The End of a Spy
"By gum, Peter, we'll have to make ourselves precious scarce while
this trip's on." exclaimed Malcolm as he rejoined his brother in the
steerage of the S.S. _Koning der Zee_ after a tour of inspection.
"Eh? What's wrong now?" enquired Peter, busily engaged in
overhauling the contents of a small kit provided by his friends at
Roermonde.
"Nothing wrong," said his brother. "On the contrary, it's a bit of
quite all right. I've just seen a delightful old pal, Konrad
What's-his-Tally, otherwise Pieter Waas of Muizenburg fame. You
remember I told you about him just before we said good-bye to Düren:
how he diddled Fortescue, Selwyn, and me at the Cape and was
collared on board the _Pomfret Castle_, and afterwards managed to
join the N. Z. Rifle Brigade."
"I remember, but I thought he went sky-high when the great mine went
off at Messines," remarked the elder Carr.
"There was a doubt about it," admitted Malcolm, "but the fact
remains that he's on board this vessel. Except that he has bleached
his hair, he has made no attempt to disguise himself. Suppose he
imagined that it wouldn't be safe to trust to a false beard, or
anything like that. The landing authorities would spot it. So we
must keep well out of his way until we go ashore at Harwich."
"Why both of us?" asked Peter. "I've never met him, and he's never
run across me as far as I know. I'm in mufti, and so are you. I
don't suppose he'd spot you in that rig-out."
"I'm not going to give him the chance," declared Malcolm. "In spite
of the fact that he's travelling first class and we're mere dirt in
the steerage, I mean to keep below, out of sight."
The _Koning der Zee_ was still berthed alongside the wharf at The
Hook. "Blue Peter" was hoisted at the fore, while the Dutch national
ensign floated from her ensign staff. Her sides were painted in red,
white, and blue horizontal stripes, while amidships her name was
displayed in letters six feet in height--in conformity with an
arbitrary regulation made by an unscrupulous nation whose U-boats
did not hesitate to torpedo at sight, despite the distinguishing
marks of neutral craft.
The mail-boat's passenger-list was a light one. There were about a
dozen repatriated Britons from Ruhleben, a score of Dutch merchants,
the two New Zealanders, and the spy, Konrad von Feldoffer.
The latter, posing as a Gelderland potato-merchant, was on a highly
important mission on behalf of his Imperial master in connection
with the landing of United States troops in England. At first
scorning the idea that Uncle Sam could render personal aid, the Huns
were beginning to realize that the Americans were doing something
great, and not merely "talking big". Von Feldoffer was, therefore,
one of the first of a small army of spies entrusted with the risky
task of sowing the seeds of discontent and enmity amongst the men
from "across the Herring Pond".
The German authorities knew full well the beneficial effect to their
armies once they could provoke unhealthy rivalry and bitter
dissension between the American and British troops, but they forgot
the force of the trite quotation of an American admiral: "Blood is
thicker than water".
Konrad von Feldoffer was firmly convinced that, with a carefully
prepared forged passport in his possession, he would be able to land
without difficulty. He had never previously landed at Harwich, and
with the slight disguise he adopted--bleaching his hair--he stood
the remotest chance of being recognized.
He had reckoned without Rifleman Malcolm Carr. The latter was
watching the people on the jetty when he saw von Feldoffer, preceded
by a couple of porters, elbowing his way through the crowd of
onlookers to board the vessel.
The late-comer was typically Dutch as far as his clothes and
appearance went, but his face was that of Malcolm's acquaintance on
the Muizenburg train.
A second glance confirmed the New Zealander's suspicions. Promptly
Malcolm turned and bolted down the companion, rejoining Peter in the
steerage.
"Bother the fellow!" exclaimed Peter. "He's done me out of the salt
sea breezes. All right, I'll keep below; but really I don't see the
use of doing so. It's not likely that a first-class passenger would
invade the quarters of the steerage passengers."
Assisted by a funny but powerful little tug, the _Koning der Zee_
drew clear of the wharf, and, slipping between the piers, gained the
choppy waters of the North Sea.
Beyond territorial waters danger unseen lurked. All on board
realized the fact--it was Germany's version of the freedom of the
seas. Serving out the life-belts was in itself a significance. Yet
undeterred, the captain of the _Koning der Zee_ had sailed regularly
since the memorable 4th of August, 1914, risking U-boats and
floating mines to uphold the flag of Holland on waters that were
hers by equal right with other nations of the world.
