THE SECRET OF THE NEW BRITISH AEROPLANE
"If we could only approach the Military Ballooning Department we might,
perhaps, learn something," I remarked. "But I suppose that's quite out
of the question?"
"Quite," declared Ray. "We should receive no information, and only be
laughed at for our trouble."
"You don't think that the new Kershaw aeroplane can be the one now being
tried by the Royal Engineers with so much secrecy on the Duke of
Atholl's estate?"
"I think not," was his prompt reply. "My reason briefly is because I
have discovered that two Germans stayed at the Blair Arms Hotel, at
Blair Atholl, for six weeks last summer, and then suddenly
disappeared--probably taking with them the plans of the airship about
which there has been so much secrecy."
"I don't quite follow you," I said.
"No, there is still another fact. A month ago there arrived in England a
man named Karl Straus, a lieutenant of the Military Ballooning
Department of the German Army stationed at Duesseldorf. He paid several
visits to our friend Hartmann in Pont Street, and then disappeared from
London. Now, why did he come on a special mission to England? For one
reason. Because of the failure of Germany's hope, the Zeppelin airship,
combined with the report that our new Kershaw aeroplane is the most
perfect of the many inventions, and destined to effect a revolution in
warfare. The Kershaw, which was only completed at South Farnborough two
months ago, is now being tried in strictest secrecy. Vera was told so by
an engineer officer she met at a dance at Chatham a short time ago."
"And it is being tried here in the north somewhere," I added, as
together, seated in a "forty-eight Daimler," we ascended Glen Garry from
Blair Atholl--which we had left a couple of hours before--and sped along
over the wild, treeless Grampians towards Dalwhinnie. The March morning
was bitterly cold, and snow covered the ground, rendering the Highland
scenery more picturesque and imposing. And as we preferred an open car
to a closed one, the journey was very cold.
Our inquiries in Blair Atholl had had a negative result. In the long,
old-fashioned Blair Arms Hotel Ray had made a number of searching
inquiries, for though two officers of the Ballooning Department lived
there, and had been conducting the experiments in Blair Park, it was
plain that the machine had never yet taken flight. So the pair of
mysterious Germans, whose names we discovered in the visitors' book, had
either obtained the details they wanted or had left the neighbourhood in
disgust.
It was at my friend's suggestion that we had hired the car from Perth,
and had now set out upon a tour of discovery in the wildest and least
frequented districts of the Highlands--some of which are in winter the
most unfrequented in all Great Britain. Something--what I know not--had
apparently convinced him that the tests were still in progress.
"And where the trials are taking place we shall, I feel certain, find
this inquisitive person Karl Straus," he declared. "From Berlin, through
a confidential source, I hear that it was he who obtained the German
General Staff photographs and plan of the new French aeroplane that was
tried down in the Basque country last May. He's an expert aeronaut and
engineer, and speaks English well; our object is to discover his
whereabouts."
In pursuance of this quest we visited the various hotels on our way
north. The "Loch Ericht" at Dalwhinnie we found closed, therefore we
went on to Newtonmore, and by taking luncheon at the hotel there
ascertained that there were no visitors who might be either British
military officers or German spies.
In the gloomy, frosty afternoon we, a month after the affair down at
Maldon, sped up the Speyside through dark pine forests and snow-covered
moorland till we found ourselves in the long grey street of Kingussie,
where we halted at the Star Hotel, a small place with a verandah, very
popular in summer, but in winter deserted.
Leaving me to warm myself at the fire, Ray crossed to the telegraph
office to despatch a message, and afterwards I saw him enter a small
shop where picture post-cards were sold. For a quarter of an hour he
remained inside, and then went to another shop a few doors further down.
Afterwards he rejoined me, and as we remounted into the car I saw that
his face wore a dark, puzzled expression.
"Anything wrong?" I inquired, as we sped away through the firs towards
Loch Alvie and Aviemore.
"No," he replied. Then, after a pause, he asked, "You once used to ride
a motor-cycle, didn't you, Jack?"
