The Secret Service Submarine: A Story of the Present War

We did so, and shortly after my brother joined us.

"There will be some signal," he said; "one of us must personate that brute down below. You are the biggest, John, and the broadest."

"There's an oilskin and a sou'wester hanging in the man's bunk, sir," said Dickson.

"Just the thing. Cut along and fetch them."

I rigged myself up in these clothes as well as I could, and went down again into the cabin, from where I was to emerge at the signal.

"We must manage it as best we can," said my brother. "Dickson and I will go and hide behind the deck-house. When you hear the signal, whatever it is, he will whistle or something, then come up heavily and let down the bridge. He is sure not to speak loudly, so if he asks a question, just growl out something so that he can't hear it till he gets on deck. Remember he has got a gun, and grapple with him the moment you can. We will be with you in a second."

I sat and waited, smoking one of the Doctor's cigars and with a brandy-and-soda in front of me – I did not see why I shouldn't. My ears were wide open, but everything had gone so well up to the present that I did not remember any uneasiness or fear. I was just wondering whether I should light another cigar when I heard something so silvery sweet and unexpected that I jumped.

Somewhere out in the night, close by, came the silver pipe of a whistle. I never heard anyone whistle so musically before or since. It was the "Lorelei" that I heard, the sweet, plaintive music of the Rhine maiden. I cannot explain it, but it gave me a lump in my throat.

At the sound, the bound giant struggled violently, but he made little or no noise, and what he did was drowned by my heavy footsteps as I walked through the cabin and stumbled up the companion.

On the shore, three yards away, was a figure in fowler's kit, which I had no difficulty in recognising as that of my friend Mr. Jones. I heard him say something, but there was a good deal of wind all round and I ignored it, letting down the drawbridge slowly for him to come on board. It had hardly bridged the chasm when he stepped briskly on to it and came over like a flash. He had his gun on his left shoulder, and he handed it to me, saying something in German. I took it with my left hand, stepped aside for him to pass, and then kicked him smartly upon the shin. It is an invaluable dodge; a West-end Bobby told me of it; and down he went full length on his face with an oath.

Well, the rest was not difficult. My fourteen stone was on the small of his back in a minute. My brother, who had employed the interval of waiting in discovering a coil of wire, had his hands whipped round behind his back in no time, and Dickson max. sat on the wretched Admiral's head as if he had been a horse. We left his feet free, because we wanted to get him down into the cabin. I held him by the shoulder while my brother pressed the barrel of his Mauser pistol – one of the few good things that ever came out of Germany, by the way – into the nape of his neck. He came like a lamb and we sat him down in the same arm-chair that Doris had just occupied. The wire came in very handy indeed. We made a cocoon of it round him until he could not stir hand or foot.

"And now," my brother said, "our next guest will not be here for some little time. Supper is, I think, clearly indicated. Doris, supposing you and Dickson see what the galley has to offer – some tinned food, I think you said, and coffee? Excellent. Meanwhile, I and John will talk to this gentleman."

Von Waechter – I call him this for short; people should not have such beastly long names – von Waechter glanced slowly round the cabin, taking in everything. He saw Schweitzer lying gagged upon the floor, the smashed mirror, the bottle of cognac, everything, and I will do him the justice to say he never moved a muscle of his face.

"Well now, sir, you will understand that the game is up," said my brother quietly.

The man nodded in a meditative sort of way, as if he was considering whether that was true or not.

"Ah, my friend Mr. John Carey!" he said.

"Yes, Mr. Jones," I answered, "and this is my brother, Commander Carey, of His Majesty's Navy."

Von Waechter bowed as well as he was able. "Ah," he said, "I am a prisoner of war, I see."

My brother shook his head. "I'm afraid not, sir," he replied; "I'm afraid you are a captured spy."

CHAPTER VII

THE MURDER OF MR. LOCKHART

Doctor Upjelly, or the Graf von Vedal as my readers may choose to think of him, never came to the Hulk that night.

If this is not the most sensational part of my narrative, it is certainly the grimmest. It must be told quickly. It is too horrible to linger upon.

I was not there myself, but I put it down from the words of an eye-witness.

