experience, and, strange as it may seem, I wanted to do nothing to
lighten his burden.
"I don't know why I have come to you at all," he went on. "You are a
comparative stranger to me--indeed, a few months ago I did not know of
your existence--and yet something drew me here. I suppose it is because
you were fond of him."
"I loved him almost like a brother," was my reply. "If I had been his
father, I should be a proud man."
He looked at me steadily for a few minutes in silence.
"I have learnt one thing anyhow," he said at length.
"What is that?"
"That one cannot destroy the ties of blood. Yes! Yes! I know I had
disinherited him; driven him from home; told him he was no longer a son
of mine. Yes! told him that I had put him outside my life. But it was a
lie! I had not! I could not! Oh, the tragedy of it!"
"Yes, tragedy in a way," I said.
"Oh, the tragedy of it!" he repeated. "No, it is not death that makes
the tragedy, it is something else. I can't understand it. Mr. Erskine, I
am a just man."
At this I was silent. I could not for the life of me assent to his
words.
"Yes, I am a just man," he repeated. "That is, I have tried to be just.
I did what was right, too; he ought to have obeyed me. I was his father,
and it is the duty of a son to obey a father; besides, I had done
everything for him. I sent him to one of the best public schools in
England. After that I sent him to the University. I had great plans for
him. But he disappointed me. He married the girl I told him he must not
marry; he did that which I forbade him to do; therefore I was right in
driving him from the house. But it was all of no use; he was my son
still."
"Of course he was," I said.
"Ah, yes! but there is the tragedy of it. He has died feeling that he
was not my son, remembering what I said to him. That is the tragedy! Oh,
how God Almighty must be laughing at me!"
"Not if there is a God," I replied.
"Why, don't you believe in God?" he burst forth almost angrily.
"I don't know," I replied. "But if there is a God, He pities you."
He started to his feet and paced the little room while I stood watching
him.
"God! how I loved that boy," he broke out, "and he didn't know it!"
"Yes," I said, "that is the tragedy. That is the unforgivable sin."
"Go on," he said. "Say what you want to say."
"Hugh was hungering for your love, just hungering for it; but he didn't
believe you cared for him. You ask me to speak plainly, Mr. Lethbridge,
and so, at the risk of offending you, I am going to do so. You had your
hard-and-fast ideas about life; you worshipped success, position, power,
and money; you wanted Hugh to conform to your iron rules and laws, and
because he was a live, human boy you tried to crush him."
"Yes! yes! I know." He spoke almost eagerly. "But even now I cannot feel
right about it. After all, war is murder. How can I, a Christian man, a
believer in the teaching of the founder of Methodism, believe that my
son was anything but murdered? After all, is not a soldier a paid
murderer? I think if I could only get that right in my mind I should be
happier. Look here! Do you honestly believe that Hugh did right?"
"I don't believe; I am sure," was my reply.
"Ah! but you don't believe in Christian teaching. You told me months ago
that you were an agnostic. Legalized murder cannot be right."
"Mr. Lethbridge," I said, "supposing there lived in this neighborhood a
band of men without moral sense, without honor, without truth; men to
whom you could not appeal because their standards of life were utterly
opposed to yours. And suppose that by rapine, cruelty, and murder they
sought to rule this district, to rob people of their homes, to outrage
everything sacred in life. What do you think it would be your duty to
do?"
"Yes! yes! I see what you mean. But are the Germans like that? Aren't
they as good and as honorable as we are?"
"Listen!" I said. "I have just been reading some German books and
reviews, and this is what some of the leading men in Germany have lately
said. Mark you, they are not men in the street. They express the
thoughts which dominate the population of Germany. Here is one by a
leading General: 'We have been called Barbarians; we are, and we are
proud of it. Whatever acts will help us, we shall commit them, no matter
what the world may say. Germany stands as the Supreme Arbiter of her own
actions, and however the world may rave at our cruelty and our
atrocities, our devilry, we shall commit these deeds, we shall rejoice
in them, and we shall be proud of them.'"
"Who said that?" he asked.
"A leading General in the German Army," I replied.
