Submarine U93

Both Crouch and Jimmy scanned the face of each man as he entered, and both, with their hands in their pockets, grasped the handles of their revolvers. In spite of the intense excitement of the moment, Jimmy Burke was conscious of a feeling of bitter disappointment, when he saw that not one of these three men was Rudolf Stork.

Each of the two younger men was well over six feet in height, broad of shoulder and deep of chest. They were dressed precisely the same, and wore blue suits, light-coloured overcoats, brown boots and wide-brimmed, black felt hats. As for the older man, he had the appearance of a professor, or some sage of ancient times; there was something about him that might almost be described as druidical. His hair was quite white, very long and somewhat greasy. He had a white beard that reached almost to his waist. His nose was long and aquiline, and his eyes much magnified by a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles. In his hand he carried an ash-plant, so knotted and heavy at the head that it resembled a club. It was he who was the first to speak, staring at Crouch over the top of his spectacles.

"Pardon me," he observed, in a voice that was exceedingly soft; "pardon me, but I have not the pleasure."

"Nor I," said Captain Crouch.

"I think you must have made a mistake," the old man went on. "My name is Russell-Theophilus Russell-and this flat belongs to me."

"Then," said Crouch, "there must certainly be some mistake. My name is Shakespeare-Melchisedek Shakespeare-and this flat happens to belong to me."

Mr. Russell adjusted his spectacles upon his nose, and looked around the room.

"There should be a woman here," said he; "a Mrs. Wycherley."

"She's gone out," said Crouch.

The old man smiled and pointed with his stick.

"Why, there she is!" he exclaimed. "How strange that I never noticed her before."

He had pointed to the armchair, at the other end of the room, in which Crouch had formerly been seated. The whole thing was so cleverly planned, the old man's voice was so dulcet and confiding, and his expression of surprise so admirably feigned, that Crouch could not resist the wholly natural impulse of turning round, to see for himself whether or not Mrs. Wycherley were there.

His eyes had not left the old man's face for longer than the fraction of a second before there took place a kind of transfiguration which was even more terrible to see than it was surprising.

There had been something about the patriarchal figure of the old, white-bearded man that was gentle, beneficent and charitable. His expression had been that of one who looks upon the world, and all its fooleries and foibles, with the comfortable tolerance of age. On a sudden, this expression changed. His eyes flashed; his brows became knit in a savage frown. At the same time, this transformation extended to his body, which straightened, quivered, and even seemed to grow larger. Before it was possible to guess what he was about to do, or make the slightest movement by way of self-defence, he had raised his heavy ash-plant high above his shoulder, and brought it down with a crashing blow upon the head of Captain Crouch.

The little sea-captain had been taken unawares. Once again had he been fooled. He let out a groan, spun round like a top, and then came down heavily upon the floor.

In so short a space of time did this calamity occur that Jimmy Burke had barely time to act. He had taken two steps forward, and had got so far as drawing his revolver from his pocket, when he was seized and held fast in the powerful arms of the two younger men. Before he had time to cry out, or even to realize what had happened, he found himself not only with a gag thrust into his mouth, but with both hands handcuffed behind his back.

Russell laughed aloud, in a voice that was far from dulcet.

"I saw through your disguise," he cried, pointing to the prostrate figure of the little captain, "the very moment I entered the room. Something more is needed than a white bowler hat and a scarlet necktie to conceal the identity of Captain Crouch."

At that, Crouch struggled to his feet, and stood for a second swaying. Then, with a loud cry and a kind of lurch forward, he flung himself like a wild-cat upon the old man, whom he seized roughly by the throat.

"You villain!" he shouted at the full power of his lungs.

So great was his passion, so amazing his agility, that there is little doubt he would have strangled the old villain then and there, had it not been for the two younger men, who hurled themselves upon his back.

They dragged him away as though he had been a mad dog, but not until he had seized Russell by his long, flowing beard, which he tore, not piecemeal, but bodily, in a mass, from the old man's wrinkled face.

A moment later, Crouch, like Jimmy Burke, stood handcuffed. Panting, literally foaming at the mouth, he glared at his assailant. And as he glared, it was as if his single eye grew larger in his head. His thin lips parted, though not a word escaped him; it was as if amazement had struck him dumb.

