THE SECRET OF THE IMPROVED "DREADNOUGHT"
The road was crooked and narrow, and the car was a nondescript "ninety,"
full of knocks and noise.
By appointment I had, for certain reasons that will afterwards be
apparent, met, in the American Bar of the "Savoy," two hours before, the
Honourable Robert Brackenbury, the dark, clean-shaven young man now
driving, and he had engaged me, at a salary of two pounds ten per week,
to be his chauffeur. I had driven him out through the London traffic,
until, satisfied with my skill, he had taken the wheel himself, and we
were now out upon the Great North Road, where he had a pressing
engagement to meet a friend.
Beyond Hatfield we passed through Ayot Green, and were on our way to
Welwyn, when suddenly he swung the powerful car into a narrow stony
by-road, where, after several sharp turns, he pulled up before a
pleasant, old-fashioned, red-roofed cottage standing back in a large
garden and covered with ivy and climbing roses.
A big, stout, clean-shaven, merry-faced man, with slightly curly fair
hair, standing in the rustic porch, waved his hand in welcome as we both
descended.
I was invited into the clean cottage parlour, and there introduced to
the stout man, who, I found, was named Charles Shand, and by whose
speech I instantly recognised an American.
"Good!" he exclaimed. "So this is the new chauffeur, eh?" he asked,
looking me up and down with his large blue eyes. "Say, young man," he
added, "you've got a good berth if you can drive well--and what's more
important, keep a still tongue."
I glanced from one to the other in surprise. What did he mean?
Both saw that I was puzzled, whereupon he hastened to allay my surprise
by explaining.
"My friend and I run a car each. He has a six-cylinder 'sixty' here, and
we want you to look after both. No cleaning. You are engineer, and will
drive occasionally. Come and see the other car." And taking me to the
rear of the premises, they showed me, standing in a newly built shed,
one of the latest pattern six-cylinder "Napiers" fitted with every
modern improvement. It was painted cream, and upon the panels an
imposing crest. A big searchlight was set over the splash-board. It was
fitted with the latest lubrication, and seemed almost new. To me, motor
enthusiast as I am, it was a delight to have such a splendid car under
my control, and my heart leapt within me.
"My friend, Mr. Brackenbury, will be liberal in the matter of wages,"
remarked Shand, "provided that you simply do as you are bid and ask no
questions. Blind obedience is all that we require. Our private business
does not concern you in the least--you understand that?"
"Perfectly," I said.
"Then if you make a promise of faithful and silent service, we shall pay
you three pounds ten a week instead of the two ten which we arranged
this morning," said Brackenbury.
I thanked them both, and returning to the house Shand produced some
whisky and a syphon, gave me a drink and a cigar, and told me that if I
wished to stroll about for an hour I was at liberty to do so.
The afternoon was a warm one in July, therefore I passed out into a
field, and beneath the shade of a tree threw myself down to smoke and
reflect. For nearly four months, though Ray and I had been ever
watchful, we had discovered but little. We had had our suspicions
aroused, however, and I had resolved to follow them up. Both men seemed
good fellows enough, yet the glances they had exchanged were meaning,
and thereby increased my suspicions.
When, an hour later, I re-entered the house and knocked at the door of
the room, I found the pair with a map spread out on the table. They had
evidently been in earnest consultation.
"Fortunately for you you are not married, Nye," exclaimed the Honourable
Robert, whom I strongly suspected to be of German birth, though he spoke
English perfectly and had appeared to have many friends among the
habitues of the "Savoy." Nye was the name I had given. "You'll have two
places of residence--here with Shand, and with me at my little place
over at Barnes. You know the main roads pretty well, you told me?"
"I did a lot of touring when I was with Mr. Michelreid, the novelist," I
said. "He used to be always in search of fresh places to write about. We
always went to the Continent a lot."
"Well," he laughed, "you'll soon have an opportunity of putting your
knowledge of the road to the test. To be of any real service to us,
you'll have to be able to find your way, say, from here to Harwich in
the night without taking one wrong turning."
"I've been touring England for nearly five years, off and on," I said,
with confidence; "therefore few people know the roads, perhaps, better
than myself."
"Very well, we shall see," remarked Shand; "only not a word--not even to
your sweetheart. My friend and I are engaged in some purely private
affairs--in fact, I think there is no harm in telling you--now that you
are to be our confidential servant--that we are secret agents of the
Government, and as such are compelled on occasions to act in a manner
that any one unacquainted with the truth might consider somewhat
peculiar. Do you understand?"