I replied in the affirmative; whereupon he said that it would be
necessary for me to hire one, an observation which somewhat mystified
me. And for the next hour we roared along over the loose, uneven road
through Aviemore, where the chief hotel was, of course, closed, and on
over Dulnan Bridge, that paradise of the summer tourist; then turning to
the right past the post office, until we were soon "honk-honking" up the
wide main street of Grantown.
Here in summer and autumn the place is alive with tourists; but in
winter, with its tearing winds and gusty snowstorms, the little place
presents a very different appearance. The excellent "Grant Arms,"
standing back from the road at the further end of the town, is, however,
one of the few first-class hotels in the Highlands open all the year
round. And here we put up, both of us glad to obtain shelter from the
sleet which, since the twilight had faded, had been cutting our faces.
While I sat before the big smoking-room fire with a cigarette, after we
had been to our rooms to remove the mud from our faces, Ray was bustling
about the hotel, eagerly scanning the visitors' book, among other
things.
Our quest was a decidedly vague one, and as I sat staring into the
flames I confess I entertained serious misgivings.
When I went forth into the hall to find my friend, I was told that he
had gone out.
A quarter of an hour later he returned, saying:
"I've seen a garage along the street; come with me and hire a
motor-cycle. You'll probably want it."
"Why?" I asked.
"Wait and see," was his response; therefore I put on my hat and coat and
walked with him to the garage, about half-way along the street, where I
picked out a good strong machine which was duly wheeled back to the
hotel.
That night, among the eight or nine guests assembled for dinner, there
was not one who had any resemblance either to a German spy or an officer
of the Military Balloon Factory at South Farnborough.
In the days following we used our map well, scouring the whole of the
Spey side to the Bridge of Avon, and on to Rothes, while westward we
drove by Carrbridge, over the Slochd Mor to Loch Moy and across to
Daviot. We explored the steep hills of Cromdale and Glen Tulchan,
surveyed the rugged country from the summit of Carn Glas, and made
judicious inquiry in all quarters, both among village people, shepherds,
and others. Nowhere however could we gather any information that any
trials of an airship were in progress.
Sometimes in leggings, mackintosh, and goggles, I went forth alone on my
motor-cycle, negotiating the rougher byways and making confidential
inquiry. But the result was ever a negative one and always
disheartening.
On one occasion I had been out alone and reached the hotel, when, some
hours later, our chauffeur returned with the car empty, and handed me a
hastily scribbled note to explain that Ray had left suddenly for the
south and instructing me to remain at Grantown till his return.
By that I imagined that he had made some discovery. Or had he gone south
to see Vera, his well-beloved?
Curiously enough, next day a foreigner--probably a German--arrived at
the hotel, and, as may be imagined, I at once took steps to keep him
under the strictest observation. He was a quiet, apparently inoffensive
person about thirty-five, who, among his impedimenta, brought a
motor-cycle and box camera. Before he had been in the place twenty-four
hours I had convinced myself that he was the spy Straus.
This fact I wired to Bruton Street in the code we had long ago arranged,
hoping that the message would find my friend.
To my surprise, all the reply I got was: "Be careful that you have made
no mistake."
What could he mean? I read and re-read the message, but remained much
puzzled, while my excitement increased.
Each day the new arrival, who had written the name of "F. Goldstein" in
the visitors' book, went forth on his cycle to explore the beauties of
the Highlands, the thaw having now cleared the roads, and on each
occasion I managed by dint of many subterfuges to watch his proceedings.
His gaze was ever in the distance, and each time he gained high ground
he swept the surrounding country with a pair of powerful prismatic
field-glasses.
I confess I was rather annoyed at Ray's conduct in thus abandoning me at
the very moment of my discovery, for here was the ballooning expert
Straus bent upon seeing and photographing our newest arm of defence.
As the days passed I exerted every precaution, yet I followed him
everywhere, sometimes using the car, and at others the motor-cycle.
