THE SECRET OF THE CLYDE DEFENCES
A curious episode was that of the plans of the Clyde Defences. It was a
February evening. Wet, tired, and hungry, I turned the long grey touring
car into the yard of the old "White Hart," at Salisbury, and descended
with eager anticipation of a big fire and comfortable dinner.
My mechanic Bennett and I had been on the road since soon after dawn,
and we yet had many miles to cover. Two months ago I had mounted the car
at the garage in Wardour Street and set out upon a long and weary
ten-thousand-mile journey in England, not for pleasure, as you may well
imagine--but purely upon business. My business, to be exact, was
reconnoitring, from a military stand-point, all the roads and by-roads
lying between the Tyne and the Thames as well as certain districts
south-west of London, in order to write the book upon similar lines to
_The Invasion of 1910_.
For two months we had lived upon the road. Sometimes Ray and Vera had
travelled with me. When Bennett and I had started it was late and
pleasant autumn. Now it was bleak, black winter, and hardly the kind of
weather to travel twelve or fourteen hours daily in an open car. Day
after day, week after week, the big "sixty" had roared along, ploughing
the mud of those ever-winding roads of England until we had lost all
count of the days of the week; my voluminous note-books were gradually
being filled with valuable data, and the nerves of both of us were
becoming so strained that we were victims of insomnia. Hence at night,
when we could not sleep, we travelled.
In a great portfolio in the back of the car I carried the six-inch
ordnance map of the whole of the east of England divided into many
sections, and upon these I was carefully marking out, as result of my
survey, the weak points of our land in case an enemy invaded our shores
from the North Sea. All telegraphs, telephones, and cables from London
to Germany and Holland I was especially noting, for would not the
enemy's emissaries, before they attempted to land, seize all means of
communication with the metropolis? Besides this I took note of places
where food could be obtained, lists of shops, and collected a quantity
of other valuable information.
In this work I had been assisted by half a dozen of the highest officers
of the Intelligence Department of the War Office, as well as other
well-known experts--careful, methodical work prior to writing my
forecast of what must happen to our beloved country in case of invasion.
The newspapers had referred to my long journey of inquiry, and often
when I arrived in a town, our car, smothered in mud, yet its powerful
engines running like a clock, was the object of public curiosity, while
Bennett, with true chauffeur-like imperturbability, sat immovable,
utterly regardless of the interest we created. He was a
gentleman-driver, and the best man at the wheel I ever had.
When we were in a hurry he would travel nearly a mile a minute over an
open road, sounding his siren driven off the fly-wheel, and scenting
police-traps, with the happy result that we were never held up for
exceeding the limit. We used to take it in turns to drive--three hours
at a time.
On that particular night, when we entered Salisbury from Wincanton Road,
having come up from Exeter, it had been raining unceasingly all day, and
we presented a pretty plight in our yellow fishermen's oilskins--which
we had bought weeks before in King's Lynn as the only means of keeping
dry--dripping wet and smothered to our very eyes in mud.
After a hasty wash I entered the coffee-room, and found that I was the
sole diner save a short, funny, little old lady in black bonnet and
cape, and a young, rather pretty, well-dressed girl, whom I took to be
her daughter, seated at a table a little distance away.
Both glanced at me as they entered, and I saw that ere I was half
through my meal their interest in me had suddenly increased. Without
doubt, the news of my arrival had gone round the hotel, and the waiter
had informed the pair of my identity.
It was then eight o'clock, and I had arranged with Bennett that after a
rest, we would push forward at half-past ten by Marlborough, as far as
Swindon, on our way to Birmingham.
The waiter had brought me a couple of telegrams from Ray telling me good
news of another inquiry he was instituting, and having finished my meal
I was seated alone by the smoking-room fire enjoying a cigarette and
liqueur. Indeed, I had almost fallen asleep when the waiter returned,
saying:
"Excuse me, sir, but there's a lady outside in great distress. She wants
to speak to you for a moment, and asks if she may come in." He presented
a card, and the name upon it was "Mrs. Henry Bingham."
