The News Leaks Out
"HERE'S a letter from Kiel for you," announced Octavius Smith as he
entered the cabin of the _Diomeda_. "You're a rum card, Stirling; you
generally manage to get hold of everything you want. Bless me if I
ever thought you'd get a reply from Pfeil."
"It's quite about time," replied Gordon Stirling unconcernedly as he
caught the envelope his companion tossed towards him.
Ten days had elapsed since Stirling had set out to carry off a
journalistic scoop. Allowing for two Sundays, that were not counted
in ordinary leave, only six more days remained. In less than a week
he would have to be slogging away in the Inland Revenue Office at
Lowestoft, making up arrears of work that his confrères were bound to
keep open for him. That is one of the ethics of a Government
Department. A fellow returning from leave is supposed to be like a
young giant refreshed with wine--ready and willing to tackle any
accumulative work. The result is that almost all the benefits from a
holiday are thrown away upon a desperate attempt to reduce the pile
of bookwork to reasonable dimensions.
For days past the westerly breeze had held. Smith was beginning to
fret at the enforced detention, especially as he learnt from
meteorological reports that only a few miles to the north the wind
was almost exactly in the opposite direction.
"There you are!" exclaimed Stirling excitedly. "Didn't I say so?"
"Say what?" demanded the skipper, deliberately recharging his pipe.
"I'll read you Pfeil's letter. There are one or two words I can't
make out without a dictionary, but I can make a very good guess at
them:
"T.B.D. S167.
"KIEL.
"DEAR SIR,--
"In answer to your letter, I hasten to send this by the
next dispatch. I know your friends, Herr Hamerton and
Herr Detroit, are in Heligoland, so there must be a
mistake in the story that they met with a disaster. How
I know is this: my brother Sigismund is in S174, one of
the boats operating with us when I fell overboard and
was rescued by your friends. Directly I was landed I
wrote to him assuring him of my safety, and describing
the yacht and her crew who treated me so kindly. In his
reply he told me the English yacht was lying off
Heligoland, and that Herr Hamerton and his friend had
landed to be the guests of one of our German officers.
The next day the yacht was towed away--I think it was
to Bremen--to undergo some repairs. The Englishmen
remained. Five days ago my brother's torpedo-boat
destroyer S174 left for the purpose of towing her back
to Heligoland. She has apparently been delayed by bad
weather, for she has not yet returned. This ought to
dispel any doubts in your mind concerning an accident
to your friends. We leave for Stettin to-morrow on a
three-weeks' cruise.
"With respects,
"Yours,
"HANS PFEIL."
"There, old man, what do you think of that?"
Smith puffed vigorously at his pipe for a minute or so. His knitted
eyebrows showed that he was deep in thought.
"Fishy; decidedly fishy," he remarked. "Stirling, you stand a chance
of pulling off your scoop after all. It is fishy--very. The
_Diomeda_, lying here in Delfzyl, is supposed to be at Bremen for
repairs. The German destroyer S174 is supposed to be sent to tow her
back. I wonder whether that vessel that is persistently hanging about
off the entrance to the Dollart is S174?"
"We'll find out," said Stirling decisively. "Come along. Van Wyk will
be able to tell us."
They found the old harbourmaster in his office.
"The number of that German destroyer?" he repeated. "I know not; but
since you are curious I can find out. Come with me to the quay; the
_Maas_ has just returned. It is possible that Captain Jan will be
able to tell us."
Captain Jan van Hoes, the skipper of the botter _Maas_, was sitting
on the brightly painted skylight of his craft. A long pipe was in his
mouth; his hands were deep in his voluminous pockets; his legs,
encased in stiff baggy, trousers, were thrust out straight in front
of him.
"Passed that German craft, aye, that I did," said the old skipper,
without removing either his pipe or his hands. "Steaming
south-south-west about four miles outside Rottumeroog. S174 was her
number. Saw it through my glass as plainly as I can see the town-hall
clock."
"Thank you for your information," said Stirling, offering the old
fellow a gulden. Captain Jan looked at the coin, began to draw one
hand from his pocket, and then slowly thrust it back again.
"I want no money for doing nothing, Mynheer," he said. "You are
welcome to what I have told you."
"Look here," began Smith, when the two Englishmen regained the deck
of the _Diomeda_, "this job wants any amount of tact. I don't think
I'd telegraph the information. It will keep a few hours longer."