The truth was, he found himself confronted by the most surprising part of an incident which, from start to finish, was at once unlooked-for and bewildering. For, the old man, bereft of his spectacles and beard, stood before Crouch discovered and confessed; and in place of the grey and patriarchal features of the so-called "Mr. Russell" was the seamed and weather-beaten countenance of Rudolf Stork.

CHAPTER XIX-A Clue

It may seem surprising that our good friend Captain Crouch (who was very far from a fool) should have been gulled so successfully, and on no less than two occasions, by Rudolf Stork. It must not be forgotten, however, that Stork had been an actor, who knew well not only how to disguise himself, but how to change his voice, and the expression of his face, and to assume those habits and little mannerisms by which personality is made evident. He not only looked the part of an old dry-as-dust professor, but acted up to it so cleverly that both Crouch and Jimmy Burke were quite deceived.

When he found himself overpowered and handcuffed, when he saw how completely he had been duped, Captain Crouch could not conceal his rage and mortification. He shouted at the full power of his lungs, in a vain hope that some one would hear and hasten to his help, forgetful for the moment that the building was utterly deserted, that Mrs. Wycherley was not likely to return.

In any case, Rudolf Stork was not the man to run unnecessary risks; his case was altogether desperate. To silence Crouch by means of a gag, accompanied by a vicious kick in the ribs, was a task of not much difficulty, nor one that took longer than a minute at the most.

Stork then rose to his full height, and placing both arms akimbo, looked down upon his victims, who lay side by side upon the floor.

"If I had killed you out of hand," said he, "you'd have nothing but your own cleverness to blame. You should have learnt by now to let sleeping dogs lie. Let me tell you this, Captain Crouch, as one sailor to another: you set foot on dangerous ground the moment you thought fit to interfere with me."

Going down upon a knee, he turned out their pockets, finding first the keys which Crouch had obtained from Mrs. Wycherley, and then the brace of revolvers that they had purchased that very morning.

"You came prepared, I see," he grumbled. "It's just as well I thought to disguise myself, or, like as not, I should have been shot on sight."

And then, in the inner pocket of Crouch's coat, he discovered the letter written by "Valentine" in German, which had come in a sealed envelope from the "Hotel Magnificent." Without a word, he read it to the end, and then, folding it carefully, put it away in a letter-case which he kept in a hip-pocket along with a jack-knife large enough to cut a loaf of bread.

"The fat's in the fire," said he, turning to his companions; "there's no doubt as to that. These fellows know more than is good for them. We must put them out of the way. It's a nasty business, but war's war, and those who employ me don't stick at trifles, such as the life of a tramp skipper and a stowaway."

At that, one of the younger men lifted a hand-a quick, nervous gesture, denoting at once surprise and consternation.

"Kill them!" he exclaimed.

"There's no other way," said Rudolf Stork.

"I don't like it," said the other.

The third man now spoke for the first time. "It would be madness," said he, "and a cold-blooded business as well. We can leave them here, handcuffed, gagged, and with their feet bound tightly."

"There's the old woman," said Stork. "She'll find them for a certainty before twelve hours are past. For myself, I take no risks."

"I'll not be a party to it," said the man who had spoken first.

"Then you're a fool," cried Stork. "You fail to realize the gravity of the business. A raid has been planned on the North Sea coast, and these two know all about it. In any case, the raid will take place, there's no time now to stop it; and if the British Admiralty is warned, the result will be disastrous. Whatever happens, the lips of these two men must be closed, for five days at least." Then on a sudden, he changed his voice and slapped a hand upon his thigh. "I've got it!" he exclaimed. "Valentine purchased the whole of this building, on behalf of the German Secret Service, in order that we should have no eavesdroppers in the way of next-door neighbours. I've got the keys here. We'll lock them both up in one of the empty flats, the one on the top floor for choice. There, they'll be well out of the way, and as good as dead."

This idea commended itself to both the younger men. It was eminently safe, and presented not the least difficulty. Also, it had the advantage of evading the terrible responsibilities of wilful murder.