Rather surprised, I nevertheless consented to see her, and in a few
moments the door reopened and the younger of the two ladies I had seen
at dinner entered.
She bowed to me as I rose, and then, evidently in a state of great
agitation, she said:
"I must apologise for disturbing you, only--only I thought perhaps you
would be generous enough, when you have heard of our difficulty, to
grant my mother and I a favour."
"If I can be of any assistance to you, I shall be most delighted, I'm
sure," I answered, as her big grey eyes met mine.
"Well," she said, looking me straight in the face, "the fact is that our
car has broken down--something wrong with the clutch, our man says--and
we can't get any further to-night. We are on our way to Swindon--to my
husband, who has met with an accident and is in the hospital, but--but,
unfortunately, there is no train to-night. Your chauffeur has told our
man that you are just leaving for Swindon, and my mother and I have been
wondering--well--whether we might encroach upon your good nature and
beg seats in your car?"
"You are quite welcome to travel with me, of course," I replied without
hesitation. "But I fear that on such a night it will hardly be pleasant
to travel in an open car."
"Oh, we don't mind that a bit," she assured me. "We have lots of
waterproofs and things. It is really most kind of you. I had a telegram
at four o'clock this afternoon that my husband had been taken to the
hospital for operation, and naturally I am most anxious to be at his
side."
"Naturally," I said. "I regret very much that you should have such cause
for distress. Let us start at once. I shall be ready in ten minutes."
While she went back to her mother, I went out into the yard where the
head-lights of my big "sixty" were gleaming.
"We shall have two lady passengers to Swindon, Bennett," I said, as my
chauffeur threw away his cigarette and approached me. "What kind of car
have the ladies?"
"A twenty-four. It's in the garage up yonder. The clutch won't hold, it
seems. But their man's a foreigner, and doesn't speak much English. I
suppose I'd better pack our luggage tighter, so as to give the ladies
room."
"Yes. Do so. And let's get on the road as soon as possible."
"Very well, sir," responded the man as he entered the car and began
packing our suit-cases together while almost immediately the two ladies
emerged, the elder one, whose voice was harsh and squeaky, and who was,
I noticed, very deformed, thanking me profusely.
We stowed them away as comfortably as possible, and just as the
cathedral chimes rang out half-past ten, the ladies gave parting
injunctions to their chauffeur, and we drew out of the yard.
I apologised for the dampness and discomfort of an open car, and briefly
explained my long journey and its object. But both ladies--the name of
the queer little old widow I understood to be Sandford--only laughed,
and reassured me that they were all right.
That night I drove myself. With the exhaust opened and roaring, and the
siren shrieking, we sped along through the dark, rainy night up by old
Sarum, through Netheravon, and across Overton Heath into Marlborough
without once changing speed or speaking with my passengers. As we came
down the hill from Ogbourne, I had to pull up suddenly for a farmer's
cart, and turned, asking the pair behind how they were faring.
As I did so I noticed that both of them seemed considerably flurried,
but attributed it to the high pace we had been travelling when I had so
suddenly pulled up on rounding the bend.
Three-quarters of an hour later I deposited them at their destination,
the "Goddard Arms," in Old Swindon, and, descending, received their
profuse thanks, the elder lady giving me her card with an address in
Earl's Court Road, Kensington, and asking me to call upon her when in
London.
It was then half an hour past midnight, but Bennett and I resolved to
push forward as far as Oxford, which we did, arriving at the "Mitre"
about half-past one, utterly fagged and worn out.
Next day was brighter, and we proceeded north to Birmingham and across
once again to the east coast, where the bulk of my work lay.
About a fortnight went by. With the assistance of two well-known
staff-officers I had been reconnoitring the country around Beccles, in
Suffolk, which we had decided upon as a most important strategical
point, and one morning I found myself at that old-fashioned hotel "The
Cups," at Colchester, taking a day's rest. The two officers had returned
to London, and I was again alone.
Out in the garage I found a rather smart, good-looking man in navy serge
chatting with Bennett and admiring my car. My chauffeur, with pardonable
pride, had been telling him of our long journey, and as I approached,
the stranger informed me of his own enthusiasm as a motorist.