The spy, a bespectacled, round-faced Teuton who spoke with a strong
accent, was ever active, ever eager to discover something in the air.
Yet, to my intense satisfaction, he seemed to be utterly unaware that I
was keeping so strict a watch upon his movements. Purposely I avoided
speaking to him in the hotel, for fear of arousing his suspicions.
One day Mr. Goldstein did not appear, and in response to my inquiry the
waiter informed me that he had caught cold and was confined to his room.
A spy with a cold! I laughed within myself, and the afternoon being
bright, I took a run south through the Abernethy Forest down to Loch
Pityoulish. On my return I crossed Dulnan Bridge, where the turbulent
Dulnan River hurtles along over the stones on its way down to the Spey.
I dismounted, hot and tired, and propped up my cycle against the parapet
to rest and admire the dark pine-clad gorge which opened to the north.
My reflections were suddenly cut short by a loud humming sound which
seemed to come from the road which I had just traversed. Instinctively I
looked round for the approaching motor-car. The sound came nearer, but
instead of a car, I saw in the air, above the tops of the firs against
the distant hill in the background, a splendid aeroplane with two men
aboard. Swiftly it swept over the stream with the ease and majesty of an
enormous albatross!
Next instant it had disappeared from my gaze. Yet in that brief moment I
had had ocular demonstration that the secret trials were in progress in
the neighbourhood.
I waited on tiptoe with excitement. Again the whirring sound came
nearer, the occupants of the neighbouring cottages being undisturbed,
believing it to be a motor-car. Once again I saw the new aeroplane
circling above the tree-tops to the north, after which it turned
suddenly and made off in a bee-line south, in the direction whence I had
travelled.
I had actually seen the new invention!
Scarcely, however, had I recovered from my surprise when I heard, coming
from the direction of Grantown, the "pop-pop-pop" of a motor-cycle, and
across the bridge like a flash, in the direction the aerial machine had
taken, came the spy whom I had only that morning left an invalid in bed.
That evening, while writing a letter in the hotel, I had a surprise; I
was called to the telephone, and heard Ray's voice asking me to send the
car to him.
He told me that he was staying as Mr. Charles Black at the Star Hotel in
Kingussie, about twenty-eight miles distant, and promised to come over
to see me shortly.
I told him what I had seen that afternoon, and how the spy had been on
the alert, but to my surprise he only replied:
"Good! Keep on the watch. If what I expect is true, then we're on a big
thing. Keep in touch with me on the 'phone, and have a continuous eye on
your Mr. Goldstein."
I replied that I would, and that our friend had just returned.
Then he rang off.
Why was he at Kingussie, instead of assisting me?
Next day I was early astir, and before luncheon had covered many miles
on the motor-cycle. Ray had not asked me over to Kingussie. If he wanted
me, he would have said so.
Goldstein had not appeared downstairs, therefore after luncheon, I went
forth again, taking the road northward from Grantown, and just as I was
passing beneath the castellated railway-bridge about a mile and a half
from the hotel, I again suddenly saw straight before me the wonderful
Kershaw aeroplane. The car looked like a long, thin cylinder of bright
silvery metal, which I took to be aluminium, and in it I discerned two
men.
It travelled in a circle several times over the tree-tops, and then, just
as at Dulnan Bridge, it dived straight away over the dark pine forest
towards the lonely moors of Cromdale. Without a second's hesitation I
mounted and rode full speed after her, keeping her well in sight as I
went towards Deva.
Yet scarcely had I gone half a mile when I again heard behind me the
"pop-pop-pop" of another cycle, and turning, saw to my satisfaction the
man Goldstein, who had evidently seen the aeroplane, and was now bent
upon obtaining all details of it.
Going up the hill I drew away from him, but as we descended he passed
me, and in order to pose as an excited onlooker, I shouted to him my
surprise in seeing such an apparatus in the air.
He evidently knew more of the new invention than I did. And yet Ray held
aloof from me.
