AT MIDNIGHT ON THE MARSHES. THE SECRET OF THE OLD HULK
Doctor Upjelly returned on the afternoon of the third day after he left
for London. Directly I heard his trap drive away and knew that he was in
his study, I went into his house and knocked at the door.
"I have very grave news to tell you, Doctor," I said.
He started. I distinctly saw him start and he flashed a quick look at
me. One might almost have thought that he was frightened, but he
swallowed something in his throat and his voice was calm and cold as
ever when he answered.
"And what is that, Mr. Carey?"
"I am sorry, I am very sorry, to say that Dickson max. has run away."
There was a momentary silence. I could almost have sworn it was one of
relief on the big man's part.
"What do you mean, Mr. Carey? Ran away from school?"
"Yes. He got out of his window on the very night you went. We did not
discover it until the next morning. We scoured the country round,
thinking it was merely a mischievous escapade, but found no traces of
him. I then thought it my duty to acquaint his father at once, so I went
to Norwich on my bicycle during the afternoon of the day after the
discovery. To my immense surprise, I found the boy there. He had walked
to Heacham station and taken the train. He stated that he was tired of
school and it was his intention to enlist. His father seemed to concur
in the view after we had had a long talk together. Of course, I
endeavoured to get the boy back, for the sake of the school, but it was
useless. Mr. Dickson seems a weak sort of man, and he says that he is
going to do his best to get an equipment and pay what is necessary for
Dickson to join the Public Schools Corps."
The Doctor, who was sitting down, his hand clutching a little brown
travelling-bag on the table near him, did his best to show some concern.
It was poorly done, however, and I could see that he did not care a rap
one way or the other.
"I hope you don't blame me, sir?" I said, "but I could not have foreseen
anything of the sort. It has never happened before."
"No, no. Not in the least, Mr. Carey. I am sure you acted most promptly
and wisely in going at once to the boy's father. And his brother?"
"His brother is still here and steadfastly refuses to say anything about
the affair. As far as I have been able to find out, he was quite in
ignorance of his brother's intentions."
"Well, well. Of course, I am sorry to lose the boy, but I like his
spirit," said Doctor Upjelly, without a gleam in his eyes or any warmth
in his voice. "After all, perhaps he will be better employed in
defending his country than in learning Latin grammar here--have a cigar,
Mr. Carey."
He handed me his case, a most unusual proceeding.
"And how is your brother?" he said. "I trust he is benefiting by our
pure air and that you have already been able to show him some sport."
I shook my head. "There is another strange thing I have got to tell you,
Doctor," I replied, pretending to be busy with the lighting of my cigar,
though I took very good care to watch his face reflected in the mirror
over the mantelpiece. What I saw was significant. Now, indeed, the
little black eyes gleamed for an instant, and the big, cruel mouth
twitched--once. I felt, as surely as if I had been told, that Upjelly
knew something of what had happened on the night of his departure.
"Yes," I said, "a most unfortunate affair! My brother was coming up to
see me at the school during preparation and I had previously directed
him to follow the short cut through the Sea Wood. It was quite dark, and
as he was coming along, finding his way as well as he could, a most
unprovoked attack was made upon him."
"An attack, Mr. Carey? You surprise me! Who could attack anyone on our
marshes?"
"That is just what I cannot understand. He says he heard a sort of
twanging noise, unlike anything he had ever heard before. Then something
struck him on the cheek, cutting it deeply. He shouted and ran about in
the dark, but could hear no sound, nor could he find anyone. He arrived
at the school with a bad cut on his face, bleeding profusely. I bandaged
it up as well as I could, gave him a little whisky-and-water, and then
accompanied him home, taking my ten-bore with me, though we went by the
road. Nothing happened, and the thing is a complete mystery. My brother
is, of course, not in a very good state of health after his wound. He is
confined to the inn, and will be so for some days, so I fear he will get
very little shooting at present. He's afraid of the cold getting into
his cheek."
"Dear me, dear me, what an extraordinary occurrence! Confined to the
inn, you say?"
"For at least another week, if he is wise."