"And what then?"
"Get back to London as fast as you can. Don't mind me; I can hang on
here very comfortably. See your editor and explain matters to him.
He'll be able to deal with the business far more diplomatically than
either you or I can. If he thinks fit to publish the news, well and
good; but my private opinion is that he will communicate with the
Foreign Office. The British and United States ambassadors in Berlin
will be instructed to ask a few questions, and in less than a week
Hamerton and Detroit will be set at liberty."
"But supposing Thompson decides otherwise?"
"Then there'll be war between Great Britain and the United States on
the one hand and Germany on the other, unless Germany climbs down.
Popular sentiment will be raised to such a pitch that war will be
inevitable. But Thompson won't, except as a last resource. Now pack
up and clear out. You'll just manage to catch the Harwich boat."
Sixteen hours later Stirling entered the private office of Harold
Bennett, the editor of _The Yachtsman's Journal_. Bennett eyed him
sadly, for Stirling's "special" looked as if it meant a financial
loss to the already slender resources of the paper.
"I've found out something," exclaimed Stirling excitedly. "Hamerton
and Detroit are alive. They are in Heligoland. There is every reason
to believe that they are imprisoned as spies under the names of John
and William Smith."
"Have you proof?"
"Yes."
"Then why in the name of thunder didn't you wire? We've just gone to
press, and there'll be nearly a week's delay. I'm bound to inform
Thompson, and by next Friday the news will be as stale as anything.
Anyhow, let's have the story."
Not a word did Bennett speak while Stirling was relating the
incidents of his stay at Delfzyl and expounding his theories.
Occasionally he would make a pencil note on his blotting pad.
"I quite agree with you, Stirling," he said at length. "A precipitate
disclosure would be most injudicious. I'll ring up Thompson.
"You there, Thompson? This is Bennett. Can you spare me half an
hour?"
"Impossible."
"You must. Stirling, my special, has just returned from Holland. Very
important news."
"Well, out with it."
"Must see you personally."
"Very well then." Thompson glanced irritably at the half-completed
"leader" on his desk. "Half an hour. Ring off."
It was more than two hours before _The Yachtsman's Journal_ editor
and Stirling left the offices of _The Westminster Daily Record_. They
did not leave alone. Thompson accompanied them, having delegated the
completion of his leader to the sub-editor.
Outside the offices the three men entered a taxi and were driven to
the Foreign Office. The presentation of Thompson's card was a sure
passport to the sanctum of Sir Theophilus Brazenose, the Secretary of
State for Foreign Affairs.
Sir Theophilus was essentially a strong man. He was active in mind
and body, prompt to act, yet displaying a natural caution that on
many occasions had stood him in good stead, and had piloted the
nation through many an international crisis.
"You are quite right, Thompson," he remarked, after carefully
listening to the editor's narrative, and perusing the letter which
Stirling had received from Hans Pfeil. "This is a delicate situation.
Extreme reticence and secrecy are essential. Of course I quite agree
with you that this German seaman's name should not appear in any
dispatches forwarded to our ambassador in Berlin. It would result in
the severest punishment being inflicted upon him by the German
Admiralty for his unquestionable indiscretion, however serviceable it
may be to us. By all means refrain from making the news public. I
will decide what is to be done as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Mr.
Stirling, let me offer you my congratulations on your zeal, tact, and
astuteness."
Stirling bowed. In his mind he was wondering whether Sir Theophilus
would be so lavish with his praises if he knew that he (Stirling) was
a civil servant drawing a paltry salary of a hundred a year.
"You'll be in town for a few days, I hope?" asked Thompson, when the
three journalists returned to the offices of _The Westminster Daily
Record_. "I hardly know. You see, my leave is up next Saturday."
"Your leave?" asked Thompson brusquely.
"Yes; I'm not on the regular staff of _The Yachtsman's Journal_. I'm
in the Inland Revenue Office at Lowestoft."
"Good post?"
"Hardly," Stirling told him.
"Chuck it, my lad. Send in your resignation. You're merely wasting
your time there. I'll offer you a post at two hundred and fifty
pounds as special correspondent; permanency, mind you, with good
prospects; send you back to the Continent till this Heligoland
business is finished with."
Two more days passed. The Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs was
in constant telegraphic communication with the British Ambassador in
Berlin. The most elaborate cipher was used, and precautions taken to
prevent leakage of unauthentic information.