The reason that I was able to be out on the marsh at five o'clock without suspicion was that, early in the morning after my brother and I had overheard everything in the gun-punt, I went to the Doctor and asked for a day off. I said I was going to London to have a final shot at enlisting. I knew from what I had heard him say to Kiderlen-Waechter that it did not matter twopence to him either way, whether I went or stayed. He, himself, was making all preparations for flight. He gave me leave quite readily.

Before I pretended to go I told Lockhart everything. It was arranged that he and Dickson major, whom he was to take into his confidence to a certain extent, were to watch the Doctor with the utmost care.

I drove to Blankington-on-Sea in Wordingham's trap, went a station or two up the line, was met by the Admiralty motor car, made a great circuit of country, and got back to Cockthorpe within four hours.

Meanwhile Lockhart and Dickson major watched the Doctor. This is the story, the horrible story.

Doris slipped out without notice, dressed in Dickson max.'s clothes – that has already been explained. The late afternoon went on. The boys finished their work, played a dreary punt-about of football, and came in to tea. Lockhart was in charge.

After tea, 'prep.' began. Old Pugmire had shuffled off home. Old Mrs. Gaunt was still groaning in bed. At eight-thirty the younger boys went up to their dormitories, only four of the elder ones remaining downstairs. Lockhart left them to their own devices – they were roasting chestnuts, I heard – and waited in his own sitting-room.

At nine o'clock, Marjorie Joyce came hurriedly from the Doctor's wing and tapped at Lockhart's door. The Doctor had told Amy, the housemaid, to light a fire in his bedroom. He said that he would have much writing to do and that when it was finished he would go out upon the marshes to shoot, as usual.

I can picture the scene quite well. Pretty Marjorie, panting, with wide eyes, in the door of Lockhart's sitting-room; the staunch little man, keen as a ferret, wondering what this meant. He knew from me, of course, that Upjelly was to go to the Hulk that night with his dossier of plans and betrayals.

They sent for Dickson major from the senior boys' room. They were closeted together for nearly ten minutes. Then Marjorie led them quietly from the school-wing into the Doctor's house.

The Doctor, at that moment, was having supper by himself. He would not be upstairs for quarter of an hour. Marjorie showed Lockhart and the lad to the big bedroom with the dancing fire upon the hearth. Dickson major had a nickel-plated revolver, of which he was very proud.

"If anything happens, sir," he said, "I can do him in with this."

Then Dickson major was put under the bed, where he lay, grasping his revolver, keen as mustard, glad to be in the mysterious business of which he had been told so little and in which his elder twin was so actively engaged.

A tear comes into my eye as I think of that quiet bedroom and those two poor conspirators waiting for von Vedal, doing their little best, such as it was.

There was a big, green curtain, running on rings, in an alcove of the bedroom. Behind this, the headmaster of Morstone kept a lot of clothes which he never wore and never even looked at. Here the ardent cripple, Lockhart, was ensconced.

There is something comic in the business – the schoolboy and the ferret-faced master hidden in this fashion. I think that all sinister tragedies have their bizarre element of comedy – comedy to change so swiftly into horror.

In twenty minutes the Doctor came up. He strode into the room with a firm step, carrying a brown leather bag, which he placed upon the table by the fire. Then he locked the door. He took off his coat, warmed his soft, pink hands at the fire, unlocked the bag, spread a mass of documents from it upon the table, and began to write steadily.

There was a round clock upon the mantelpiece which ticked incessantly. It was a quick and hurried tick that came from the clock, and sometimes it seemed to be accentuated, to be a race with Time; at others, it was slow as the death-watch.

The Doctor wrote on. He covered sheet after sheet with swift, easy writing. When each sheet was done, he blotted it and added it to the pile on his left hand.

He had written for three-quarters of an hour, and the hidden watchers had made no sound whatever, when the big man suddenly jumped up from the table. They heard his chair crush over the carpet; they heard him sigh deeply, as if with relief.

Then Dickson major, peeping under the valance of the bed, saw his headmaster go to the mantelpiece, open a box of cigars, select one and light it. It was a long, black, rank Hamburg weed, and the pungent smoke curled round the room as the man stood with his back to the fire, looking down upon the table.

The smoke went round and round. It grew thick. It curled and penetrated everywhere. It penetrated behind the green curtain where, in an agony of rheumatism and tortured bones, little Lockhart was standing.