I could have sworn the great, fat face wrinkled with relief, and after
we had discussed the incident for some little time, the Doctor advancing
all sorts of ingenious theories, I turned to leave. Just as I was going,
he asked me if I were going to shoot that night. I said that I should
very much like to, as the geese were working well and there were reports
of many widgeon about. Still, I thought it my duty to be with my
brother; so that, after preparation, I was going down to the inn and
should stay there for some time.
"Quite so, quite so," Upjelly replied. "I am sorry for both of you in
losing your sport; but certainly you ought to be with your brother."
"I thought of staying till late, if you don't mind," I said. "He is
rather feverish."
He swallowed the bait like a fat trout. "All night, if you wish," he
said, "all night. You will certainly not be wanted here. Yes! A good
idea! Why don't you get Mrs. Wordingham to put you up a bed?"
"If you really think I can be spared?"
"My dear Carey, on an occasion of this sort it is a pleasure for me to
dispense with your services--not that they will be wanted in any way,
for I don't suppose any more of my young ruffians are likely to run away
to enlist."
"Then thank you very much; that is what I will do."
"Yes, by all means. And, for my part, I think I shall go out and try my
luck. I must see if I can't shoot for both of you and bring back a goose
or two."
Then I went away.
Lockhart and I had tea with the boys as usual. There was an air of
suppressed excitement in the dining-hall. The exploit of Dickson max.
had fired the imagination of everyone, though possibly a keener observer
than was among his companions might have detected a suppressed and
unholy joy in Dickson major, which was not entirely due to his brother's
escapade. I had always thought that a weak spot in our plan. If the
Doctor had known anything at all about the characters of his pupils, he
would have realised that where Dickson max. went, Dickson major went
too. Fortunately the Doctor did not.
At half-past eight I dressed in fowling kit, a grey sweater, a coat of
nondescript colour, grey flannel trousers, and great thigh boots for the
marsh. My headgear was an old, dun-coloured shooting hat, the lining of
which could be pulled down to make a mask for the face, with two holes
to see through; for it is essential to the wild-fowler to wear nothing
too light or too dark, to show no glimpse of a pink face, because the
wild goose, as even the greatest big-game hunters of the day allow, is
the wariest of all created things. Then I took my heavy ten-bore, with
its dulled barrels and oxydised furniture, slipped my three-inch brass
"perfects" loaded with B.B. into my pockets, and telephoned to Doris.
It was all right. The Doctor was in his own room having supper, and
Marjorie was with him. It was impossible that he could see me leave in
fowling kit, and in a moment more I had wished my dear girl good-night
and was out in the dark.
The wind cried in the chimneys of the old house with a strange and
wailing note. The moon was not yet up, and the far-distant sea drummed
like an army. As I turned towards the Sea Wood, some great night-bird
passed overhead with an eerie cry, like a man in pain.
For myself, my heart was beating rapidly, my teeth were set and I felt
nothing of the cold. To-night, if ever, we were to discover the secret
of the marshes. My brother had taken the helm of the ship, and his
decks were cleared for action. His foresight and resource were
admirable. Nothing escaped him, and we were meeting the dark plot with
another which allowed nothing to chance. This is what had happened.
We patched up Dickson max. as well as we could--the cut was not
deep--and then my brother took him into Lockhart's room. What he said to
the lad I did not know, even now I do not know, but they came back with
the boy's eyes sparkling. He walked like a man--in those ten minutes
something had transformed him from a laughing schoolboy into a different
being. We took him at once to the Morstone Arms, and there my brother
spent a long time with Sam Wordingham and his wife. They were as true as
steel, this worthy couple. They were not told everything, but it was
explained to them that this was "Government business" of the highest
importance, and that in the King's name they must aid Bernard in every
possible way.
It did me good to see Sam's nut-brown face hardening into resolve, and
the excitement in his eyes. Dickson was put to bed in an attic of the
rambling old inn and the door was locked.
