Kidnapped
"I thought you had killed him, von Ruhle," said the doctor, bending
over Vernon and making a cursory examination of the unconscious lad.
"I thought I had," was the unconcerned reply. "Dead men tell no tales."
"There I beg to differ," protested Ramblethorne. "Corpses have a nasty
way of turning up at inopportune moments. These youngsters are worth
more to us alive than dead."
"How so?"
"One is a son of Admiral Trefusis; his companion is, I believe, also a
son of a distinguished English naval officer."
"Well, and what of it?" asked von Ruhle.
"Hostages," replied the doctor briefly. "Later I will explain.
Meanwhile we'll carry them to the cave. It's farther than back to the
ruins; but perhaps, as young Trefusis said, there may be a
search-party, and the ruins would be one of the first objects of
investigation."
Although, with the exception of periodical visits abroad, Dr.
Ramblethorne had lived in England all his life and was a fully
qualified medical man, he was a highly trusted and talented agent of
the German Secret Service. Months before the outbreak of war, he had
been ordered to report upon the defences of Devonport, and in order to
do this he had bought a practice on the outskirts of Plymouth. Upon
the commencement of hostilities, he was detailed to keep under
observation the military preparations of the Duchy of Cornwall, and
also to take necessary steps for communicating with German submarines
that, under von Tirpitz's prearranged scheme, were to operate in the
Bristol Channel. Von Ruhle was one of the few subordinates he actually
knew. There were others with whom he communicated only through an
intermediary, and who knew him only by a number.
Von Ruhle was almost as mentally clever as his superior.
Ostentatiously he was an Englishman. Sometimes he posed as a mining
engineer; at others as a commercial traveller; as an accredited
representative of the British Red Cross Society he was in the habit of
making frequent journeys to Holland, presumably in connection with work
at Groningen Internment Camp. At the present time, his activities were
centred upon the formation of a secret petrol depot for the supply of
fuel to unterseebooten operating in the Bristol Channel and off the
south coast of Ireland.
A couple of slight incidents had served to put the cautious
Ramblethorne on his guard during his interview with von Ruhle in the
ruined chapel.
Although he verbally deprecated his subordinate's alarm when the lads
accidentally dislodged a stone from the tower, it was merely to disarm
possible eavesdroppers of any suspicion that their presence was
suspected.
The ability to control his feelings was one of the super-spy's chief
assets. Suspicion once aroused, he proceeded without the faintest sign
to investigate his surroundings. His keen eye soon lighted upon the
lads' sweaters. Then it was that an adjournment was suggested to Main
Beach Cove.
This was simply and solely a "blind", for on gaining the cover of the
boulder-strewn hillock the doctor communicated his suspicions to his
companion. The pair then crouched behind the rocks, whence they were
able to command a view of the tower.
It was not long before their enterprise met with success. They saw
Trefusis and his chum cautiously descend by means of the ivy; then,
directly the lads set out upon their ill-starred tracking expedition,
the Germans, as before related, succeeded in outflanking them and
effecting their capture.
"Time!" announced Ramblethorne, consulting his watch.
"Are these safe?" asked von Ruhle, stirring Vernon's unconscious form
with his foot.
"Quite; though, perhaps, to make sure I will give this youngster a
slight injection. Pity you hadn't held him with the double arm-lock
instead of cracking him over the head. Herr Kapitan Schwalbe won't
want to be troubled with a passenger with a swollen head."
Leaving their senseless victims in the cave, the two Germans again
ascended the hill to St. Mena's Chapel. As they breasted the summit,
they could see the fixed white light of Black Bull Head showing
momentarily brighter and brighter against the rapidly failing daylight.
Setting a prismatic compass in position upon the sill of one of the
glazeless windows, Ramblethorne took a careful bearing in a seaward
direction. This done, he pointed the projector of the signalling
apparatus in precisely the same direction, and threw a waterproofed
cloth over the instrument.
"Too early yet, von Ruhle," he remarked. "Nevertheless it is advisable
to fix our bearings while twilight lasts. A light might spell
disaster."
"A deucedly unpleasant night for such a task," grumbled von Ruhle.
"On the contrary, it is just the very thing," replied the doctor. "It
is not thick enough to be dangerous, but the rain is just sufficient to
assist in the screening of U75. Do not think of your personal comfort,
my dear von Ruhle, when urgent work for the Fatherland has to be
undertaken."