Lockhart coughed.

The boy underneath the bed was watching all this. He saw the Doctor turn quietly and swiftly towards the alcove. He took three soft steps, pulled the curtain aside, and drew Lockhart out.

It was horrible. Von Vedal said nothing at all. His great hand descended upon the shoulder of the cripple and he drew him into the middle of the room – into the full light of the lamp – looking down at him with a still, evil scrutiny.

Lockhart spoke. He did not seem a bit afraid. His curious voice jarred into the quiet, firelit room with almost a note of triumph in it.

"You've found me, Doctor Upjelly; but you've lost everything, Graf von Vedal!"

Dickson said that the Doctor, bending lower, turned Lockhart's face upwards with his disengaged hand, pulling it towards the light. The boy was paralysed. The fingers of his right hand grew cold and dead. The revolver lay in them like a ton weight. He could not move or cry out. He could do nothing.

With the greatest deliberation, von Vedal took Lockhart by the throat. He felt in his trouser pocket and pulled out an ordinary penknife. Still clasping his prisoner, he opened the blade with his teeth; and then, without the slightest haste or sign of anger – I cannot go on, but there was a thud and the gallant little cripple lay writhing on the floor.

Von Vedal peered over the edge of the table at him for a moment, and then pushed him gently away with his foot. Then he sat down and began to write again.

It was as if he had brushed away a fly.

He wrote on, and the boy beneath the bed fainted dead away. When again the poor lad's eyes opened, he saw the great, white face bent over its papers, the firm hand moving steadily from left to right, heard the resolute scratch and screech of the pen as it traversed the pages. But he saw also that the huddled heap upon the floor was moving slowly.

With infinite effort, though without a sound, the cripple's arm crept down the side of his dying body. With infinite effort, and with what agony none of us will ever know, Lockhart withdrew the pistol with which I had provided him. He could not lift his arm, but there was movement in his wrist. Slowly, very slowly, the hand rose from the floor.

The flash and crash were simultaneous. Upjelly's mouth opened wide. He tried to turn his head and could not. He coughed twice and then sank quietly forward upon the records of his treachery.

The shot broke the nervous bonds in which young Dickson had been held. He scrambled up from beneath the bed. He ran round the table with averted eyes and bent over Lockhart. There was a little hissing noise, like a faint escape of gas. Dickson bent his ear to the mouth of the dying man.

"Take Miss Marjorie to Wordingham – Inn – village. Gather up – all those papers. Put them in bag. After – Miss Marjorie – Inn – run – fast as you can – to – Doctor's – old Hulk – Thirty Main. Give everything – Mr. Carey. Good-bye, boy…"

One last gasp, and the word "England!" sighed out into the bedroom.

CHAPTER VIII

THE TRUTH AT LAST, THE INCREDIBLE TRUTH! AND HOW THEY FOUGHT FOR THE SUBMARINE

Just after midnight, my brother and myself sat crouching behind the bulwarks of the Hulk.

It was the weirdest hour, the strangest scene, that my eyes had ever looked upon. Snow was falling fast, and yet, somewhere above, there was a moon. It was all white and ghostly-green, shifting, moving, unreal, as befitted the horrors which pressed us close. Yet we were exultant; I can testify to that. "The Judge was set, the doom begun"; in our hearts was the fiery certainty of success.

In the deck-house were Bernard's three men, Scarlett, Adams, and Bosustow – all of whom had served with him in his own ship. Below, in the saloon, Doris, old Lieutenant Murphy of the Coastguards, and the two Dickson boys were waiting.

Let me give the very briefest resumé of events up to the present.

Dickson major had fulfilled his trust. He had taken Marjorie Joyce to Mrs. Wordingham at the inn; then he had come to us with the bag of papers. He had told us everything. All we told Doris was that her sister had been taken to the inn and that her stepfather was arrested at the school. We had to keep Doris with us for a time, but old Lieutenant Murphy, who was now entirely in our confidence, would take her back to the village when the adventure of the night was over. His car was waiting there and Doris and Marjorie would both find refuge with Mrs. Murphy at Cockthorpe.

The prisoners, Kiderlen-Waechter and the German boatswain, had been moved into the galley, where one of the lads was watching them.

It was cold beyond thinking. The snow fell softly on us till we were blanketed with white. Bernard was whispering.

