PART I.

Produced by Al Haines

The Spy in Black

BY

J. STORER CLOUSTON

AUTHOR OF

'THE LUNATIC AT LARGE,' ETC.

William Blackwood and Sons

Edinburgh and London

1917

_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_

BY THE SAME AUTHOR.

TWO'S TWO.

THE LUNATIC AT LARGE.

THE ADVENTURES OF M. D'HARICOT.

OUR LADY'S INN.

GAR-MISCATH.

THE PRODIGAL FATHER.

THE PEER'S PROGRESS.

HIS FIRST OFFENCE.

CONTENTS.

PART I.

THE NARRATIVE OF LIEUTENANT VON BELKE

(OF THE GERMAN NAVY).

TOC

I. THE LANDING

II. NIGHT IN THE RUINED HOUSE

III. BEHIND THE WALL

IV. THE NAILS

V. WAITING

ETOC

PART II.

A FEW CHAPTERS BY THE EDITOR.

TOC

I. THE PLEASANT STRANGER

II. THE CHAUFFEUR

III. ON THE CLIFF

IV. MR DRUMMOND'S VISITOR

V. ON THE MAIL BOAT

VI. THE VANISHING GOVERNESS

ETOC

PART III.

LIEUTENANT VON BELKE'S NARRATIVE RESUMED.

TOC

I. THE MEETING

II. TIEL'S STORY

III. THE PLAN

IV. WHAT HAPPENED ON SUNDAY

V. A MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURE

VI. THE VISITOR

VII. AT NIGHT

VIII. THE DECISION

IX. ON THE SHORE

ETOC

PART IV.

LIEUTENANT VON BELKE'S NARRATIVE CONCLUDED.

TOC

I. WEDNESDAY

II. THURSDAY

III. THURSDAY NIGHT

IV. FRIDAY

ETOC

PART V.

A FEW CONCLUDING CHAPTERS BY THE EDITOR,

TOC

I. TIEL'S JOURNEY

II. THE LADY

III. THE EMPTY ENVELOPE

ETOC

PART I.

THE NARRATIVE OF LIEUTENANT VON BELKE

(OF THE GERMAN NAVY)

I.

THE LANDING.

If any one had been watching the bay that August night (which,

fortunately for us, there was not), they would have seen up till an

hour after midnight as lonely and peaceful a scene as if it had been

some inlet in Greenland. The war might have been waging on another

planet. The segment of a waning moon was just rising, but the sky was

covered with clouds, except right overhead where a bevy of stars

twinkled, and it was a dim though not a dark night. The sea was as

flat and calm as you can ever get on an Atlantic coast--a glassy

surface, but always a gentle regular bursting of foam upon the beach.

In a semicircle the shore rose black, towering at either horn (and

especially on the south) into high dark cliffs.

I suppose a bird or two may have been crying then as they were a little

later, but there was not a light nor a sign of anything human being

within a hundred miles. If one of the Vikings who used to live in

those islands had revisited that particular glimpse of the moon, he

could never have guessed that his old haunts had altered a tittle. But

if he had waited a while he would have rubbed his eyes and wondered.

Right between the headlands he would have seen it dimly:--a great thing

that was not a fish rising out of the calm water, and then very

stealthily creeping in and in towards the southern shore.

When we were fairly on the surface I came on deck and gazed over the

dark waters to the darker shore, with--I don't mind confessing it

now--a rather curious sensation. To tell the truth, I was a little

nervous, but I think I showed no sign of it to Wiedermann.

"You have thought of everything you can possibly need?" he asked in a

low voice.

"Everything, sir, I think," I answered confidently.

"No need to give you tips!" he said with a laugh.

I felt flattered--but still my heart was beating just a little faster

than usual!

In we crept closer and closer, with the gentlest pulsation of our

engines that could not have been heard above the lapping of the waves

on the pebbles. An invisible gull or two wheeled and cried above us,

but otherwise there was an almost too perfect stillness. I could not

help an uncomfortable suspicion that _someone_ was watching. _Someone_

would soon be giving the alarm, _someone_ would presently be playing

the devil with my schemes. It was sheer nonsense, but then I had never

played the spy before--at least, not in war-time.

Along the middle of the bay ran a beach of sand and pebbles, with dunes

and grass links above, but at the southern end the water was deep close

inshore, and there were several convenient ledges of rock between the

end of this beach and the beginning of the cliffs. The submarine came

in as close as she dared, and then, without an instant's delay, the

boat was launched. Wiedermann, myself, two sailors, and the

motor-bicycle just managed to squeeze in, and we cautiously pulled for

the ledges.

The tide was just right (we had thought of everything, I must say

that), and after a minute or two's groping along the rocks, we found a

capital landing. Wiedermann and I jumped ashore as easily as if it had

been a quay, and my bicycle should have been landed without a hitch.

How it happened I know not, but just as the sailors were lifting it

out, the boat swayed a little and one of the clumsy fellows let his end

of it slip. A splash of spray broke over it; a mere nothing, it seemed

at the time, and then I had hold of it and we lifted it on to the ledge.

Wiedermann spoke sharply to the man, but I assured him no harm had been

done, and between us we wheeled the thing over the flat rocks, and

pulled it up to the top of the grass bank beyond.

"I can manage all right by myself now," I said. "Good-bye, sir!"

He gave my hand a hard clasp.

"This is Thursday night," he said. "We shall be back on Sunday,

Monday, and Tuesday nights, remember."

"The British Navy and the weather permitting!" I laughed.

"Do not fear!" said he. "I shall be here, and we shall get you aboard

somehow. Come any one of those nights that suits _him_."

"That suits him?" I laughed. "Say rather that suits Providence!"