Accordingly, the two captives were carried up to the top storey of the building, where, after their legs had been tightly bound, they were locked up in an empty room. Here not even Mrs. Wycherley would find them. From the amount of dust upon the floor and windows, and the innumerable cobwebs suspended from the ceiling, it was evident that no one had entered the flat since the very day upon which the last tenant had left it. Even had Crouch and Jimmy not been gagged, and had they shouted till they were hoarse, they could never have made themselves heard. Neither was there any possible means of escape. They were shut up in a room which had once been used as a bedroom, and the hall door of the flat was locked from the outer side. The only window-which was quite small-looked out upon the roofs and chimney-pots of the adjacent houses several feet below.

Since Stork and his companions could afford to waste no time, the whole of this dastardly business was carried out quickly and in silence. And in less than ten minutes after the suggestion had been made, Crouch and Jimmy Burke were left alone, listening to the receding footsteps of the German spy and his confederates growing fainter and fainter as the three men descended flight after flight of stairs.

The thoughts of a man who finds himself in such a situation cannot be of the pleasantest. What Crouch's were, no one is ever likely to know, since-for very shame, perhaps-he ever afterwards kept them to himself. As for Jimmy Burke, he felt then, and quite believed, that from the very days of his boyhood, his life, and every enterprise he had ever undertaken, was doomed to failure. So far, nothing had gone well with him; and now that his fortunes were bound up with those of Captain Crouch, it seemed that he was to lead even the little sea-captain-hitherto so masterful-along the straight and certain path to unmerited disaster.

There are moments in the lives of us all when despondency obscures our outlook upon life, in much the same manner as a thunder-cloud darkens a summer sky. And yet, we should learn that Hope can remain with us to the last. We can no more foresee the actions of other men that influence our own lives-often indirectly-than we can foretell the dispensations of Providence itself. Always, we are in God's hands; it behoves us to act like men, and put our trust in Him.

It is possible to become so hopeless that we deliberately turn our backs upon the brighter side of things; and this is what goes by the name of pessimism. And now Jimmy Burke, giving himself up for lost, was quite unable to remember that there still existed a very great possibility that both he and Captain Crouch would be discovered.

Indeed, not more than ten minutes had elapsed after Stork had taken his departure, when suddenly the whole house was made to echo with a dull, thudding sound, as if some one were banging on a door. This noise continued without ceasing for at least five minutes. It appeared to proceed from the lower part of the building. At first, the boy could not think what it was; and then, on a sudden, like a bright flash of light in the midst of all the gloom of his despondency, he remembered that Crouch had rung up Scotland Yard, and that in all probability it was the police themselves who were below.

Apparently the same thought occurred to Crouch, for the little captain made a sudden and desperate effort to free himself; and presently, by some means or other, he managed to stagger to his feet, only to fall once more prostrate to the ground.

For all that, he was not one to admit that he had failed so easily. He got to his feet again, stumbled across the room and threw all his weight upon the door.

Captain Crouch was neither tall nor heavily built; he could not have weighed more than nine stone; and, naturally enough, he failed to break open the lock-even if that had been his intention. He fell to the ground a second time, bruised and out of breath; but there was a possibility that the noise had been heard by those who were within the building.

For some seconds they waited in suspense, listening intently, silent and quite helpless. And then, they heard footsteps on the stairs, and the sound of voices, and some one trying the doors.

Crouch got to his feet again. He could not cry out because of the gag that was still fastened in his mouth. He had no other means of making his whereabouts known than the method he had tried before. Again he threw his weight upon the door and fell heavily to the ground.

This time there could be no doubt that he had succeeded in his purpose. A man came to the outer door of the flat, tried to open it and failed, and then called out in a loud voice, asking who was within.

Neither Crouch nor Jimmy could answer. It must also be remembered that the room in which they were imprisoned was quite dark, save for the fact that a full moon had arisen which had cast upon the floor a square pattern criss-crossed by the shadows of the framework of the window. Since the flat was quite unfurnished and the walls of the passages were bare, human voices were magnified in sound, and it was possible to hear quite distinctly what was said by those outside the door. The voice of one man was particularly distinct. Not only was it louder than the others, but its tones were authoritative; it was he who gave orders to those who were with him. As they guessed from the very first, this was Superintendent-detective Etheridge-a man whose reputation in his own line of business was second to none.

