarked Holloway, "especially as this fellow is one of the engine-room ratings and you are an executive officer."
"I had to speak pretty sharply to him once," said the sub. "He boggled over the steam winch—there was an accident in consequence and a man was killed. Now I come to think of it I don't believe it was altogether an accident, though. At any rate, he's our man. We'll find out which cabin he occupies and how far it is from the after-store-room hatchway. Then we'll have to wait."
"And see?" added Fuller.
"No—act," corrected Tressidar grimly.
CHAPTER XXI
CHECKMATE
The "Nordby" was an hour after her scheduled time in casting off from the quay. Slowly she threaded the tortuous channel until clear of the dangerous sandbanks off the Danish coast. Here the pilot, with ill-concealed relief, handed over the wheel, bade the skipper farewell, and took to the boat that was being towed alongside. Thanking his lucky stars that his duty did not require him to navigate the vessel through the mine-strewn, submarine-infested North Sea, he rowed back to Esbjerg, while the "Nordby," increasing speed, shaped a south-westerly course.
Keeping Otto Oberfurst well under observation, although they took care to render themselves as inconspicuous as possible, Tressidar and Fuller remained on the qui vive.
Their compatriot, meanwhile, paced the deck betwixt the mainmast and the taffrail, maintaining a well-assumed indifference to his surroundings. He was aware that the spy had already made himself acquainted with the fact that an interned British officer on parole was amongst the passengers, and Oberfurst was likely to be keeping a stealthy watch on him. So from the moment he had seen the spy board the ship Holloway had kept aloof from Tressidar and his chum.
The "Nordby" was well beyond the three-mile limit when the look-out reported a submarine on the starboard bow. Instantly there was a rush on the part of the passengers and crew to see the strange under-water craft. Speculation ran high as to her nationality and whether she would attempt to destroy the neutral vessel with the ruthlessness peculiar to the Huns.
"She's one of our 'S' class," declared Tressidar to his chum. "That's all right. Now for friend Oberfurst."
The spy was no longer on deck. Down the companion ladder the two British officers hastened and cautiously took up a position just outside the German's cabin. They could hear him fumbling with the locks of his portmanteau.
Then the door was opened, and Oberfurst appeared, with a small leather wallet resembling a camera case slung from his shoulder with a strap.
"Hands up!" ordered Tressidar sternly, the muzzle of his revolver, held by a steady hand, within a foot of the spy's head.
"What for?" demanded the spy in English. "You're talking in your hat, old sport. This is a neutral ship." Then, recognising his former officer he asked, "So you think you've got me, eh? Guess desertion is not an extradictable offence, so you're kippered, Mr. Tressidar."
"We'll see about that, Jorkler," rejoined the sub. "Collar him, old man. We'll see what's in this case."
The spy, still grinning insolently, offered no resistance. Deftly Fuller unbuckled the strap and opened the wallet. Within was a folding camera—nothing more.
While Tressidar still kept his prisoner covered with the revolver, Fuller quickly overhauled the contents of his cabin effects. The search, as far as incriminating objects were concerned, was fruitless. Oberfurst, although he had not previously recognised Tressidar, had seen the two supposed Danish artisans in conversation with Holloway when he had boarded the "Nordby." Quick to act upon the faintest warning, he had thrown overboard the infernal machine, relying upon his forged passports to clear himself from suspicion when the "Nordby" arrived in a British port.
Tressidar and his companion exchanged glances. Both realised that there had been an awkward hitch. Having gone thus far it was impossible to cry halt; while, owing to the lack of direct evidence, there was hardly likely to be sufficient reason for convincing the "Nordby's" skipper of the spy's sinister intentions. Nor could the sub. signal to the British submarine and get her commander forcibly to remove the spy. That in itself would be a gross breach of international neutrality, and as long as Oberfurst remained on board, under the protection of the Danish flag, he was immune from arrest. To do otherwise the British Government would be transgressing its own principles which were stoutly maintained: the historic "Trent" case during the American Civil War. Unless it could be proved up to the hilt that Oberfurst had intended to place a charge of explosive in the hold of the "Nordby," the chances were that the Danish skipper would decline to place the passenger under arrest.
Suddenly a tremendous crash shook the ship from stem to stern. Almost immediately she took a pronounced list to starboard. Tressidar, losing his balance, brushed against his prisoner. Fortunately for the latter, the sub.'s finger was not resting on the trigger of the revolver, otherwise the British Government might have been saved a mountain of trouble.
Taking advantage of the temporary confusion, Otto Oberfurst made a rush for the companion and gained the deck.
Tressidar made no effort to detain him.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed; "that must be a strafed Hun submarine after all. Here's a pretty kettle of fish. If they've had the tip that we're on board it's a moral cert. that they are keen on recapturing us."
"And if we stick here we'll be booked for Davy Jones' locker," declared Fuller. "Let's get on deck."
On gaining the poop they found that the "Nordby" was rapidly settling by the head. She had recovered somewhat from her list to starboard, and as the explosion had occurred for'ard, the boats were intact. These were being lowered without undue haste or confusion. There was no sign of the spy. Lieutenant Holloway, imperturbably smoking a cigar, was standing under the bridge.
"Deuced rum business!" he remarked as Tressidar and Fuller rejoined him. "Thought at first that the spy had succeeded in his attempt, until I saw that the explosion was an external one and right for'ard."
"But the submarine?" asked Fuller.
"Had nothing to do with it," declared Holloway with conviction. "She's a British one. I was watching her up to the moment of the explosion. There was no track of a torpedo."