"You see, old John, I look at it this way. When we searched Kiderlen-Waechter an hour ago we found the signal. Doris translated it for us. The lamp is lit in that box they fitted up so carefully in the bows. It can only be seen straight up the Creek. They'll make for that."

"What do you think it is?"

"They've spoken of it as 'She' – it's a boat, of course. I should say either one of those wretched little coasters, or possibly even a fishing-smack. She'll stand a mile out at sea and they'll row into the Creek with a longboat, for the plans. There is a huge manœuvre on – what it is we can't tell yet, and it's touch and go to-night whether we snooker them or whether we don't. You are ready for anything?"

"Anything! So old Upjelly's dead, and poor little Lockhart!"

"He died for his country, as you and I may do to-night, old John. Shed the sentimental tear on some future occasion. What?"

His voice rose a little. Scarlett, who was on the look-out, had crept along the deck and touched Bernard on the shoulder.

"Come forrard, sir, if you please," the man said in a hoarse whisper. He could hardly get the words out, and at first I thought his teeth were chattering with cold, but it was not so.

We crept to the bows of the Hulk and peered over the broken, rotting taffrail. Two feet below was the beam of the signal lamp shining up the creek towards the sea. The snow had temporarily stopped in this part of the marsh and the moon was bright. Thirty Main stretched away ahead as far as we could see, two hundred yards long and a hundred wide, of black, gleaming steel. The tide was full at flood.

Scarlett handed my brother a pair of night-glasses. Bernard gazed through them for twenty seconds, and then they fell softly on the deck.

"Oh God!" he said in a low voice, "so it is that, and I never thought of it before! Fool! Fool!"

I stared out also, not daring to say a word. No man can see better at night than I. What was that? Something slowly floating down the centre of the creek, a black, oblong patch. Was it two or three duck swimming landwards with the tide?

Then the black patch lifted itself from the water. It seemed to have a long, narrow tail – the whole thing was curiously distinct in the moonlight. In a second I realised that something was being pushed up from below. I had never seen anything like it before. I experienced that hideous sensation in the pit of the stomach that comes to people who are face to face with the unknown and the unexpected for the first time in their lives. All this happened in half a minute. The black, oblong thing was now high in the air on the end of a pole which came straight up through the middle of the creek. Something else was rising, a black hump, which grew and grew, until a grey tower stood there; – stood there but moved slowly towards us – or did it begin to recede?

I heard Bernard's voice: "Stand by the lamp!"

"Aye, aye, sir!"

Scarlett was bending low over the bows of the Hulk. In the middle of the waterway something long and lean was showing. There was a soft, metallic clang, and then, from the centre of the dark, floating object, a light flashed quickly, three times. Immediately I heard the click of the shutter of our own lamp and saw the occulting beam below flash and disappear in answer.

I knew, I think in some subconscious way, I must have known from the very first. The whole thing, in its magnificent and unsuspected daring, its malevolent simplicity, struck me like a blow. This was a German submarine; this was the channel by which the Master-Spy, von Vedal, and his agents had been sending information to the enemy! On my own quiet marshes, in Thirty Main Creek!

"One of their 'D' class, sir; same as our 'E.' Crew of fifteen, no quick-firing gun, and probably wireless. Handy little craft, sir!"

"They'll be coming aboard in a minute, Scarlett."

"Aye, aye, sir. If you look, sir, you'll see they are getting one of those collapsible boats up. New thing, sir, and very handy. Holds six. Ah!"

I could see quiet and purposeful activity round the conning-tower of the submarine. A group of dark figures was silhouetted in the moonlight, and presently a little boat, like a bobbing cork, lay by her side.

Three men got into it and it pushed off. It went towards the other side of Thirty Main.

"Concealed moorings, sir," Scarlett whispered. "They've been here before. It's dead water, and the ship'd drift, if …"

I heard no more. I watched breathlessly. The boat went to the far side of the creek and remained there for nearly two minutes. If there was a cable, I did not see it, but presently the boat turned and came rapidly towards the Hulk.

"John, take him quietly to the cabin and shove him in – it's the Commander coming aboard," my brother added. "Scarlett, get back into the deck-house and light that lamp. Mr. Carey is dressed like the German boatswain, and he will show the officer straight into the deck-house. It's ten to one the sailors won't come up. Remember to do your job without the slightest noise – you, Adams, and Bosustow."

