The Secret Service Submarine: A Story of the Present War

I whistled. "I don't see how that can be," I said. "There is no wireless station anywhere near. The few boats that come into Blankington-on-Sea are only small coasters and they are very carefully scrutinised; and as for flash signals, I am out on the marshes nearly every night, the foreshore is patrolled by sentries, and nothing of the sort has ever been hinted at."

"Exactly; that is the point. But that there is a leakage and that it is doing irreparable harm, you may take as an absolute certainty. Noyes knew that I was coming down to Norfolk for a rest and for some shooting. When I applied for leave, I had to state my destination and so forth. Noyes got hold of it by chance and sent for me, knowing he could trust me. The long and short of it is, Johnny, that I have got a roving commission to keep my eyes very wide open indeed, to see if I can't find something out. Don't mistake me. This is not a mere trifling matter. It is one of the gravest things and one of the most perfectly organised systems that has happened during the war. Why," he said, bringing his fist down upon the table so that the cups rattled, his face set and stern, "the safety of the whole of England may depend upon this being discovered and stopped!"

"But surely," I asked, "they have had people down here already?"

Bernard nodded. "Oh yes," he said, "the coastguards are specially warned, there have been thorough searches, quietly carried out, reports are constantly made from every village by accredited agents – and the Admiralty has not a single clue. Now, old chap, if you can help me, and if we can do anything together, well, here's our chance! There won't be any difficulty about your getting into the R.N.F.C., or any other corps you like, if we can only throw light upon this dark spot."

I caught fire from his words. "By Jove!" I cried, "if only there was a chance! I would do anything! But I know every man, woman, and child in this village and the surrounding ones. There is not one of them capable of acting as a spy. There are no suspicious strangers. Even the wild-fowlers who come down here are all regular and known visitors, above suspicion." I said this in all good faith, and then, suddenly, a light came to me like a flash of lightning, and I rose slowly from my chair. Bernard told me afterwards that I had grown paper-white and was trembling.

"What is it?" he said quickly.

"I hardly dare say," I replied. "It seems wild foolishness and yet – "

He waited very patiently, and still I could not bring myself to speak. Then it was his turn to take away my breath. He leant forward on the table and pulled out a pocket-book.

"Supposing, John," he said, "that you have been living in a fool's paradise for months. Supposing that, by some means unknown to me and the Admiralty, unknown to anyone, you are actually living in the centre of a cunningly woven web of espionage, whose strands reach from Berlin to Wilhelmshaven, from Kiel to London!"

He took a piece of paper from his pocket-book. I saw that there were figures upon it, not letters, but he read it as if they were print.

"'Paul Upjelly,'" he said, "'Paul Upjelly, Ph.D.; English subject; possessed of private means; has been for eight years headmaster of Morstone House School; habits' – h'm – h'm – you know all about his habits, John – 'man whose past cannot be traced for more than ten years; known to have lived in Germany in youth; no suspicion at present attaches.'"

"What on earth does this mean?" I gasped.

"It only means that in this pocket-book I have lists of forty or fifty people round these coasts who might or might not be in the pay of Germany. There is not the slightest suspicion attaching to any one of them, but I saw you stand up suddenly and grow pale – well, I played into your strong suit, that was all. Was I right?"

"Last night," I said, "I had a very curious and significant talk with a brother-master of mine, whose name is Lockhart."

"Get him to come here and have a chat as soon as possible."

"That isn't necessary, because Upjelly is away in London and an old beast of a housekeeper he keeps, who tells him everything, is in bed with a broken leg. We can go up to the school all right, and I particularly want to introduce you to Miss Joyce, who is – er – "

He nodded. "I know," he said. "You bored me to tears about the young lady last time I saw you. Delighted to meet her. We will toddle up to the school as soon as ever you like and I will hear what Mr. Lockhart has got to say. I suppose you can trust him?"

"I am absolutely certain of it," and, with that, things began to fall together in my mind as the glass pieces in a kaleidoscope fall and make a pattern. I mentioned the Navy List that I had seen at breakfast that morning, and I told Bernard what Wordingham had told me concerning the Doctor's knowledge of his visit.

A gleam came into his eyes. "Ah!" he said, very softly, and that was all.

We got up to go, and as Bernard walked across the room to find his overcoat, for night had fallen and it was bitter cold, I exclaimed aloud. I knew what had puzzled me at breakfast when Mr. Jones came into the room. He walked exactly like my brother. If you go to Chatham, Portsmouth, or Plymouth, almost every other man in the street walks like that.

We went straight to the school, only a quarter of a mile away, and entered by the masters' door. I lit the lamp in my sitting-room, put on some coals, and rang a bell which communicated with the upper boys' room, where they were now at preparation. In a minute, there was a knock at the door and Dickson max. entered.