Before it was light that morning my brother stole out, walked five miles
in the opposite direction to Blankington-on-Sea, caught the fish train
from a village in the neighbourhood of Cromer, and was in London at the
Admiralty by mid-day. He returned in a fast motor car that night. The
car was housed in the garage of the Lieutenant of Coastguards at
Cockthorpe, four miles away. It was to be ready for any emergency, and
by eleven o'clock my brother was back at the Morstone Arms.
On the morning of that day, I indeed went to Norwich on my snorter. She
seemed to rise to the occasion, for she did the forty miles to Norwich
in two hours and without any mishap. I interviewed the Rev. Harold
Dickson and swore him to secrecy, and I never saw a parson more
delighted. His sons were true chips of the old block, and after lunch at
the "Maiden's Head" the clergyman almost cursed his age and cloth that
he was not also available for the service of his country.
Finally, and this provision of my brother was extraordinarily wise, as
it afterwards appeared--though he could have had no idea of what we were
to discover at that moment--three of the crew of his own submarine, all
recovering from wounds, but all taught and handy men, were, even now,
upon their way from Harwich to lodge unobtrusively at the coastguard
station at Cockthorpe, where they could await Bernard's orders.
I went through the Sea Wood, towards the inn. This was a place that had
been planted to shelter the cultivated fields behind from the keen marsh
winds. As one advanced into it from the coast side, the furze, among
which innumerable rabbits played, gave way to elders and other hardy
shrubs. It was about a quarter of a mile long and not more than two
hundred yards in breadth. The timber was all stunted and bushy, the
undergrowth was rank and thick. The trees led a life of conflict; they
were accustomed to swing there all night long in fierce winter tempests;
it was a remote and savage place, where even the pheasants of Lord
Blankington hardly ever came.
I pressed through the narrow path until I came to a little open space, a
cup or hollow through which a sluggish stream wound its way on to the
marsh. Here, the bushes were thicker than ever and the stream widened
into a pool covered with innumerable water-hen that made cheeping noises
in the night. It was covered with them as I came up noiselessly; one
could see the little black dots upon the livid, leaden expanse.
I sat down, looked at my watch--I had a fowlers' watch with what is
called the "radium dial" that showed the time in any darkness--and found
it was just half-past nine. Waiting till a gust of wind had died away, I
whistled the first three bars of "It's a long way to Tipperary." There
was no response and I whistled again. The last note had hardly shivered
away when I felt a hand upon my shoulder and I jumped like a shot man.
"It's only me, sir," sounded in my ear with a triumphant chuckle; "I
stalked you pretty well, didn't I, sir?"
"You young devil!" I replied, "you nearly frightened me out of my life!"
"I thought I would try and see what I could do, sir," said Dickson max.
He was in a black suit. I fear it was his Sunday-best. He wore no collar
and his face and hands were covered with burnt cork--a grimy, sooty
apparition the young imp looked, but, nevertheless, one couldn't have
seen him a yard away.
"You've done very well," I said. "Stick to it. The Doctor isn't such a
marshman as I am, and if you come up to him like that--well, you won't
have a difficult task. You know where I and my brother will be?"
"Yes, sir," he whispered--"in the gun-pit at the head of Garstrike."
"Right you are. Now out along as quickly as possible and bring us news
by midnight if you can."
"I am going to lie in the rhododendrons in the Doctor's garden," he
said. "He's sure to come out by his private door, and I'll follow him to
Heligoland if necessary."
I gave him a pat on the back, and as I looked round he had already
melted noiselessly into the dark and I was alone.
In the inn I found my brother. The kitchen was full of labourers
drinking their last pint before closing hour at ten. In the private bar
old Pugmire was babbling over his gin, but in the sitting-room beyond,
with curtains drawn, Bernard was all ready for the enterprise, dressed
just as I was.
"Well?" he asked.
"It's all serene. I've met Dickson and he is watching the Doctor now. In
about three-quarters of an hour the inn will be closed and all the men
gone home. Then we can set out."
Mrs. Wordingham came in with two bottles of that famous strong ale
which is kept for twenty years and which is the best antidote against
the cold of the marshes known to the wild-fowler--only an amateur takes
spirits upon the saltings.
We drank it in silence.
