Back in Curzon Street, completely at a loss, I flung myself into a big
arm-chair, and over a succession of pipes tried to piece our
disconnected facts into a consecutive whole. Shackleton, or Schack, had
moved from Newcastle to Bristol before the war, and I had little doubt
that he had done so by express orders from the Koniggratzer-strasse.
From this I argued mentally that Bristol would almost certainly be the
seat of his main activities, and that his early return thither might be
looked for with some degree of confidence. Added to this, we knew from
the frank declaration of a high port official that the Bristol Channel
towns were swarming with spies, and I felt little doubt that they were
acting under Schack's direction. On the whole, now that we had
apparently lost the two men in London, Bristol seemed the most promising
base for our operations.
I decided therefore to return, and, leaving Madame at the Grosvenor in
London, I took Aubert with me, together with an English secret agent
whom I will call Moore.
Moore took lodgings opposite Shackleton's house in Bristol and at once
opened an unwinking vigilance over the place. For a fortnight, however,
there was no sign. In the meantime two letters arrived, addressed to
Shackleton, at Soulsby's. These were opened by the authorities,
photographed, and, after being resealed, were delivered in the ordinary
way.
In one of the letters, which had been posted in London and purported to
be an ordinary business transaction, was the statement:
"We are having great difficulty with our clients Johnson and Phillips,
so we have placed the matter in the hands of our solicitors for advice."
This letter ostensibly came from a firm of estate agents in the Harrow
Road. I made an immediate inquiry, and was not altogether surprised to
learn that no such a firm existed. In the meantime I studied the letter
on the assumption that it contained a spy cipher, and after some hours'
work succeeded in extracting from its apparently innocent contents the
following startling message:
"_Angorania_ will convey troops from Montreal on 30th proximo."
This set me at work with furious speed. An inquiry at the port offices
showed me that the great liner was at the moment lying at Avonmouth, and
that she would sail for Montreal a week later in order to bring over
several thousand Canadian troops.
Shackleton now made what was to me, I confess, a very welcome return to
the scene. I had been seriously perturbed by the fear that we had lost
him. While he was under my own immediate observation I felt capable of
checkmating his designs, but the knowledge that an able enemy agent was
at large and uncontrolled, with enough herbethite in his possession to
create an appalling disaster, worried me more than I can tell.
Shackleton appeared on the scene the day after the delivery of the
letter we had intercepted and photographed. Where he had been in the
interval we never learned, but he did not arrive in Bristol from London;
that was certain, for every train, day and night, was closely watched.
Evidently the letter meant a good deal to him. He went at once to
Avonmouth, closely followed by Moore. To our intense surprise, he
seemed very well known at the docks and was freely admitted everywhere.
He walked along the quays for some time, and we noted his obvious
interest in the _Angorania_, now busily getting ready for her coming
trip. We learned later that Shackleton had very cleverly wound himself
into the confidence of a local shipping agent, and by this means had
secured such frequent admission to the docks that his presence there was
accepted almost as a matter of course.
I now began to feel practically certain that the _Angorania_ was the
object of the conspirators, and that the herbethite was the means to be
adopted to bring about her destruction. But how?
Madame Gabrielle was to solve the question for us. The great liner was
timed to leave at six o'clock, and an hour earlier the boat-train had
arrived from London, bringing an unusually large assembly of passengers.
These included several Government officials on their way to Canada, a
number of highly placed military officers, and the members of two or
three important war commissions.
Some time after the arrival of the train, a shabbily-dressed woman in a
battered old hat pushed rudely against me. I turned, and to my
amazement recognised Madame Gabrielle. She was obviously almost at the
end of her strength, pallid with fatigue, and with deep circles round
her eyes which spoke eloquently of exhaustion.
She made me a sign to follow her and slipped away from the crowd, which
was hastening to the gangway. Directly we reached a quiet space, she
gasped out:
"Norman has booked cabin Number 189 on the _Angorania_, in the name of
Nash. I followed him to the shipping office and overheard." A moment
later she fainted and fell heavily into my arms.
I carried her at once to a waiting-room, and, handing her over without
ceremony to the woman in charge, dashed at top speed for the quay where
the _Angorania_ was lying, now almost ready for departure. Not even for
the sake of Madame Gabrielle would I venture a moment's delay.
The "last bells" were ringing for the steamer's departure as I rushed on
to the quay. As I neared the gangway I saw, to my utter amazement, the
man Norman stroll leisurely from the ship with the very last of the
people who had been on board for the customary farewells. Evidently he
was not going by the vessel at all. A moment later the gangways were
withdrawn and the big liner moved away. Norman remained on the quay
with the crowd, idly waving a real or pretended farewell to some
supposed friend on the crowded decks.
