Cornered
"How about that notebook?" enquired Malcolm. The three chums were
lounging in camp-chairs on the upper deck after their strenuous but
interrupted "trick below". In consideration for their voluntary
labours all men who had been in the stokehold were excused drills
and parades for the rest of the day.
"Clean forgot all about it," replied Selwyn. "I left it in the
pocket of my boiler suit. By this time I guess some other fellow is
wearing the overalls. After all, the notebook may find its way to
the rightful owner."
The three sat in silence for some minutes. Fortescue was puffing at
his pipe, deep in thought; Selwyn was idly contemplating the
unbroken expanse of horizon; while Malcolm devoted his attention to
the examination of half a dozen large blisters on his hands.
Already soldiering had hardened his hands considerably, but stoking,
he decided, had proved to be far more strenuous than bayonet
exercise, if an aching back, stiff muscles, and galls as big as
half-crowns were any criterion.
Thus engaged, the chums hardly noticed the appearance of a
corporal's guard--an N.C.O. and two privates with side-arms.
Consequently they were surprised when the Corporal halted his men
and asked abruptly:
"Are you Diggers the chaps what were doing stoking just now in No. 2
stokehold? You are? Well, you're bloomin' well under arrest."
"Under arrest--what for?" demanded Fortescue. For a moment he
suspected a practical joke, but the fact that the men wore side-arms
knocked that idea on the head.
"Dunno," replied the man shortly. "Fall in!"
Along the crowded troop deck the prisoners and their escort made
their way, their presence occasioning little interest on the part of
the spectators. Defaulters were common objects amongst the different
Colonial troops who comprised the _Pomfret Castle's_ passengers.
Outside the large cabin known as the orderly-room were a dozen
Australians, also under guard. Presently their numbers were
augmented by five more. Every man of the coaling squad in No. 2
stokehold had been arrested.
"What's this rotten farce all about?" demanded Kennedy, appealing to
the New Zealanders.
Malcolm shook his head. His own impression was that it had something
to do with the discovery of the explosive in the bunker.
"Silence!" ordered a sergeant-major, who was now in charge of the
batch of prisoners.
The door was thrown open, and the Anzacs with their escort paced
into the orderly-room. At one end was a green-baize-covered table,
at which were seated four "Tommy" officers--a major, two captains,
and a lieutenant of a British line regiment. In front of them were
sheets of foolscap, a book on military law, and a small object
wrapped in brown paper.
"You men," began the Major without any preliminaries, "volunteered
for work in No. 2 stoke-hold. Twenty all told, I see. Were there any
other men of the party, or do you comprise the whole squad? Very
well, then. Now I mean to find out who is the owner of this article.
It was found in one of the boiler suits supplied to the squad; it
was not there when the suits were issued, consequently the article
in question must belong to one of you men. The owner of this will
step forward two paces."
The Major, unwrapping the paper coverings, held up for inspection
the notebook that Selwyn had picked up in his bunker.
"Is this your property?" demanded the Major as Selwyn stepped
forward.
"No, sir."
"Then why the deuce----" exclaimed the officer, raising his voice.
"Here, remove the other prisoners."
For twenty minutes the ejected men cooled their heels in the
alley-way until again summoned to the orderly room.
"You are released from arrest," declared the Major curtly; then, as
an afterthought, he added: "It would be advisable that you maintain
discretion over the matter."
"What happened, old man?" enquired Fortescue, as the three New
Zealanders gained a secluded part of the mess deck.
"The pocket-book contained a secret code," explained Selwyn. "It has
been partly deciphered, and is proved to be a means of communication
between someone on board the ship and the U-boats. I explained how I
found it, and offered to produce you chaps as witnesses, but the
Major was awfully decent about it. He means to find the owner, and
if necessary is going to interrogate every man who went into that
stokehold. Hallo, they've rounded up our immediate predecessors
already."
As he spoke twenty Afrikanders, headed by the gigantic Jan van
Eindhovengen, marched along the mess deck under escort.
"By Golly!" exclaimed Fortescue. "That's the man!"
"Who--the boxer?" enquired Selwyn.
"No, the last but one. Our pal in the Muizenberg train."
"So it is," agreed Malcolm. "Don't let him twig us."
The Diggers waited until the batch of suspects vanished.
"Ought we to report what we know concerning that chap?" asked
Malcolm.
"And possibly get choked off if we do," objected Fortescue. "Let's
wait and see what happens. If the fellow is bowled out, there's no
need for us to butt in. He'll face a firing-party without our
assistance. Taken for granted that he is a spy, what was his object
in bamboozling us?"
"Give it up," replied Selwyn. "Getting three men to miss their
proper transport wouldn't affect the progress of the war
sufficiently to warrant his action."
"We told him a lot--more than we ought to have done," remarked
Malcolm. "Of course we didn't know."
"And then I suppose," added Fortescue, "he thought we might report
the matter, and so he switched us off on a branch line, so to speak.
