The Code-book
Mr. William Porter--otherwise Ludwig Schoeffer, had taken readily to
his new surroundings on board the S.S. _West Barbican_. He made it a
habit to do so, wherever he was: at the Wilhelmstrasse, Berlin, or in
Sing Sing Prison, New York. He made a speciality of studying men and
things, and, in order to do so, he naturally came to close quarters
with the objects of his professional attention.
He had failed to prevent the shipment of the Brocklington Company's
consignment of steelwork for the Kilba Protectorate. There remained a
chance of achieving his object while the steelwork was on the high
seas; and to that end he had booked a passage in the _West Barbican_.
His primary idea was to sink the ship without loss of life. It might
have been a new-born hesitation to take human life that actuated his
plans. During the war he had not been so scrupulous. Now, perchance,
he looked upon murder and manslaughter in a different light. Or
perhaps he was developing nerves and was afraid of falling into the
clutches of the law, for he knew full well that, if he bungled, his
employers in Germany would utterly repudiate him.
It might have been possible for him to place a delayed-action infernal
machine in the hold of the _West Barbican_ when she was loading up at
Brocklington. But he had not an intimate knowledge of the construction
of the ship, and he feared to take drastic steps without being certain
of his surroundings. Nor did he wish to immolate dozens of passengers.
The majority of the latter would be leaving the ship either at Cape
Town or Durban, so their departure would ease the situation as far as
the remnants of his conscience were concerned.
He decided, therefore, to go as far as South Africa as a passenger on
the _West Barbican_. During the voyage he could obtain a good
knowledge of the ship's routine, and the accessibility or otherwise of
the holds and bunkers. Then, before leaving the ship at Durban, he
could "plant" his high-explosive bomb and send the _West Barbican_ to
her doom.
It was an easy matter to convey the explosives on board. The customs
officers at British ports are vigilant enough in connection with
homeward-bound passengers' baggage, but not so in the case of departing
ships. No one paid any attention to the dark-red, cloth-bound book
that Mr. Porter carried under his arm. It never occurred to Ludwig
Schoeffer that it was hardly fair to a book to be carried so openly on
a damp, foggy day.
Outwardly it was a book, but between the covers there were no leaves
except dummy edges. In the recess thus formed was four pounds of very
high explosive, sufficient to blow a hole completely through the steel
plating of a merchant-ship's hold. The explosive without a primer was
comparatively innocuous. It could be subjected to a severe blow
without detonating; fire had no effect upon it, except that it would
smoulder without bursting into flame. But when mixed with a solution
of potash the latent power was instantly and terrifically released.
Until the bomb was prepared for action Schoeffer kept the glass tube
containing the potash separate from the main explosive. If necessary
he could easily explain the potash by saying it was medicine.
The detonation of the infernal machine was actuated by a fairly simple
device. It was only necessary to smash the glass tube of potash; but
the point was: how could Schoeffer break the glass when he was away
from the ship?
If anyone had had an opportunity of inspecting Mr. Porter's watch he
would certainly have been interested; for, in addition to the hours,
minutes, and seconds hands, the dial sported a hand that indicated the
days up to seven. But in place of numbers on the day circle there were
seven black dots. Each of these dots proved to be a small insulated
metal peg, capable of being raised until it projected a fraction of an
inch from the dial, yet sufficiently to hold up the hand.
To complete the outfit there was a small eight-volt battery, which, on
a circuit being formed, would detonate a minute charge of explosive,
enough to smash the glass tube, liberate the potash, and cause the
desired catastrophe. By means of the watch Schoeffer could delay the
explosion from one to seven days after he had set the bomb in position.
Mr. Porter made rapid strides in forming acquaintances on board. He
was affable without being obtrusive; communicative up to a certain
point, without volunteering information; a good conversationalist
without boring his listeners. He took a keen interest in the officers,
the stewards, and even the lascars, but, in the course of conversation
with them, he rarely if ever asked questions concerning their
professional duties.
One person in particular he cultivated. That was Wilkins, the
Captain's steward. Wilkins was a professional postage-stamp agent; he
bought large quantities of stamps in foreign parts on behalf of a
London firm. Mr. Porter was a keen amateur collector, and so a bond of
interest was formed.
Since the facilities for encouraging conversation between passengers
and stewards are limited, Schoeffer found a convenient opportunity to
confer with Wilkins on the subject of postage stamps. The opportunity
occurred just before "lights out", the venue being the pantry.
Schoeffer found that the subject of stamps afforded him a splendid
chance of gaining information concerning the Old Man. He knew that the
skipper kept the code-books in his cabin. Two of them--the _ABC_ and
the _Telegraph Code_--were practically public property, but the third
was the private code of the Blue Crescent Line, by which the owners
telegraphed orders to their various ships.
The German agent made no attempt to suborn the steward to "borrow" the
code-book. He preferred to work single-handed. It was infinitely
safer. But he soon discovered that Captain Bullock was a light sleeper
and that he was practically an abstainer from strong drink, except for
his regular "night-cap".
One night the chance occurred. Wilkins had mixed the Old Man's grog.
His attention diverted for a minute, he was unaware that Mr. Porter had
dropped into the glass a cube resembling sugar but containing a
powerful narcotic quite devoid of taste.
"Well, sir," remarked Wilkins, "I must push off and take this to the
skipper."
With this gentle intimation the steward speeded his guest. He had
reasons for so doing. He had no desire to let even an affable
gentleman like Mr. Porter know that he was in the habit of helping
himself to the Old Man's whisky.
A few minutes later Wilkins poured out another stiff glass of grog and
carried it to the skipper, leaving for his own consumption the glass
that Schoeffer had doped.
Ten minutes later the steward returned to the pantry, drunk the
doctored whisky, and spent the rest of the night in a state of
insensibility, in which condition he was found and befriended by the
Chief Steward.
Returning to his cabin--a single-berth one on the port side--Schoeffer
closed the deadlight and drew a curtain over the jalousied door. At
twelve the electric lights in the passengers' cabins were switched off,
but that hardly troubled "Mr. Porter". An electric torch gave him all
the light he required.
Two bells sounded. Cautiously Schoeffer switched off the torch,
undressed, and put on dark-coloured pyjamas and felt bedroom slippers.
Then, after listening to hear that no one was about, he stole silently
from his cabin.
He guessed that the officer of the watch would be drinking cocoa in the
chartroom, and that the bridge would be deserted save for the native
quartermaster at the wheel. If he were intercepted, Schoeffer would
pose as a somnambulist and suffer himself to be led back to his cabin.
But no one was about. Boldly yet stealthily he gained the bridge and
entered the skipper's cabin, confident that the Old Man was in a
drugged sleep. He would have had a nasty shock had he known that
Captain Bullock was merely drowsy and was aware of his presence.
With the private code-book in his possession Schoeffer retraced his way
to his cabin. Luck was with him. Unseen and unheard he entered his
stateroom and closed the door. For the next two hours he was hard at
work carefully copying out cryptic letters, that in due course would
enable him to carry out his nefarious plans to perfection. He also
carefully committed to memory the instructions printed in the front of
the book relating to the procedure to be followed in sending and
receiving instructions by code.
Again he sallied forth to the Captain's cabin and replaced the book.
What rather puzzled him was the fact that the Old Man was sleeping
naturally. His deep, regular breathing did not conform to the
suggestion that he was under the influence of a powerful drug.
It was a disquieting discovery. He could not account for it. Perhaps,
he thought, Captain Bullock had something up his sleeve. Even the
satisfaction of having secured and made full use of the secret
code-book had much of its greatness shorn by the haunting dread of the
burly captain of the S.S. _West Barbican_.