"Well," he repeated, "I'll be here anyhow. Good luck!"

We saluted, and I started on my way, wheeling my bicycle over the

grass. I confess, however, that I had not gone many yards before I

stopped and looked back. Wiedermann had disappeared from the top of

the bank, and in a moment I heard the faint sounds of the boat rowing

back. Very dimly against the grey sea I could just pick out the

conning tower and low side of the submarine. The gulls were still

crying, but in a more sombre key, I fancied.

So here was I, Conrad von Belke, lieutenant in the German Navy,

treading British turf underfoot, cut off from any hope of escape for

three full days at least! And it was not ordinary British turf either.

I was on the holy of holies, actually landed on those sacred,

jealously-guarded islands (which, I presume, I must not even name

here), where the Grand Fleet had its lair. As to the mere act of

landing, well, you have just seen that there was no insuperable

difficulty in stepping ashore from a submarine at certain places, if

the conditions were favourable and the moment cunningly chosen; but I

proposed to penetrate to the innermost sanctuary, and spend at least

three days there--a very different proposition!

I had been chosen for this service for three reasons: because I was

supposed to be a cool hand in what the English call a "tight place";

because I could talk English not merely fluently, but with the real

accent and intonation--like a native, in fact; and I believe because

they thought me not quite a fool. As you shall hear, there was to be

one much wiser than I to guide me. He was indeed the brain of this

desperate enterprise, and I but his messenger and assistant. Still,

one wants a messenger with certain qualities, and as it is the chief

object of this narrative to clear my honour in the eyes of those who

sent me, I wish to point out that they deliberately chose me for this

job--I did not select myself--and that I did my best.

It was my own idea to take a motor-bicycle, but it was an idea

cordially approved by those above me. There were several obvious

advantages. A motor-cyclist is not an uncommon object on the roads

even of those out-of-the-way islands, so that my mere appearance would

attract no suspicion; and besides, they would scarcely expect a visitor

of my sort to come ashore equipped with such an article. Also, I would

cover the ground quickly, and, if it came to the worst, might have a

chance of evading pursuit. But there was one reason which particularly

appealed to me: I could wear my naval uniform underneath a suit of

cyclist's overalls, and so if I were caught might make a strong plea to

escape the fate of a spy; in fact, I told myself I was not a

spy,--simply a venturesome scout. Whether the British would take the

same view of me was another question! Still, the motor-cycle did give

me a chance.

My first task was to cover the better part of twenty miles before

daybreak and join forces with "him" in the very innermost shrine of

this sanctuary--or rather, on the shore of it. This seemed a simple

enough job; I had plenty of time, the roads, I knew, were good, nobody

would be stirring (or anyhow, ought to be) at that hour, and the

arrangements for my safe reception were, as you shall hear, remarkably

ingenious. If I once struck the hard main road, I really saw nothing

that could stop me.

The first thing was to strike this road. Of course I knew the map by

heart, and had a copy in my pocket as a precaution that was almost

superfluous, but working by map-memory in the dark is not so easy when

one is going across country.

The grassy bank fell gently before me as the land sloped down from the

cliffs to the beach, and I knew that within a couple of hundred yards I

should find a rough road which followed the shore for a short way, and

then when it reached the links above the beach, turned at right angles

across them to join the highroad. Accordingly I bumped my motor-cycle

patiently over the rough grass, keeping close to the edge of the bank

so as to guide myself, and every now and then making a detour of a few

yards inland to see whether the road had begun. The minutes passed,

the ground kept falling till I was but a little above the level of the

glimmering sea, the road ought to have begun to keep me company long

ago, but never a sign of it could I find. Twice in my detours I

stumbled into what seemed sand-holes, and turned back out of them

sharply. And then at last I realised that I had ceased to descend for

the last hundred yards or more, and in fact must be on the broad

stretch of undulating sea links that fringed the head of the bay. But

where was my road?

I stopped, bade myself keep quite cool and composed, and peered round

me into the night. The moon was farther up and it had become a little

lighter, but the clouds still obscured most of the sky and it was not

light enough to see much. Overhead were the stars; on one hand the

pale sea merged into the dark horizon; all around me were low black

hummocks that seem to fade into an infinity of shadows. The gulls

still cried mournfully, and a strong pungent odour of seaweed filled

the night air. I remember that pause very vividly.

I should have been reckless enough to light a cigarette had I not

feared that our submarine might still be on the surface, and Wiedermann

might see the flash and dub me an idiot. I certainly needed a smoke

very badly and took some credit to myself for refraining (though

perhaps I ought really have given it to Wiedermann). And then I

decided to turn back, slanting, however, a little away from the sea so

as to try and cut across the road. A minute or two later I tumbled

into a small chasm and came down with the bicycle on top of me. I had

found my road.

The fact was that the thing, though marked on the large-scale map as a

road of the third, fourth, or tenth quality (I forget which), was

actually nothing more or less than three parallel crevasses in the turf

filled with loose sand. It was into these crevasses that I had twice

stumbled already. Now with my back to the sea and keeping a yard or

two away from this wretched track, but with its white sand to guide me,

I pushed my motor-cycle laboriously over the rough turf for what seemed

the better part of half an hour. In reality I suppose it was under ten

minutes, but with the night passing and that long ride before me, I

never want a more patience-testing job. And then suddenly the white

sand ceased. I stepped across to see what was the matter, and found

myself on a hard highroad. It was a branch of the main road that led

towards the shore, and for the moment I had quite forgotten its

existence. I could have shouted for joy.

"Now," I said to myself, "I'm off!"

And off I went, phut-phut-phutting through the cool night air, with a

heart extraordinarily lightened. That little bit of trouble at the

start had made the rest of the whole wild enterprise seem quite simple

now that it was safely over.

