The super-spy, having concluded his work, sat with the old fisherman
beside the wood-fire in the little low-pitched living-room that smelt so
strongly of fish and tar.
Old Tom Small presented a picturesque figure in his long sea-boots, on
which the salt stood in grey crystals, and his tanned blouse; for, only
an hour ago, he had helped Ted to haul up the boat in which, on the
previous night, they had been out baiting their crab-pots. Ruddy and
cheery-looking, his grey hair was scanty on top, and his knotty hands,
hardened by the sea, were brown and hairy. He was a fine specimen of
the North Sea fishermen, and, being one of "nature's gentlemen," he was
always polite to his visitor, though at heart he entertained the deepest
and undying contempt for the man by whose craft and cunning the enemy
were being kept informed of the movements of Britain's defensive forces,
both on land and at sea.
Now that it was too late, he had at last awakened to the subtle manner
in which he had been inveigled into the net so cleverly-spread to catch
both his son and himself. Ted, his son, had been sent to the
cable-school at Glasgow and there instructed, while, at the same time,
he and his father had fallen into the moneylender's spider-web,
stretched purposely to entrap him.
What could the old fellow do to extricate himself? He and Ted often, in
the evening hours, before their fire, while the storm howled and tore
about that lonely cottage on the beach, had discussed the situation.
They had both, in their half-hearted way, sought to discover a means out
of the _impasse_. Yet with the threat of Rodwell--that they would both
be prosecuted and shot as traitors--hanging over them, the result of
their deliberation was always the same. They were compelled to remain
silent, and to suffer.
They cursed their visitor who came there so constantly and sent his
mysterious messages under the sea. Yet they were compelled to accept
the ten pounds a week which he paid them so regularly, with a frequent
extra sovereign to the younger man. Both father and son hesitated about
taking the tainted money. Yet they dared not raise a word of protest.
Besides, in the event of an invasion by Germany, had not Rodwell
promised that they should be protected, and receive ample reward for
their services?
Old Small and Rodwell were talking, the latter stretching forth his
white hands towards the welcome warmth of the flaming logs.
"You must continue to still keep your daughter Mary away from here,
Tom," the visitor was saying. "Send her anywhere you like. But I don't
want her prying about here just now. You understand! You've got a
married daughter at Bristol, haven't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, send her down there for a long stay. I'll pay all expenses. So
book the whole of it down to me. Here's twenty pounds to go on with;"
and, taking his banknote case from his pocket, he drew forth four
five-pound notes.
"Yes, sir; but she may think it funny--and--"
"Funny!" cried his visitor. "Remember that you're paid to see that she
doesn't think it funny. Have her back here, say next Tuesday, for a
couple of days, and then send her off on a visit down to Bristol. You
and Ted are able to rub along together very well without her."
"Well--we feels the miss o' the girl," replied the old fellow, who,
though honest and loyal, had fallen hopelessly into the trap which
German double-dealing had prepared for him.
"Of course you do. I should--were I in your place," was Rodwell's
response. "But the confidential business in which you and I are engaged
just now is not one in which a woman has any concern. She's out of
place here; and, moreover, few women can keep a still tongue. Just
reflect a moment. Suppose she told some friend of hers what was in
progress under your roof? Well, the police would soon be out here to
investigate, and you'd both find yourselves under arrest. No," he
added. "Keep your girl away from here--keep her away at all costs.
That's my advice."
"Very well, sir, I will," replied the wrinkled old fellow, rubbing the
knees of his stained trousers with his hands, and drawing at his rather
foul pipe. "I quite see your point. I'll get the girl away to Bristol
this week."
"Oh! and there's another thing. I'd better remain in here all day
to-day, for I don't want to be seen wandering about by anybody. They
might suspect something. So if anyone happens to come in, mind they
have no suspicion of my being here."
"All right, sir. Leave that to me."
"To-night, about ten or eleven, I'm expecting a lady down from London.
She's bringing me some important news. So you'd better get something or
other for her to eat."
"A bit o' nice fish, perhaps?" the old fellow suggested as a luxury.
"Well--something that she can eat, you know."
"I'll boil two or three nice fresh crabs. The lady may like 'em, if I
dress 'em nice."
"Excellent!" laughed Rodwell. Truly his was a strange life. One day he
ate a perfectly-cooked dinner in Bruton Street, and the next he enjoyed
fat bacon cooked by a fisherman in his cottage.
Old Tom, glancing through the window out upon the grey, misty sea,
remarked:
"Hulloa! There's that patrol a-comin' back. For two days they've been
up and down from the Spurn to the Wash. Old Fred Turner, on the
_Seamew_, what's a minesweeper nowadays, hailed me last night when we
were baitin' our pots. He got three mines yesterday. Those devils have
sown death haphazard!"
"Devils!" echoed Rodwell, in a reproachful tone. "The Germans are only
devils because we are out to win."
"I'm sorry, sir," exclaimed the old fellow, biting his lip. "I didn't
think when I spoke."
"But, Tom, you should never speak before you think. It lands you into
trouble always," his visitor said severely.