"I don't know what is going to turn up to-night," said Bernard. "I trust
to your knowledge of the marshes implicitly. But remember this, old
soul, it is not a lark of any sort. We shall be in the gravest danger. I
cannot exaggerate the importance of what we are doing. The Admiralty
itself is waiting for news. I am not dramatic in any way, Heaven knows!
but I'll let myself go for a minute. I believe, John, that it may well
be that we two, and the others who are helping us, hold the destinies of
England in our hands. God grant that we shall be successful!"
"I think we shall."
"I believe we are on the right track. But there is one thing I want to
say. Supposing, just supposing, that one of us does not come back
to-night, and assuming it is me"--here Bernard hesitated and looked at
me rather ferociously.
"Well?"
"Well, just give this to Miss Marjorie Joyce, will you?" He pulled a
signet-ring from his little finger, a ring that had been our governor's.
I told him to keep his hair on and that I would.
At a quarter past ten we slipped out of the big door of the inn, skirted
the Sea Wood without entering it, and went down upon the foreshore. It
is necessary that I should give you some idea of the famous Morstone
marshes, and to the description I will add a rough-drawn map which will
help to make things clear.[1]
[Footnote 1: See Frontispiece.]
If you look at the map of England, you will see Wells marked at the top
right-hand corner of the Wash. Then comes a long, blank space till you
get to Sheringham and finally to Cromer. Blankington-on-Sea was the next
town to Wells on the west. Then five miles east of it comes Morstone. So
much for our geographical position.
Looking north, there was nothing between us and Iceland; looking a
little north-east, we were only three hundred miles from Cuxhaven, about
three hundred and twenty miles to Heligoland, and nothing like that to
the Frisian Islands just below the mouth of the Kiel Canal. So much for
that, and now to be more local.
From the foreshore, it was about a mile and a half over the marshes to
the sea at low tide. At ordinary high tide it was about a mile. With
spring tides and a rare off-sea wind blowing due north, the marshes were
covered right up to the foreshore. This happened about twice in the
year, and then they were only covered for a depth of about five or six
feet, if that. The foreshore, as it is called, is a somewhat misleading
term. It did not in the least resemble what one generally associates
with the word. It was simply a grassy bank covered with furze bushes and
with a grass road going right along it. The coarse grass sloped down
till the mud was met. Now this mud was a sort of turfy peat on the
surface, covered with marrum grass. One could walk on it with perfect
safety, it was as hard as an ordinary field, but it was everywhere
intersected with creeks of varying depth. Some of these were little
runnels a foot deep, some of them had steep sides of ten or twelve feet
and were crossed by narrow planks in permanent position. The sides were
of mud as black as a truffle--I have really no other simile which so
exactly fits the case--and at the bottom was two or three feet of water
covering softer and more dangerous mud.
At high tide these deeper creeks had seven or eight feet of water in
them. Then, at various points upon the marsh, were creeks which were
really like tidal rivers, only that they ended at the foreshore, as a
railway line ends at a terminus. These were huge trenches, wider than
the widest canal, some of them seventy or eighty yards across. The walls
of mud were precipitous, twenty and even thirty feet high. The largest
of these had many feet of water in them at all states of the ebb and
flow, but when the tide was full they were almost brimming and could
have floated a fair-sized ship.
Anything more utterly desolate and forlorn, even on a bright, sunlit
day, than these sullen, winding waterways, so far from the habitations
of man, can hardly be conceived. They were the haunt of innumerable
fowl. Herons stood on the brink and transfixed flat-fish with their
long, spear-like beaks. The wild duck gathered in the little bays and
estuaries formed by their convolutions. The red-shank and the
green-shank whistled over them at all hours.
The two largest creeks of all were known as Garstrike and Thirty Main.
It was from the heads of these waters that the gun-punts started on
their dangerous nightly mission, following this or that creek in and
out, wherever there was water. Garstrike had always ten feet of water in
it at low tide, but Thirty Main was the largest by far. It stretched
straight away from the sea to the foreshore. There was always at least
thirty feet of water in its black, evil-looking depths. At high tide,
sixty would have been nearer the mark. It wound among the marsh, the
centre of endless smaller creeks which ran into it, the great ganglion
of the whole system of nerves.