"Curiously enough," he added, "I have been wishing to meet you, in order
to thank you for your kindness to my mother and sister the other night
at Salisbury. My name is Sandford--Charles Sandford--and if I'm not
mistaken we are members of the same club--White's."
"Are we?" I exclaimed. "Then I'm delighted to make your acquaintance."
We lounged together for half an hour, smoking and chatting, until
presently he said:
"I live out at Edwardstone, about ten miles from here. Why not come out
and dine with me to-night? My place isn't very extensive, but it's cosy
enough for a bachelor. I'd feel extremely honoured if you would. I'm all
alone. Do come."
Cosmopolitan that I am, yet I am not prone to accept the invitations of
strangers. Nevertheless this man was not altogether a stranger, for was
he not a member of my own club? Truth to tell, I had become bored by the
deadly dullness of country hotels, therefore I was glad enough to accept
his proffered hospitality and spend a pleasant evening.
"Very well," he said. "I'll send a wire to my housekeeper, and I'll
pilot you in your car to my place this evening. We'll start at seven,
and dine at eight--if that will suit you?"
And so it was arranged.
Bennett had the whole of the day to go through the car and do one or two
necessary repairs, while Sandford and myself idled about the town. My
companion struck me as an exceedingly pleasant fellow, who, having
travelled very extensively, now preferred a quiet existence in the
country, with a little hunting and a little shooting in due season, to
the dinners, theatres, and fevered haste of London life.
The evening proved a very dark one with threatening rain as we turned
out of the yard of "The Cups," Sandford and I seated behind. My friend
directed Bennett from time to time, and soon we found ourselves out on
the Sudbury road. We passed through a little place which I knew to be
Heyland, and then turned off to the right, across what seemed to be a
wide stretch of bleak, open country.
Over the heath we went, our head-lights glaring far before us, for about
two miles when my friend called to Bennett:
"Turn to the left at the cross-roads."
And a few moments later we were travelling rather cautiously up a rough
by-road, at the end of which we came to a long, old-fashioned house--a
farm-house evidently, transformed into a residence.
The door was opened by a middle-aged, red-faced man-servant, and as I
stepped within the small hall hung with foxes' masks, brushes, and other
trophies, my friend wished me a hearty welcome to his home.
The dining-room proved to be an old-fashioned apartment panelled from
floor to ceiling. The table, set for two, bore a fine old silver
candelabra, a quantity of antique plate, and, adorned with flowers, was
evidently the table of a man who was comfortably off.
We threw off our heavy coats and made ourselves cosy beside the fire
when the servant, whom my host addressed as Henry, brought in the soup.
Therefore we went to the table and commenced.
The meal proved a well-cooked and well-chosen one, and I congratulated
him upon his cook.
"I'm forty, and for twenty years I was constantly on the move," he
remarked, with a laugh. "Nowadays I'm glad to be able to settle down in
England."
A moment later I heard the sound of a car leaving the house.
"Is that my car?" I asked, rather surprised.
"Probably your man is taking it round to the back in order to put it
under cover. Hark! it has started to rain."
To me, however, the sound, growing fainter, was very much as though
Bennett had driven the car away.
The wines which Henry served so quietly and sedately were of the best.
But both my host and myself drank little.
Sandford was telling me of the strange romance concerning his sister
Ellen and young Bingham--a man who had come into eight thousand a year
from his uncle, and only a few days later had met with an accident in
Swindon, having been knocked down by a train at a level-crossing.
Presently, after dessert, our conversation ran upon ports and their
vintages, when suddenly my host remarked:
"I don't know whether you are a connoisseur of brandies, but I happen to
have a couple of rather rare vintages. Let's try them."
I confessed I knew but little about brandies.
"Then I'll teach you how to test them in future," he laughed, adding,
"Henry, bring up those three old cognacs, a bottle of ordinary brandy,
and some liqueur-glasses."
In a few minutes a dozen little glasses made their appearance on a
tray, together with four bottles of brandy, three unlabelled, while the
fourth bore the label of a well-known brand.