I reached the end of this branch, swung round to the right into the

highroad proper and buzzed along like a tornado. The sea by this time

had vanished, but I saw the glimmer of a loch on my left, and close at

hand low walls and dim vistas of cultivated fields. A dark low

building whizzed by, and then a gaunt eerie-looking standing stone, and

then came a dip and beyond it a little rise in the ground. As I took

this rise there suddenly came upon me a terrible sinking of the heart.

Phut-phut! went my cycle, loudly and emphatically, and then came a

horrible pause. Phut! once more; then two or three feeble explosions,

and then silence. My way stopped; I threw over my leg and landed on

the road.

"What the devil!" I muttered.

I had cleaned the thing, oiled it, seen that everything was in order;

what in heaven's name could be the matter? And then with a dreadful

sensation I remembered that wave of salt water.

II.

NIGHT IN THE RUINED HOUSE.

You may smile to think of a sailor being dismayed by a splash of salt

water; but not if you are a motor-cyclist! Several very diabolical

consequences may ensue.

In the middle of that empty road, in that alien land, under the hostile

stars, I took my electric torch and endeavoured to discover what was

the matter. From the moment I remembered the probable salt, wet cause

of my mishap I had a pretty hopeless feeling. At the end of ten

minutes I felt not merely quite hopeless, but utterly helpless.

Helpless as a child before a charging elephant, hopeless as a man at

the bottom of an Alpine crevasse. Ignition, carburettor, what had been

damaged? In good daylight it might take me an hour or two first to

discover and then to mend. By the radiance of my torch I would

probably spend a night or two, and be none the wiser.

And meantime the precious dark hours were slipping away, and scattered

all over the miles of country lay foemen sleeping--nothing but foes. I

was in a sea-girt isle with but one solitary friend, and he was nearly

twenty miles away, and I had the strictest orders not to approach him

save under the cover of darkness. Enough cause for a few pretty black

moments, I think you will allow.

And then I took myself by the scruff of the neck and gave myself a

hearty shake. Had I been picked for this errand because I was a coward

or a resourceless fool? No! Well, then, I must keep my head and use

my wits, and if I could not achieve the best thing, I must try to do

the second best. I ran over all the factors in the problem.

Firstly, to wait in the middle of that road trying to accomplish a job

which I knew perfectly well it was a thousand chances to one against my

managing, was sheer perverse folly.

Secondly, to leave my cycle in a ditch and try to cover the distance on

my own two legs before daybreak was a physical impossibility. My cycle

being one of the modern kind with no pedals, I could not even essay the

dreadful task of grinding it along with my feet. Therefore I could not

reach my haven to-night by any conceivable means.

On the other hand, I would still be expected to-morrow night, for our

plans were laid to allow something for mischances; so if I could

conceal myself and my cycle through the coming day, all might yet be

well. Therefore I must devise some plan for concealing myself.

Logic had brought me beautifully so far, but now came the rub--Where

was I to hide? These islands, you may or may not know, are to all

practical purposes treeless and hedgeless. They have many moors and

waste places, but of an abominable kind for a fugitive--especially a

fugitive with a motor-cycle. The slopes are long and usually gentle

and quite exposed; ravines and dells are few and far between and

farther still to reach. Caves and clefts among the rocks might be

found no doubt, but I should probably break my neck looking for them in

the dark. Conceive of a man with a motor-bicycle looking for a cave by

starlight!

And then a heaven-sent inspiration visited me. On board we had of

course maps with every house marked, however small, and who lived in

it, and so on. We do things thoroughly, even though at the moment

there may not be any apparent reason for some of the details. I

blessed our system now, for suddenly in my mind's eye I saw a certain

group of farm buildings marked "ruinous and uninhabited." And now

where the devil was it?

My own pocket map of course had no such minute details and I had to

work my memory hard. And then in a flash I saw the map as distinctly

as if it had really been under my eye instead of safely under the

Atlantic. "I have a chance still!" I said to myself.

By the light of my torch I had a careful look at my small map, and then

I set forth pushing my lifeless cycle. To get to my refuge I had to

turn back and retrace my steps (or perhaps I should rather say my

revolutions) part way to the shore till I came to a road branching

southwards, roughly parallel to the coast. It ascended continuously

and pretty steeply, and I can assure you it was stiff work pushing a

motor-cycle up that interminable hill, especially when one was clad for

warmth and not for exercise. Dimly in the waxing moonlight I could see

low farm buildings here and there, but luckily not a light shone nor a

dog barked from one of them. Glancing over my shoulder I saw the sea,

now quite distinct and with a faint sheen upon its surface, widening

and widening as I rose. But I merely glanced at it enviously and

concentrated my attention on the task of finding my "ruinous and

uninhabited" farm. I twice nearly turned off the road too soon, but I

did find it at last--a low tumble-down group of little buildings some

two hundred yards or so off the road on the right, or seaward side.

Here the cultivated fields stopped, and beyond them the road ascended

through barren moorland. My refuge was, in fact, the very last of the

farms as one went up the hill. It lay pretty isolated from the others,

and there was a track leading to it that enabled me to push my cycle

along fairly comfortably.

"I might have come to a much worse place!" I said to myself hopefully.

Though there was not a sign of life about the place, and not a sound of

any kind, I still proceeded warily, as I explored the derelict farm. I

dared not even use my torch till I had stooped through an open door,

and was safely within one of the buildings. When I flashed it round me

I saw then that I stood in a small and absolutely empty room, which

might at one time have been anything from a parlour to a byre, but now

seemed consecrated to the cultivation of nettles. It had part of a

roof overhead, and seemed as likely to suit my purpose as any other of

the dilapidated group, so I brought my cycle in, flattened a square

yard or two of nettles, and sat down on the floor with my back against

the wall. And then I lit a cigarette and meditated.