"Go on, man!" he exclaimed. "Break the door down. There's no time to waste trying to force the lock."

There was a dull thudding sound, as the full weight of a six-foot London policeman was hurled against the door.

"Try again," said the detective; "and this time all four of us together."

There was a pause, during which, no doubt, the detective and his companions gathered themselves together; and then, as one man, they threw themselves forward, so that four heavy shoulders struck the door a single blow.

The combined weight of these men could not have been less than fifty-four stone, at the very lowest estimate; and that is a shock that a modern spruce-wood doorway was never constructed to stand. Not only was the lock broken open, so that the woodwork of the jamb was splintered for at least a foot, but the hinges were wrenched bodily away. The outer door flung back with a crash, and a second later the detective and his men found themselves in the passage of the flat.

"Which room is it?" cried Etheridge. "Where are you?" he shouted at the full power of his lungs.

Crouch could not answer by word of mouth, but he could do just as well. Sitting as upright as he could, he spun round like a top, so that his two heels rapped out upon the door. Then he rolled over and over, until he had gained the security of the centre of the room.

It was Etheridge who spoke again.

"Here!" he cried. "This room! All together, as before!"

The inner door was forced even more easily than the first. As it fell inwards, and four burly figures burst into the room, both Crouch and Jimmy were blinded by the sudden glare of three policemen's lanterns. A moment later the gags were taken from their mouths, and they were free to speak.

"Who are you?" asked the detective, assisting the little sea-captain to his feet and unlocking his handcuffs.

"I'm the man who rang you up," said Crouch. "The rascals left here not twenty minutes ago. Had you come sooner, you would have bagged all three of them. As it is, there's no knowing where they've gone, nor whether we'll ever see them again."

There were a hundred things the detective wished to know. As yet he had been told nothing, beyond the fact that Captain Crouch had certain information in regard to a gang of spies. Together they went down to the first-floor flat, where they turned on the electric light, and where Crouch answered the detective's questions, telling his whole story in instalments, so to speak.

They had not a copy of the mysterious message which Jimmy Burke had found on board the "Harlech"; but this made no difference, since both Crouch and Jimmy knew it by heart. In order to explain to the detective how they had discovered the address in the Edgware Road, Jimmy went to the writing-table, and taking pen and ink, wrote out the message.

They explained to the detective how they had discovered the concealed address in the first and last letters of every word; and then they were able to see something of the peculiar workings of a great detective's mind.

In this world, there is reason in all things-even in those things which may seem most trivial and unimportant. The criminal investigator must not be satisfied with facts; it is his business to find out the why and wherefore of everything that comes in his way. Moreover, he must be observant; he can afford to miss nothing. As often as not, a clue is to be found in the most improbable place.

Superintendent-detective Etheridge had no sooner read the message a second time than he laid hold upon a clue.

"This message," said he, waving the paper in his hand, "was written by a man who does not know London well."

"How's that?" said Crouch. "As far as I can see, there's no way of telling who wrote it. It was picked up on board the ship that I commanded, that by all the laws of chance and methods of modern warfare should have been sent sky-high, to be no more than a ton or so of floating wreckage."

The detective preferred to hold to his own opinion; and it must be confessed that that opinion was likely to be right.

"It was written," he repeated, "by a man who does not know London well. Otherwise, he would have been able to spell 'Edgware Road.'"

Etheridge had now spread the paper upon the table, and both Crouch and Jimmy were gazing over his shoulder, whilst the three plain-clothes policemen stood together in the doorway.

"Edgware Road," the detective went on, "does not happen to be spelt with an 'e.' This cypher was evidently concocted by a man who-if not an Englishman himself-was well able to write-and, in all probability, speak-the English language. He was not, however, personally acquainted with London. For myself, in view of what you have told me, I should say that it was written by one of the German gang you discovered in New York."

