The Mystery Ship: A Story of the 'Q' Ships During the Great War by Percy F. Westerman
CHAPTER XXIV
IN THE HOUR OF HIS TRIUMPH
"HAVE you any means of tracing the person who brought this message?inquired Entwistle.
"Hardly," replied the Postal Censor's assistant. "One receives somany cables and telegrams for dispatch in the course of the day. I'llfind out the name of the clerk on duty at the time, although I'mafraid the information will be disappointing." By means of avoice-tube, the official made various inquiries.
"O'Donovon, is it?... Is he on duty now?... Just reported, eh? Good.Ask him to step up to my room, please."
Presently a brisk tap on the door was followed by the appearance of aslight, rather pale-faced young man of pronounced Hibernian features.
"This," said the Censor's assistant, "is 'Mr. O'Donovon. Mr.O'Donovon, this gentleman, Mr. Entwistle, wishes to ask you someinformation respecting a certain cablegram. Will you answer as fullyas you can on the matter?"
"I want you, Mr. O'Donovon," began Entwistle, "to give me adescription of the person who handed in the message."
It was Entwistle's way. Instead of asking if the clerk perchanceremembered the individual, he assumed that he already did so.
"Sure," replied Mr O'Donovon, after reading the duplicate message."It was a boy of twelve or about. Black hair and eyes and a Jewishnose. He had a mole on his chin. I remember he gave me two poundnotes and I gave him half a crown change."
"I suppose by no possibility could you show me the notes? inquiredEntwistle.
"No, sir," replied Mr. O'Donovon. "That I can't. We put all notesinto a drawer. I call to mind that they were rather dirty, althoughit's dirtier ones I've seen in Dublin."
"I thought not," remarked Entwistle. "Perhaps it's as well, for inall probability you gave the lad half a crown for sending thecablegram. If you've time you might examine the notes in that drawer.Ten to one, you'll find two were printed in Germany. Now, will youplease send me a priority telegram--on H.M.S.--to Leith, Auldhaig,and Wick; the latter to be transmitted by wireless toCommander-in-Chief, Grand Fleet, Scapa Flow."
Having done all that he could possibly do to scotch von Preussen'sactivities on the Continental cables, Entwistle prepared to follow upthe clues that would, he hoped, lead to the running to earth of thecunning and resourceful spy.
His next step was to trace the boy with the Jewish features and themole on his chin. It was rather a tall undertaking, for, in spite ofthe fact that there was a hideous massacre of Jews in York in theremote days when Richard Coeur de Lion reigned, there seemed to be adistinct predilection on the part of people of Hebraic origin to livein the city that holds the position of capital of the Shire of BroadAcres. Besides, many people have moles on their faces, and O'Donovonmight have been slightly wide of the mark in describing the mole asbeing on the lad's chin. It might have been his cheek--either hisleft or his right.
It was in Petergate, one of those narrow, old-world thoroughfaresleading to the Cathedral precincts that Entwistle came face to facewith the immediate object of his investigations. Sauntering towardshim was a young Jewish lad with a mole on the point of his chin.
Entwistle gave him no opening.
"I say, my lad," he exclaimed, holding out a bright half-crown to theastonished youth, "I gave you the wrong change when you handed inthat telegram from Grabnut & Plywrench. Here you are."
The boy took the proffered coin eagerly. As Entwistle expected, hedevoted more attention to the coin than he did to the donor.
"He won't recognise me again," mused the Secret Service man as hehurried away, leaving the boy testing the bright half-crown in casehe had been "had."
Swallowed up in the crowd, for Petergate was thronged, Entwistledived into a tobacconist's shop and made a small purchase, the whilekeeping a sharp look-out upon the passers-by.
Presently the lad, whistling blithely, hurried along. At a discreetdistance Entwistle followed, noting with satisfaction that the boylingered outside a cinema palace.
"He would have spent that half-dollar had the place been open," hetheorised. "As it is, he'll go home to his dinner and he won't say aword about the wrong change."