"My young friend," I said to myself, "you are in an awkward position,

but, remember, you have been in awkward positions before when there

were no such compensating advantages! Let us consider these advantages

and grow cheerful. You are privileged to render your country such a

service as few single Germans have been able to render her--if this

plan succeeds! If it fails, your sacrifice will not be unknown or

unappreciated. Whatever happens, you will have climbed a rung or two

up the ladder of duty, and perhaps of fame."

This eloquence pleased my young friend so much that he lit another

cigarette.

"Consider again," I resumed, "what an opportunity you have been

unexpectedly presented with for exhibiting your resourcefulness and

your coolness and your nerve! If it had not been for that wave of salt

water your task would have been almost too simple. Your own share of

the enterprise would merely have consisted in a couple of easy rides on

a motor-cycle, and perhaps the giving of a few suggestions, or the

making of a few objections, which would probably have been brushed

aside as worthless. Now you have really something to test you!"

This oration produced a less exhilarating effect. In fact, it set me

to wondering very gravely how I could best justify this implied tribute

to my powers of surmounting difficulties. Till the day broke all I had

to do was to sit still, but after that--what? I pondered for a few

minutes, and then I came to the conclusion that an hour or two's sleep

would probably freshen my wits. I knew I could count on waking when

the sun rose, and so I closed my eyes, and presently was fast asleep.

When I awoke, it was broad daylight. Looking first through the

pane-less window and then through the gap in the roof, I saw that it

was a grey, still morning that held promise of a fine day, though

whether that was to my advantage or disadvantage I did not feel quite

sure. Nobody seemed to be stirring yet about the houses or fields, so

I had still time for deliberation before fate forced my hand.

First of all, I had a look round my immediate surroundings. I was well

sheltered, as all the walls were standing, and there was most of a roof

over my head (the last being a point of some importance in case any

aircraft chanced to make a flight in this direction). It is true that

the door was gone, but even here I seemed fortunate, for another small

building, also dilapidated-looking but in somewhat better condition,

stood right opposite the open doorway and hid it completely. This

little building still had a dishevelled door which stood closed, and

for a moment I half thought of changing my shelter and taking

possession of it; and then I decided that where fate had directed my

steps, there should I abide.

The next thing obviously was to overhaul my motor-cycle, and this I set

about at once, though all the time my thoughts kept working. In the

course of an hour or so I had located the trouble in the carburettor

and put it right again, and I had also begun to realise a few of the

pros and cons of the situation.

I now ate a few sandwiches, had a pull at my flask, lit a cigarette,

and put the case to myself squarely.

"With a motor-cycle, the whole island at my disposal, and daylight in

which to search it through, I can surely find a hiding-place a little

farther removed from inquisitive neighbours," I said to myself. "So

the sooner I am off the better."

But then I answered back--

"On the other hand it may take me some hours to find a better spot than

this, and a man tearing about the country on a motor-cycle is decidedly

more conspicuous in the early morning than in the middle of the day or

the afternoon when cyclists are natural objects.

"But again, if I do think of leaving this place I certainly ought not

to be seen in the act of emerging from a ruinous house pushing my

cycle--not, at least, if I wish to be considered a normal feature of

the landscape. I have a chance of escaping now unobserved; shall I

have such a chance later in the day?"

Finally I decided to compromise. I should stay where I was till the

hour when all the farmers had their midday meal. Then I might well

hope to slip out unobserved, and thereafter scour the country looking

for the ideal hiding-place without attracting any particular attention.

But whatever merits this scheme may have had were destined never to be

tested.

From my seat amid the nettles I could see right through the open door,

and my eyes all this while were resting on the glimpse of grey building

outside. All at once I held my breath, and the hand that was lifting a

cigarette to my lips grew rigid. A thin wisp of smoke was rising from

the chimney.

III.

BEHIND THE WALL.

"Ruinous" these farm buildings certainly were; but

"uninhabited"--obviously not quite! I rose stealthily and crossed to

the door, and just as I reached it the door of the other house began to

open. I stepped back and peered round the corner for quite a minute

before anything more happened. My neighbour, whoever he was, seemed

unconscionably slow in his movements.

And then a very old, bent, and withered woman appeared, with a grey

shawl about her head. As she looked slowly round her, first to one

side and then to the other, I cautiously drew back; but even as I did

so I knew it was too late. A wisp of smoke had given us both away.

This time it was a trail from my cigarette which I could see quite

plainly drifting through the open door.

I heard her steps coming towards me, and then her shadow filled the

doorway. There was nothing for it but taking the bull by the horns.

"Good morning!" I said genially.

She did not start. She did not speak. She just stared at me out of as

unpleasant-looking a pair of old eyes as I have ever looked into. I

suspected at once why the old crone lived here by herself; she did not

look as if she would be popular among her neighbours.

"I think it is going to be a fine day," I continued breezily.

She simply continued to stare; and if ever I saw suspicion in human

eyes, I saw it in hers.

"What do you think yourself?" I inquired with a smile. "I have no

doubt you are more weatherwise than I."

Then at last she spoke, and I thought I had never heard a more sinister

remark.

"Maybe it will be a fine day for some," she replied.

"I hope I may be one of them!" I said as cheerfully as possible.

She said not one word in reply, and her silence completed the ominous

innuendo.

It struck me that a word of explanation would be advisable.

"My bicycle broke down," I said, "and I took the liberty of bringing it

in here to repair it."

Her baleful gaze turned upon my hapless motor-cycle.

"What for did you have to mend it in here?" she inquired; very

pertinently, I could not but admit.