"Perfectly," I said.
"And not a word must pass your lips--not to a soul," he urged. "For each
success we gain in the various missions entrusted to us you will receive
from the Secret Service fund a handsome honorarium as acknowledgment of
your faithful services."
Then he walked away, gaily singing the gay chanson of Magda at the
Ambassadeurs:
"Sous le ciel pur ou le ciel gris
Des que les joyeux gazouillis
Des oiselets se font entendre,
Une voix amoureuse et tendre
Par la fenetre au blanc rideau
Lance les couplets d'un rondeau;
C'est la voix d'une midinette
Qui fait, en chantant, sa toilette.
Ah! le joli reveil-matin,
Quand il faut partir au turbin!
Bientot, de la chambre voisine,
Repond une voix masculine.
Paris! Paris! Gai paradis!
Voila les chansons de Paris!"
Much gratified at securing such a post, I drove the Honourable Robert
back to London and waited for him in the courtyard of the Hotel Cecil
while he was inside for a quarter of an hour. Then, getting up beside me
he directed me to drive to Hammersmith Bridge, where, at a big block of
red-brick flats overlooking the river, called Lonsdale Mansions, we
pulled up, and he took me up to his small cosily furnished flat, where
William, the clean-shaven and highly-respectable valet, awaited him.
The "ninety" was garaged, I found, almost opposite, and when I returned
to the flat the Honourable Robert was at the telephone in the
dining-room talking to the man we had left near Welwyn.
The elderly woman who acted as cook showed me my room, gave me my
dinner, and I sat smoking with William for an hour or so afterwards.
The valet was a very inquisitive person, and I could not fail to notice
how cleverly he tried to pump me concerning my post. He, however, failed
to obtain much from me.
"The guv'nor is one of the best fellows alive--a thorough sportsman," he
informed me. "Respect his confidence, and don't breathe a word to any
one as to his doings, and you'll find your place worth hundreds a year."
"But why these strict injunctions regarding silence?" I inquired, in the
hope of learning something.
"Well--because he's compelled to mix himself up with queer affairs and
queer people sometimes, and in his position as the younger son of a peer
it wouldn't do if it leaked out. I simply act as he bids, and seek no
explanation. You'll have to do the same."
Hardly had he ceased speaking when "the guv'nor," in dinner-jacket and
black tie, entered, and said:
"William, I want you to take a letter for me to Raven at Nottingham by
the next train. It leaves St. Pancras at 10.45. You'll be there at 2.30
in the morning. He's at the 'Black Boy.' Get an answer and take the 5.50
back. You'll be here again soon after nine in the morning."
"Very well, sir," answered the valet, taking the letter from his
master's hand; and ten minutes later he went downstairs to catch his
train.
This incident showed that Robert Brackenbury was essentially a man of
action. His keen, dark aquiline face, bright, sharp eyes, and quick,
almost electric movements combined to show him to be a man of nerve,
resource, and rapid decision. The square lower jaw betokened hard
determination, while at the same time his manner was easy, nonchalant,
and essentially that of a born gentleman.
William returned next morning, and a few days passed uneventfully. Both
morning and evening each day, at hours prearranged, he "got on" to
Shand, but their conversations were very enigmatical. Several times I
happened to be in the room, but could learn nothing from the talk, which
seemed, in the main, to refer to the rise and fall of certain mining
shares.
Each day I drove him out in the "ninety." The car, a four-cylinder, had
no flexibility, and was a perfect terror in traffic. The noise it caused
was as though it had no silencer, while the police everywhere looked
askance as we crept through the Strand, dodged the motor-buses in Oxford
Street, or put on a move down Kensington Gore.
While Bob Brackenbury--as he was known to his friends of the
"Savoy"--was out one day, I was in his bedroom with William, when the
latter opened one of the huge wardrobes there. Inside I saw hanging a
collection of at least fifty coats of all kinds, some smart and of
latest style, others old-fashioned and dingy, while more than one was
greasy, out-at-elbow, and ragged. I made no remark. Never in my life had
I seen such an extensive collection of clothes belonging to one man.
Surely those ragged coats were kept there for purposes of disguise! Yet
would it not be highly necessary for a member of the Secret Service to
possess certain disguises, I reflected!