Less than thirty miles from the Dutch coast the _Koning der Zee_ met
her doom. Travelling at twenty-two knots, her bows struck the
flexible wire bridle connecting a pair of mines. Like porpoises, the
deadly cylinders swung towards the ship under the strain on the
span. One struck the hull just below the water-line on the starboard
side, nearly abaft the foremost funnel; the second bumped heavily
under her port quarter. Practically simultaneously the deadly
mechanical mines exploded. Calculated to blow a hole in the bottom
of the most strongly constructed war-ship afloat, the mines simply
pulverized the thin steel plating of the luckless Dutch vessel.
Amidst the rush of escaping steam the _Koning der Zee_ began to
settle rapidly.
Well it was that the passenger list was a light one. Notwithstanding
the fact that three boats had been blown to fragments by the
explosions, the rest were practically intact. Promptly the
undismayed crew bundled the passengers into them and lowered
away--an easy task, since the vessel was sinking on a comparatively
even keel.
The captain and the wireless operator were the last to leave, the
latter striving in vain to get the damaged transmitter into working
order until peremptory orders from his superior obliged him to
desist.
Within eight minutes the _Koning der Zee_ had disappeared beneath
the element which in name she professed to rule, leaving five boats
tossing upon the choppy seas.
"You've got plenty of sea breezes now, Peter," remarked his brother
as they sat on the stern grating of one of the life-boats. "And salt
spray thrown in. I wonder what the next move is to be?"
"I don't mind very much, provided we are not picked up by a German
ship," replied Peter. "Where's your pal the spy?"
"In there," said Malcolm, indicating one of the boats lying at about
a hundred yards distance. "He was mighty sharp in nipping in."
The boats closed, their officers conferring with the captain as to
what course to pursue. Since the conversation was in Dutch the New
Zealanders understood not a word, but from the gestures of the
skipper they concluded that the boats were to attempt to row back to
the cost of Holland--a thirty-mile pull dead to windward, and in the
teeth of a steadily-rising wind--unless picked up by another vessel
in the meantime.
"It's a bit of a game," continued Malcolm, "when the spy is mined by
his own people. I wonder what he thinks about it."
As a matter of fact, von Feldoffer was thinking furiously. He had
been given to understand by the German Admiralty that instructions
would be issued to U-boat commanders concerned that the _Koning der
Zee_ was not to be molested on the day arranged for the spy to cross
the North Sea. On the strength of this assurance von Feldoffer
started for England; but, although the U-boats carried out
instructions, the floating mines, once launched, did not conform to
the mandate of the Berlin Admiralty.
"Hallo, what's up now?" enquired Peter, observing that the attention
of the Dutch sailors was directed to something on the northern
horizon.
He was not left long in doubt. Rapidly the "something" resolved
itself into a long, lean, grey destroyer, from the mast of which two
flags streamed in the breeze--and those flags were not the Black
Cross of Germany, but the glorious White Ensign of Britain.
"We heard the racket, so we came up to investigate," shouted the
alert Lieutenant-Commander of H.M. destroyer _Angiboo_. "Come
alongside as sharp as you can."
"No, thanks!" replied the Dutch skipper in English. "I'm making for
The Hook. If you'll receive some English passengers I will be
obliged."
"Think twice about it," replied the naval officer cheerfully. "The
glass is tumbling down, and the Dutch coast is dead to windward.
You'll never fetch there, unless I'm greatly mistaken."
"Very well, then, I accept," decided the skipper of the lost
mail-boat.
With her quick-firers manned, in case a U-boat lurked in the
vicinity, the _Angiboo_ stopped until the last of the passengers and
crew of the _Koning der Zee_ gained her deck; then, quickly
increasing speed to twenty-five knots, the destroyer shaped a
south-westerly course to rejoin the rest of the flotilla.
Presently Malcolm made his way for'ard until he reached the foot of
the ladder reaching to the destroyer's bridge.
"I'd like a few words with your captain," he said, addressing an
able seaman.
The man eyed the erratically-clad New Zealander with tolerant
amusement.