We'll let it go at that, but it wouldn't be a bad move to wait
outside the orderly-room after those fellows have gone in and play
the eavesdropper. If our Muizenberg pal is marched off under escort,
then we needn't trouble further in the matter. If he gets off, then
we'll tackle him and ask him for an explanation."
Acting upon this suggestion, the three chums made their way along
the alley-way until they came to the orderly-room door. The
Afrikanders were already within. Outside stood a "Tommy" sergeant as
part of the escort.
"Want to go through the hoop again, you chaps?" enquired the N.C.O.,
with a grin.
"Not much--only curious," replied Fortescue, who had met the
non-com. before on several occasions. "We'll _impshie_--hook it, you
know--when they clear the court."
Listening, the three chums could hear the stern tones of the Major
and the bass voice of the interpreter, for several of the South
Africans spoke nothing but Taal--a dialect comprised largely of
Dutch, with a sprinkling of Zulu and Kaffir words.
"That's our man," whispered Malcolm.
"The blighter's yapping in Dutch," announced Fortescue, "and he can
speak English perfectly. Hallo!"
A torrent of words, plainly indicating indignant denials, wafted
through the closed door. Several of the Afrikanders were speaking at
once. A revolver-shot rang out, a sharp exclamation of pain, and
then a tremendous scuffling.
"Come on, boys!" ordered the Sergeant, addressing the men of the
escort waiting without.
The door was thrown open. The Tommies rushed in, while at their
heels came Fortescue, Selwyn, and Carr. Their resolution to remain
passive and unseen witnesses had vanished into thin air.
Within all was confusion. The Major lay with his head and shoulders
resting upon the table. Two of the other officers were endeavouring
to stanch the blood that flowed from his forehead. In one corner of
the room a crowd of Afrikanders swayed in a compact mass, as if
eager to wreak their vengeance on someone, while held like a rat in
the jaws of a terrier was the man from Muizenberg, his captor being
Jan van Eindhovengen.
"Give him to us, Jan!" shouted a dozen angry voices. "We know what
to do with the rogue."
With difficulty the furious Afrikanders were calmed. The spy, his
features pale with terror, was removed under a strong guard, while
the wounded officer was carried to the sick quarters.
It was not until the afternoon that Oom Jan told Fortescue of what
had occurred. Already strange rumours of varying degrees of accuracy
had floated round the ship, but it was unanimously agreed that van
Eindhovengen was the hero of the hour.
The spy had contrived to join the draft at Cape Town under the name
of Pieter Waas. The real Pieter Waas happened to be a stranger to
the rest of the Afrikanders, and, induced to desert by spy, had
considerately transferred his name to his doubtful benefactor.
At the court of enquiry the pseudo Waas denied all knowledge of the
pocket-book, although van Eindhovengen had seen the man with it in
his possession without knowing its sinister import. It was not until
it was explained to the Afrikanders that the ownerless book was a
means by which they might be sent to the bottom of the sea by a
hostile submarine that Oom Jan "rounded" on the spy. At first the
fellow strenuously contradicted van Eindhovengen's accusation, but
the big Afrikander would not be gainsaid. Suddenly the suspect
whipped out a small automatic pistol. Whether it was with the
intention of taking his own life or that of his accuser he himself
only knew.
Like a flash van Eindhovengen's hand shot out. His powerful fingers
gripped the spy's wrist as in a vice. As the pistol dropped from the
fellow's limp hand the weapon went off, a bullet grazing the head of
the president of the court of enquiry, and rendering him insensible.
"And now," concluded Oom Jan, "the spy is under lock and key. He is
a slim _smous_ = rascal (Cape Dutch), but, Allemachte, it is all
over with him. Presently, after he has set foot on dry land, a dozen
bullets will bid him _Hambla gachle_. It is a too fitting end to a
spy."
"But he hasn't been tried and sentenced yet," remarked Fortescue.
The Afrikander's face fell.
"Surely he is guilty," he said. "Why then waste time over him?"
"It is the Englishman's proud boast that every prisoner shall be
given a fair trial," explained Fortescue. "It will be general court
martial, no doubt. Thank goodness we New Zealanders are not mixed up
in the business. By the by, Malcolm, have you any idea when we
arrive at Plymouth? It seems to me that we've been dodging across
the Atlantic half a dozen times."
"This is the twenty-eighth day of the voyage," observed Malcolm. "I
heard that when the _Pomfret Castle_ was on the ordinary mail
service she did the trip in fourteen as regular as clockwork."
"There's one thing, the boys will be snugly in camp by this time and
waiting for us," added Selwyn. "We've missed the rotten 'shaking
down' process. I wonder what sort of a show Codford is like?"
"You'll find out in due course," replied Fortescue grimly. "I've had
some; enough of Salisbury Plain for me, thank you."
"We're not there yet," Malcolm reminded him.
Fortescue looked fixedly at the expanse of sea over which the
twilight was spreading. Already the grey outline of the convoying
cruiser was blending into invisibility against the gathering mantle
of night.
"'That's so," he agreed solemnly.