"Here is another statement by a renowned Doctor of Philosophy and an
educationist: 'Children in our schools and the youths of our
universities must be taught a new doctrine, the Doctrine of Hatred. They
must be educated to hate as a duty; it must form a new subject in our
curriculum of education, "And now abideth Faith, Hope, and Hatred, and
the greatest of these is Hatred."'"
"You don't mean to say that any man taught that?" he asked.
"Here is the article in a German book," I replied.
"My God!" he said.
"Here is another statement," I went on, "by perhaps the leading
journalist in the German Empire: 'Our might shall create new laws.
Germany has nothing to do with what other nations may think of us.
Germany is a law unto herself. The might of her armies gives her the
right to override all laws and protests. In the future, in all the
temples, the priests of all the gods shall sing praises to the God of
War.'"
He looked at me steadily without speaking.
"Hugh gave his life to kill that," I said. "Is not that a Christian
thing to do?"
He sat, I should think, for five minutes without speaking a word, while
I watched him. Then he rose to his feet and held out his hand.
"Thank you," he said, "thank you. My God! what a fool I have been."
He left the house without speaking another word.
I went to the door and watched him as he made his way along the footpath
through the copse. I saw that the mists had now passed away and that the
sun was shining brightly. Strange as it may seem, I did not at that
moment realize the inwardness of my conversation with Josiah Lethbridge;
I only reflected upon the fact that although he was a magistrate I had
said nothing to him concerning my discovery of that morning. He at least
was a keen, capable man, he could act wisely and promptly; yet I had not
uttered a word. But after all I had done right; the problem he was
facing was different from mine, and he would be in no way in a fit
condition to help me. Besides, I had made up my mind to carry out my own
plans.
No one else came to see me that day, and during the remainder of the
afternoon and evening I remained alone, thinking of what I ought to do.
I still felt strong and capable. I suffered no pain, neither did any
sense of weariness oppress me.
"That little dog, sir," said Simpson, coming into the room about sunset.
"Yes, Simpson? What of it?"
"It is a lot better, sir. The wound was not a bad one at all, and now he
is getting quite frolicsome."
The dog had followed Simpson into the room and was sniffing at my legs
in a friendly way.
"Poor old chap," I said, patting his head; "you are not very beautiful
certainly, but you look as though you had faithful eyes."
He gave a pleased yelp and licked my hand; after this he lay down on the
rug and composed himself to sleep.
"Evidently he has adopted us, Simpson," I said.
"Yes, sir. He makes himself quite at home."
"Simpson," I said, "you have the name and address of that man and woman
who came to see me this morning?"
"Yes, sir, here's the card: Mr. John Liddicoat. There's the name of the
house, sir."
"Do you know where it is, Simpson?"
"Yes, sir; it is a house just behind Treveen Tor. It is a biggish house,
sir, but lonely."
That night when Simpson had gone to bed, I left my hut quietly and made
my way along the cliff footpath towards Treveen Tor, which stands at the
back of the little town of St. Eia.
I still felt well and strong, no suggestion of my malady troubled me. I
could not help wondering at this, as I walked briskly along, and yet in
my heart of hearts I knew that my abnormal strength was but a transient
thing; I knew I was buoyed up by excitement, and that presently I should
suffer a terrible relapse. That was why I was eager to do what I had to
do quickly. As I skirted the little town of St. Eia I saw that the
lights were nearly all out. I looked at my watch, and found that it was
eleven o'clock, and the people had nearly all gone to bed. It was a
wonderful night of stars, and there was not a cloud in the sky. The moon
had not yet risen, but I knew it was due to rise before midnight. During
the whole of my journey I had not met a single person. The night, save
for the roar of the waves, was still as death.
Leaving the cliff footpath, I struck across the country towards Treveen
Tor, and went around the base of the hill towards the spot where Mr.
John Liddicoat's house stood.
Had any one asked me the reason for going there, I should have been
unable to have given them a satisfactory reply. But in my own heart I
was satisfied. I had carefully thought out the whole series of events,
linking incident with incident and word with word; and although I had no
definite hopes as to the result of my nocturnal journey, I felt sure
that by taking it I should at least clear my ground.
Presently I saw the house plainly; it was, as Simpson had said, situated
in a lonely spot, and only approached by a lonely lane from the St. Eia
side and the footpath by which I had come. The house itself was in
complete darkness; not a glimmer of light shone from any of the windows.