The Ambassador was instructed to apply to the German Government for
permission to interview John and William Smith, the condemned spies;
the authorities at Berlin hedged. They took umbrage at the somewhat
unusual request.
Suddenly a journalistic bombshell burst upon the British public. In
_The Morning Remembrancer_, a "rag" with a comparatively limited
circulation, appeared the following, in heavy type:--
"THE IDENTITY OF THE HELIGOLAND SPIES
"STARTLING REPORTS
"(Specially contributed to this Journal)
"Advice from our own correspondent reveals the
startling fact that the identity of the two persons
sentenced, under the names of John and William Smith,
to five years' detention for espionage has been made
known. The victims of an international outrage are
Sub-Lieutenant John Hamerton, R.N., and Mr. Oswald
Detroit, son of Senator Jonathan Detroit, of Norfolk,
Virginia, U.S.A. The story of their supposed tragic
fate in the North Sea, being reported to have been lost
overboard from the yacht _Diomeda_, is still fresh in
the public memory. Further startling disclosures are
imminent. We understand that representations have been
made to Germany by the Governments of Great Britain and
the United States for the immediate release of the
alleged spies."
Stirling happened to be at the office of _The Westminster Daily
Record_ when Thompson's attention was called to the dramatic
announcement in the rival publication.
Thompson was not usually a man to give way to outbursts of temper. He
was generally brusque, deliberate, and level-headed, but on this
occasion his fury for a few moments was uncontrollable.
"Someone has sold us!" he shouted. "That wretched rag has got the
laugh at us. If I could only get hold of the fellow that supplied the
information--it wasn't you, Stirling?"
"No, sir," replied that individual.
"I believe you. Sorry I asked the question." Thompson was growing
calmer by this time. "It's bad enough for our reputation to let a
rival collar what is by right our scoop. Makes my blood boil. And,
not only that, there's a fresh danger of an international rupture. A
little diplomacy would perhaps have settled this spy business. Sir
Theophilus Brazenose has the matter in hand, and now the fat is in
the fire. Just you 'phone to Bennett and ask him if he knows anything
about the matter."
But before Stirling could get connected the editor of _The
Yachtsman's Journal_ hurriedly entered.
"Seen this, Thompson?" he asked, holding up a folded copy of _The
Morning Remembrancer_.
"Of course," replied Thompson dryly. "It does not do to go about with
one's eyes shut. All the same, it's a bad business; another case of
journalistic integrity letting one down pretty badly."
"What do you propose doing?"
"Calling at the Foreign Office. It's close on ten, and Sir Theophilus
will be there at that hour. Come along, and you too, Stirling."
"One moment," said Bennett. "You will be losing precious time. Get a
special out. Explain matters, and ask the public to reserve judgment
until the Foreign Office has had its say."
Without a word Thompson sat down, took up a pencil, and began to
scribble. There was no hesitation; the point of his pencil glided
over the paper at a rapid pace, yet each letter was formed as clearly
as if it were copperplate.
"There!" he exclaimed, when the leader was finished. "How will that
do?"
Bennett took the proffered slip, and read:
"THE HELIGOLAND ESPIONAGE CASE
"With reference to the report appearing in the columns
of a contemporary, it will doubtless be interesting to
know that the material facts brought to public notice
have been known to this journal for some time. Since it
is our principle to take our readers into our
confidence, we now have no hesitation in stating the
actual facts of the case. Our special commissioner
returned from the Continent on Monday last, bringing
with him the startling news that the spies condemned
under the names of John and William Smith were
_supposed_ to be Sub-Lieutenant Hamerton, R.N., and Mr.
Oswald Detroit, an American citizen. We venture to
suggest that our contemporary has no actual proof that
such is the case, and we throw out a challenge to that
effect.
"Immediately upon receiving our commissioner's report,
we, together with the editor of an influential yachting
journal, waited upon Sir Theophilus Brazenose,
Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and laid the
matter before him. Sir Theophilus acted immediately,
issuing instructions to the British Ambassador in
Berlin. At the same time he urged upon us the necessity
of withholding the news from the public until our
commissioner's report was either confirmed or
contradicted.
"This we cordially agreed to do, in the belief that it
was in the interests of the nation. Unfortunately the
news has leaked out through some obscure channel. We
therefore ask the public to refrain for the moment from
making any demonstrations of antagonism towards a
friendly Power, and to leave the issue confidently in
the hands of His Majesty's most able Minister for
Foreign Affairs."