Next day, having been out for a stroll, I returned to the hotel about
noon, when a few moments later my friend entered the reading-room.
"Let's go to your room," he suggested; therefore we ascended the stairs,
and I opened the door with my key.
As soon as I had done so, he made a swift tour of the apartment,
examining both the carpet and the red plush-covered chairs without
uttering a word.
Then he stood in the centre of the room for a moment, and slowly
selected a cigarette from his case. Ray Raymond was thinking--thinking
deeply.
"Your friend Goldstein has a visitor," he remarked at last.
"Not to my knowledge," I said.
"He occupies room No. 11 in this hotel," he went on. "This is 16,
therefore he must be quite near you."
"But who's the visitor?"
"A friend of Goldstein's. Downstairs you can discover his name."
I descended and found that on the previous evening there had certainly
arrived at the hotel a Mr. William Smith, who occupied room No. 11.
But how was Ray aware of it?
I returned to my room, and found him staring out of the window into the
roadway below. I saw that he was unusually agitated.
"My dear Jack," he said, turning to me when I told him the name of the
occupant of No. 11, "how horribly stuffy this room is! Do you never have
the window open?"
"Of course," I said, crossing to open it as usual. But I found that it
had been jammed down tightly, and that felt had been placed in the
crevices by the hotel people to exclude the draught.
Ray noticed it, and a curious smile crossed his aquiline countenance.
"I'd remove all that, if I were you," he exclaimed. "And I'd also pull
out all that stuffing I see up the chimney. You never have a fire here,
I suppose."
"I hate a fire in my bedroom," I answered. "But what has that to do with
our friend Goldstein?"
"A good deal," was his reply. "Take my advice and have a fire here;" and
by his look I saw that he had discovered more than he wished at that
juncture to tell me. Had I known the astounding truth, I certainly
should not have taken his words so calmly.
He appeared to evince an interest in my room, its position and its
contents, but when I remarked upon it he pretended unconcern. He rang
the bell and inquired of the waiter for Mr. Goldstein and Mr. William
Smith, but the man informed him that both gentlemen were out. "I
believe," added the waiter, "that Mr. Goldstein is leaving us this
evening or to-morrow, sir."
"Leaving!" I echoed as soon as the man had closed the door. "Shall I
follow?"
"No. It really isn't worth while," Ray replied, "at least not just at
present. Remain here and have a care of yourself, Jack."
What did he mean? We ate a hasty lunch, and then, mounting into the car,
my companion ordered the chauffeur to drive south again past Dulnan
Bridge to Duthil, where we turned up to the right and ascended the
thickly wooded hill of Lochgorm on that stony road that leads out upon
the desolate Muirs of Cromdale. After we had cleared the wood he ordered
the man to pull up, for the road was so bad. Descending, we climbed the
steep ascent to the summit of a hill, where, after sweeping the
surrounding country with a small pair of powerful glasses I carried, I
at last discerned the aeroplane heading westward some ten miles
distant.
Unfortunately, however, the clouds came down upon us, and we quickly
found ourselves enveloped in a gradually thickening Scotch mist, while
the aeroplane, soon but a faint grey shadow, quickly faded from our
gaze.
Ray Raymond was ever a dogged person. He decided to descend, and this we
did, passing over the other side of the hill for half an hour, progress
of course being slow on account of the clouds.
Presently a puff of cold wind came up out of the east, and patches of
dun-coloured moorland began to appear below through the rents of the
fast-breaking clouds; when presently our watchful eyes caught the dull
leaden gleam of a sheet of water about three miles ahead, which a look
at my map enabled me to recognise as Lochindorb.
And just as we were able to locate the spot we again saw the big
white-winged aeroplane as she swooped down to the surface of the loch,
upon which she floated swanlike and majestic.
"Well?" I asked, turning and looking him in the face.
"Well, Jack, I've seen it in flight just as you have," he said, "but
I've never yet approached it. I've had reasons for keeping away. After
to-day, however, there is no longer much necessity for hesitation."