"Dickson," I said, "I want you to find Mr. Lockhart and ask him if he would be so very kind as to come to my room – oh and, by the way, this is my brother, Commander Carey, Dickson."

The boy grew pale for an instant and then flushed a deep, rosy red. He was a cool young wretch as a rule and I had never seen him so excited before. I loved him for it. The boys knew all about my brother. They had read of his exploits in the Submarine E8. I was always being pestered with questions about him.

Bernard shook hands. "I am glad to meet you," he said.

Dickson was tongue-tied, but he gazed with an almost painful reverence at Bernard.

"Oh, sir," he stammered, "oh, sir" – and then could get no further. In desperation he turned to me. "I've done five hundred of the lines, sir," he said.

"Oh well, you needn't do any more," I answered.

"And please, sir, I've taken some more snapshots which I think you might like" – and with that the lad pulled out a little bundle of recently developed and printed photographs – he had a small kodak – and laid them on the table. Then he bolted and we could hear him leaping downstairs, bursting with the great news.

"He's got it badly," I remarked – "hero worship."

"Jolly good thing," my brother answered. "Lord, I remember when I was a midshipman of signals, how I worshipped the flag-lieutenant. I ran after him like a little dog, and I thought he was God. Healthy!"

We sat without speaking, waiting for Lockhart. My brother took up the little bundle of snapshots and looked through them. Then we heard a shuffling footstep in the passage and Lockhart entered. I introduced him and we shut and locked the door. Bernard looked the little man up and down for a minute or two, talking on indifferent subjects. And then, as if satisfied, he plunged into business. He didn't tell my colleague all that he had told me, but he told him enough to set Lockhart quivering with eagerness and excitement.

"You shall hear all I know, Commander Carey," he said. "After all, it isn't much, though" – he hesitated for a moment and then began:

"This man, Upjelly, our chief, is absolutely unfitted to be a schoolmaster. He takes not the slightest interest in the school. John, here, has found out, what I long more than suspected, that the Doctor's wild-fowling is really a colossal pretence."

"Does the school pay?" my brother asked.

"Just about. There may be a small profit, but not enough to keep any man tied down here if he has the slightest ambition or is anybody at all. And, you haven't met the Doctor, but you may take it from me that he is no ordinary man. There has always been an air of mystery and secretiveness about him. He neither asks nor gives confidences. It struck me from the very first that he was a man with an absorbing mental interest of some sort or other. What was it? – that is what I asked myself.

"Three weeks ago, the Doctor had a guest. It was a Mr. Jones, who frequently visits him, apparently for the shooting. My bedroom is on the floor below this. As you see, I am a cripple and an invalid. I often pass nights of pain, when I cannot sleep. On one such night, three weeks ago, the window of my bedroom was open and I lay in the dark. About half-past three in the morning I heard footsteps on the gravel outside, and the Doctor's voice. The night was quite still, though pitch dark. Then I heard another voice which I recognised as that of the man Jones.

"The voices drew nearer until the men were almost underneath my window. They were coming back from the marshes. I only know a few words of German, but I recognise the language when I hear it. They were speaking German."

My brother nodded.

"That Jones," I put in, "I have already told you, Bernard, was here when I arrived last night. He left for London this morning, taking the Doctor up with him in his car."

"Four days ago," Lockhart continued, "I wanted some waste paper to wrap up a pair of boots I was sending to be mended. I was in my room and I told one of the boys of my dormitory to go downstairs and get some. It was about nine o'clock at night. The boy brought back two or three newspapers. One of them was the Cologne Gazette, very crumpled and torn, but with the date of only five days before. I have got it locked up in my writing-desk.

"To-day, being a half-holiday, I thought I would go out for a walk upon the foreshore. An overcoat rather impedes my movements, though I have to wear one sometimes. I thought I would take a scarf instead. I went into the hall, knowing that my scarf was in the pocket of my overcoat, and felt for it. The hall is rather dark and I could not see very well what I was doing. What I brought out of the pocket in which I felt was not my scarf, but – this!"

Lockhart quietly laid something upon the table, and we bent over to look at it. To me, at any rate, it was an extraordinary object. It was a sort of cross between a large watch and a compass, with a curious little handle. There were letters or figures, for a moment I could not say which, in a double row round the dial.

"Can you tell me what it is?"

My brother was shaken from his calm at last. He gave an exclamation.

"Yes, I can!" he said. "I know very well. But first, when was this photograph taken?"

With dramatic suddenness, he held out one of Dickson's prints. It was a picture of Mr. Jones' motor, with that gentleman at the wheel and the Doctor sitting on the far side, taken that very morning as they left for London.

"This morning," I said. "That is the Doctor and Mr. Jones going off to town."

"Mr. Jones at the wheel?" my brother asked.

"Yes, that is the fellow."

"Let me get it quite clear. The man, you say, walks like me?"