Keeping within sight of his chase, Entwistle followed until the boyturned down a narrow street close to Bootham Bar--one of thestill-existent gateways of mediaeval York. On the other hand theroadway was bounded by the masonry of the city wall.
Entwistle followed no further. He promptly ascended the steps ofBootham Bar and gained the paved walk that runs along the top of thewalls. From his coign of vantage he watched, and saw the lad enter ahouse--stopping, however, to glance up and down the cobbled street.
"Good enough for the present," soliloquised Entwistle. "I feel fairlysatisfied with my morning's work. Until to-night there's nothingdoing, so I will have a little relaxation from duty. Philip, myfestive, you can be reckless: you can have a whole coupon's worth ofroast beef at the best restaurant in York."
Having done ample justice to the inner man, Entwistle decided to putin an hour or two at the railway station. Railway stations had apeculiar fascination for him. Incidentally he had obtained a goodmany clues while waiting on a platform, although he was bound toadmit that the almost general use of motor cars had robbed therailway of a questionable record of affording quick transit tofugitive criminals.
As he entered the booking hall he ran against a familiar figurewearing an unfamiliar garb--a thick-set, clean-shaven man of aboutforty-seven or eight, in height about five feet ten. He was in R.A.F.officer's uniform. Just beneath his cap his iron-grey closely-croppedhair contrasted forcibly with his brown, almost reddish complexion.
"B a r c r o f t !" exclaimed Entwistle. "What on earth are you doinghere? And in uniform, too. By Jove! I'm pleased to see you."
"I'm here for fifteen and a half minutes more," replied PeterBarcroft, consulting his wristlet watch. "That is, if the NorthEastern Company run their train punctually. That's question oneanswered. I'm in uniform because I wanted to be, and didn't mean tobe out of the fun. What are you doing, might I ask?"
"Same old thing--'the trivial round, the common task' sort ofbusiness, you know," answered the Secret Service man.
"But you've not explained: how comes it that you are in khaki?"
"I suppose," replied Barcroft, "it's a case of 'following in father'sfootsteps' reversed. I'm a mere 'second loot'; my son Billy is now amajor, so if I meet him in public I must salute him. This war's beenresponsible for a lot of funny incidents and conditions, hasn't it?"
"It has," agreed Entwistle. "We've been mixed up in a few together,haven't we? But to get back to the point. I'm curious to know how youmanaged to get a commission. You told me you were blind in one eyeand deaf in one ear. How did you pass the doctor?"
"I passed, or was passed by, three," replied Barcroft proudly."Bluffed them absolutely. Merely a triumph of mind over matter. Ilearnt the letters on the sight-testing card off by heart. Perfectlysimple, eh, what? I'm in the Marine Section, R.A.F., and incidentallyI'm the senior officer in the depot in point of age. I'm on my way toAuldhaig to take some boats round to Sableridge--that's on the SouthCoast."
"Not X-lighters, by any chance?"
Barcroft stared.
"Yes," he admitted. "What do you know about them?"
Entwistle laughed.
"Bet you twopence you won't find them at Auldhaig," he said. "Morethan that, you'll stand a chance of being arrested. There's been afellow on the same sort of game, and that's why I'm here--to nab himon sight. By the by, how are Ponto and Nan?"
"Going strong," replied Barcroft. "At the present moment they areassisting my crowd of merry wreckers to digest railway buffetsandwiches and bully beef. We'll go and find them."
The two old chums walked down the platform. Just beyond the coveredpart was a large truck piled high with a miscellaneous assortment ofkit-bags, blankets, sea-boots, oilskins, charts, and a pair of handsemaphore flags. Mounting guard over the luggage were Barcroft's twoshaggy sheep-dogs.
"They remember me," remarked Entwistle, as the animals beg
"Of course," replied the R.A.F. officer. "But you wouldn't dare tolay a finger on that pile of kit."
"I won't experiment," replied Entwistle. "Your dogs' teeth are just atrifle too formidable. When do you think you'll get back toSableridge? I'm going down south in a fortnight or so, and I may runacross you."