I saw that it was surrounded by a garden, perhaps half an acre in
extent. This garden was, as far as I could judge, altogether
uncultivated. The fence around the garden was low, and scarcely any
vegetation hid my view. The district around here was almost treeless.
The land on which the house was built was, in the main, hard to
cultivate. I saw, however, that two stunted trees grew at some little
distance from the house.
I waited about a quarter of an hour without making any attempt to climb
over the fence. I reflected that if my suspicions were correct, I must
use every precaution. At the end of a quarter of an hour I crept
cautiously over the fence and made my way towards the house.
Still all was dark. I carefully examined the ground around the two
stunted trees I have mentioned, and presently I caught sight of
something which set my heart beating violently. I was on the point of
making a closer examination of what I had already seen, when a ray of
light shone from one of the windows and I could hear the sound of
voices. Again looking around me eagerly, I saw what looked like a large
clump of rhododendron bushes. These offered me not only a hiding-place,
but a post of observation. I had scarcely crept between the leaves when
the door of John Liddicoat's house opened and two people came out. They
were the man and the woman whom I had seen that morning.
Almost at the same time the moon rose behind a distant hill, and a few
minutes later the garden was flooded with its silvery light.
"Have you got it all?" It was a woman who spoke.
"Yes, all except ..." and I could not catch the last word.
"You bring it, will you?"
They made their way towards the stunted trees, where they dropped the
things they had brought. Then the man left the woman and appeared a
little later bearing a light ladder.
I saw the man place his ladder against the tree and mount it, carrying
something with him, what it was I could not tell. The moon had now risen
high enough to enable me to see more plainly and to show me that the two
worked swiftly and dexterously, as though they were accustomed to their
work. Presently they had evidently finished, for they stood still and
waited for something.
"I do not expect we shall get anything to-night." It was the woman who
spoke.
"There is no knowing," replied the man; "besides, we have our orders. It
is a calm night, too."
"What time is it?" asked the woman.
"Close on midnight," was the reply. "Anyhow, we must wait here until
half-past twelve; if nothing comes by that time we shall hear nothing
until to-morrow night. My word, if that fool of a fellow who lives in
the hut on the cliff only knew! For my own part, I am not sure he does
not suspect."
"What makes you think so?"
"I thought he was very guarded this morning," replied the man, "and I
must use every means to make certain; if we bungle this we shall be in a
bad way. Anyhow, he is closely watched night and day."
After this there was silence, save that I thought I heard a faint
clicking noise. The minutes dragged heavily. It seemed as though nothing
were going to happen. The moon rose higher and higher, revealing the
outlines of the man and woman still more plainly, and presently I saw
that their waiting had been rewarded. There was a clear repetition of
the sounds I had heard previously. Then the woman said, "Have you got
it?"
"Yes," replied the man; "we will take it in, and then our work for the
night is done."
A few minutes later the man climbed the ladder again; evidently he was
detaching something he had placed on the trees.
I waited and watched perhaps for another ten minutes, and then they went
back into the house which had remained in darkness all the time.
XXIV
PREPARATION
How I got back to my little hut that night I do not know. I have not a
distinct remembrance of any incident on the journey, or of any spot that
I passed. I was unconscious of all my surroundings; I must have walked
two or three miles, being utterly oblivious all the time of where I was.
I felt no sense of weariness, being still upheld by the unnatural
strength caused by my excitement. A part of my journey led me to a
footpath which skirted the cliff, and for hundreds of yards I walked on
the edge of a precipice. But I knew nothing of it.
What I had seen and heard told their own story. My life, which had
promised to be so uneventful, proved to be exciting beyond words. I had
by some curious chance happened to come upon a spot which was, in some
respects, the centre of German operations. What had been a mystery had
now become plain to me. The scrap of paper I had found in the little
cave had made all sorts of things possible. It had led me to John
Liddicoat's house; it had enabled me to understand actions which would
have otherwise been enshrouded in mystery. Who John Liddicoat and the
woman who called herself his sister were was plain--they were German
spies. Whether they were English or German I could not tell. Certainly
they spoke the English language as though they had been born and reared
on the British Isles; but that they were paid agents of the Kaiser there
could be no doubt.