"I hardly follow you, old chap," I declared, my eyes still fixed through
the glasses upon the aeroplane sailing along the surface of the distant
lake.
"Probably not," he laughed, "but you'll see the motive of my actions
before a few days are over, I hope. Let's go back." And returning to the
car he carried me as far as the entrance to Grantown, where he deposited
me, and then turning, ordered the man to drive with all speed back to
Kingussie.
When I re-entered my comfortable hotel I learnt that Goldstein had left
by the afternoon train for the south. My interest therefore lay in the
new arrival in No. 11, but though I waited up till midnight, he did not
return.
Just as I was returning to bed I made a curious discovery in my room.
Running from the top of the high, old-fashioned mahogany wardrobe, with
its heavily ornamented cornice, was a long piece of strong, black cord,
which, passing down the side panel, was placed close to the wainscoting,
so as to avoid notice, the end being placed beneath the mat outside the
door.
At once I suspected a practical joke, but on mounting one of the
old-fashioned chairs, I looked along the top of the wardrobe, but
discerned nothing.
So I gathered up the piece of cord, held it in my hand with curiosity
for a few moments, and then wondering who had any object in playing such
a prank, turned in and slept soundly till morning.
I had scarcely sat down to breakfast in the small upstairs
coffee-room--which is used in winter--when I was summoned to the
telephone, where Ray predicted that the mysterious Mr. Smith would soon
return, and if he did, I was to betray no interest in him whatsoever,
and above all, avoid any friendship.
Such instructions mystified me. But I had not long to wait for the
return of the man who called himself Smith, for he arrived just as it
was growing dusk.
After dinner I was seated in front of the blazing fire in my room,
smoking and reading the _Courier_, when I heard a man in heavy boots
pass my door, and recognised his low, hacking cough as that of the
occupant of No. 11.
I opened the door, and peering forth saw that he was dressed in his
loose mackintosh and cap and carried a stout stick. He was going forth
for a night walk!
Therefore I slipped on my thick boots and coat and followed. He had
turned to the right on leaving the hotel, but in the silence of the
night it was difficult, nay, almost impossible, to watch his movements
unobserved.
For about two miles I went forward, following the sound of his footsteps
in the dark night in the direction of Dava Moor, until we entered the
forest of Glaschoile, where the footsteps suddenly ceased.
I halted to listen. There was a dead silence. The man had realised that
he was being followed, and had plunged into the forest.
So, disappointed, I was compelled to retrace my steps to the hotel.
I tried to telephone to Ray, but was told that late the previous night
he had gone out on the car and had not returned.
Therefore I remained there, impatient and helpless, the mysterious Smith
being still absent.
At three o'clock that afternoon the car pulled up before the door and
Ray descended.
"Put on your coat and come with me," he said briefly. And a few minutes
later we were tearing along over the same road which the mysterious
Smith had taken in the darkness--the direct road which leads north by
way of Dava, away to Forres.
Just past the little school house of Dava we left the main road, and
striking across the wide, bleak, snow-covered moor for about a mile,
suddenly came into view of a wide and lonely expanse of dark water in
the centre of the desolate landscape. It was Lochindorb, where, in the
distance, we had seen the Kershaw aeroplane alight and sail along the
surface.
As we reached the edge of the loch I saw out upon a small islet in the
centre a ruined castle, a long, almost unbroken, grey wall of uniform
height, without turrets or battlements, occupying the whole of the
islet. Below the walls a few bushes grew from the water's edge, but it
was as dreary and isolated a spot as I had ever seen. Beyond stretched
the big, dull sheet of water, backed only by the low, uninteresting
moorland, the only break in the all-pervading flatness and monotony
being afforded by a few wind-stunted trees on the right of the road, and
a small dark plantation ahead.
When the car had stopped and we had got out and walked a few yards, Ray
said:
"Yonder is the old castle of Lochindorb, Jack. Behind those walls is the
shed which shelters the Kershaw aeroplane. Look!"