"It is not generally known, I think, that one cannot test brandy with
any degree of accuracy by the palate," he said, removing his cigar.
"I wasn't aware of that," I said.
"Well, I'll show you," he went on, and taking four glasses in a row he
poured a little spirit out of each of the bottles into the bottoms of
the glasses. This done, he twisted each glass round in order to wet the
inside with the spirit, and the surplus he emptied into his finger-bowl.
Then, handing me two, he said: "Just hold one in each hand till they're
warm. So."
And taking the remaining two he held one in the hollow of each hand.
For a couple or three minutes we held them thus while he chatted about
the various vintages. Then we placed them in a row.
"Now," he said, "take up each one separately and smell it."
I did so, and found a most pleasant perfume--each, however, quite
separate and distinct, as different as eau-de-Cologne is from lavender
water.
"This," he said, after sniffing at one glass, "is 1815--Waterloo year--a
magnificent vintage. And this," he went on, handing me the second glass,
"is 1829--very excellent, but quite a distinct perfume, you notice. The
third is 1864--also good. Of the 1815 I very fortunately have two
bottles. Bellamy, in Pall Mall, has three bottles, and there are perhaps
four bottles in all Paris. That is all that's left of it. The
fourth--smell it--is the ordinary brandy of commerce."
I did so, but the odour was nauseating after the sweet and distinct
perfume of the other three.
"Just try the 1815," he urged, carefully pouring out about a third of a
glass of the precious pale gold liquid and handing it to me.
I sipped it, finding it exceedingly pleasant to the palate. So old was
it that it seemed to have lost all its strength. It was a really
delicious liqueur--the liqueur of a gourmet, and assuredly a fitting
conclusion to that excellent repast.
"I think I'll have the '64," he said, pouring out a glass and swallowing
it with all the gusto of a man whose chief delight was the satisfaction
of his stomach.
I took a cigarette from the big silver box he handed me, and I stretched
out my hand for the matches.... Beyond that, curiously enough, I
recollect nothing else.
But stay! Yes, I do.
I remember seeing, as though rising from out a hazy grey mist, a woman's
face--the countenance of a very pretty girl, about eighteen, with big
blue wide-open eyes and very fair silky hair--a girl, whose eyes bore in
them a hideous look of inexpressible horror.
Next instant the blackness of unconsciousness fell upon me.
When I recovered I was amazed to find myself in bed, with the yellow
wintry sunlight streaming into the low, old-fashioned room. For some
time--how long I know not--I lay there staring at the diamond-paned
window straight before me, vaguely wondering what had occurred.
A sound at last struck the right chord of my memory--the sound of my
host's voice exclaiming cheerily:
"How do you feel, old chap? Better, I hope, after your long sleep. Do
you know it's nearly two o'clock in the afternoon?"
Two o'clock!
After a struggle I succeeded in sitting up in bed.
"What occurred?" I managed to gasp. "I--I don't exactly remember."
"Why nothing, my dear fellow," declared my friend, laughing. "You were a
bit tired last night, that's all. So I thought I wouldn't disturb you."
"Where's Bennett?"
"Downstairs with the car, waiting till you feel quite right again."
I then realised for the first time that I was still dressed. Only my
boots and collar and tie had been removed.
Much puzzled, and wondering whether it were actually possible that I had
taken too much wine, I rose to my feet and slowly assumed my boots.
Was the man standing before me a friend, or was he an enemy?
I recollected most distinctly sampling the brandy, but beyond
that--absolutely nothing.
At my host's orders Henry brought me up a refreshing cup of tea and
after a quarter of an hour or so, during which Sandford declared that
"such little annoying incidents occur in the life of every man," I
descended and found Bennett waiting with the car before the door.
As I grasped my host's hand in farewell he whispered confidentially.
"Let's say nothing about it in future. I'll call and see you in town in
a week or two--if I may."
Mechanically I declared that I should be delighted, and mounting into
the car we glided down the drive to the road.
My brain was awhirl, and I was in no mood to talk. Therefore I sat with
the frosty air blowing upon my fevered brow as we travelled back to
Colchester.
