The Smoke-signals
For the next ten days nothing occurred beyond the ordinary routine.
Even Ross and Vernon, to whom everything was at first a novelty, began
to feel the irksomeness of the constant and vigilant patrol. No
hostile submarines made their appearance; there were not even any
reports, true or otherwise, that they had been sighted. It was the
same all along the English Channel--"nothin' doing". It seemed as if
the unterseebooten had finally given up these waters as a "bad egg".
Yet it would be most injudicious for the naval authorities to relax
their watchfulness. Areas of strategic importance must still be
closely guarded, since it was just possible that the wily Teuton would
refrain from submarine warfare in the Channel until the patrol-boats'
crews were lulled into a sense of false optimism.
The only break in the monotony was the occasional and welcome
appearance of a motor-boat from Shoreham, bringing off fresh supplies,
newspapers and letters for the patrol vessels.
Amongst Ross's correspondence was a letter from his father. Admiral
Trefusis gave no indication of what he was doing, merely a brief
statement that he was still "somewhere in the North Sea". He
congratulated his son upon his escape, and mentioned that he had heard
from the captain of H.M.S. _Tremendous_ with reference to his son's
action in warning the battleship. But although the Admiral did not
express himself very enthusiastically on paper, he was as pleased as
only a proud father can be at his boy's display of gallantry and
resource. "Under the circumstances," he wrote, "I think you did right
in temporarily abandoning your preparation for Sandhurst. No doubt you
will acquit yourself in your present position as a Trefusis should do.
I was certainly surprised to hear about that fellow Ramblethorne. He
always appeared to be a really decent man. It only shows how careful
one has to be when dealing with a highly organized enemy."
Amongst Vernon's batch of correspondence was a letter from
Detective-inspector Hawke. It was couched in semi-official language, a
survival of days long ago when the Inspector was a budding constable
and had to submit countless written reports to his superiors.
There was, he wrote, no definite news concerning Ramblethorne,
otherwise von Hauptwald. The local police had taken up the case, and,
assisted by the military, were still scouring the country. As usual,
there were inaccurate and misleading reports from various parts of the
country. It was generally accepted that the spy was being hidden by
some of his compatriots who, by indulgence of the British Government,
were still at large in the country, or else that he had succeeded in
getting away on board a neutral ship.
The inquest on von Ruhle had taken place, with the anticipated result,
a verdict of _felo de se_ being returned by the jury. No evidence had
been submitted as to the dead man's real occupation. Under the name of
Cornelius Vanderhuit his body was handed over to the authorities for
interment.
But the case did not end there. It remained for the competent
Authorities to decide the steps to be taken with reference to the
papers that had been found in von Ruhle's possession.
"I am keeping von Ruhle's 'malacca' as a memento," concluded Hawke.
"It may help me to discriminate between it and a portable metal tripod,
and save me from being placed under arrest by the military.
Fortunately, upon the last occasion, I did not meet with my Waterloo."
"The old chap feels a bit sore about it, I can see," remarked Ross.
"He's written a good deal more than he evidently intended. However, he
looks like 'making good' this time."
"It's a pity Ramblethorne slipped through the detectives' fingers,"
said Vernon, as he prepared to go on deck. "That fellow's bound to
cause trouble until he's laid by the heels."
It was Noel Fox's "trick". The Sub was standing on the bridge with his
eye glued to his telescope. A mile or so inland, on the summit of the
South Downs where they approach Beachy Head, three columns of smoke
were rising in the still air. There was nothing extraordinary in that.
It might be a farmer burning rubbish on his fields; but what attracted
the Sub's attention was the remarkable and systematic changes in the
density of the smoke. At one moment the two outside pillars were
heavy, the centre one being little more than a thin haze; at another
the conditions would be reversed.
Fox decided to take action. Rapidly the _Capella_ closed with the
shore, until she was within signalling distance of a coast-guard
station.
The station in question was not manned by coast-guards. Not considered
important, its complement was depleted at the outbreak of hostilities,
most of the men joining the large armoured cruisers. A chief officer
and a boatman alone remained. These were at a later period augmented
by a party of Sea Scouts.
As soon as the _Capella_ had "made her number", a signaller took up his
position on the roof of the chart-house.
"Fires burning one mile inland to north-west of coast-guard station,"
he semaphored. "Suspect smoke-signals. Investigate and report."
Keeping his telescope bearing on shore, Vernon watched the result of
the signal. Promptly half a dozen Scouts, mounted on bicycles, set off
to the position indicated. Their progress was hidden by an intervening
clump of trees, but in less than a quarter of an hour they returned.