I little thought at the time I had paid my visit to the wireless station
at M---- that it would have been fraught with such vital import. It
seemed to me as though the hand of Providence had guided me there, and
had led me to form an acquaintance with the young fellow who had
insisted upon teaching me the secrets of wireless telegraphy. What I had
learnt offered me boundless opportunities. The little apparatus, which
not long before I had regarded as an interesting plaything, became of
vital importance. Vast avenues of action opened themselves up before me;
by means of this little apparatus which I had found such interest in
constructing, I might do very great things. The man Liddicoat, by means
of the two stunted trees in his garden, and the apparatus which he had
fixed there, had been enabled to receive messages from the enemy. He had
been able to learn when new supplies of petrol were to be brought, and
when consignments of this same commodity had to be taken to the German
submarines.
Nothing could be more cunningly contrived; the little cove was hidden by
huge promontories, which rose up almost perpendicularly on the
rock-bound coast. The spot was far away from all centres of population,
and was such an unlikely place that no suspicion would be attached to
it. Liddicoat was an English name, and a name closely associated with
Cornwall. St. Eia was a little town where visitors often came, and thus
he would be able to do his work unhindered and unsuspected. Evidently
the Germans in their vast preparations had learned of this cave long
before the war and had seen its possibilities; what I had discovered was
the outcome of a carefully prepared plan. Of course there was much
mystery which I had not yet been able to solve. The part which Father
Abraham had played was not yet clear to me, and I found myself hazarding
all sorts of conjectures, as to why he had built the hut there and why
he had left it. But everything resolved itself into one
interpretation--the Germans had foreseen this war, they had conjectured
the course it would take. They understood the means which would have to
be used, and they had made their preparations carefully, scientifically,
and with vast forethought.
But what could I do? Evidently I was suspected. Even now, my house was
being watched night and day; Father Abraham knew this, and had warned me
to leave it. Unseen enemies might strike me down at any moment. And
worse than all, although at that time I was buoyed up by an unnatural
strength, I was little better than a dead man. I realized that I was
opposed to those who were entirely unscrupulous, and who would allow
nothing to stand in the way of the accomplishment of their schemes.
Doubtless, my wise course would be to write an exact description of all
I had seen and heard and send it to the Government authorities without
delay. If, as I suspected, Liddicoat was associated with an unscrupulous
set of people, he would not hesitate to end my earthly career. In that
case, unless I communicated with the authorities at once, my discoveries
would be valueless; and yet with a strange obstinacy I determined that I
would not do this. As I have said repeatedly, I was at that time buoyed
up by an unnatural strength, and my mind was abnormally active. That is
how I account for a determination which, in the light of after events,
seems insane. Government authorities would be in an infinitely better
position to deal with this combination of circumstances than I. Not only
would they have every facility at their disposal, but they would have a
vast knowledge of German methods. I, on the other hand, had but few
facilities. I was almost entirely ignorant of the means they were
constantly using, and I was alone!
Yet I adhered to my determination with that strange obstinacy which
characterizes a man who is in an unnatural condition of mind and body. I
vowed that I would see this thing through myself; that I would put
together all the pieces of this intricate mosaic and bring the guilty
persons to justice; then, when I had done my work, I would present it to
the Government.
This and a thousand other thoughts flashed through my mind during my
midnight journey from John Liddicoat's house to my little hut. I was
conscious of no danger, and I am afraid I was heedless as to who might
be watching me. I found myself in my little room without realizing that
I had opened the door and entered. Almost like a man in a dream I lit my
lamp and threw myself in an armchair. I had no thought of sleep, and my
mind was still preternaturally active. Then a sense of my utter
helplessness possessed me and a great fear filled my heart. I went to
the door, opened it slightly, and listened. It was a wonderful night;
the moon sailed in a cloudless sky, and I could see the shimmer of the
sea far out from land. No sound reached me save the roll of the waves on
the sandy beach; not a breath of wind stirred, not a leaf rustled.