"It was the most convenient place I could find," I replied carelessly.

"To keep it from the rain maybe?" she suggested.

"Well," I admitted, "a roof has some advantages."

"Then," said she, "you've been here a long while, for there's been no

rain since I wakened up."

"But I didn't say I came here for shelter," I said hastily.

She stared at me again for a few moments.

"You're saying first one thing and then the other," she pronounced.

I felt inclined to tell her that she had missed her vocation. What a

terrible specimen of the brow-beating, cross-examining lawyer she would

have made! However, I decided that my safest line was cheerful

politeness.

"Have it your own way, my good dame!" I said lightly.

Her evil eyes transfixed me.

"You'll be a foreigner," she said.

"A foreigner!" I exclaimed; "why on earth should you think that?"

"You're using queer words," she replied.

"What words?" I demanded.

"Dame is the German for an old woman," said she.

This astonishing philological discovery might have amused me at another

time, but at this moment it only showed me too clearly how her thoughts

were running.

"Well," said I, "if it's German, I can only say it is the first word of

that beastly language I've ever spoken!"

Again I was answered by a very ominous silence. It occurred to me very

forcibly that the sooner I removed myself from this neighbourhood the

better.

"Well," I said, "my bicycle is mended now, so I had better be off."

"You had that," she agreed.

"Good-bye!" I cried as I led my cycle out, but she never spoke a

syllable in reply.

"Fate has not lost much time in forcing my hand!" I said to myself as I

pushed my motor-cycle along the track towards the highroad. I thought

it wiser not to look round, but just before I reached the road I

glanced over my left shoulder, and there was the old woman crossing the

fields at a much brisker pace than I should have given her credit for,

and heading straight for the nearest farm. My hand was being forced

with a vengeance.

Instinctively I should liked to have turned uphill and got clear of

this district immediately, but I was not sure how my cycle would behave

itself, and dared not risk a stiff ascent to begin with. So I set off

at top speed down the road I had come the night before, passing the old

crone at a little distance off, and noticing more than one labourer in

the fields or woman at a house door, staring with interest at this

early morning rider. When the news had spread of where he had come

from, and with what language he interlarded his speech, they might do

something more than stare. There was a telegraph-office not at all far

away.

As I sped down that hill and swung round away from the sea at the foot,

I did a heap of quick thinking. As things had turned out I dared not

make for any place of concealment far off the highroads. Now that

there was a probability of the hue and cry being raised, or at least of

a look-out being kept for me, the chances of successfully slipping up

the valley of some burn without any one's notice were enormously

decreased. I had but to glance round at the openness of the

countryside to realise that. No; on the highroads I could at least run

away, but up in the moors I should be a mere trapped rat.

Then I had the bright thought of touring in zigzag fashion round and

round the island, stopping every here and there to address an

inhabitant and leave a false clue, so as to confuse my possible

pursuers. But what about my petrol? I might need every drop if I

actually did come to be chased. So I gave up that scheme.

Finally, I decided upon a plan which really seems to me now to be as

promising as any I could think of. About the least likely place to

look for me would be a few miles farther along the same road that ran

past my last night's refuge, in the opposite direction from that in

which people had seen me start. I resolved to make a detour and then

work back to that road.

I had arrived at this decision by the time I reached the scene of last

night's mishap. Fortunately my cycle was running like a deer now, and

I swept up the little slope in a few seconds and sped round the loch,

opening up fresh vistas of round-topped heather hills and wide green or

brown valleys every minute. At a lonely bit of the road I jumped off,

studied my map afresh, and then dashed on again.

Presently a side road opened, leading back towards the coast, and round

the corner I sped; but even as I did so the utter hopelessness of my

performance struck me vividly--that is to say, if a really serious and

organised hunt for me were to be set afoot. For the roadside was

dotted with houses, often at considerable intervals it is true, but

then all of them had such confoundedly wide views over that open

country. There was a house or two at the very corner where I turned,

and I distinctly saw a face appearing at a window to watch me thunder

past. The noise these motor-cycles make is simply infernal!

It was then that I fell into the true spirit for such an adventure.

Since the chances were everywhere against me _if_ my enemies took

certain steps, well then, the only thing to do was to hope they did not

take them and dismiss that matter from my mind. I was taking the best

precautions I could think of, and the cooler I kept and better spirits

I was in, the more likely would luck be to follow me. For luck is a

discerning lady and likes those who trust her. Accordingly, the sun

being now out and the morning beautifully fine, I decided to enjoy the

scenery and make the most of a day ashore.

My first step was to ease up and ride just as slowly as I could, and

then I saw at once that I was doing the wisest thing in every way. I

made less noise and less dust, and was altogether much less of a

phenomenon. And this encouraged me greatly to keep to my new

resolution.

"If I leave it all to luck, she will advise me well!" I said to myself.

I headed coastwards through a wide marshy valley with but few houses

about, and in a short time saw the sea widening before me and presently

struck the road I was seeking. At the junction I obeyed an impulse,

and, jumping off my cycle, paused to survey the scenery. A fertile

vale fell from where I stood, down to a small bay between headlands.

It was filled with little farms, and all at once there came over me an

extraordinary impression of peacefulness and rest. Could it actually

be that this was a country at war; that naval war, indeed, was very

very close at hand, and beneath those shining waters a submarine might

even now be stealing or a loose mine drifting? The wide, sunshiny,

placid atmosphere of the scene, with its vast expanse of clear blue

sky, larks singing high up and sea-birds crying about the shore,

soothed my spirits like a magician's wand. I mounted and rode on again

in an amazingly pleasant frame of mind for a spy within a

hair's-breadth of capture, and very probably of ignominious death.