"Yes, I--But--I say--look!" cried the old man, starting forward, and
craning his neck towards the window. "Why, if there ain't that there
Judd, the coastguard petty-officer from Chapel Point again! An' he's
a-comin' across 'ere too."
"I'll get into the bedroom," whispered Rodwell, rising instantly, and
bending as he passed the window, so as not to be seen. "Get rid of
him--get rid of him as soon as ever you can."
"'E's got a gentleman with him," old Tom added.
"Don't breathe a word that I'm here," urged the spy, and then, slipping
into the stuffy little bedroom, he closed the door and turned the key.
Afterwards he stood listening eagerly for the arrival of the visitors.
In a few moments there was a loud knocking on the tarred door, and, with
a grunt, Tom rose to open it.
"Hulloa, Tom!" cried the petty-officer of the coastguard cheerily.
"'Morning! How are you?"
"Oh! pretty nicely, Muster Judd--if it warn't for my confounded
rheumatics. An' now, to cap it all, I've got my girl laid up 'ere very
bad. She only got 'ome last night."
"Oh!" exclaimed Mr Judd. "But I thought you had a gentleman visitor
this morning?"
"Gentleman visitor? Yes. I've 'ad the doctor to my girl--a visitor
I've got to pay--if that's what you mean. She's been awful bad all
night, an' Ted's now gone into Skegness for some med'cine for 'er."
The man who accompanied the coastguard-officer remarked:
"This is a lonely house of yours, Mr Small. A long way from the
doctor--eh?"
"It is, sir, an' no mistake. We don't see many people out 'ere, except
Mr Judd, or Mr Bennett--or one o' the men on patrol."
Then, being compelled to ask the pair inside, for it had started to rain
heavily, Tom Small sat with them chatting, yet full of wonder why they
had called at that early hour.
The man in the next room stood breathless behind the door, listening to
all their conversation. It was quite plain that he had been seen to
enter there, whereupon the coastguard's suspicions had been aroused. He
scented considerable danger. Yet his adventurous spirit was such that
he smiled amusedly at old Small's story of his sick daughter, and of the
visit of the doctor.
Judd, seated in the chair which Rodwell had occupied until he had
vacated it in alarm, suddenly turned to old Tom, and said:
"This gentleman here is my superior officer, Tom, and he wants to ask
you something, I think."
"Yes, sir, what is it?" asked the crafty old fisherman, turning to the
man in plain clothes.
"You had a visitor here last Thursday--a gentleman. Who was he?" asked
the stranger suddenly.
"Last Thursday," repeated Small reflectively. "Now let me see. Who
came 'ere last Thursday? Weren't we both out fishin'? No," he added:
"I know! Yes, we did 'ave someone come--Mr Jennings, of course."
"And who is Mr Jennings?"
"Why, 'e comes regularly from Lincoln for our insurances."
The petty-officer exchanged meaning glances with his superior, who then
asked--
"Aren't you in the habit of receiving visits from a gentleman--somebody
who's been seen about here in a closed car, painted pale grey?"
"No car 'as ever come 'ere, sir," declared the old man blankly. "Folk
in cars don't come to visit people like Tom Small."
"And yet you are not quite so poorly off as you pretend to be, Mr
Small," remarked his questioner. "What about that nice little balance
you have in the bank--eh?"
"Well, I've earned it, therefore I don't see why it should concern you,"
protested the old fellow angrily.
"Just now it does concern me," was the other's rather hard reply--words
to which the man in the inner room listened with breathless concern.
Was it possible that the existence of the secret cable was suspected?
Had Tom, or his son, been indiscreet? No; he felt sure they had not.
They had everything to lose by disclosing anything. And yet those two
visitors were bent upon extracting some information from him. Of what
nature he was not quite clear.
An awful thought occurred to him that he had left his cap in the
sitting-room, but, on glancing round, he was relieved to see that he had
carried it into the bedroom when he had sat down at the instruments.
What would those two men say, if they only knew that, within a few yards
of them, was the end of a cable which ran direct to Berlin?
While the rain continued pelting down for perhaps a quarter of an hour,
the pair sat chatting with Small. It was evident that the naval officer
was disappointed with the result of his visit, for the old fisherman
answered quite frankly, and had given explanation of his two visitors
which could not well be met with disbelief.
"Are you gentlemen a-lookin' for German spies, then?" asked old Small at
last, as though sorely puzzled at the questions that had been put to
him.
"We're always on the look out for those devil's spawn," answered Judd.
"There was a Dutch trawler off here last night, and she wasn't up to any
good--I'm sure of that."
"Perhaps it's the same craft as wor 'ere about a fortnight back. She
flew the Dutch flag, but I believe she wor a waitin' for a German
submarine, in order to give 'er petrol. They were a talkin' about 'er
in the Anchor on Saturday night. Bill Chesney was out fishin' an' got
right near 'er. I think one o' the patrol boats ought to ha' boarded
'er."
"She was seen off the Spurn, and was then flying the British flag,"
remarked Judd's superior officer.