"A word with the owner, eh? Wot's wrong now, chum? Has your raggie
pinched your dress-suit case?"
"Cut it out, my man," said Malcolm authoritatively. "In your lingo,
'stow it'. Request your captain to see Mr. Carr, of the New Zealand
Rifle Brigade."
That did it. The intentionally-misleading use of the word 'mister'
led the bluejacket to believe that Malcolm was a junior officer of
one of the overseas contingent. For the first time in his life the
young New Zealander received a Royal Navy salute.
"Very good, sir," said the bluejacket. "I axes your pardon, sir; no
offence meant."
It was not long before Malcolm found himself in the presence of
Lieutenant-Commander Sefton in the chart-room. Briefly he stated his
case against the spy, Konrad von Feldoffer.
"You are absolutely certain?" asked the Lieutenant-Commander. "There
would be a most unholy rumpus if I ran the fellow in and he turned
out to be a neutral of unimpeachable character."
"I'll stake anything on what I say, sir," replied Malcolm. "If you
will let me confront him----"
"No, no!" interrupted the skipper of the _Angiboo_. "We don't want
the dramatic touch on board this craft. I'll send for the master of
the _Koning der Zee_, and get him to% bring Herr von Feldoffer to
me. We'll do the job as politely as possible."
Just at that moment the rest of the destroyer flotilla was sighted,
bearing south-south-west. Until the _Angiboo_ resumed station her
lieutenant-commander dared not leave the bridge.
"Now," he resumed, "you make your way aft, and keep out of sight
until I call you. I'll interview friend Feldoffer on the
quarter-deck. Messenger, pass the word for the master of the
Dutchman to see me in the ward-room."
Malcolm followed the bluejacket down the ladder. Then, with every
precaution, he made his way aft as far as the after funnel. From
this position he was within hailing distance of the diminutive
quarter-deck.
Presently the messenger returned to the bridge and made his report.
Lieutenant-Commander Sefton descended and proceeded to the officers'
quarters aft.
While the Dutch skipper was searching for the passenger, von
Feldoffer was anxiously keeping an eye on the bridge, fearful lest
any of the officers were shipmates with him on the armed
merchant-cruiser. He saw Malcolm ascend the bridge, but, the latter
being in mufti and having his back turned towards him, von Feldoffer
did not recognize the New Zealander. But when Malcolm came down the
ladder the astute Hun made the discovery that he was in a very tight
corner.
Deliberating with himself, the spy decided to "mark time" until
events shaped themselves. It was a pure coincidence that the New
Zealander and he were on the same boat; it might be that the
latter's visit to the bridge was utterly unconnected with him. He
hoped so; but still, things looked black.
A hand tapped him on the shoulder. Von Feldoffer started violently,
and, turning, found the master of the _Koning der Zee_ confronting
him.
"I startled you, Mynheer van Gheel," remarked the Dutch skipper,
addressing the spy by the name he had assumed before leaving
Holland. "The English captain wishes to see you in his cabin."
"For what purpose, Mynheer?" enquired von Feldoffer uneasily.
"_'t Spijt me!_" ejaculated the Dutchman. "How can I tell, unless it
be that your signature is required to the written report upon the
destruction of my unfortunate ship? It is purely a matter of form, I
should imagine."
Konrad von Feldoffer bowed, and, falling into step with the
Dutchman, walked aft.
"Look out, Malcolm!" whispered Peter, who had joined his brother by
the after funnel. "The fellow's coming this way."
Taken aback, Malcolm turned and faced the spy. The latter, betraying
no sign of recognition, walked past him; then, before his companion
or any of the bluejackets on deck could prevent him, he cleared the
stanchion-rails and leapt headlong into the sea.
"Man overboard!"
Promptly a couple of life-buoys were hurled over the side. A petty
officer proposed to dive after the suicide, but was instantly told
to "Hold fast!" by one of the officers. A semaphore message was sent
to the destroyer next astern to keep a look-out for the drowning
man, but he was not seen again. Either his back had been broken on
impact with the water, for the destroyer was making a good
twenty-five knots, or else he had been caught by the blades of one
of the two starboard propellers.
"Perhaps it's for the best," commented Lieutenant-Commander Sefton
when the circumstances of the tragedy were told him. "It has saved
the nation the cost of a trial and a dozen rounds of ball
ammunition."