And gazing in the direction he indicated, I saw a skiff with three
occupants coming across from the shadows on the left towards the island.
The man steering was a corporal of engineers in khaki.
"It appears," Ray went on, "that the machine takes her flight from the
open surface of the loch, which, as you see, is about two miles long.
She enters and leaves the shed by water."
As we were speaking, a bearded gillie of gigantic stature came up from
nowhere and promptly ordered us away, an order which we were very
reluctantly compelled to obey.
At last, however, we had discovered the obscure spot where the secret
trials were in progress.
"I knew from the first that the tests must be in progress in this
district," Ray said, "for a month ago that motor engineer in Grantown of
whom you hired your cycle made a small part of a new motor for a man who
was a stranger. The part was broken, and the stranger ordered another to
be made. I learnt that the first night we were in Grantown."
He resolved to spend that night at Grantown, therefore we dined
together, and when we rose from table he went to his room in order to
obtain his pipe.
[Illustration: THE NEW BRITISH ARMY AEROPLANE: ROUGH SKETCH DRAWN BY
LIEUT. KARL STRAUS, OF THE GERMAN SECRET SERVICE.]
Ten minutes later he returned, saying:
"Just come with me for a moment, Jack."
I rose and followed.
We ascended the stairs, and passing along the corridor he halted before
the door of No. 11 and tapped at it quietly.
It opened, and Smith stood upon the threshold.
"I wish to speak with you a moment," Ray said, facing him determinedly.
The man's face fell. We both entered, but so surprised was he that he
could utter no protest.
We saw that on the table beneath the lamp was spread a number of
photographs and papers.
He had been writing upon a sheet of foolscap and the writing was in
German.
"Yes," exclaimed Ray in a tone of satisfaction as he bent over to glance
at the first few lines. "I see. You report: 'The upper plane is somewhat
curved, with an----'"
"What's my business to do with you, pray?" the man asked defiantly in
excellent English.
"Well, your business has interested me greatly, Herr Straus," calmly
replied my companion, "and I congratulate you upon the ingenious method
by which you got a sight of the Kershaw aeroplane at an early hour this
morning. I was at Lochindorb with you--and rather cold waiting, wasn't
it?"
The man now recognised gave vent to a quick imprecation.
"I see you've just developed that photograph you took in secret as she
sailed within twenty yards of you! But I shall trouble you to give it
over to me, together with the rough sketch I see, and your written
description of our new military invention," he said, with mock
politeness.
"I don't know you--and I shall do nothing of the sort."
"I know you, Karl Straus, as a spy of Germany," exclaimed my friend,
with a grin. "Your reputation for ingenuity and cunning reached us from
France"; and snatching up the sheet of foolscap he turned to me, saying,
"Listen to this, Jack," and while the German agent stood biting his lips
in chagrin at being discovered at the eleventh hour, my friend read
aloud the spy's report, as follows:
"The upper plane of the Kershaw aeroplane is somewhat curved,
with an upward curve at the front. The side planes are composed
of a light framework covered with a number of small squares of
some light material, each stretched on a light frame hinged to
the main frame at the rear end of each. To the front end is
fastened a strong silken cord. These cords are all fastened at
their lower ends to a large ring. To this is attached a wire
rope, which passes over a pulley-wheel at the end of a species
of outrigger, and thence into the cigar-like body of the car.
From what I have observed when the machine is in flight, it is
evident to me that the steersman (who sits at the fore part of
the car) is able to manipulate these by means of levers, so
that the numerous flaps forming the surface of the side planes
can be opened and closed at will.
"Thus suppose the machine to be diving; slackening these ropes,
the pressure of the air underneath causes the flaps to open. As
soon as this happens their inclination upwards tends to make
the machine rise so long as the propellers are driving her
forward, the angle of ascent being controlled by the angle to
which they are allowed to open. If the machine inclines to lean
over to right or left, the opening and closing of the flaps on one
side or the other can be used to counteract it and restore the
balance. With all kept tightly closed she can go forward or dive.