The submarine, with her conning-tower just awash, was lying hove-to at a couple of cable's length on the starboard quarter of the foundering vessel. Two officers and three seamen were visible, the former keeping the "Nordby" under observation with their binoculars.
"She'll give the boats a pluck to the lightship," declared Fuller. "And we can get them to take us on board before we get there. How about you, sir? You'll be rescued by a British craft and consequently your internment——"
Lieutenant Holloway shook his head.
"I'll play the game," he declared. "Any hitch and the Danes won't be so keen on letting our compatriots off for short periods on leave on parole. Hulloa! What's the game now?"
As he spoke the officers and men on the superstructure of the submarine disappeared below, the watertight hatches were closed and secured, and the vessel slid with hardly a ripple beneath the surface.
Shouts of execration arose from some of the passengers and crew of the "Nordby" as they saw what they took to be the cause of the disaster steal away, until the Danish skipper emphatically assured them that the explosion had occurred by the ship coming in contact with a derelict mine, which, in fact, was the case.
By this time only five or six persons remained on board, the skipper being still on the bridge. Two boats had already pushed off. It was merely a question of minutes before the "Nordby" made her final plunge.
"What's that fellow up to, by Jove!" suddenly exclaimed Lieutenant Holloway.
Otto Oberfurst had mounted the main-mast shrouds and was gesticulating violently in the direction of an object broad on the port-beam. The object was a German submarine of the most modern type, running on the surface at a good eighteen or twenty knots.
The Danish skipper saw her too. Whatever his feelings were towards submarines in general, his action showed that he had no love for those sailing under the Black Cross Ensign—the modern counterpart of the "Jolly Roger."
He shouted an order. Three seamen sprang into the rigging and with no little force compelled the spy to descend. Not content with that, they bundled him unceremoniously into the last boat that was rubbing her gunwale against the "Nordby's" starboard side.
They were not feelings of humanity that prompted the German submarine to speed to the vicinity of the sinking ship. Slowing down within hailing distance, her officers and crew came on deck to gloat over the sinking of a helpless neutral merchantman. More than likely they were anxious to ascertain her name so that they could strengthen the claim for the award of Iron Crosses—the highly prized reward for "frightfulness" as practised by the degenerate descendants of Attila.
The Danish skipper enjoined strict silence. He had now jumped into the boat—the last to leave the stricken ship. Otto Oberfurst, lying at full length on the gratings, with two brawny seamen holding him down, was helpless to give another warning. In breathless silence they waited.
"Good!" ejaculated Tressidar as an ever-diverging feather of ripples marked the track of a 24-in. torpedo. Passing within fifty yards of the boat in which he sat, the deadly weapon sped unerringly towards its quarry.
Amidst a tremendous upheaval of water, mingled with smoke and fragments of metal, the unterseeboot vanished for ever; while like a huge whale the British submarine that had dealt the fatal blow shook herself clear of the water.
The appearance was little more than momentary, for without checking her way the vessel dived again and was lost to sight.
"Wonder why?" remarked Fuller.
"I suppose she knows that the lightship isn't so very far off," replied Tressidar, concealing his disappointment at not being picked up by a British craft. "The sea's calm, the boats are by no means overcrowded, and——"
A warning shout from one of the Danes interrupted the sub.'s words. Looking in the direction indicated by the man's outstretched fingers, the British officers made out the form of a huge Zeppelin. Although five miles away when first sighted by the "Nordby's" crew, it was rapidly approaching. With the wind and driven by five propellers, it was travelling at considerably more than a mile a minute. Nevertheless the alert lieutenant-commander of the British submarine had spotted the airship and had promptly dived.
Attention on the part of the passengers and crew of the "Nordby" was divided between the ship, now on the point of foundering, and the Zeppelin.
The former was now so deep down by the head that the hawse-pipes were submerged, while correspondingly her twin propellers were clear of the water. For a few moments she hung thus; irresolutely, as if loth to make her final plunge. Then, amidst a smother of foam and the gurgling sound of inrushing water, she slid completely from sight, leaving a pall of steam and smoke to mark her ocean grave.
The Zeppelin, finding that the destroyer of the "U" boat had submerged, descended with considerable rapidity until she was within five hundred feet of the level of the sea. Thrice she circled over the spot where the "Nordby" had disappeared, and then, having apparently discovered some signs of the British submarine, she tore away to the north-westward. For nearly an hour she remained in sight, but since she dropped no bombs Tressidar came to the conclusion that her quarry had eluded pursuit.
A little later the "Nordby's" boats parted company. Acting under semaphored instructions from the skipper, two of them made for the lightship, while the third, containing the Danish captain and the German spy, rowed with long, steady strokes towards the Jutland shore.
"The fellow's given us the slip," declared Fuller. "I wonder whether the skipper of the 'Nordby' smells a rat and means to hand him over to the authorities. Pity we didn't make a charge against him."
"What are you fellows going to do?" inquired Lieutenant Holloway. "If I were you I'd lie low and say nothing while you are on Danish soil. If you don't they'll want you to give evidence at a court of inquiry and all that sort of fuss. That can keep till you arrive in England. The sooner the better, as I'll warrant the Huns will make a fine song out of the sinking of the 'Nordby.' That rogue Oberfurst will pitch it in for all he's worth. Yes, I agree with Fuller, in fact, I go farther: it's a pity you didn't settle his hash once and for all."
"Well, there's one thing," rejoined Tressidar. "He won't dare to set foot in Great Britain again."
Wherein the sub. was grievously mistaken, for Otto Oberfurst's activities as a spy within Britannia's gates were by no means at an end.