For another half-hour the two men paced the grass-grown stones. Their
choice of St. Mena's Island as a secret signalling station was an
excellent one. It was isolated, and, being slightly greater in
elevation than the cliffs of the mainland in the immediate vicinity,
would effectually screen any ray of light sent landwards from the
expected German submarine. Thus all danger of the narrow gleam of
reflected light being detected by the none too smart members of the
coast patrol was entirely obviated.
"Time!" exclaimed the doctor, consulting the luminous face of his watch.
Dexterously, and without disturbing the position of the instrument, von
Ruhle whipped off the covering. Although there were no visible signs
that anything was taking place, both men knew that a beam of light,
reflected from the distant lighthouse on Black Bull Head, was being
directed seawards.
In silence the two men peered through the driving rain, von Ruhle
making use of a pair of powerful night-glasses.
Suddenly, after an interval of almost five minutes, a faint pin-prick
of light flickered from the surface of the sea.
Instantly Ramblethorne stepped a dozen paces to the right.
"I can see nothing from here," he announced in a low voice. "Can you?"
"Yes," replied his companion.
"Good: that's friend Schwalbe."
The doctor was right. From the deck of the unterseeboot a signalling
apparatus similar to that employed by the spies was in use. By an
ingenious automatic arrangement it projected a beam of light, derived
from the same sources as that on St. Mena's Island, rigidly in a fixed
direction, regardless of the "lift" of the submarine under the action
of the waves.
For several minutes a rapid exchange of signals was maintained; then
the two spies, folding up their apparatus, walked rapidly towards Main
Beach Cove.
They had not long to wait before the faint sound of oars was borne to
their ears.
"Himmel! They have arrived already," exclaimed von Ruhle.
"So it appears," replied Ramblethorne dryly. "I pride myself that I
have exceptionally good eyesight, but I fail to see her. The neutral
colour of the submarine is indeed excellent for night work."
They descended the sandy and shingly beach until further progress was
barred by the lapping wavelets of the rising tide.
Through the mirk loomed up the outlines of a canvas collapsible boat
crowded with men. At two lengths from the shore the rowers laid on
their oars. One of the men gave vent to a low whistle resembling the
call of a curlew.
"All clear," replied Ramblethorne.
The boat's keel rasped on the shingle. A cloaked figure in the
stern-sheets made his way for'ard and leapt ashore.
"Herr von Hauptwald?" he asked.
"The same," replied the doctor. "And Kapitan Schwalbe?"
"The captain is still on board," replied the officer. "It is hard to
resist the opportunity of getting ashore after being cooped up there
for more than a fortnight. But the petrol?"
"We have not so much as we hoped to obtain," replied von Ruhle.
The Leutnant muttered an oath.
"And how is business?" asked Ramblethorne, with a view of distracting
the officer's thoughts from the shortage of fuel.
The Leutnant muttered another oath.
"Bad!" he replied savagely. "Only one wretched little tramp steamer,
which we fell in with about twenty miles from the Stacks. She gave us
a run for our money, but we had her at last. Even then she tried to
ram us. One has to be most cautious also. These accursed English have
been far too active with their new-fangled contrivances. We called up
U71 early this morning. She replied. Again at noon we called her, but
there was no reply. U70 we have lost all touch with since Monday, yet
she was under orders to assist in the blockade of the Bristol Channel
until we, as senior unterseeboot, gave instructions to return to
Wilhelmshaven."
"Lost, I suppose," remarked Ramblethorne.
The Leutnant had walked to a distance of nearly ten yards from his men,
who were drawn up in military order awaiting their officer's commands.
He lowered his voice.
"Although I am sorry to say it," he declared, "I am afraid she has gone
too. Our losses are not only serious--they are appalling. Submarine
work is now a continual nightmare. We do our duty, but before long, if
we are sufficiently fortunate to escape the toils that these English
cast about us, we shall all be physical wrecks."
The man's agitation increased as he spoke. Obviously he was labouring
under a severe strain.
"And this petrol?" he asked anxiously. "What quantity?"
Ramblethorne told him.