With them open, and engines stopped, she dives quickly. The rudder
is of box-kite form, and fastened to the after end of the
cigar-like car, which apparently contains the engines, petrol
tanks, etc., and enough air space to render the machine buoyant
when water-borne. The propellers, which are placed on hollow
shafts, whose bearings are supported on horizontal braces
between the two V-shaped aluminium lattice girders attaching
the planes to the car, are driven by separate endless chains,
which come up out of the centre of the cylinder. They seem to
be made either of aluminium, or more probably magnalium.
"My drawing has rather exaggerated the diameter of the cylindrical
car. There is a light wooden foot-board at either side, which also
helps to steady the machine when on the water and two small floats
at the end of the outriggers for the same purpose. There are also
three small wheels fitted, I presume for facilitating ascent from
dry ground.
"KARL STRAUS."
The spy laughed a low, hollow laugh of defiance. What could he say? He
had been outwitted just at the supreme moment of his success.
"I admit, my friend, that you were extremely clever in putting forward
Goldstein as the spy, and thus misleading my friend Jacox," Ray said in
triumph, as he laid his hand upon the rough sketch of the Kershaw
invention. "But for a very timely discovery, too, my friend would have
met with the terrible fate which you and your accomplice planned with
such devilish ingenuity. So if you don't wish to be arrested for
conspiracy and murder you'd better make yourself scarce out of England
quickly."
"What do you mean, Ray?" I cried.
"I'll show you," he answered as he gathered up the whole of the spy's
papers while the German stood helpless. "Come along to your room with
me."
When inside he pointed to the old red-plush-covered chairs, and said:
"Do you recollect my arrival after Straus's visit? I examined those
chairs, and saw upon one the traces of chalk. The shoes of the occupant
of room No. 11 had been chalked by the boots with his number, and upon
the chair I saw traces, and knew that he had stood there to gain the top
of your wardrobe."
"For what reason?" I asked.
For answer he turned up the gas and pointed to the cornice of the
ceiling behind the wardrobe, where I saw that upon the leaden gas-pipe
running along it was a long, narrow strip of what looked like paper
which had been pasted.
"Those men meant to kill you, Jack," he said. "On the morning I came
here Straus had entered, climbed up to the gas-pipe, and with his
clasp-knife cut a hole in it. Over that he, as you see, placed several
thicknesses of medical plaster, attaching to it a piece of strong black
cord, and carrying it outside the door. After that they plugged up your
window and chimney, so that when you were asleep all they had to do was
to just pull the string, which would strip off the plaster, allow the
gas to escape into the room, and thus asphyxiate you. The plaster could
be dragged beneath the door into the passage outside."
"Great heavens!" I gasped, staring astounded at the white medical
plaster on the gas-pipe along the cornice. "What a narrow escape I've
had!"
"Yes. While I was in London, Vera went up with her maid and stayed at
the 'Star' at Kingussie, where she overheard the two men in
conversation, and learnt the clever trick they were playing with
Goldstein as the spy. She suspected that they intended to rid themselves
of your unwelcome surveillance, and returned at once to me in London.
Fortunately I discovered the dastardly plot, and that morning I cut the
cord."
"That fellow Straus is a much more desperate character than he looks."
"Yes. But we'll just go back and you can tell him your opinion of him,"
he laughed.
We went together along to No. 11. The spy had already left, but
ascending the stairs was Vera, in a long travelling-coat, her maid
following with the wraps.
She had just arrived from London, and after she had greeted us in her
usual merry manner, told us that she was the bearer of very important
news--news of the activity of spies in another quarter.
We quickly told her how we had managed to outwit Straus, while I, on my
part, thanked her warmly for having made that startling discovery which
had, no doubt, saved me from falling a victim to that dastardly plot
formed by one of the most ingenious of the many unscrupulous spies of
the Kaiser.