The Arm of the Law
"Hulloa! What the deuce have we got here?" enquired Commander Devereux
of H.M. torpedo-boat destroyer _Yealm_, as three dripping figures were
transferred from the destroyer's dinghy to the deck. "One strafed Hun,
right enough; but who are these fellows in mufti?"
"Can't say, sir," replied the coxswain. "They sort o' collapsed
directly we got 'em into the boat."
"Then take them below," continued Devereux. "I say, Fanshawe, there's
a job for you at last, my festive sawbones."
Fanshawe, lately a young country practitioner with a scattered "panel"
connection, had but recently entered the Navy as a surgical probationer
R.N.V.R. He joined purely through patriotic motives, having sacrificed
a fairly substantial income in order to do so. Up to the present his
work had been almost a sinecure. The _Yealm_ had not had the faintest
chance of taking part in an engagement. Her crew--to use Fanshawe's
own words--were "that beastly healthy, don't you know", that, out of
sheer anxiety to do something, he was learning navigation from the
Sub-lieutenant.
The medico undertook his first important professional task on board the
_Yealm_ with great alacrity, and it was not long before Ross and Vernon
were in a fit state to be questioned. Hans Koppe was in a bad plight.
So utterly shaken were his nerves that he seemed on the point of
collapse.
"So you are the son of Admiral Trefusis," said the
Lieutenant-Commander. "I can't say that I know him personally,
although I know of him. But how did you get on board the submarine?"
Ross explained. He felt hurt at having to do so. The
Lieutenant-Commander's ignorance of the disappearance of the two chums
from St. Mena's Island "took all the wind out of his sails". In
pre-War days the principal papers would have devoted at least half a
column to the supposed deaths by drowning, off the Cornish coast, of
two well-connected youths. Nowadays editors had neither space nor
inclination to devote to such a comparatively trivial matter.
Consequently Devereux could be exonerated of all lack of knowledge of
the supposed accident. Yet his interest grew as Ross proceeded with
his narrative.
"Look here," he remarked. "We've got to dodge around for a few hours
in case your pal U77 does put in an appearance. But I'll wireless the
Admiral and ask for a telegram to be sent to your homes, to let your
people know you are still alive and kicking."
"Better not, sir," objected Ross.
Devereux looked curiously at the lad.
"And why not?" he asked.
"Well, you see," explained Trefusis, "a telegram is not such a
confidential matter as one would like it to be, especially in a remote
country district."
"It's good news though," remarked the Lieutenant-Commander.
"Yes," admitted Ross; "but it is absolutely necessary to keep it dark
for a while. A few hours won't make very much difference one way or
the other to my people, but it would make a thumping lot to our friend
Dr. Ramblethorne, otherwise von Hauptwald. If he were to hear that we
were alive, he'd do a bunk. The same with that other spy, von Ruhle.
They must be arrested promptly, and within a few hours of each other,
in case one of them scents trouble and clears out."
"I see your point," admitted Devereux. "I won't send a wireless at
present. You must be feeling peckish. I'll get my steward to bring
you in some grub. Excuse me, I must be off again. We've a lot to
attend to, you know."
The Lieutenant-Commander went on deck to conduct operations. He was
temporarily senior officer, and it fell to him to issue orders to his
two consorts relating to the investigation of the scene of the
battleship's exploit.
For two hours the three destroyers cruised over the spot where the two
submarines were supposed to have sunk. At length wreckage was found by
means of grapnels. It was, of course, much too deep to send a diver
down to report; but the spot was buoyed, and served as a base while
sweeping operations were proceeded with in the hope of locating the
hull of the second unterseeboot. In a very short space of time two
operations undertaken for the purpose of destroying the sunken
submarine were highly satisfactorily carried out. The first resulted
in the release of a small quantity of buoyant wreckage, amongst which
was the flagstaff of U75. The second brought to the surface a quantity
of oil, showing that a submarine had been sunk there, but the injuries
she previously received had not been sufficient to liberate the
contents of the heavy oil-tanks. The explosive charge had completed
the destruction of U77.
Just before five in the afternoon, the _Yealm_ and her consorts passed
the eastern arm of the breakwater in Plymouth Sound and brought up in
the Hamoaze. Ross and Vernon, arrayed in borrowed clothes and
accompanied by Lieutenant-Commander Devereux, lost no time in going
ashore and proceeding to the offices of the Commander-in-Chief.