It was the study of months to know the marsh. Death had come to many
fowlers there who did not know its complexities and who omitted to carry
an illuminated compass for night work. Many men had been cut off on an
island of mud covered with the purple sea-thistles, the bronze-green
marrum grass, and the rank vegetation of the saltings. And some had been
waiting in a minor creek when the tide came fast and swift through all
the intricate waterways, who were unable to climb the steep sides of
slippery mud, and so met their fate.
We crossed the foreshore in a minute and a half and came down upon the
mud. The frozen grass crackled under our boots like little rods of
glass. The shallow pools were all frozen over as we made our way round
the curving shore of Garstrike.
We were on the right bank, and here and there we had to go along some of
the smaller creeks that flowed into it. It is no joke to walk over a
twelve-inch plank in the pitch dark with a ten-foot ditch of mud and
water below. As an old marshman, I was used to it, though I had known
many new-comers give these bridges a miss at the first start off. But
Bernard skipped over like a bird, and after a quarter of a mile or more
of slow progress, aided by my illuminated compass and a faint, ghostly
light from the rising moon, we got to the gun-pit marked upon the map.
Immediately to our left was a low punt-house dug into the steep mud-bank
of Garstrike and entered at the shore end by a rough ladder. The pit was
five feet deep; there was a rough board for a seat and there was about a
foot of water in the bottom--rain-water, which had fallen during the
last few days. This, however, was nothing, and we scrambled in and sat
down.
I had taken my ten-bore to the Morstone Arms, but Bernard had told me to
leave it there. He had given me a heavy Service pistol, which fired ten
shots in as many seconds, together with an extra clip of cartridges for
the magazine. He had another in the pocket of his coat.
So we sat and waited. Bent on more pleasant business, we should have had
our guns ready in our hands, waiting for the sound of birds flighting
overhead as the moon rose, coming from the sand-banks out at sea inland
to the stubbles. But now our ears were tuned to a different music, and I
am not ashamed to say that I heard some artery within me beating like a
drum.
It was a solemn hour and strange indeed was the business we were upon.
The whole marsh was alive with voices. There was the long, hushed roar
of the sea, the fifing of the wind, and then the countless cries of the
night-birds. A great heron flapped away somewhere over Thirty Main, with
its hoarse "frank, frank"; there was a rustling whistle far overhead as
a company of widgeon flashed by at thirty miles an hour; a paddle of
duck were quacking somewhere on the other side of the creek; and then,
faint at first, but growing nearer and nearer, came that sound which, to
the wild-fowler, is the finest in the world and which many and many a
man and woman has said to be the strangest sound in nature.
The wild geese were coming. I can never think of that sound without a
tightening of the muscles, almost a lump in the throat. It is like a
vast pack of ghostly hounds up in the sky, which cuts into the night
like nothing else can do, and instinctively I felt for my gun. But it
was not to be that night. They passed over us not more than eighty yards
high--well within the range of a heavy gun--and the noise was deafening
in our ears as the great wedge-shaped formation sped by.
"By Jove, that's good!" I heard Bernard whisper.
It was the one chance of the night. No more geese worked our way, and
for an hour we sat motionless, growing colder and colder, but patient
still.
Then, at last, there was a low whistle and a crouching figure appeared
on the edge of the pit.
"I've followed him, sir. He came out of the school with his gun and went
straight on to the foreshore. He walked for nearly a mile towards
Cockthorpe. I crouched behind the furze bushes and he never saw me. He
was walking very fast. He passed the head of Thirty Main and then went
down on to the mud, following the bank until he came to the Hulk. The
bridge was out and he went on board. Then he pulled it up--and there he
is now. I saw a light struck and a candle lit from one of the windows in
the side. Then something was pulled over it, and I came away here as
fast as I could."
"The Hulk!" I said. "Of course, I might have thought of that before!"
"What is it?" Bernard asked.