"I didn't know you intended staying the night, sir," Bennett ventured to
remark just before we entered the town.
"I didn't, Bennett."
"But you sent word to me soon after we arrived, telling me to return at
noon to-day. So I went back to 'The Cups,' and spent all this morning on
the engines."
"Who gave you that message?" I asked quickly.
"Mr. Sandford's man, Henry."
I sat in silence. What could it mean? What mystery was there?
As an abstemious man I felt quite convinced that I had not taken too
much wine. A single liqueur-glass of brandy certainly could never have
produced such an effect upon me. And strangely enough that girl's face,
so shadowy, so sweet, and yet so distorted by horror, was ever before
me.
Three weeks after the curious incident, having concluded my survey, I
found myself back in Guilford Street, my journey at last ended.
Pleasant, indeed, it was to sit again at one's own fireside after those
wet, never-ending muddy roads upon which I had lived for so long, and
very soon I settled down to arrange the mass of material I had collected
and write my book.
A few days after my return, in order to redeem my promise and to learn
more of Charles Sandford, I called at the address of the queer old
hump-backed widow in Earl's Court Road.
To my surprise, I found the house in question empty, with every evidence
of its having been to let for a year or more. There was no mistake in
the number; it was printed upon her card. This discovery caused me
increasing wonder.
What did it all mean?
Through many weeks I sat in my rooms in Bloomsbury constantly at work
upon my book. The technicalities were many and the difficulties not a
few. One of the latter--and perhaps the chief one--was to so disguise
the real vulnerable points of our country which I had discovered on my
tour with military experts as to mislead the Germans, who might seek to
make use of the information I conveyed. The book, to be of value, had, I
recognised, to be correct in detail, yet at the same time it must
suppress all facts that might be of use to a foreign Power.
The incident near Colchester had nearly passed from my mind, when one
night in February, 1909, I chanced to be having supper with Ray Raymond
and Vera at the "Carlton," when at the table on the opposite side of the
big room sat a smart, dark-haired young man with a pretty girl in
turquoise-blue.
As I looked across, our eyes met. In an instant I recollected that I had
seen that countenance somewhere before. Yes. It was actually the face of
that nightmare of mine after sampling Sandford's old cognac! I sat there
staring at her, like a man in a dream. The countenance was the sweetest
and most perfect I had ever gazed upon. Yet why had I seen it in my
unconsciousness?
I noticed that she started. Then, turning her head, she leaned over and
whispered something to her companion. Next moment, pulling her cloak
about her shoulders, she rose, and they both left hurriedly.
What could her fear imply? Why was she in such terror of me? That look
of horror which I had seen on that memorable night was again there--yet
only for one single second.
My impulse was to rise and dash after the pair. Yet, not being
acquainted with her, I should only, by so doing, make a fool of myself
and also annoy my lady friend.
And so for many days and many weeks the remembrance of that sweet and
dainty figure ever haunted me. I took a holiday, spending greater part
of the time on a friend's yacht in the Norwegian fjords. Yet I could not
get away from that face and the curious mystery attaching to it.
On my return home, I was next day rung up on the telephone by my friend
Major Carmichael, of the Intelligence Department of the War Office, who
had been one of my assistants in preparing the forthcoming book. At his
urgent request I went round to see him in Whitehall, and on being
ushered into his office, I was introduced to a tall, dark-bearded man,
whose name I understood to be Shayler.
"My dear Jacox," exclaimed the Major, "forgive me for getting you here
in order to cross-examine you, but both Shayler and myself are eagerly
in search of some information. You recollect those maps of yours, marked
with all sorts of confidential memoranda relating to the East
Coast--facts that would be of the utmost value to the German War
Office--what did you do with them?"
"I deposited them here. I suppose they're still here," was my reply.
"Yes. But you'll recollect my warning long ago, when you were
reconnoitring. Did you ever allow them to pass out of your hands?"
"Never. I carried them in my portfolio, the key of which was always on
my chain."
"Then what do you think of these?" he asked, walking to a side table
where lay a pile of twenty or thirty glass photographic negatives. And
taking up one of them, he handed it to me.