"Ah! There you are!" cried Small. "I was certain she was up to no
good! Those Germans are up to every bit o' craft and cunnin'. Did you
gentlemen think that Mr Jennings, from Lincoln, was a German spy?" he
asked naively.
"No, not particularly," replied his visitor. "Only when strangers come
along here, in the prohibited area, we naturally like to know who and
what they are."
"Quite so, sir. An' if I see any stranger a-prowlin' about 'ere in
future, I won't fail to let Mr Judd know of 'im."
"That's right, Small," was the officer's response. "There are lots of
rumours around the coast of our fishermen giving assistance to the enemy
by supplying them with petrol and other things, but, as far as I can
gather, such reports are disgraceful libels upon a very hardworking and
deserving class. We know that some of them put down tackle in Torbay,
and elsewhere, when they learn the fleet is coming in, so that they may
obtain compensation for damage caused to their nets. But as to their
loyalty, I don't think anyone can challenge that."
"I 'ope not, sir," was Small's fervent reply. "There ain't a fisherman
along the whole coast o' Lincolnshire who wouldn't bear his part against
the enemy, if he could--an' bear it well, too."
The clean-shaven officer reflected for a few moments.
"You've never, to your recollection, seen a pale grey closed-up car
anywhere about here, have you?" he asked at last.
"Never, sir."
"Quite sure?"
"Positive, sir. The roads about 'ere are not made for cars," was the
old fellow's reply. "I certainly did see a car one night, about six
weeks ago. The man had lost his way an' was driving straight down to
the sea. He wanted to get to Cleethorpes. They were Navy men from the
wireless station, I think."
The old man's manner and speech had entirely disarmed suspicion, and
presently the pair rose, and bidding him good-bye, and urging him to
keep a sharp look-out for strangers, they left.
The moment they were safely away, Rodwell emerged from the bedroom, and
in a low, apprehensive voice, asked:
"What does all this mean, Tom--eh?"
"Don't know, sir. That Judd's been about here constantly of late. 'E's
up to no good, I'm sure. I've told you, weeks ago, that I didn't like
the look o' things--an' I don't!"
Rodwell saw that the old fellow was pale and alarmed. He had preserved
an impenetrable mask before his two visitors, but now they had gone he
was full of fear.
Rodwell, as he stood in the low-pitched little room, recollected certain
misgivings which Molly had uttered on the previous night, just before he
had left Bruton Street. His first impulse now was to leave the house
and slip away across the fen. Yet if he did somebody must certainly see
him.
"Shall you get off now, sir?" asked the old man suddenly.
"Not till to-night," was the other's reply. "It would be a bit
dangerous, so I must lay doggo here till dusk, and then escape."
"Do you think they really suspect us, sir?" asked the old fellow, in a
voice which betrayed his fear.
"No. So don't alarm yourself in the least," replied the gentleman from
London. "I suppose I've been seen about, and my car has been noticed on
the roads. There's no danger, as long as I'm not seen again here for a
bit. I'll get through to Stendel, and let him know that I shan't be
back again for a fortnight or so."
"Yes; you must certainly keep away from 'ere," Tom urged. "They'll be
a-watchin' of us, no doubt."
"I've got a lady coming here, as I told you--Mrs Kirby, to whom you
telegraph sometimes. She won't get here till night, and I must wait for
her. She'll have some urgent information to send across to the other
side. Penney will meet her in Lincoln, where she'll arrive by train,
and he'll bring her on by car."
"You'd better keep to the bedroom," urged the old man. "They might come
back later on."
"Yes: I won't be seen," and returning to the stuffy little room, he
reopened the cable instruments and soon got into communication with
Stendel, in order to pass away the time which he knew must hang heavily
upon his hands, for even then it was not yet nine o'clock in the
morning.
He sat smoking and gossiping with the old fisherman nearly all the day,
impatient for the coming of darkness, for his imprisonment there was
already becoming irksome.
It grew dusk early when, about four o'clock, a footstep outside caused
them both to start and listen. In answer to the summons at the door Tom
went, and was handed a telegram by the boy messenger from Huttoft.
Opening it, he found it had been despatched from London, and read:
"Impossible to leave till to-morrow.--M."
He gave it to Rodwell, who at once saw that the woman he expected had
been delayed. Probably she had not yet been able to gather that
important information which was wanted so urgently in Berlin.
The telegram puzzled him. Was it possible that the arrangements which
he had made with such cunning and forethought, and had left to Molly to
carry out, had broken down after all?
Lewin Rodwell bit his lip, and wondered. He seemed that day beset by
misfortune, for when at five o'clock, Ted having returned, he tested the
cable as usual, a call came through from Berlin.
Rodwell answered it, whereupon "Number 70" flashed the following message
beneath the sea.
"Your information of this morning regarding troop-ships leaving
Plymouth for Dardanelles is incorrect. _Desborough_ was torpedoed off
Canary Islands on January 18th, and _Ellenborough_ is in dry dock in
Belfast. Source of your report evidently unreliable."
Rodwell read the words upon the long green tape as it slowly unwound,
and sat staring at them like a man in a dream.