I have cursed myself for my stupidity many times since, and even now I
shudder at the thought of how nearly the dastardly plot against the
liner came to success. The vessel was well under way when the idea
flashed into my mind: "He has left the explosive on board!" How I
failed to divine this earlier I cannot imagine. I suppose Norman's
return from the ship threw me temporarily off my guard.
But, in any case, there was not a second to be lost. The _Angorania_,
heading down Channel, was gathering speed every moment, bearing
somewhere on board enough explosives to sink her in ten seconds with the
loss of hundreds of precious lives.
Boldness was the only course possible. I called a couple of dock
police, and, showing them my authority, instructed them to arrest Norman
at once. Before the spy could recover from his surprise, he was safely
in custody and relieved of an extremely efficient automatic pistol.
And now for the _Angorania_. I rushed to the "competent military
authority," and briefly laid the facts before a veteran Colonel, in whom
a life of splendid service to the Empire had bred a capacity for swift
decision and prompt action.
"She won't go far, Mr Sant," he said cheerily, as he picked up the
telephone.
A moment later I caught the crackle of wireless, and to my relief read
the message: "To Q.Q." (the _Angorania's_ code letters). "Heave to
immediately and await instructions.--Port Commandant." A few minutes
later a clerk brought in the _Angorania's_ acknowledgment.
A quarter of an hour after I was aboard a British destroyer, which tore
out into the Channel, and at thirty-five knots was flying along in the
wake of the _Angorania_. We soon overhauled the big liner, and as we
neared her could see the crowded passengers, evidently puzzled at the
unexpected stoppage.
As soon as I got on board, I accompanied the Captain to his private
cabin and told him the facts. Sending for the purser, he ordered him to
bring on deck at once all the luggage which had come on board in the
name of Nash. "And carry it carefully," he added, as he told the purser
what it contained.
By great good fortune, there was only one big trunk in the hold, and it
was readily accessible. The rest of Nash's luggage was in his cabin.
We soon had the lot on board the destroyer, where the torpedo officer
rapidly overhauled it.
In the big trunk, resting quite unconcealed on the top of a pile of
clothes, were two tin canisters labelled "Golden Syrup." I could not
repress a shudder.
"I think this is what we want," said the torpedo officer grimly, as he
carefully picked up the dangerous canisters. And then he did a brave
thing.
"If you don't mind, sir," he said to the Captain, "I will take them out
in a boat and examine them myself."
The Captain nodded silently, and a few minutes later the ship's dinghy
dropped over the side. The torpedo officer took his seat and rowed away
alone, the canisters on the after-thwart winking in the blazing
sunshine. He was literally taking his life in his hands. We could not
let the liner go until we were sure we had got what we wanted, and no
one could be sure that the mere lifting of the canister lids would not
explode the terrible compound they contained.
Half a mile away from the ship the rowing-boat came to a stop. Through
our glasses we saw the torpedo officer deliberately pick up the
canisters and without hesitation prise up the patent lids. A moment
later he waved to us, and at once commenced to row back to the ship.
"All right, let her go; I've got the stuff," he shouted, as soon as he
was within earshot, and a tremendous cheer went up from the crew, who in
the mysterious "wireless" of the sea had learned what was afoot. A
signal fluttered from the bridge of the destroyer. The _Angorania_
dipped her pennant in acknowledgment, and soon the great liner was
hurling herself through the sea on her interrupted journey.
The rest of the story is soon told. The herbethite, we found, was
covered with a thin layer of sweets, and at the customs examination of
luggage Nash had boldly lifted the lids and coolly showed the sweets to
the officer. It was done so naturally as to defy any possible
suspicion. But in the bottoms of the tins we found two exquisitely made
detonators, fashioned in the shape of watches, and timed so as to
explode the herbethite some twelve hours after the time fixed for the
departure of the ship. These removed, the tins could be handled with
comparative safety.
We made a clean sweep of the conspirators. No details were ever given
to the public, and the stoppage of the big liner was easily explained
away to the passengers. We found out that the small cylinder picked up
at Mile End had been intended for the purpose of blowing up a munitions
train in an important tunnel outside London, but the conspirators found
the approaches too closely guarded and gave up the project. They were
all sent to Paris for trial on a charge of stealing herbethite, and were
eventually sentenced by court-martial to fifteen years' imprisonment.
Madame Gabrielle, I am glad to say, received a handsome reward from the
British Government, for our success was entirely due to her. She had
followed Norman without food or rest or sleep for nearly three days, and
was in the last extremity of fatigue when she gave me her final and
all-important message. Pasquet, I am glad to say, justified the
impression I had formed of him, and I had the satisfaction of seeing him
develop into a respectable member of society, happy in the society of
his wife, now fully restored to health, and again enjoying the
confidence of his employers. We were able, through him, to account for
all the stolen herbethite, and it was a relief to know that none of the
terrible compound remained in the hands of our enemies.