Up a long hill my engine gently throbbed, with moorland on either side

that seemed to be so desolated by the gales and sea spray that even

heather could scarcely flourish. I meant to stop and rest by the

wayside, but after a look at the map I thought on the whole I had

better put another mile or two between me and the lady with the baleful

eyes. At the top I had a very wide prospect of inland country to the

left, a treeless northern-looking scene, all green and brown with many

lakes reflecting the sunshine. A more hopeless land to hide in I never

beheld, and I was confirmed in my reckless resolution. Chance alone

must protect me.

Down a still steeper hill I rode, only now amid numberless small farms

and with another bay shining ahead. The road ran nearly straight into

the water and then bent suddenly and followed the rim of the bay, with

nothing but empty sea-links on the landward side. The farms were left

behind, a mansion-house by the shore was still a little distance ahead,

and there was not a living soul in sight as I came to a small

stone-walled enclosure squeezed in between the road and the beach

below. I jumped off, led my cycle round this and laid it on the

ground, and then seated myself with my back against the low wall of

loose stones and my feet almost projecting over the edge of the steep

slope of pebbles that fell down to the sand.

I was only just out of sight, but unless any one should walk along the

beach, out of sight I certainly was, and it struck me forcibly that

ever since I had given myself up to luck, every impulse had been an

inspiration. If I were conducting the search for myself, would I ever

dream of looking for the mysterious runaway behind a wall three feet

high within twenty paces of a public road and absolutely exposed to a

wide sweep of beach? "No," I told myself, "I certainly should not!"

There I sat for hour after hour basking in the sunshine, and yet

despite my heavy clothing kept at a bearable temperature by gentle airs

of cool breeze off the sea. The tide, which was pretty high when I

arrived, crept slowly down the sands, but save for the cruising and

running of gulls and little piping shore-birds, that was all the

movement on the beach. Not a soul appeared below me all that time.

The calm shining sea remained absolutely empty except once for quarter

of an hour or so when a destroyer was creeping past far out. To the

seaward there was not a hint of danger or the least cause for

apprehension.

On the road behind me I did hear sounds several times, which I confess

disturbed my equanimity much more than I meant to let them. Once a

motor-car buzzed past, and not to hold my breath as the sound swelled

so rapidly and formidably was more than I could achieve. The jogging

of a horse and trap twice set me wondering, despite myself, whether

there were a couple of men with carbines aboard. But the slow

prolonged rattling and creaking of carts was perhaps the sound that

worried me most. They took such an interminable time to pass! I

conceived a very violent distaste for carts.

I do take some credit to myself that not once did I yield to the

temptation to peep over my wall and see who it was that passed along

the road. I did not even turn and try to peer through the chinks in

the stones, but simply sat like a limpet till the sounds had died

completely away. The only precaution I took was to extinguish my

cigarette if I chanced at the moment to be smoking.

In the course of my long bask in that sun bath I ate most of my

remaining sandwiches and a cake or two of chocolate, but kept the

remainder against emergencies. At last as the sun wore round,

gradually descending till it shone right into my eyes, and I realised

that the afternoon was getting far through, hope began to rise higher

and higher. It actually seemed as if I were going to be allowed to

remain within twenty yards of a highroad till night fell. "And then

let them look for me!" I thought.

I don't think my access of optimism caused me to make any incautious

movement. I know I was not smoking, in fact it must simply have been

luck determined to show me that I was not her only favourite. Anyhow,

when I first heard a footstep it was on the grass within five yards of

me, and the next moment a man came round the corner of the wall and

stopped dead short at the sight of me.

He was a countryman, a small farmer or hired man, I should judge--a

broad-faced, red-bearded, wide-shouldered, pleasant-looking fellow, and

he must have been walking for some distance on the grass by the

roadside, though what made him step the few yards out of his way to

look round the corner of the wall, I have never discovered to this day.

Possibly he meant to descend to the beach at that point. Anyhow there

he was, and as we looked into one another's eyes for a moment in

silence I could tell as surely as if he had said the words that he had

heard the story of the suspicious motor-cyclist.

IV.

THE NAILS.

"A fine afternoon," I remarked, without rising, and I hope without

showing any sign of emotion other than pleasure at making an

acquaintance.

"Aye," said he, briefly and warily.

This discouraging manner was very ominous, for the man was as

good-natured and agreeable-looking a fellow as I ever met.

"The weather looks like keeping up," I said.

He continued to look at me steadily, and made no answer at all this

time. Then he turned his back to me very deliberately, lifted his felt

hat, and waved it two or three times round his head, evidently to some

one in the distance. I saw instantly that mischief was afoot and time

precious, yet the fellow was evidently determined and stout-hearted,

besides being physically very powerful, and it would never do to rouse

his suspicions to the pitch of grappling with me. Of course I might

use my revolver, but I had no wish to add a civilian's death to the

other charge I might have to face before that sun had set. Suddenly

luck served me well again by putting into my head a well-known English

cant phrase.

"Are you often taken like that?" I inquired with a smile.

He turned round again and stared blankly. I imitated the movement of

waving a hat, and laughed.

"Or is it a family custom?" I asked.

He was utterly taken aback, and looked rather foolish. I sat still and

continued to smile at him. And then he broke into a smile himself.

"I was just waving on a friend," he explained, and I could detect a

note of apology in his voice. For the moment he was completely

hoodwinked. How long it would last Heaven knew, but I clearly could

not afford to imitate Mr Asquith, and "wait and see."

"Oh," I said with a laugh, "I see!"

And then I glanced at my wristlet watch, and sprang to my feet with an

exclamation.

"By Jove, I'll be late!" I said, and picking up my cycle wheeled it

briskly to the road, remarking genially as I went, "the days are not so

long as they were!"