"Not enough," declared the Leutnant. "Himmel, it is not enough to get
us round Cape Wrath. On board we have only sufficient for six hours'
surface running, while our batteries are not far short of running down.
You had better see the captain and explain."
Leaving von Ruhle to direct the seamen to the secret petrol store in
the cave, Ramblethorne accompanied the Leutnant to the submarine.
The U75 was one of the latest type of Germany's submarines. Over three
hundred feet in length, there was little about her in common with the
accepted idea of under-water craft. Her deck ran in one continuous
sweep for almost her entire length, and rose nearly six feet above the
surface. The visible part of her sides was perpendicular, the bulging
sections being entirely beneath the surface. Her conning-tower was
surrounded by a platform as long as the navigation-bridge of a modern
destroyer. The two periscopes were "housed", but two slender
"wireless" masts gave the boat the appearance of a swift torpedo craft.
Acknowledging a salute from a burly quartermaster, Ramblethorne gained
the deck, and was escorted aft by the Leutnant. Pacing the tapering
platform was a broad-shouldered, fair-haired man of about thirty,
although a carefully trimmed blonde beard made him look much older.
He lacked the natural elastic stride of the British naval officer. His
movements resembled those of a thoroughly drilled soldier, yet ever and
anon he would glance furtively in the direction of the open sea as if
in constant dread of sudden and unknown peril.
"Greetings, Herr von Hauptwald!" he exclaimed, when the Leutnant had
formally introduced his visitor. "You are well known to me by repute,
but I doubt whether we have met before."
"I fancy so," rejoined the doctor. "Do you not remember that little
affair in the Strauer Platz? Ah, I thought you would! But to come to
the point. We have been unable to obtain the requisite quantity of
petrol."
"Somehow I thought it," replied Kapitan Schwalbe. "How much have you?"
Ramblethorne told him.
"Enough, with what we have left on board, for only eight hundred miles
run. It will not take us home, and we are under orders not to leave
these waters before Friday next. We have been let down badly."
"I know that it is useless to express regrets," said Ramblethorne
boldly. "I can only hope that other means of supplying the requisite
fuel will be forthcoming. But here is another matter. We have had to
secure two English lads, both sons of distinguished naval officers.
Unfortunately they overheard a conversation between von Ruhle and
myself. In the interests of the Secret Service it is absolutely
necessary that they are kept out of the way for at least a couple of
months. I am averse to doing them personal injury."
"Then what do you wish?" asked Kapitan Schwalbe.
"Take them on board with you. If possible, land them at a German port.
If this be possible, you will realize that we have a strong tool to
work with."
"I fail to understand," said the Kapitan of U75.
"They could be made good use of as hostages," resumed Ramblethorne.
"If these English persist in talking about reprisals, we can hint
that--well, it is unnecessary to go into details."
"I see," remarked Kapitan Schwalbe. "But if it is impossible to land
them?"
"Then you must put them on board the first outward-bound tramp steamer
you fall in with--provided she is bound for South American ports, or
anywhere that will mean a long voyage."
"Very well," assented the submarine officer. "I quite understand your
anxiety to get them out of the way."
"Temporarily, mind," added Ramblethorne.
"Precisely. Herr Rix," he exclaimed, addressing the Leutnant. "Take
four men and go ashore. Von Ruhle will tell you where these English
boys are; have them brought on board."
"One moment," interrupted Ramblethorne. "They came to the island in a
boat. There is nothing unusual in that, I admit, but the fact remains
that the boat is still lying in the cove next to this. You might order
the men to set the boat adrift."
"Water-logged, and with sails set and the main-sheet made fast.
Another deplorable accident. Ach! It shall be so."
Half an hour later Ross Trefusis and Vernon Haye, still unconscious
under the action of the anaesthetic injection, were brought on board
U75 and passed below. Their boat, lying on its beam-ends, was drifting
slowly in the direction of Black Bull Head. Ramblethorne and von
Ruhle, their work for the present done, were already on the way to the
mainland.
Meanwhile, alarmed at the non-appearance of the young heir to
Killigwent Hall and his guest, a party had set off to search St. Mena's
Island.
Just as the boat's keel grounded on the beach of Half Tide Cove, the
German submarine slipped quietly through the blurr of misty rain, and
under cover of darkness headed towards the mouth of Bristol Channel.