"Out him, sir?"

"I'm afraid so. There is no other way. Directly it is over, take off his clothes and bring them down into the cabin. Mind the men in the boat hear nothing."

"Aye, aye, sir."

Then my brother turned to me. The boat was now almost by the side of the Hulk.

"You understand, John?" he said.

I touched his arm, afraid to speak.

"Then go and get the rope-ladder."

I stepped to the deck-cabin and saw the three sailors standing round it among the litter of shooting gear. A smoky lamp hung from the ceiling. Scarlett passed me the ladder. I took it and went to the side – my brother had disappeared.

There was a low hiss seven feet below. I hissed, too, fixed the ladder hooks, and dropped the rest of it. One of the sailors caught it, while the other steadied the boat, and a slim man of just over middle height came up like a cat. He wore some sort of dark uniform, what it was I could not see. The collar was turned up round his face, which appeared to be clean-shaved.

I saluted and stepped towards the deck-house. He followed me without a sound.

Then I tapped on the door, which opened immediately, and as it did so I shot him in with a smart blow between the shoulder-blades. There was just one little gasping sound, and that was all. The door closed gently. The two sailors below in the boat sat quietly enough. I went down into the saloon.

Quick as I was, my brother was before me. He was talking earnestly to Doris in a low voice. I stood at the door at attention, and I think I never saw a stranger scene.

Old Lieutenant Murphy, in uniform, was seated at the table. His nostrils were opening and shutting in his tanned face. He was exactly like an old dog brought to the hunt for the last time. The door into the galley was half open. Dickson major stood there with a magazine pistol in his hand. Dickson max. sat opposite the lieutenant, his face a mask of determination and strength. It was wonderful.

"You quite understand, Doris? You can be brave?"

"I quite understand, Bernard."

"Then we will wait a minute. Sit down, John."

We all sat down – waiting. One minute – two minutes passed. Then came a light tap upon the door. It opened and Scarlett entered. His face was rather red, and he breathed heavily. On his right arm he carried a bundle of clothes.

My brother looked at him with a lift of the eyebrows, and Scarlett nodded, placing the clothes on the table.

"Go through these clothes, Lieutenant," Bernard said. Then he turned to Scarlett and whispered.

The man saluted and disappeared. A few seconds after, my brother beckoned to Doris.

"Now, then," he said, "be brave!" – and then, turning to me, "Stand out of sight on deck, John, and be ready to help."

We crept up on deck. To my unutterable surprise, Doris went to the side and leant over. She spoke in German and in a very low voice.

"She's telling them that they're to come up on board and have a drink," my brother said.

The two figures below rose with alacrity. The first one ascended the ladder as Doris whipped down the hatchway into the cabin. The second sailor followed his companion.

I was not called upon to help, thank Heaven! Scarlett, Adams, and Bosustow rose from nowhere.

"That accounts for three," said my brother, but I turned my head away not to see what was going on.

When we were again down in the cabin I was shaking like a leaf.

"Drink this," Bernard said sternly, "and pull yourself together. It is War, don't you understand that, man?"

Doris was leaning over the table by the side of Lieutenant Murphy. In front of her was a paper. The lovely face, oddly boyish under its cap, was wrinkled with scrutiny.

"It is special orders," she said at length, "addressed to Admiral Kiderlen-Waechter. The plans are to be taken on board the submarine at once." Her voice broke for the moment, but she made a great effort at control, and the next words came from her slowly and distinctly. To me, I think to all of us, they were like the strokes of a tolling bell.

"The German battleship, Friesland, has eluded our Fleet in the North Sea. Our Fleet has been decoyed towards the Scotch coast by a sortie of the enemy from Kiel. The battleship is approaching this part of England. She is attended by destroyers and submarines. She is convoying three troop-ships, each of which contains two thousand German troops. The rendezvous is for two o'clock to-morrow afternoon, when Captain von Benda is to deliver my stepfather's plans to the German Admiral. The landing of the raiding force is to be effected on these marshes some time during to-morrow night."

"To-night," said my brother, looking at his watch and snapping it into his pocket.

Then there was a dead silence.