William noticed my interest, and shut the doors hurriedly.
I drove Brackenbury hither and thither to various parts of London, for
he seemed to possess many friends. Once we took two pretty young ladies
from Hampstead down to the "Mitre" at Hampton Court, and on another
afternoon we took a young French girl and her mother from the "Carlton"
down to the "Old Bridge House" at Windsor.
To me it was apparent that Bob Brackenbury was very popular with a
certain set at the Motor Club, at the Automobile Club, and at other
resorts.
My duties were not at all arduous, and such a thoroughgoing sportsman
was my master that he treated me almost as an equal. When out in the
country he compelled me to have lunch at his table "for company," he
said. My people, I told him, had been wealthy before the South African
War, but had been ruined by it, and though I had been at Rugby and had
done one year at Balliol College, Oxford, I hid the fact now that I was
compelled to earn my living as a mere chauffeur. He had no idea that I
was a barrister, with chambers in New Stone Buildings.
One morning after breakfast Mr. Brackenbury called me into the little
dining-room, wherein stood his capacious roll-top desk against the wall,
with the telephone upon it, and inviting me to a seat opposite the
fireplace, said in a voice which betrayed just the faintest accent:
"Nye, I want to speak confidentially to you for a few minutes. You
recollect that the day before yesterday when down at Windsor I was
speaking with a police-inspector in uniform, who called at the hotel to
see me, eh?"
"Yes. He looked round the car and spoke to me. I thought he'd come to
take our name for exceeding the limit on the Staines road."
"You'd remember him again if you saw him?"
"Certainly," was my prompt reply.
"Well, don't forget him," he urged, "because you may, before long, be
required to meet him. And if you should chance to mistake the man, a
very serious _contretemps_ would ensue."
"I'd recognise him again among a thousand!" I declared.
"Good. Now listen attentively to me for a few minutes," he said,
lighting a fresh cigarette and fixing his dark, penetrating eyes upon
mine. "I and my friend Shand have a very difficult task. A certain
Colonel von Rausch, of the German Intelligence Department, is, we have
discovered, in England on a secret mission. It is suspected that he is
here controlling a number of spies who had been engaged in staff-rides
in the eastern counties, and to receive their reports. My object is to
learn the truth, and it can only be done by great tact and caution. I
tell you this so that any orders I give you may not surprise you. Obey,
and do not seek motive. Am I clear?"
"Certainly," I answered, interested in what he told me. It was curious
that he, undoubtedly a German, was at the same time antagonistic to the
colonel of the Kaiser's army.
"Well, I'm leaving London in an hour. Await orders from me, and obey
them promptly," he said, dismissing me.
Through that day and the next I waited. He had taken William with him
into the country, and left me alone in the flat. Once or twice the
telephone rang, but to the various inquirers I replied that my master
was absent.
Inactivity there was tantalising. I was naturally fond of adventure, and
I had taken on the guise of chauffeur surely for the unmasking of a
foreign spy.
On the third day, about two in the afternoon, I received a trunk call on
the 'phone. The post office at Market Harborough called me up, and the
voice which I heard was that of my master.
"Oh! that's you, Nye!" he said. "Well, I want you to start in the car
in an hour, and run her up to Peterborough. When in the Market Place,
inquire the road to Edgcott Hall. It's about six miles out on the
Leicester road. Inquire for me there as Captain Kinghorne--remember the
name now. Do you hear distinctly?"
I replied in the affirmative.
"Recollect what I told you before I left. I shall expect you about six.
Good-bye," he said, and then rang off.
Full of excitement, I got out the car from the garage, filled the petrol
tank, saw to the carbide, and then set out across the suspension bridge
at Hammersmith, and went through Kensal Green and Hampstead over to
Highgate, where I got upon the North Road.
It had been raining, and there was plenty of mud about, but the big,
powerful car ran well notwithstanding the terrific noise it created.
Indeed, she was such a terror and possessed so many defects that little
wonder its maker had not placed his name upon her. As a hill-climber,
however, she was excellent, and though being compelled constantly to
change my "speeds," I did an average of thirty miles an hour after
getting into the open country beyond Codicote.