"You are acting with remarkable discretion," observed the Admiral, when
Ross reiterated his desire not to communicate with his home until the
spies were safely under lock and key. "Fortunately there ought to be
no undue delay, as we have two expert Scotland Yard men investigating a
case in the Dockyard. I'll telephone to the Superintendent of Police,
and get him to send the officers here at once."
Within ten minutes the officers were ushered into the
Commander-in-Chief's presence. Ross and Vernon looked at them with
considerable curiosity. It had not before fallen to their lot to come
into contact with two real representatives of the famous Scotland Yard.
Yet there was little about the appearance to occasion comment. They
were not in any way disguised. The taller of the two, who was
introduced as Detective-Inspector Ferret, was about forty years of age.
His closely cut hair was dark-brown, with a plentiful sprinkling of
grey hairs. He wore a beard trimmed naval or "torpedo" fashion, with a
moustache. He was dressed in a grey lounge suit, with dark-brown boots
and a golfing cap. There was nothing of a piercing nature about his
eyes, which were of a deep-grey tint. He seemed to be perpetually
beaming; the lines on his face gave one that impression.
His companion, Detective Hawke, was a short, thick-set man of about
thirty-five. He was clean-shaven. His features were ruddy and heavy.
There was a bulldog look about his jaw that proclaimed him to be a
tough customer. His rough, brown, Harris-tweed suit and bowler hat
gave him the appearance of a prosperous yeoman rather than a successful
tracker of criminals.
"Now, young gentlemen," began Mr. Hawke briskly, after the
introductions had been made, "we'll get to business. With your
permission, sir" (addressing the Admiral), "I will ask Mr. Trefusis to
give me his version of the affair. To save time, I feel certain that
Mr. Haye will have no objection to going with my colleague and telling
him his story. That, I must explain, is the best way to eliminate any
discrepancies. We prefer to make a fair start, and then all ought to
go well."
During the next hour Detective-inspector Hawke was very busy. He made
no written notes. He relied solely upon his marvellous retentive
memory, and it was not long before he was in full possession of the
facts of the case.
His next step was to telephone to St. Bedal. From the police there, he
learnt that Dr. Ramblethorne was medical officer to the 4th battalion
of a west-country regiment, but that he was temporarily detailed to act
on the recruiting staff at Wellington.
Hawke thereupon telegraphed to Harwich. The Customs officers there
informed him that the Harwich-Flushing boat service had been suspended
for nearly a week, owing to the discovery of a hostile mine-field off
the Dutch coast. Sailings were to be resumed that night. A man who
gave himself out to be a Dutchman, but who answered to the description
of von Ruhle, had applied that morning for a permit to leave the
country by the night boat. His berth had been booked under the name of
Cornelius Vanderhuit.
"Which one ought we to nab first?" asked Ferret. "We'll have to be
very sharp, or one of them, finding that he is no longer in
communication with his accomplice, would smell a rat and clear out."
"Under normal conditions I would reply, 'Collar the principal first',"
replied Hawke. "It is evident that Ramblethorne, _alias_ von
Hauptwald, is the master-spy. Directly he's laid by the heels, the
whole of the organization immediately under his control goes by the
board. But there's this Harwich business. Von Ruhle crosses the North
Sea to-night, unless otherwise prevented. We comprise the otherwise, I
hope."
"Then it would mean catching the midday express to Waterloo," remarked
Ferret.
"Could we go with you?" asked Ross.
The police officers looked rather astonished at the cool request. Like
most professional men, they scouted the idea of amateur assistance when
the main issue was at stake.
"Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea," remarked Hawke. "You have already
shown great discretion in the matter. Most fellows would have made a
bee-line to the nearest telegraph office and given the whole show away.
The only difficulty is--I suppose, by the way, you are not feeling too
done up after your trying experiences?--the only difficulty is, I was
remarking, that von Ruhle might spot you. Look here, Ferret; suppose
you take these young gentlemen, and proceed to Harwich by an ordinary
train? Keep well out of sight when you arrive at Parkeston Quay, but
keep a sharp eye on the boat. I'll travel from Liverpool Street by the
boat train, and see if I can pick out our quarry amongst the
passengers."
It was a tedious journey from Plymouth to Harwich. Arriving at
Waterloo, Ferret took the lads to a quiet hotel and ordered lunch;
while Hawke, excusing himself, called in at "the Yard" to report his
new case to the Chief, and to wait for the Great Eastern boat train.
The weather had changed completely during the run from the West, for
when Ferret and the two lads arrived at Parkeston Quay it was raining
heavily, accompanied by half a gale of wind from the east'ard.