"Look me up, then," replied Barcroft. "With decent luck I ought toget my five-knot convoy round in a fortnight, mines and contradictoryAir Ministry orders permitting. And if I knock up against CaptainFennelburt I'll give him your chin-chin."
"You won't," said Entwistle confidently--"at least, not under thatname. But I hope to deny you that pleasure by having him under lockand key before many hours."
The signal for the train's departure interrupted the conversation.Barcroft, having seen his crew into the train and the baggage in thevan, entered a compartment followed by his two dogs--to bear theresponsibility of navigating two of His Majesty's vessels, togetherwith thousands of pounds worth of stores and a score of valuablelives, over six or seven hundred miles of mined waters; for which agrateful government paid him the magnificent sum of half a guinea aday.
"And how is Mrs. Barcroft?" inquired Entwistle. "I ought, of course,to have inquired before."
Peter Barcroft was lighting a cigarette.
"Mrs. Barcroft is A1, thanks," he replied. "At present she is engagedin keeping the home fires burning--with coal at fifty-five and six aton, but I have not the faintest doubt that she will carry on to myutmost satisfaction. Well, cheerio, Entwistle! Glad to have met youagain."
The train moved off, leaving Entwistle to "carry on" in hisparticular line even as Barcroft Senior was "doing his bit" in adifferent sphere.
Leaving the station, the Secret Service man made his way to thepremises of Messrs. Grabnut & Plywrench. As he expected, a briefinterview with the manager elicited the information that no cablegramhad been sent by the firm to Holland. In fact, the Continentaltransactions of Messrs. Grabnut & Plywrench had ceased early in 1915.They had as much business in connection with Government contracts asthey could possibly tackle.
At sunset Entwistle returned to his post of observation on the citywalls. Soon York, or as much of it as he could see from his loftyperch, was in darkness. He could hear the crowds in the mainthoroughfares, the whirr of machinery in the workshops, the rumble ofheavily laden trains, and the "chough-chough" of motor barges on thecanal conveying raw material for the manufacturing centres ofYorkshire and the coast. It was a hive of industry working undercover of darkness.
Cold work it was keeping the poverty-stricken tenement underobservation. Occasionally people would pass along the narrow path onthe walls. Entwistle would then lean on the lichen-grown parapet andfeign a deep interest in the darkness until their footsteps diedaway; otherwise he hardly stirred during his prolonged vigil.
"Great Peter" would have been tolling the hour of nine had it notbeen that the world was at war, when Entwistle heard a street dooropen. Straining his eyesight, he discerned a bent figure emergingstealthily from the house he was keeping under observation.
"H'm!" he soliloquised. "A man with a military bearing ought never totrust to the disguise of decrepitude. Von Preussen, you'veoverreached yourself, I fancy."
Keeping under the shelter of the breast-high parapet, Entwistle movedcautiously to the steps by the side of Bootham Bar. Gaining theroadway, he pressed against the side of the Gothic archway. For thepresent the thoroughfare was deserted. He could hear von Preussen'sboots shuffling on the cobbles. Nearer, nearer...
With a sudden spring Entwistle hurled himself upon the spy. TheSecret Service agent had not mistaken his man. Almost before vonPreussen knew what had happened he found himself lying face downwardson the pavement and his elbows being drawn together behind his back.
"The game's up, Karl von Preussen," exclaimed Entwistle.
"Yes," admitted the spy breathlessly. "You've scored this time. I'dlike to know how you traced me."
"You will in due course," replied Entwistle grimly, as he jerked hiscaptive to his feet.
The next instant a cloud of pungent, burning powder struck Entwistlefull in the face. The sudden, agonising pain as the grains filled hiseyes took the Secret Service agent completely off his guard. Gaspingfor breath, and holding both hands to his face, he staggered blindlyagainst the wall. Even in his physical torment he could hear vonPreussen running swiftly.
In the moment of his triumph a craven trick had robbed Entwistle ofhis prey.