Through crooked old Hitchin I slowed up, then away again through Henlow
and Eton Socon up Alconbury Hill and down the broad road with its many
telegraph lines, I went with my exhaust open, roaring and throbbing,
through Stilton village into the quiet old cathedral town of
Peterborough. Inquiry in the Market Place led me across a level crossing
near the station and down a long hill, then out again into a flat
agricultural district until I came to the handsome lodge-gates of
Edgcott Hall.
Up a fine elm avenue I went for nearly a mile, until I saw before me in
the crimson sunset a long, old Elizabethan mansion with high twisted
chimneys and many latticed windows. The door was open, and as I pulled
up I saw within a great high wall with stained windows like a church and
stands of armour ranged down either side.
A footman in yellow waistcoat answered my ring, and my inquiry for
Captain Kinghorne brought forth my master, smartly dressed in a brown
flannel suit and smiling.
"Hulloa, Nye!" he exclaimed. "Got here all right, then. Newton will show
the way to the garage," and he indicated the footman. "When you've put
her up, I want to see you in my room."
The footman, mounted beside me, directed me across the park to the
kennels of the celebrated Edgcott hounds, and behind these I found a
well-appointed garage, in which were two other cars, a "sixteen" Fiat of
a type three years ago, and a "forty" Charron with a limousine body, a
very heavy, ponderous affair.
A quarter of an hour later I found myself with the Honourable Bob in a
big, old-fashioned bedroom overlooking the park.
"You understood me on the 'phone, Nye?" he asked when I had closed the
door and we were alone. "Shand is guest here with me under the name of
Pawson, while, as you know, I'm Captain Kinghorne, D.S.O. This is
necessary," he laughed. "The name of Bob Brackenbury would, in an
instant, frighten away our friend the German. The people here, the
Edgcotts, don't know our real names," he added. "All you have to do is
to remain here and act as I direct."
A moment later the stout American entered and greeting me, turned to his
friend, saying:
"I suppose Nye knows that Charles Shand is off the map at present, eh?"
"I've just been explaining," my master replied.
"And you'd better spread a picturesque story among the servants, too,
Nye," the American went on--"the bravery of Captain Kinghorne at
Ladysmith, and the wide circle of financial friends possessed by
Archibald Pawson, of Goldfields, Nevada. The Edgcotts must be filled up
with us, and that infernal Dutchman mustn't suspect that we have
anything to do with Whitehall."
At that moment William, the valet, came in.
"Von Rausch met a strange man this afternoon in a little thatched inn
called the 'Fitzwilliam Arms,' over at Castor. They were nearly half an
hour together. One of the grooms pulled up there for a drink and saw
them."
"Suppose he met one of his secret agents," remarked my master, with a
glance at his friend. "We've got to have our eyes open, and there
mustn't be any moss on us in this affair. To expose this man and his
spying crowd will be to teach Germany a lesson which she's long wanted.
We shall receive the private thanks of the Cabinet for our services,
which would be to us, patriotic Englishmen as we all are, something to
be proud of."
"Guess two heads are better than one, as the hatter said when twins
entered his shop," laughed the broad-faced American.
We both agreed, and a few moments later I left the room.
The Edgcotts seemed to be entertaining quite a large house-party, all of
them smart people, for that evening after dinner I caught sight of
pretty women in handsome dresses and flashing jewels. Being a warm
night, bridge was played in the fine old hall, where the vaulted roof
echoed back the well-bred laughter and gay chatter of the party, which
included Mr. Henry Seymour, Civil Lord of the Admiralty, and several
well-known politicians.
Essentially a sporting crowd, many of them were men and women who hunted
in winter with the Cottesmore, the Woodland Pytchley and the Edgcott
packs. William and I peeped in through the crack of one of the doors,
and he pointed out to me a tall, fair-haired, middle-aged man whose
soft-pleated shirt-front and the cut of whose dress-coat betrayed him to
be a foreigner. At that moment he was leaning over the chair of a pretty
little dark-haired woman in pale blue, who struck me as a foreigner
also, and who wore twisted twice around her neck a magnificent rope of
large pearls.
"That's von Rausch," William explained. "And look at the guv'nor!" he
added. "He seems to be having a good time with the thin woman over
there. He's talking in French to her."
My eyes wandered in search of Pawson, and I saw that he was seated at
one of the bridge-tables silently contemplating his hand.
The German spy was evidently a great favourite with the ladies. Perhaps
his popularity with the fair sex had gained for him entry to that little
circle of the elegant world. Two young girls approached him, laughing
gaily and slowly fanning themselves. He then chatted with all three in
English which had only a slight trace of Teutonic accent.