By this time the smoke had disappeared. One of their number worked the
semaphore attached to the station.
"Fires made with damp straw. Found old blankets apparently used to
stifle smoke. Saw large car stationary; made towards Lewes on
approach; number known; have informed police."
"Smart youngsters!" exclaimed Captain Syllenger. "They've helped to
nip some little plan in the bud. We'll have to be jolly careful for
the next few days, I expect. Did you make a note of the fog-signals,
Mr. Fox?"
"I did, sir," replied the Sub, producing a leaf of a notebook covered
with an unintelligible number of lines. "Each of these strokes
represents a column of smoke according to its position."
"I can make nothing of it," remarked Syllenger. "At any rate I'll send
your result to the Admiralty with the utmost dispatch. Take her in,
Mr. Fox, and bring up where you find the two-fathom mark."
The _Capella_ headed nearer towards the shore, a leads-man sounding
until the required depth was found. One of the boats was lowered,
manned, and rowed to the coast-guard station, Sub-lieutenant Barry
being in charge, with Ross as his immediate subordinate.
"I want this to be forwarded to the Admiralty with the least possible
delay," he announced, addressing the chief officer. "How long do you
think it will take to get through?"
"Too late for the eleven something train from Brighton, sir," was the
reply. "There's a gentleman in the village who has a big car. He's a
member of the Volunteer Training Corps. No doubt he'll take it as far
as Lewes. Why, sir, here's the gent himself! Mr. Hyde's his name."
The newcomer was a sparely built man of below medium height. He looked
about thirty years of age. In reality he was nearly fifty. Having
vainly attempted to obtain a commission in the R.N.R. and the Army, he
had joined the V.T.C. in the hope that, perhaps, some day his services
might be utilized in a very practical form. Now his chance was at hand.
He had strolled down to the beach on noticing a boat putting off from
the patrol vessel.
"Lewes? Certainly," he replied in answer to Barry's question. "I
doubt whether you'll save much. Why not let me take the message right
to the Admiralty? I'd like to do it, 'pon my word I would."
The Sub hesitated. Perhaps the stranger might be all right; but he
might be all wrong. One had to be very careful in these times. Yet
the offer was a tempting one. If possible, it was most desirable to be
able to decipher the transcription of these mysterious columns of smoke.
"I say, Trefusis," he said, "you've had a fairly long time afloat; what
do you say to a run up to town? I'm sure this gentleman would make no
objection to giving you a seat in his car."
"With the greatest pleasure," declared Mr. Hyde.
"Thanks!" rejoined Barry. "Of course the honour of delivering the
letter will be yours, sir. Mr. Trefusis accompanies you merely as a
passenger. We'll stand by to pick you up, Trefusis. I'll make it all
right with the skipper."
The Sub accompanied Mr. Hyde and the midshipman to the garage, which
was about four minutes' walk from the coast-guard station. While the
man was getting out the car (he was his own chauffeur), Barry seized
the opportunity of telling Ross to be on his guard, in case anything
suspicious occurred.
With a terrific bound the powerful car started on its sixty-mile
journey. Between the sea and Lewes the needle of the speed-indicator
never fell below 40 miles an hour, until at times the car was running
at 60. Village after village was passed at almost break-neck speed.
In vain, sleepy rural constables sought to hold up the reckless driver.
Discretion was the better part of valour, so they stood aside and
attempted to note the number on the identification plate of the car.
Again in vain. All they could see and swallow was a cloud of white,
chalky dust that hung thickly on the sultry air long after the car was
out of sight and hearing.
The hills around East Grinstead it surmounted at 40 miles an hour,
dashing down the inclines at the speed of an express train, and
swerving time after time to avoid lumbering farm wagons.
At Croydon Mr. Hyde wisely slowed down. He had covered 49 miles in
exactly fifty-five minutes, but twenty-eight minutes later the car drew
up under the Admiralty Arch.
"Room 445 is the one I want," he explained to Ross. "I know my way
about here, you know. I've several relations at the Admiralty. Come
along: the car won't hurt where she is."
"Your pass, sir," demanded a Metropolitan policeman who, with a naval
pensioned petty officer, was stationed at the door.
"Haven't one," replied Mr. Hyde. "Urgent business--see?" and he
produced the envelope, bearing the words "On His Majesty's Service", in
which was enclosed Captain Syllenger's communication.
The policeman was the essence of imperturbable dignity.