I never saw a man more obviously divided in mind. Was I the suspicious

person he fancied at first? Or was I an honest and peaceable

gentleman? Meanwhile I had cast one brief but sufficient glance along

the road. Just at the foot of the steep hill down which I had come in

the morning a man was mounting a motor-cycle. Beside him stood one or

two others--country folk, so far as I could judge at the distance, and

piecing things together, it seemed plain that my friend had lately been

one of the party, and that the man they had been gossiping with was a

motor-cyclist in search of me, who had actually paused to make

inquiries within little over a quarter of a mile from where I sat.

Quite possibly he had been there for some time, and almost certainly he

would have ridden past without suspecting my presence if it had not

been for the diabolical mishap of this chance encounter.

I had planted my cycle on the road, and was ready to mount before my

friend had made up his mind what to do. Even then his procedure

luckily lacked decision.

"Beg pardon, sir--!" he began, making a step towards me.

"Good evening!" I shouted, and the next instant the engine had started,

and I was in my saddle.

Even then my pursuer had got up so much speed that he must surely have

caught me had he not stopped to make inquiry of my late acquaintance.

I was rounding a corner at the moment, and so was able to glance over

my shoulder and see what was happening. The cyclist was then in the

act of remounting, and I noted that he was in very dark clothes. It

might or might not have been a uniform, but I fancied it was. Anyhow,

I felt peculiarly little enthusiasm for making his acquaintance.

On I sped, working rapidly up to forty miles an hour, and quite

careless now of any little sensation I might cause. I had sensations

myself, and did not grudge them to other people. The road quickly left

the coast and turned directly inland, and presently it began to wind

along the edge of a long reedy stretch of water, with a steep bank

above it on the other side. The windings gave me several chances of

catching a glimpse of my pursuer, and I saw that I was gaining nothing;

in fact, if anything he was overhauling me.

"I'll try them!" I said to myself.

"Them" were nails. Wiedermann had done me no more than justice in

assuming I had come well provided against possible contingencies. Each

of my side-pockets had a little packet of large-headed, sharp-pointed

nails. I had several times thrown them experimentally on the floor of

my cabin, and found that a gratifying number lay point upwards. I

devoutly prayed they would behave as reasonably now.

This stretch of road was ideal for their use--narrow, and with not a

house to give succour or a spectator to witness such a very suspicious

performance, I threw a handful behind me, and at the next turn of the

road glanced round to see results. The man was still going strong. I

threw another handful and then a third, but after that the road ran

straight for a space, and it was only when it bent to the right round

the head of the loch that I was able to see him again. He had stopped

far back, and was examining his tyres.

The shadows by this time were growing long, but there were still some

hours before darkness would really shelter me, and in the meantime what

was I to do with myself, and where to turn? Judging from the long time

that had elapsed between my discovery in the early morning and the

appearance of this cyclist at the very place which I had thought would

be the last where they would seek me, the rest of the island had

probably been searched and the hue and cry had died down by this time.

So for some time I ought to be fairly safe anywhere: until, in fact, my

pursuer had reached a telegraph office, and other scouts had then been

collected and sent out. And if my man was an average human being, he

would certainly waste a lot of precious time in trying to pump up his

tyres or mend them before giving it up as a bad job and walking to a

telegraph office.

That, in fact, was what he did, for in this open country I was able a

few minutes later to see him in the far distance still stopping by that

loch shore. But though I believe in trusting to chance, I like to give

myself as many chances as possible. I knew where all the telegraph

offices were, and one was a little nearer him than I quite liked. So

half a mile farther on, at a quiet spot on a hill, I jumped off and

swarmed up one of the telegraph-posts by the roadside, and then I took

out of my pocket another happy inspiration. When I came down again,

there was a gap in the wire.

There was now quite a good chance that I might retain my freedom till

night fell, and if I could hold out so long as that--well, we should

see what happened then! But what was to be done in the meantime? A

strong temptation assailed me, and I yielded to it. I should get as

near to my night's rendezvous as possible, and try to find some

secluded spot there. It was not perhaps the very wisest thing to risk

being seen there by daylight and bring suspicion on the neighbourhood

where I meant to spend two or three days; but you will presently see

why I was so strongly tempted. So great, in fact, was the temptation

that till I got there I hardly thought of the risk.

I rode for a little longer through the same kind of undulating,

loch-strewn inland country, and then I came again close to the sea.

But it was not the open sea this time. It was a fairly wide sound that

led from the ocean into a very important place, and immediately I began

to see things. What things they were precisely I may not say, but they

had to do with warfare, with making this sound about as easy for a

hostile ship to get through, whether above the water or below, as a

pane of glass is for a bluebottle. As I rode very leisurely, with my

head half turned round all the while, I felt that my time was not

wasted if I escaped safely, having seen simply what I now noted. For

my eye could put interpretations on features that would convey nothing

to the ordinary traveller.

Gradually up and up a long gentle incline I rode, with the sound

falling below me and a mass of high dark hills rising beyond it.

Behind me the sun was now low, and my shadow stretched long on the

empty road ahead. For it was singularly empty, and the country-side

was utterly peaceful; only at sea was there life--with death very close

beside it. And now and then there rose at intervals a succession of

dull, heavy sounds that made the earth quiver. I knew what they meant!

Then came a dip, and then a very steep long hill through moorland

country. And then quite suddenly and abruptly I came to the top. It

was a mere knife-edge, with the road instantly beginning to descend

steeply on the other side, but I did not descend with the road. I

jumped off and stared with bated breath.