And that man was, I reflected, the head of a horde of secret agents
which the German War Office had flung upon our eastern coast. To expose
and crush them all was surely the patriotic duty of any Englishman.
The magnificent old mansion with its splendid paintings, its antique
furniture, its armour, its bric-a-brac, old silver, and splendid
heirlooms of the Edgcotts rang with the laughter of the assembly as two
young subalterns indulged in humorous horse-play.
The appearance of the old sphinx-like family butler, however, compelled
us to leave our point of observation, and for an hour I strolled with
William out in the park in the balmy moonlight of the summer night.
"There'll be a sensation before long," declared the valet to me. "You
watch."
"In what way?" I inquired, with curiosity.
"Wait and see," he laughed, as though he possessed knowledge of what was
intended.
Next day I drove my master and the German Colonel over to Nottingham,
where we put up for an hour at the Black Boy Hotel. This struck me as
curious, for I recollected that William had been sent down from London
with a message to some person named Raven staying at that hotel.
All the way from Edgcott, through Oakham, Melton Mowbray, and Trent, I
had endeavoured to catch some of the conversation between the pair in
the car behind me. The noise and rattle, however, prevented me from
overhearing much, but the stray sentences which did reach me when I
slowed down to change my speeds showed them to be on the most friendly
terms.
Evidently the spy was entirely unsuspicious of his friend.
At the hotel, after I had put up the car, I saw my master and the German
speaking with a tall, thin, consumptive-looking man in black, whose
white tie showed him to be a dissenting minister. He was clean-shaven,
aged fifty, and had an unusually protruding chin.
All three went out together and walked along the street chatting. When
they had gone I went back into the yard, and on inquiry found that the
minister was the Reverend Richard Raven, of the Baptist Missionary
Society.
He had been a missionary in China, and had addressed several meetings in
Nottingham and the neighbourhood on behalf of the society.
Why, I wondered, had Bob Brackenbury, so essentially a man about town,
come there to consult a Baptist missionary, and accompanied, too, by the
man he was scheming to unmask?
But the ways of the Secret Service were devious and crooked, I argued.
There was method in it all. Had Ray and I been mistaken after all? So I,
too, lit a cigarette, and strolled out into the bustling provincial
street awaiting my master and his friend.
After an hour and a half the trio came back and had a drink together in
the smoking-room--the missionary taking lemonade--and then I brought
round the car, and we began the return journey of about sixty-five
miles.
"What do you think of it now?" asked my master of his companion as soon
as we were away from the hotel.
"Excellent!" was the German's reply. "It only now lies with her, eh?"
And he laughed lightly.
Dinner was over when we returned, and Captain Kinghorne was profuse in
his apologies to his host. I had previously been warned to say nothing
of where we had been, and I heard my master explain that we had passed
through Huntingdon, where a tyre-burst had delayed us.
I became puzzled. Yes, it was certainly both interesting and exciting.
Little did the gallant German Colonel dream of the sword of England's
wrath suspended above his head.
Nearly a week passed. Captain Kinghorne, D.S.O., and Mr. Pawson, of
Goldfields, Nevada, shared, I saw, with the Colonel the highest
popularity among members of the house-party. With Mr. Henry Seymour they
had become on particularly friendly terms. There were picnics, tennis,
and a couple of dances to which all the local notabilities were bidden.
At them all Kinghorne was the life and soul of the general merriment. A
good many quiet flirtations were in progress too. Kinghorne seemed to be
particularly attracted by the pretty little widow whom I had first seen
in pale blue, and who I discovered was French, her name being the
Baronne de Bourbriac. She seemed to divide her attentions between Mr.
Seymour and the German Colonel.
From mademoiselle, her maid, I learned that Madame la Baronne had lost
her husband after only four months of matrimony, and now found herself
in possession of a great fortune, a house in the Avenue des Champs
Elysees, a villa at Roquebrune, and the great mediaeval chateau of
Bourbriac, in the great wine-lands along the Saone.
Was she, I wondered, contemplating matrimony again? One evening before
the dressing-bell sounded, I met them quite accidentally strolling
together across the park, and the earnestness of their conversation
caused my wonder to increase.