"It is the hulk of an old coaster of about eighty tons. It is
permanently moored in Thirty Main Creek. Upjelly bought it for twenty
pounds some two years ago and has had it fitted up. In the summer he
sometimes camps out there. In the winter he uses it as a base for
shooting on the marshes. There are three or four on the saltings between
Wells and Cromer."
"Then we must go there at once. How can we approach it?"
"It is moored some three yards from the shore--there is deep water right
up to the banks on either side of Thirty Main Creek. It's reached by a
light bridge and a handrail, which anyone on board can pull up after him
by means of a derrick on the stem of the old main-mast. If we were to
approach over the mud, we should hear nothing, but we can go by water
and get to the far side. Wordingham's punt is ready in the house close
by. It will take us half an hour poling up to Garstrike and then back
again down the long, winding creek of Morstone Miel. That brings us out
into Thirty Main Creek--which we can cross and hug the opposite side.
The Hulk lies in a little bay. When we get nearly there, we shall have
to paddle, just as we 'set to birds.' We shan't make a sound, and we
ought to hear something or see something if there is anything to be seen
or heard."
"You'll let me come with you, sir?" Dickson asked eagerly.
I shook my head. "It's a two-handed punt," I said, "and there's no room
for anybody else--you ought to know what a fowling punt is by this time.
It's dangerous enough for two experts. No, Dickson, you've done very
well indeed and I'm proud of you. You must cut home now as quietly as
possible and go to bed at the Morstone Arms. Whatever you do, don't show
your face at the window in the morning. I'll come and tell you
everything."
I could see the boy was very disappointed, but a word from Bernard
comforted him.
"You're a first-class scout, Dickson," he said; "I wish I had you on
board my ship. If you obey orders as you have been doing and anything
comes of this business, I'm not at all sure that I can't promise you a
billet."
If Dickson flushed under his burnt cork, I did not see it, but his voice
was tremulous with joy. There was no mistake about it this time. He
saluted, and in a moment more was gone.
"Now," I said, "come along. You don't understand punt work, do you,
Bernard?"
"No," he said, "only shore shooting. I've been in some queer craft in my
time, but here 'you 'ave me,' as the cabman said. You must be skipper of
this cruise!"
We hurried over the few yards separating the pit from the punt-shed. I
went down the ladder first and unlocked the door. We found ourselves in
a long, narrow shed with a little landing-stage along one side and some
lockers above it fixed to the wall. In the middle lay the punt, painted
a dull green-khaki over its mahogany, almost invisible at night. The big
gun stretched out far over the bows; everything was ship-shape and in
order, for Wordingham was a tidy man, and this punt, which with its gun
had cost a hundred and fifty pounds, had been given him by a wealthy
fowler, an officer in the Guards, who loved to come down in peace time
for a week on the waterways of East Anglia.
"Now," I said, "be careful. You get forrard and lie down on your
stomach. Yes, that's it; brace yourself against the recoil piece of the
gun. Lie as if you were going to fire it when we come within shot of
birds on the water. That'll trim the boat. I'll punt until we get near.
Then I'll in-pole and paddle. Remember you mustn't move and you mustn't
make a sound."
We glided out on to the black water of Garstrike Creek. The banks
sheltered us somewhat from the wind, but it was nearly high tide and
every now and again a freshet sent waves lapping against the low sides
of the punt; and occasionally a cupful of water or a lash of spray came
over. My brother told me, long afterwards, that it was one of the
strangest experiences of his life, and I suppose that the first night in
a punt must indeed be that to the tyro. To me, it was ordinary enough,
but my blood ran fast and free as I realised that we were out for bigger
game than geese or duck to-night.
Our progress will be seen by the dotted line upon the map. We went up
Garstrike, keeping close to the right bank. Then, quite suddenly, the
smaller miel opened out. We made a sharp turn, and now the banks were
scarcely more than two yards from us on either side, while punting was
easier owing to the shallow water. At low tide, it would have been
almost impossible to go from Garstrike to Thirty Main. We followed the
sinuous turnings of the small creek for some twenty minutes, in and out
between the black walls, like people walking in some dark alley. Then
Miel Creek opened out and we shot on to the broad waters of Thirty
Main.