Locking and bolting the door, I drew some paper from a drawer and
commenced writing. How long I wrote I do not know, but I did not stop
until I had penned a fairly comprehensive precis of what I had seen and
heard. Why I did this I cannot tell; I only know that I was driven to it
by some force which, to me, was inexplicable. This done, I signed the
paper, giving the hour and date when I had written it.
I heard Simpson turning in his bed in the little room close by.
"Simpson," I said, going to him, "are you awake?" He yawned drowsily.
"Simpson, are you awake?" I repeated.
"Yes, sir," he said, starting up. "Is anything the matter, sir? Are you
well?"
"Quite well, Simpson."
"Is it time to get up, sir?"
"I--I--what time it is I don't know, Simpson, but it is not time to get
up."
He looked at me like one afraid.
"Can I do anything for you, sir?"
"Simpson," I said, "I want you to take this paper and put it away in a
place of safety. You must not open it unless something happens to me."
"Happens to you, sir? What can happen to you?"
"I don't know--nothing, most likely. But I am giving this to you in case
there should. Don't be alarmed. If nothing happens to me, let it lie in
a place of safety, and give it to me when I ask for it, but if anything
should happen...."
"Yes, sir," he said eagerly, as I hesitated. "If anything should happen,
sir?"
"Then--then you will take this to Mr. Josiah Lethbridge!"
"Mr. Josiah Lethbridge, sir?"
"Yes, take it to him immediately. You must not delay a second."
"But what can happen to you, sir?"
"I know of nothing," I replied. "I am only taking a precaution. That is
all, Simpson. Good-night."
I held the lamp in my hand as I spoke, while Simpson sat up in his bed
staring at me.
"Excuse me, sir," he said, "but--but----" and then he put his hand under
the pillow and took out his watch. "It is half-past three, sir, it won't
be long before daylight; and--and haven't you been to bed, sir?"
"Good-night, Simpson," I said, and then found my way into my little
room. Five minutes later, I had got into bed, and blown out the lamp. I
was still strangely awake, and was again living over my experiences of
the night. I heard Simpson groping cautiously around the house, and I
knew he was looking at the fastenings of windows and doors.
"I shall have a busy day to-morrow," I said to myself. "I must see that
my little wireless apparatus is in good order. I must be careful, too,
that I arouse no suspicion in placing it on the spot I have prepared."
After this I began to arrange my plans concerning the work I had to do.
Then, little by little, things became hazy and indistinct to me. "I am
falling asleep," I said to myself. "This is wonderful; I never thought I
should sleep to-night."
I seemed to be passing through one world into another, from the world of
realities to the world of dreams, and yet the latter was as real to me
as the former had been. I had a kind of consciousness that I was asleep,
and yet the stuff of which my dreams were made was just as vivid as my
experiences of that night.
I was far out at sea, but it was not such a sea as I had ever known. I
felt the movement of the waters, and heard the roar of the machinery.
But I could see nothing. A great weight seemed to weigh me down. I felt,
too, as though I were moving amidst great sea-monsters, the like of
which I had never imagined before. I had a difficulty in breathing; it
seemed to me as though the air which passed through my lungs was
artificial. I had the use of my senses, but those senses seemed to
respond to new conditions. I heard, but my hearing was confused; I felt,
but with a kind of numb consciousness. I heard sounds of voices, but the
voices might have been hundreds of miles away. It was as though I were
speaking to some one through a telephone, a long way off. I was in a
kind of a room, but it was such a room as I had never seen before. It
had neither shape nor dimension. Little by little, that which had been
shadowy and unreal became more definite. I saw a table, with three men
sitting beside it; in front of them was a chart.
"She will be there on Thursday," said one, placing his hand on a certain
spot on the chart. "It's a long distance from here and we shall want
more petrol."
"It will be easy for us to get it," said another; "we have everything in
training. We must let him know."
As I said, the voices seemed to be hundreds of miles away, as though
they were speaking through a long-distance telephone. Yet every word was
plain.
I realized at that moment that they were speaking in German, and saw,
too, that the men had German faces, and wore German clothes.
I was not in the least surprised or disturbed. It seemed to me as though
it were all a part of a prearranged plan. The sense of wonder had
altogether departed from me.
"There will be a greater yell than ever about German atrocities,"
laughed one of the men. "After all, it does seem a devilish thing to
attack passenger vessels."