Careful observation, however, showed me that Colonel von Rausch was
almost as much a favourite with the little widow as was the Honourable
Bob. Indeed, in the three days which followed I recognised plainly that
the skittish little widow, so charming, so chic, and dressed with that
perfection only possible with the true Parisienne, was playing a double
game.
I felt inclined to tell my master, yet on due reflection saw that his
love affairs were no concern of mine, while to speak would be only to
betray myself as spying upon him.
So I held silence, but nevertheless continued to watch.
Several times I took out Brackenbury, Shand, von Rausch, and others in
the car. Twice the widow went for a run alone with my master and myself.
Life was, to say the least, extremely pleasant in those warm summer days
at Edgcott.
Late one afternoon the Honourable Bob found me in the garage, and in a
low voice said:
"You must pretend to be unwell, Nye. I want to take von Rausch out by
myself, so go back to the house and pretend you're queer."
This I did without question, and he and the Colonel were out together in
an unknown direction until nearly midnight. Had they, I wondered, gone
again to meet the consumptive converter of the Chinese to Christianity?
I took William into my confidence, but he was silent. He would express
no opinion.
"There's no moss on the guv'nor, you bet," was all he would vouchsafe.
Thus for yet another four days things progressed merrily at Edgcott
Hall. William had been sent away on a message up to Manchester, and I
was taking his place, when one evening, while I was getting out "the
guv'nor's" dress clothes, he entered the room, and closing the door
carefully, said:
"Be ready for something to happen to-night, Nye. We're going to hold up
the spy and make him disgorge all the secret reports supplied by his
agents. Listen to my instructions, for all must be done without any
fuss. We don't want to upset the good people here. You see that small
dressing-case of mine over there?"--and he indicated a square
crocodile-skin case with silver fittings. "Well, at ten o'clock go and
get the car out on the excuse that you have to go into Peterborough for
me. You will find Shand's bag already in it, so put your own in also,
but don't let anybody see you. Run her down the road about a mile from
the lodge-gates and into that by-road just beyond the finger-posts where
I showed you the other day. Then pull up, put out the lights, and leave
her as though you've had a breakdown. Walk back here, get my
dressing-case, and carry it back to the car. Then wait for us. Only
recollect, don't return to get my bag until half-past ten. You see those
two candles on the dressing-table? Now if any hitch occurs, I shall
light them. So if I do, leave my bag here and bring my car back. You
understand?"
"Quite," I said, full of excitement. And then I helped him to dress
hurriedly, and he went downstairs.
We were about to "hold up" the spy. But how?
Those hours dragged slowly by. I peeped into the hall after dinner and
saw the Honourable Bob seated in a corner with the Baronne, away from
the others, chatting with her. The spy, all unsuspicious, was talking to
his hostess, while Shand was playing poker.
Just before ten I crept out with my small bag, unseen by any one, and
walked across the park to the garage. The night was stormy, the moon was
hidden behind a cloud-bank. There was nobody about, so I got out the
"ninety," started her, and mounting at the wheel was soon gliding down
the avenue, out of the lodge-gates, and into the by-road which the
Honourable Bob had indicated. Descending, I looked inside the car and
saw that Shand's bag had already been placed there by an unknown hand.
In that short run I noticed I had lost the screw cap of the radiator.
This surprised me, for I recollected how that evening when filling up
with water I had screwed it down tightly. Somebody must have tampered
with it--some stable lad, perhaps.
Having extinguished the head-lights, I walked back to the Hall by the
stile and footpath, avoiding the lodge-gates, and managed to slip up to
my master's room, just as the stable-clock was chiming the half hour.
The candles were unlit. All was therefore in order. The dressing-bag
was, however, not there. I searched for it in vain. Then stealing out
again I sped by the footpath back to the car.
Somebody hailed me in the darkness as I approached the spot where I had
left her.
I recognized the spy's voice.
"Have you see Herr Brackenbury?" he asked in his broken English.
I halted, amazed. The spy had, it seemed, outwitted us and upset all our
plans!
Scarcely could I reply, however, before I heard a movement behind me,
and two figures loomed up. They were my master and Shand.
"All right?" inquired the American in a low voice, to which the spy gave
an affirmative answer.
"Light those lamps, Nye," ordered my master quickly. "We must get away
this instant."
"But----" I exclaimed.
"Quick, my dear fellow! There's not a moment to lose. Jump in, boys," he
urged.