"I have it!" cried the boy. "When I overheard the conversation that took place in Rosencrantz's office, I remember that von Essling himself said that, though he was well acquainted with the English language, he had never been to London, but expected to go there shortly."

Etheridge, who had produced a large note-book from his pocket in which he was scribbling a few hasty lines, closed it with a snap.

"That settles it," said he. "The Baron von Essling and this 'Mr. Valentine' who lives at the 'Hotel Magnificent' are one and the same person. I've no doubt of it whatever."

"What proof have you of that?" asked Captain Crouch.

"No proof," said the detective. "I set to work on bare suspicion, and leave proof to the last. In this case my suspicions are well founded. A few days before war was declared, a man, passing himself off as 'Lewis Valentine,' landed at Liverpool, having crossed from New York on the 'Olympic.' He is known to have stayed at the 'Hotel Magnificent,' and is supposed to have remained in London about three weeks. Afterwards, evidence was forthcoming to the effect that he was one of the Prussian military attachés in the United States, who was engaged upon Secret Service work. Two days ago rumours reached me that this man was once again in England; and the very reason I was late here to-night is that I was first obliged to go to the 'Magnificent,' where I learned that Valentine had left not an hour before. Take my word for it, this fellow is von Essling."

"And he has gone to Edinburgh?" asked Jimmy.

"Not a bit of it!" said Etheridge. "It is no more likely he would tell a charwoman his destination than his real name and business. He has gone to Liverpool; and that's all the more probable since the 'Baltic' sails early to-morrow morning."

"Thunder!" cried Crouch. "This is a greater game than big-game shooting in the Sunderbunds. I never in my life picked up a spoor like this."

"One thing's a certainty," said Etheridge; "I leave for Liverpool without delay. There's no fast train till morning; but I can get there in an eighty horse-power car. But, first, you must both come with me to the Admiralty. Jarvis," he added, turning to one of the policemen, "don't forget to drop into the White Star offices to-morrow morning, and tell them there's no fear this voyage that the 'Baltic' will be torpedoed."

CHAPTER XX-Commander Fells

For reasons which are usually described as having regard to the public interest, and also because of the Censorship in war-time, it is not possible to relate in any detail the interview that took place between Jimmy Burke and Captain Crouch and a certain Admiralty official, who may as well be called the Director-in-Chief of the Naval Secret Service.

This gentleman-by name Commander Fells-knew the superintendent-detective as well as any of his own immediate subordinates. Though it was by then past ten o'clock at night, they found him in his office, hard at work. Though he wore the uniform of a naval officer with the three gold stripes of his rank on either sleeve, his was the pale careworn face of a man who works at a desk-moreover, for long hours of the night.

Etheridge stayed no longer than was necessary to introduce Crouch and Jimmy, and to explain the important business upon which they desired to see Commander Fells. The detective then took his departure in haste on being told that the enormous Rolls-Royce car for which he had telephoned to Scotland Yard was waiting for him in Whitehall, outside the iron gates that guard the entrance of the Admiralty.

Alone with his visitors, the Commander lay back in his chair, and closing one eye, looked hard at Jimmy with the other. A little later, he twisted round sideways, so that his elbow rested on the back of the chair-a position that enabled him with comfort to bite the end of his thumb-a habit not to be encouraged in those who are still at school, but excusable no doubt (for the sake of Empire) in Commander Fells. A singular thing in this man, who was undoubtedly one of the powers-that-be in the Navy, was that he wore no medal ribbons on the left side of his coat, the sole decoration with which he had ever been honoured being the plain blue medal of the Royal Humane Society for saving life at sea.

There were a great many things he wanted to know. His method was quite different from that of the Scotland Yard detective who had cross-examined the two witnesses earlier in the evening. Whereas Etheridge asked an infinity of questions, the Commander simply requested Jimmy, and then Captain Crouch, to tell him all they knew. When he had heard both stories, had seen a copy of the cypher message, and turned up von Essling's name in a Prussian Court directory, he got to his feet and walked quickly out of the room. He returned in about an hour, saying that he had talked the matter out with an exceedingly high official (whom it would not be possible to mention). He asked a few more questions concerning Rosencrantz, and Rudolf Stork, and then turned to Crouch.