It was a photograph of one of my own maps! The plan was the section of
country in the vicinity of Glasgow. Upon it I saw notes in my own
handwriting, the tracing of the telegraph wires with the communications
of each wire, and dozens of other facts of supreme importance to the
invader.
"Great heavens!" I gasped. "Where did you get that?"
"Shayler will tell you, my dear fellow!" answered the Major. "It seems
that you've been guilty of some sad indiscretion."
"I am attached to the Special Department at New Scotland Yard,"
explained the dark-bearded man. "Two months ago a member of the secret
service in the employ of our Foreign Office made a report from Berlin
that a young girl, named Gertie Drew, living in a Bloomsbury
boarding-house, had approached the German military attache offering, for
three thousand pounds, to supply him with photographs of a number of
confidential plans of our eastern counties and of the Clyde defences.
The attache had reported to the War Office in Berlin, hence the
knowledge obtained by the British secret agent. The matter was at once
placed in my hands, and since that time I have kept careful observation
upon the girl--who has been a photographer's assistant--and those in
association with her. The result is that I have fortunately managed to
obtain possession of these negatives of your annotated plans."
"But how?" I demanded.
"By making a bold move," was the detective's reply. "The Germans were
already bargaining for these negatives when I became convinced that the
girl was only the tool of a man who had also been a photographer, and
who had led a very adventurous life--an American living away in the
country, near Colchester, under the name of Charles Sandford."
"Sandford!" I gasped, staring at him. "What is the girl like?"
"Here is her portrait," was the detective's reply.
Yes! It was the sweet face of my nightmare!
"What have you discovered regarding Sandford?" I asked presently, when I
had related to the two men the story of the meeting at Salisbury and
also my night's adventure.
"Though born in America and adopting an English name, his father was
German, and we strongly suspect him of having, on several occasions,
sold information to Germany. Yesterday, feeling quite certain of my
ground, I went down into Essex with a search warrant and made an
examination of the house. Upstairs I found a very complete photographic
plant, and concealed beneath the floor-boards in the dining-room was a
box containing these negatives, many of them being of your maps of the
Clyde defences, which they were just about to dispose of. The man had
got wind that we were keeping observation upon him, and had already
fled. The gang consisted of an old hump-backed woman, who posed as his
mother, a young woman, who he said was his married sister, but who was
really the wife of his man-servant, and the girl Drew, who was his
photographic assistant."
"Where's the girl? I suppose you don't intend to arrest her?"
"I think not. If you saw her perhaps you might induce her to tell you
the truth. The plot to photograph those plans while you were insensible
was certainly a cleverly contrived one, and it's equally certain that
the two women you met in Salisbury only travelled with you in order to
be convinced that you really carried the precious maps with you."
"Yes," I admitted, utterly amazed. "I was most cleverly trapped, but it
is most fortunate that we were forewarned, and that our zealous friends
across the water have been prevented from purchasing the detailed
exposure of our most vulnerable points."
That afternoon, Gertie Drew, the neat-waisted girl with the fair face,
walked timidly into my room, and together we sat for fully an hour,
during which time she explained how the man Sandford had abstracted the
portfolio from my car and substituted an almost exact replica, prior to
sending Bennett back to Colchester, and how at the moment of my
unconsciousness--as he was searching me for my key--she had entered the
dining-room when I had opened my eyes, and staring at her had accused
her of poisoning me. She knew she had been recognised, and that had
caused her alarm in the "Carlton."
That Sandford had managed to replace the portfolio in the car and
abstract the replica next day was explained, and that he had held the
girl completely in his power was equally apparent. Therefore, I have
since obtained for her a situation with a well-known firm of
photographers in Regent Street, where she still remains. The hump-backed
woman and her pseudo-daughter have never been seen since, but only a
couple of months ago there was recovered from the Rhine at Coblenz the
body of a man whose head was fearfully battered, and whom the police, by
his clothes and papers upon him, identified as Charles Sandford, the man
with whom I shall ever remember partaking of that peculiarly seductive
glass of 1815 cognac.