And a couple of minutes later, with our lamps glaring, we had turned out
upon the broad highway and were travelling at a full forty miles an hour
upon the high road to Leicester.
What could it all mean? My master and his companion seemed on the most
friendly terms with the spy.
Ten miles from the lodge-gates of Edgcott at a cross-road we picked up
an ill-dressed man whom I recognised as the Baptist missionary, Richard
Raven, and with the Honourable Bob at my side directing me we tore on
through the night, traversing numberless by-roads, until at dawn I
suddenly recognised that we were on the North Road, close to Codicote.
A quarter of an hour later we had run the car round to the rear of
Shand's pretty rose-embowered cottage, and all descended.
I made excuse to the Honourable Bob that the screw top of the radiator
was missing, whereupon von Rausch laughed heartily, and picking up a
piece of wire from the bench he bent it so as to form a hook, and with
it fished down in the hot water inside.
His companions stood watching, but judge my surprise when I saw him of a
sudden draw forth a small aluminium cylinder, the top of which he
screwed off and from it took out a piece of tracing-linen tightly
folded.
This he spread out, and my quick eyes saw that it was a carefully drawn
tracing of a portion of the new type of battleship of the _Neptune_
class (the improved _Dreadnought_ type), with many marginal notes in
German in a feminine hand.
In an instant the astounding truth became plain to me. The Baronne, who
was in von Rausch's employ, had no doubt surreptitiously obtained the
original from Mr. Henry Seymour's despatch-box, it having been sent down
to him to Edgcott for his approval.
A most important British naval secret was, I saw, in the hands of the
clever spies of the Kaiser!
I made no remark, for in presence of those men was I not helpless?
They took the tracing in the house, and for half an hour held carousal
in celebration of their success.
Presently Brackenbury came forth to me and said:
"The Colonel is going to Harwich this evening, and you must drive him.
The boat for the 'Hook' leaves at half-past ten, I think."
"Very well, sir," I replied, with apparent indifference. "I shall be
quite ready."
At seven we started, von Rausch and I, and until darkness fell I drove
eastward, when at last we found ourselves in Ipswich.
Suddenly, close to the White Horse Hotel and within hailing distance of
a police-constable, I brought the car to a dead stop, and turning to the
German, who was seated beside me, said in as quiet a tone as I could:
"Colonel von Rausch, I'll just trouble you to hand over to me the
tracing you and your friends have stolen from Mr. Henry Seymour--the
details of the new battleship about to be built at Chatham."
"What do you mean?" cried the spy. "Drive on, you fool. I have no time
to lose."
"I wish for that tracing," I said, whipping out the revolver I always
carried. "Give it to me."
"What next!" he laughed, in open defiance. "Who are you, a mere servant,
that you should dictate to me?"
"I'm an Englishman!" I replied. "And I'll not allow you to take that
secret to your employers in Berlin."
The Colonel glanced round in some confusion. He was evidently averse to
a scene in that open street.
"Come into the hotel yonder," he said. "We can discuss the matter
there."
"It admits of no discussion," I said firmly. "You will hand me the
tracing over which you have so ingeniously deceived me, or I shall call
the constable yonder and have you detained while we communicate with the
Admiralty."
"Drive on, I tell you," he cried in anger. "Don't be an ass!"
"I am not a fool," I answered. "Give me that tracing."
"Never."
I turned and whistled to the constable, who had already noticed us in
heated discussion.
The officer approached, but von Rausch, finding himself in a corner,
quickly produced an envelope containing the tracing and handed it to me,
urging:
"Remain silent, Nye. Say nothing. You have promised."
I broke open the envelope, and after satisfying myself he had not
deceived me, I placed it safely in my breast-pocket, as further evidence
of the work of the Kaiser's spies amongst us.
Then, with excuses to the constable, I swung the car into the yard of
the White Horse Hotel, where the spy descended, and with a fierce
imprecation in German he hurried out, and I saw him no more.
At midnight I was in Ray's chambers, in Bruton Street, and we rang up
Mr. Henry Seymour, who had, we found, returned to his house in Curzon
Street from Edgcott only a couple of hours before.
In ignorance that spies had obtained the secret of the _Neptune_ or
improved _Dreadnought_, he would not at first believe the story we told
him.
But when in his own library half an hour later we handed him back the
tracing, he was compelled to admit the existence of German espionage in
England, though in the House of Commons only a week before he had
scorned the very idea.