"No use, sir; you must have a pass. They are obtainable across the
road there."
"It will mean at least twenty minutes' delay," muttered the motorist
savagely, as he turned away. "Come on, Mr. Trefusis, let's try our
luck across the way."
As Ross descended the short flight of stone steps leading from the
lobby to the street, he nearly cannoned into a couple of naval officers
who were about to enter the building. Suddenly remembering that he was
in uniform, the midshipman brought his right hand smartly to the peak
of his cap. As he did so, he recognized that one of the naval men was
his father.
The recognition was mutual.
"Hullo, pater!"
"Hullo, Ross! What brings you here? Duty, eh? It's the same in my
case. Sorry I can't have you to lunch, but must catch the first train
north. This is the first time I've come up to town since the war
started. In any case I'm not sorry that I am not stopping the night
here. Judging by reports, it's a jolly sight too dangerous for me.
Don't fancy being run over by a taxi in a dark main thoroughfare. Give
me the North Sea any day. Well, I must be moving. Can't keep My Lords
waiting, you know. Good-bye, Ross!"
It was Admiral Paul Trefusis' way. Whenever he had any business on
hand that kept him from his ship, he invariably spoke in short, jerky
sentences. Ross knew his parent's little mannerism.
"One moment, pater," he exclaimed. "We're in an awful hurry too----"
"Don't look like it," growled the Admiral good-naturedly. "You were
ambling out like an old shellback. Always execute orders at the
double: that's my advice to budding midshipmen. Well, what is it?"
As briefly as possible, Ross told his parent of the rebuff Mr. Hyde and
he had received, and of the matter that brought them at 50 miles an
hour from a remote Sussex coast-guard station.
Making a hurried excuse to his companion, the Admiral skipped up the
steps into the lobby, Ross and his fellow-traveller following closely.
The policeman naturally asked for no pass from a Flag officer in
uniform, but he was on the point of stopping his companions when the
messenger recognized the Admiral as his former captain. His apologies
surprised even the stolid policeman.
"Don't apologize for doing your duty, my man," remarked Admiral
Trefusis. "Hope you're fit. Must have a yarn with you when I've more
time. Come along, Ross."
Having seen Mr. Hyde and Ross safely to the outside of the door of Room
445, the Admiral abruptly took his departure.
In reply to a knock the door was opened by a very tired-looking clerk,
who was bravely bearing up under the strain of having to work ninety
hours a week, including Sundays. Having explained his business, Mr.
Hyde was shown into the presence of an official whose talent was little
short of miraculous.
A dozen precise and pointed questions put him in full possession of all
the facts bearing upon the document that he required. He touched an
electric bell. An assistant hurried to his desk.
"Bring me the papers on the von Ruhle case," he ordered in an undertone.
In less than half an hour the transcription was completed, although the
_Capella's_ officer of the watch had not taken down the actual
commencement of the smoke-signal. Then, having "pressed" the paper in
order to obtain a duplicate copy, the official placed it in an
envelope, which he secured with an imposing wax seal.
"No mistake about it, the war has bucked the civilian staff at the
Admiralty," observed Mr. Hyde to Ross as they gained the street. "I
can remember a time when all you had to do was to mention someone's
name, and you had practically a free entry. Your particular pal could
always contrive to have an hour's yarn with you, and perhaps an
interval for refreshment. They know what working at high pressure
means now."
Hyde was more cautious on the return journey. He was well within the
limit that he had set himself. An hour and forty minutes later, the
car drew up outside the coast-guard station.
"Captain Syllenger presents his compliments, Mr. Hyde, and requests
your company on board," said Sub-lieutenant Barry when the _Capella's_
boat arrived to take off the midshipman. "Ton my word, you haven't
been long. We didn't expect you back before six o'clock."
Having received his guest, Captain Syllenger led the way to his cabin,
Barry and Ross being included in the party. The skipper's face glowed
with satisfaction when he had opened the envelope, for the signal as
decoded was as follows:
"(words missing) closely patrolled. Unable to provide stores here.
Will attempt removal of (word missing) from Station 123 on Friday
night. Will signal from Station 125 at 1 a.m. on Saturday if possible.
Transports leaving by Needles Channel at daybreak."
Following this was an explanatory note.
"Station 123 is stated to be in Keyhaven Marshes. Station 125 one mile
west of white house at Milford-on-Sea."
"Humph!" ejaculated Captain Syllenger. "It looks as if there's trouble
in store for some gentlemen of marked Teutonic sympathies. I only hope
we'll have a chance of being off Station 125."