Ahead of me and far below, a wide island-encircled sheet of water lay

placid and smiling in the late afternoon sunshine. Strung along one

side of it were lines of grey ships, with a little smoke rising from

most of their funnels, but lying quite still and silent--as still and

silent as the farms and fields on shore. Those distant patches of

grey, with the thin drifts of smoke and the masts encrusted with small

grey blobs rising out of their midst, those were the cause of all my

country's troubles. But for them peace would have long since been

dictated and a mightier German Empire would be towering above all other

States in the world. How I hated--and yet (being a sailor myself) how

I respected them!

One solitary monster of this Armada was slowly moving across the

land-locked basin. Parallel to her and far away moved a tiny vessel

with a small square thing following her at an even distance, and the

sun shining on this showed its colour red. Suddenly out of the monster

shot a series of long bright flashes. Nothing else happened for

several seconds, and then almost simultaneously "Boom! boom! boom!" hit

my ear, and a group of tall white fountains sprang up around the

distant red target. The Grand Fleet of England was preparing for "The

Day"!

I knew the big vessel at a glance; I knew her, at least, as one of a

certain four, and for some moments I watched her gunnery practice, too

fascinated to stir. I noted how the fall of her shells was spread--in

fact I noted several things; and then it occurred to me abruptly that I

stood a remarkably good chance of having a wall at my back and a

handkerchief over my eyes if I lingered in this open road much longer.

And the plea that I was enjoying the excellent gun-practice made by

H.M.S. _Blank_ would scarcely be accepted as an extenuating

circumstance!

I glanced quickly round, and then I realised how wonderfully luck was

standing by me. At the summit of that hill there were naturally no

houses, and as the descending road on either side made a sharp twist

almost immediately, I stood quite invisible on my outlook tower. The

road, moreover, ran through a kind of neck, with heather rising on

either side; and in a moment I had hauled my cycle up the bank on the

landward side, and was out of sight over the edge, even should any

traveller appear.

After a few minutes' laborious dragging of my cycle I found myself in a

small depression in the heather, where, by lying down, I could remain

quite out of sight unless some one walked right into me--and it seemed

improbable that any one should take such a promenade with the good road

so close at hand. By raising myself on my knees I could command the

same engrossing view I had seen from the road, only I now also saw

something of the country that sloped down to the sea; and with a thrill

of exultation I realised that this prospect actually included our

rendezvous.

V.

WAITING.

What I saw when I cautiously peered over the rim of that little hollow

was (beginning at the top) a vast expanse of pale-blue sky, with fleecy

clouds down near the horizon already tinged with pink reflections from

the sunset far off behind my back. Then came a shining glimpse of the

North Sea; then a rim of green islands, rising on the right to high

heather hills; then the land-locked waters and the grey ships now

getting blurred and less distinct; then some portions of the green land

that sloped up to where I lay; and among these fields, and not far away

from me, the steep roof and gable-top of a grey, old-fashioned house.

It was the parish manse, the pacific abode of the professional exponent

and exemplar of peace--the parish minister; and yet, curiously enough,

it was that house which my eyes devoured.

The single ship had now ceased firing and anchored with her consorts,

the fleet had grown too indistinct to note anything of its composition,

and there was nothing to distract my attention from the house. I

looked at it hard and long and studied the lie of the ground between it

and me, and then I lay down on a couch of soft heather and began to

think.

So far as I could see I had done nothing yet to draw suspicion to this

particular spot, for no one at all seemed to have seen me, but it was

manifest that there would be a hard and close hunt for the mysterious

motor-cyclist on the morrow. I began to half regret that I had cut

that telegraph wire and advertised myself so patently for what I was.

Now it was quite obvious that for some days to come motor-cycling would

be an unhealthy pastime in these islands. Even at night how many ears

would be listening for my "phut-phut-phut," and how many eyes would be

scanning the dark roads? A few judiciously placed and very simple

barricades--a mere bar on two uprights, with a sentry beside each--and

what chance would I have of getting back to that distant bay,

especially as I had just been seen so near it?

"However," I said to myself, "that is looking too far ahead. It was

not my fault I brought this hornet's nest about my ears. Just bad luck

and a clumsy sailor!"

Just then I heard something approaching on the road below me, and in a

minute or two it became unmistakably the sound of a horse and trap. At

one place I could catch a glimpse of this road between the hummocks of

heather, and I raised myself again and looked out. In a moment the

horse and trap appeared and I got a sensation I shall not soon forget.

Not that there seemed to the casual passer-by anything in the least

sensational about this equipage. He would merely have noticed that it

contained, besides the driver, a few articles of luggage and a

gentleman in a flat-looking felt hat and an overcoat--both of them

black. This gentleman was sitting with his back to me (he was in a

small waggonette), but I could scarcely doubt who it was. But only

arriving to-night!

Curiosity and anxiety so devoured me that I ran a little risk. Getting

out of my hollow, I crawled forward on my hands and knees till I could

catch a glimpse of the side road leading to that house; and there I lay

flat on my face and watched.

Down the steep hill the horse proceeded at a walk, and what between my

impatience to make sure, and my consciousness of my own rashness in

quitting even for a moment my sheltered hollow, I passed a few very

uncomfortable minutes. The light by this time was failing fast, but it

was quite clear enough to see (or be seen), and at last I caught one

more glimpse of that horse and trap--turning off the road just where I

expected. And then I was crawling back with more haste than dignity.

It was "him"! And he had only arrived to-night. If it had not been

for my accident, in what a nice dilemma I should have been landed!

Never did I bless any one more fervently than that awkward sailor who

had let my cycle slip, and as for the wave of salt water which wet it,

it seemed to have sprung from the age of miracles.

The trouble of my discovery and its possible consequences still

remained, but I thought little enough of that now, so thankful did I

feel for what had _not_ happened. And then I stretched myself out

again on the heather, waiting with all the patience I could muster for

the falling of night.