Here we were on what seemed a wide river. There was an immediate sense
of space and freedom and the sea became more choppy. Punting was
impossible. I knelt down and with infinite caution stretched myself upon
my stomach, my head between my brother's legs. Then I got out the
paddles, which were small implements held in the hand, in shape
resembling nothing quite so much as a pair of large butter pats, or
shall I say a couple of ladies' hand-mirrors. With my arms over the
side, I gradually propelled the punt round the curve where, in a little
bay, the Hulk was lying. It is thus one approaches the "paddle" of duck
or geese upon the water for the last hundred and fifty yards. Progress
is by inches. The long grey punt steals noiselessly towards its quarry
until the supreme moment when the gunner pulls the lanyard, the pound
and a half of shot speeds upon its mission, and the punt rears like a
horse.
But there was to be no roar or concussion to-night.
The moon was now high, though it was obscured by driving clouds. There
was only a faint and phosphorescent radiance. This was all the better
for our purpose, and anyone upon the look-out could hardly have
distinguished the grey thing creeping towards the Hulk with such
infinite slowness.
We drew nearer and nearer. Thirty yards ... twenty ... ten. Then I
stopped paddling. It was full high tide, absolutely dead; that moment
when flow and ebb alike are suspended.
We came alongside the high walls of the old ship without a sound, our
hands fending the punt from its curved, barnacle-studded timbers. Long
swathes of green weed hung from the sternpost as we edged our way round
to the port side.
Now I had never visited the Doctor's Hulk. When I first went to Morstone
I thought it strange that he did not ask me, but he had never done so
and the matter passed from my mind. I knew nothing, certainly, of its
internal arrangements. At the same time, I had been over a similar hulk
moored off Wells-next-to-Sea, which belonged to a wealthy maltster
there, and I knew that the same carpenter had fitted up both boats. From
what I remember, there was a cabin built out on deck with a glass roof,
while the hold below had been fitted up partly as a winter smoking-room
and dining-room, partly as berths for sportsmen who wished to sleep
after their toil.
I was quite right. The old portholes of the boat had all been done away
with, but a large square window, some four feet above our heads, bulged
in the side of the Hulk. No light could be seen, but the top of the
window was open, and, even as we glided up, a whiff of cigar smoke came
out and we heard the murmur of voices.
The murmur of voices! The Doctor was not alone upon the old coaster.
Something was brewing within its sea-worn timbers. We were nearing the
heart of the mystery at last!
Instinctively, we both stood up. The punt rocked perilously, but we
steadied it by holding on to the lower part of the window. Once, it
nearly slipped away from beneath our feet and my brother crouched down
again and caught at a great clump of barnacles, motioning me to listen.
For a moment or two I could hear nothing but a guarded rumble--it was
like voices heard by chance through a telephone. Then the wind happened
to drop and they became quite clear.
I started with surprise, for, though I could see nothing, I was certain
that there were three people on board the Hulk. Upjelly's cool, incisive
tones struck immediately upon the drum of the ear. Then came another
voice, a hoarse, rough voice which I did not know; and finally a third
that I did.
It was the voice of Mr. Jones, and I bent down and whispered to my
brother.
Then, as I rose again and listened with my very soul, I shivered with
disappointment.
The people within were speaking in a language I did not understand--save
only a very few words. They were speaking in German!
It seemed that Upjelly was giving instructions of some sort or other.
His voice had a ring of command in it that I had never heard before. It
was like a hammer on an anvil, and unless I was much mistaken, it
vibrated with excitement.
The answers came quickly enough.
"_Ja, gnädiger Herr_," or, "_Gewisz, das hab' ich gleich gethan._"
That presented no difficulties whatever. Upjelly was speaking to
someone, obviously an inferior, who replied, "Yes, sir," or, "Certainly,
I have already done it."