"That ought to act as a cold douche to our hot-headed friends on the
staff of _The Morning Remembrancer_," observed Bennett. "Now, we'll
be off to the Foreign Office."
They found Sir Theophilus considerably perturbed at the ill-judged
announcement in _The Morning Remembrancer_. He realized the danger of
a popular outburst.
"The nation ought to be roused to a pitch of indignation should Mr.
Stirling's report prove correct," he observed; "only, there is this
radical point: we have no proof. It is evident that some subordinate
has been induced to impart confidential information, and this
catchpenny journal has jumped to the conclusion that Mr. Stirling's
suppositions are absolutely correct. They may be, of course, but on
the face of it the action of the German authorities seems
preposterous."
"Yet Stirling is emphatic upon the point that Hamerton and his
American friend are in Heligoland. There is also definite proof that
a German destroyer is dodging about off the Dollart. There was also a
report spread about to the effect that the yacht was towed to Bremen
for repairs, while all the time she was lying at Delfzyl," observed
Thompson.
"There is certainly ground for strong suspicions," admitted Sir
Theophilus. "I frankly admit that we have often to act on rumours far
less trustworthy than these. However, we can only await a reply from
the British Embassy at Berlin. Meanwhile there is popular opinion to
be taken into account. I think that----"
A tap on the door, followed by the entry of one of the
under-secretaries, caused Sir Theophilus to break off abruptly. The
subordinate, observing that his chief was engaged, was about to back
out of the door, when Sir Theophilus asked him what he wanted.
"Here is a copy of the special edition of _The Westminster Daily
Record_, sir," he announced. "There is a leader on the Heligoland
affair. I thought perhaps you would care to see it."
"So you could not refrain, Mr. Thompson?" asked Sir Theophilus, with
a suspicion of reproachfulness in his voice.
Thompson did not reply. He merely shrugged his broad shoulders and
waited.
The Secretary of State began to read. As he did so his visitors
narrowly watched his features. Gradually the frown on his brows
relaxed.
"Excellent, Thompson, excellent!" he exclaimed. "You've tackled the
business with most praiseworthy skill. We can now only await
developments. Rest assured that as soon as I have a _communiqué_ from
the Embassy I will send for you again."
But in spite of the efforts of the editor of _The Westminster Daily
Record_, the storm raised by the rival journal attained huge
dimensions. There were indignation meetings in almost every town and
village of the United Kingdom. Letters abusing the Government and
accusing the Foreign Office of being weak-kneed and incapable poured
in by every post. Shouts of "Down with Germany" were raised in
Parliament Street and in Trafalgar Square while intolerant demands
were made that the Fleet should proceed to German waters and smash
the Teutonic Navy to smithereens.
Nor was the anti-German outburst confined to this side of the
"Herring Pond". From New York to San Francisco, and from the Canadian
frontier to the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, the usually
level-headed citizens of the greatest republic on earth shouted for
revenge for the insult offered to one of their sons. It required the
greatest diplomacy on the part of those in authority tactfully to
curb the impatience of millions until the fateful report from Berlin
should arrive.
The British and United States Ambassadors at the German capital lost
no time in presenting a polite yet firm demand that they should be
permitted to have access to the two condemned spies. To this the
Kaiser's ministers promised their consideration.
Meanwhile General Heinrich von Wittelsbach had been hurriedly
summoned to Berlin. He fully realized that there was danger ahead.
There were two courses open to him: either to confess his error,
explain his motives, and throw himself upon the clemency of his
Imperial master; or else to take a high hand, stanchly declare that
no mistake had been made, and appeal to the Kaiser not to lower the
dignity of the Hohenzollerns by submitting to the arrogant demands of
the ambassadors of Great Britain and the United States.
He chose the latter course. It would mean either victory or
dishonour, whereas by the former course nothing but disgrace would be
his portion.
It was at a levee in the imperial palace of Potsdam that the Emperor
questioned the governor of his fortress of Heligoland.
Von Wittelsbach's answer came--firmly and without hesitation.
"Sire, I give you my solemn word--the word of a soldier--that neither
the English officer, Hamerton, nor the American, Detroit, is in the
Island of Heligoland."
Therein he spoke truthfully, for before leaving for Berlin the
commandant had ordered the removal of the prisoners to the adjacent
island of Sandinsel.