"We've a long wait," commented Ferret. "Fortunately I know several of
the Customs officials very well. I'll get them to let you take shelter
in their shed. It's almost opposite the berth where the steamer
generally makes fast. You'll be able to watch everyone who goes up the
gangway. I'll go on board and speak to the steward. I don't suppose
we'll spot friend von Ruhle until the boat train arrives, and by that
time perhaps Hawke will have marked his man."
Undoubtedly, the wisest course would have been to send other officers
to Wellington to arrest Dr. Ramblethorne; but Hawke was out for
"kudos". Only a short while ago he had let a wanted man slip through
his fingers, and had been rapped over the knuckles for it. With the
professional assistance of Ferret, he hoped to carry out a double
_coup_ and arrest both German Secret Service agents, thereby recovering
his lost prestige.
Arriving at Liverpool Street he took his ticket, and spent the time
until the departure of the boat train in walking up and down the
platform. He had the knack of observing without being observed. He
would look at a man in quite a casual way; there was no gleam of
intelligence in his eyes as he did so, but little escaped his notice.
An hour or two later he could accurately describe his appearance,
dress, and mannerisms.
A minute before the train started, a man answering von Ruhle's
description hurried down the platform. He carried a new cane under his
left arm. In his right hand he held an attaché case with the initials
C. V.
Hawke waited until he had entered a carriage, then strolled to the
other end of the corridor coaches and took his seat. He knew that the
run was supposed to be a non-stop one.
The train started. The detective took his time. He waited for nearly
twenty minutes before he made his way along the corridor, and entered
the smoking-compartment occupied by the suspect.
Presently Hawke made a commonplace remark. The stranger replied
stiffly and in rather a deep voice, with a slight foreign accent.
"An assumed voice," soliloquized the detective; but undaunted by the
chilliness of his reception he again made some remark about the weather.
Before the train ran through Witham station, conversation was
proceeding briskly. Hawke assumed the rôle of a commercial traveller,
and volunteered the information that his brother had just returned from
the Front.
The stranger showed no hesitation in discussing the war. Emboldened,
the detective tackled the subject of East Coast defences and the futile
German blockade.
"He's giving me absolutely false information," he thought. "Perhaps
he's trying to throw me off the scent. I'll put a few questions that
no one but an ignoramus would ask in good faith. If he's trying to
bluff me, I'll beat him at that game."
Presently his fellow-passenger excused himself and, without removing
his luggage, went into the corridor. As soon as he was out of sight
Hawke took hold of the cane that the stranger had left in the rack.
With a grunt of satisfaction he found that it was certainly not a
Malacca, but made of metal.
The train began to slow down. Lifting the blind, Hawke looked out of
the window. He could just discern a fairly big town, completely in
darkness.
"Manningtree Junction," said Hawke to himself. "Something on the line,
I suppose. H'm, we're stopping."
With a jerk the train pulled up at the station. The platform was
almost deserted, for no train was due at that time to stop there. A
door slammed. Again the detective pulled aside the blind. He was just
in time to see his fellow-traveller, accompanied by the guard,
disappear into the station waiting-room.
"He's tumbled to it!" exclaimed Hawke. "He's making off. He's tipped
the guard to set him down. I'm after him!"
He made his way swiftly and stealthily down the platform, and with a
quick movement threw open the waiting-room door.
The sudden transition from the semi-darkness of the platform to the
brilliantly lighted interior of the room temporarily dazzled his eyes.
Dimly he was aware that the place was occupied by khaki-clad soldiers
struggling into their equipment, and that in their midst was the guard
and the man of whom he was in search.
"At any rate there is plenty of assistance," thought Hawke as he
advanced to tap the suspect on the shoulder; but before he could attain
his object a deep, stern voice exclaimed:
"Arrest him, men!"
The next instant Detective-inspector Hawke was seized by half a dozen
muscular hands.
"What's this tomfoolery?" he demanded angrily. "I'm a Scotland Yard
officer, and----"
A roar of laughter burst from the Tommies. Even the subaltern in
command smiled broadly.
The stranger spoke again.
"Take him to the guard-room. He is arrested under the Defence of the
Realm Act for attempting to elicit information prejudicial to the
welfare of the State. I won't detain the train any longer, guard,
although I'll ask you to drop my gear on the platform."
Still protesting vehemently but ineffectually, the detective was
unceremoniously hustled into an ante-room, used since the outbreak of
the war as a guard-room for the military in charge of the line. The
door was locked upon him. He heard the train rumble out of the station.