Then Jones cut in, and here again I noticed an entire change in the
quality of the man's voice. It was not Jones speaking now, it was the
renowned Kiderlen-Waechter, of whom my brother had spoken three nights
ago, or I would have eaten my hat. There was no mistaking the keen,
arrogant note of command. The bland Mr. Jones never spoke like that,
though the voice was the same. Then I distinctly heard the sound of a
door either being shut or sliding in its grooves. There was the splutter
of a match, the sound of a gurgling syphon, and, to my intense relief,
Doctor Upjelly and his unseen companion began to speak in English.
"No, it's impossible. I have, in my safe at the school, all the plans.
Our secret service on this coast has been working untiringly. For three
days at least, after to-morrow night, the plans will hold good. In them
is the station of every patrolling ship, full maps of this part of the
coast, the disposition of forces--everything necessary for the Admiral.
The tide to-morrow night will be even higher than it is now. The moon is
waning; weather conditions point to a dark, tempestuous night to-morrow.
She will come and take you away with the plans."
"Which I shall deliver to the Admiral within twenty-four hours, for the
rendezvous is arranged, and I shall meet him in the middle of the North
Sea."
"I shall be sorry to lose you, Admiral Kiderlen-Waechter."
"It will only be for a time. I shall soon return--as you know."
There was a sound of laughter, low, guttural, and strong.
"And what will you do, von Vedal?"
"To-morrow night I shall be with you, as you know, and see you go. Then
I shall take my stepdaughter to London, to the house you know of, where
I shall await you. The issue will not be long and you can claim your
reward. I shall leave the school, ostensibly for a day or two, but it
will never see me again, as you can understand. Fritz has put that
meddling Commander Carey _hors de combat_--the arrow was a clever idea
and no one suspects. As a matter of fact, I don't suppose for a moment
that his visit was anything but just what it appeared to be--for
purposes of rest and a little sport and to see his brother. _Gott im
Himmel_, what fools these people are! Now, take for example that brawny
young donkey, Mr. John Carey, my assistant-master. He fancies himself in
love with my elder stepdaughter, Doris."
"And he may well be so, for she is a beautiful and charming young lady.
Would I not do anything in the world for her sister?"
"Oh well, yes; I forgot, von Waechter. Love is not an event that has
occurred to me. But this young Carey has actually rigged up a telephone
between his room and Doris's. It is the most transparent device. I knew
all about it twenty-four hours after it was done. I shall leave Doris
behind at the school, and if this young lout cares to marry her and
become headmaster of Morstone College, I'm sure he is very welcome--that
is, provided there is any Morstone College left in three days from now."
"I will see to that. I rather like that boy, and a detachment of our
marines shall guard the place and keep it from harm. That is all, I
think."
"That is all."
"What time is it?"
"It's one o'clock--a little too early to go home. We must go upon the
marshes and fire a few shots. I have already three duck to carry home as
the result of our labours. But let us have another cigar and wait for
twenty minutes."
Again there was the striking of a match.
"Fritz will be all right, I suppose?" said Waechter.
"He will be perfectly all right. Not a soul suspects that there is
anyone on board this Hulk, and he's well hidden in the fo'c'sle. A
faithful fellow that!"
"You would say so if you had seen him as I have! He is the cleverest
engineer in the whole of our Submarine Service, cunning as one of your
own wild geese, and absolutely to be depended upon--unless ..."
"Unless?"
"Well, I'm a good judge of men, and we must take people as we find them.
Chief-officer Fritz Schweitzer is a perfect spy and a first-class
officer of submarines. Awash or under the surface, he knows no fear. But
a little, able-bodied seaman, six weeks ago at Kiel, gave him a
thrashing in a Bierhalle till he wept. One thing we must remember
to-morrow--everything must be said in German. I like to talk English, as
you know. It pleases me to be taken for a sedentary city gentleman, it's
my little vanity, von Vedal, but, for safety's sake, to-morrow night,
when She comes ..."
"Quite so. Have you finished your cigar? Then let us go up on deck and
see what the night is like."
There was a slight grating sound and an almost imperceptible swish as
the gun-punt swung away from the side of the Hulk, swept round the
miniature headland and raced for the mouth of the Miel Creek.