THE TRAIL TO STRANGE NEWS
Fortune has a way of favoring the bold. The corporal and a marine were
in the corridor behind Darrin. The ober-lieutenant’s special guard had
been hurled aside.
Hearing the outcries, the other two marines in the cabin sprang toward
the German officer. One of these von Bechtold tripped and sent
sprawling; the other he struck in the chest, pushing him back.
Just an instant later von Bechtold went down on his back, all five of
the marines doing their best to get at him in the same second. But the
German had had time to knock the lid from a battery cell and to plunge
the envelope into the liquid contained in the jar. Then the German was
sent to the mat by his assailants.
Darrin, following, his whole thought on the envelope, plunged his right
hand down into the fluid, gripping the package that had been snatched
from him.
“Sulphuric acid!” he exclaimed, and made a quick dive for a lidded fire
bucket that rested in a rack. The old-fashioned name for sulphuric acid
is vitriol, and its powers in eating into human flesh are well known.
Darrin’s left hand sent the lid of the bucket flying. Hand and envelope
were thrust into the water with which, fortunately, the bucket was
filled. When sulphuric acid in quantity is added to water heat is
generated, but a small quantity of the acid may be washed from the flesh
with water to good advantage if done instantly. After a brief washing of
the hand Dave drew it out, patting it dry with a handkerchief. Thus the
hand, though reddened, was saved from painful injury. The envelope he
allowed to remain in the water for some moments.
“Von Bechtold, you are inclined to be a nuisance here,” Darrin said
coolly. “I am going to direct these men to take you above.”
“I am helpless,” replied the German, sullenly, from the floor, where he
now lay passive, two marines sitting on him ready to renew the struggle
if he so desired.
“Take him above, you two men,” Darrin ordered, “and take especial pains
to see that he doesn’t try to escape by jumping into the water.”
At this significant remark von Bechtold paled noticeably for a moment.
Then his ruddy color came back. He got upon his feet with a resentful
air but did not resist the marines who conducted him up to the deck.
Dave now drew out the envelope, which had become well soaked, and took
out the enclosure, a single sheet. The writing at the top of the sheet
was obliterated. Darrin did not read German fluently, but at the bottom
of the sheet he found a few words and phrases that he was able to
translate. Their meaning made him gasp.
“Danny-boy,” he murmured to his chum, “I want you to make quick work of
transferring the prisoners to the ‘Logan.’ Keep back two of the German
engineer crew, and send word to Ensign Phelps to come over on the
launch’s next trip with two men of our engine-room force, and to bring
along also six seamen and a petty officer. Phelps will take charge of
this craft as prize officer.”
The submarine was soon cleared of her officers and crew. Ensign Phelps
and his own men came over and took command. Two German engine-room men
had been kept back to assist the Americans. On the last trip Darrin and
Dalzell returned to the undersea boat and gave the order to Ensign
Phelps to proceed on his way to the base port.
As soon as the prize with its captors was under way, Darrin went to the
chart-room of the “Logan,” sent for the marine corporal, and ordered
that Ober-Lieutenant von Bechtold be brought before him.
As the prisoner was ushered in Dave rose courteously, bowed and pointed
to a chair.
“Be seated, if you please. Now, Herr Ober-Lieutenant, your
second-in-command and your crew will be taken ashore as ordinary
prisoners of war, and turned over to the British military prison
authorities. Of course you are aware that your own imprisonment will
take place under somewhat different circumstances.”
Von Bechtold, who had accepted the proffered chair, gazed stolidly at
this American naval commander, who was several years younger than
himself.
“I fear that I do not understand you,” the German replied.
“You soon will, for you speak excellent English,” Darrin returned, with
a chilly smile. “Your English does not have exactly the Chicago accent,
but it was good enough for your purposes. The Chicagoan speaks with a
sort of sub-Bostonese accent, as perhaps you did not know. Your own
English has rather the sound of Oxford or Cambridge University in
England.”
Opening his eyes wide, and expressing bewilderment, the German begged:
“Will you be good enough to speak more explicitly?”
“Certainly,” Dave assented. “When you are turned over to the British
military authorities it will be done with a card showing that you now
give the name of von Bechtold——”
“Which is my right name,” interposed the German officer, tartly.
“And the card will also state that, a few days ago, you gave the name of
Matthews.”
“Again you use that name of Matthews,” cried von Bechtold, impatiently.
“May I ask why?”
“I will make it so clear,” Dave promised him, “that you would understand
even though what I am about to say were not true. But it is true. A few
days ago you met me at the hotel in port. You met also my executive
officer, Mr. Dalzell. You introduced yourself to us as Matthews, claimed
to be a buyer for a Chicago dry-goods house, and declared that your
mission was to buy linen.”
“Not a word of truth in it,” declared von Bechtold, calmly, with a wave
of his hand, as though to brush aside the charge.
“Unfortunately, quite true,” Dave went on, steadily. “You were
there under an assumed name and claimed to be an American citizen.
You exhibited an American passport; I have heard that your government
has a printing office where such documents are turned out. You were
there out of uniform. In other words, sir, your conduct on British
soil, in civilian dress and under false colors, met with all the
requirements of proof that you were there as a spy. It has long
been known to the British, and to us, that German spies have
abounded in Great Britain and that they obtained a good deal
of information that we would rather German submarine commanders
did not possess. So, Mr. von-Bechtold-Matthews, it will be my
disagreeable duty to hand you over with the charge that you have been
serving as a spy. Dalzell and I will be obliged to testify against
you. I much fear that a British court-martial will condemn you to be
shot.”
“What infamous lie is this that you are threatening to utter against
me?” demanded the German officer, leaping to his feet.
“No lie at all, as you know quite well,” Dave went on. “I am sorry to
have to bring you to this plight, von Bechtold, but you know that I
cannot do otherwise.”
Gazing into the steady eyes of the young American naval officer von
Bechtold realized the folly of further acting. Breathing hard, he
dropped into a chair.
“It is not a fine thing that you propose to do to me,” he declared. “You
do not know, of course, that I have five young children at home, who
will need a father.”
“I did not know it,” Dave answered gently. “Yet I feel quite certain
that some of the information you have gathered, when ashore in these
parts, has resulted in the drowning at sea of a good many men who may
have left behind even more than five children.”
“I feel that I am doomed,” shuddered the German, throwing a hand up over
his eyes. “My five little children will not see their father again—not
even when this war is over.”
“It is too bad,” Dave answered, “but I suppose, Herr Ober-Lieutenant,
that it must be classed with the fortune of war. Now, as to the identity
of the civilian who lies dead in a berth aboard your late command, it
may be that, if you were ready to tell something about the reasons for
his presence on board, and why he had in his possession this paper——”
Here Darrin spread out the wet sheet of paper that he had brought from
the submarine.
“I can tell you nothing about either the civilian or that paper,”
declared von Bechtold, doggedly.
“That is your own affair,” Darrin admitted. “I shall not make any
attempt to force you.”
“You had better not!” declared the German, fiercely. “I can die, but I
cannot betray my country. Yet have you no heart?—when I tell you about
my five little children whom you would deny the privilege of ever seeing
their father again?”
“If I were to suppress my report of your activities as a spy,” Darrin
continued, “I would be guilty of betraying my country and my country’s
allies. It would also be necessary for me to induce my subordinate
officer to do the same thing. You will realize the impossibility of our
doing such a thing. On the other hand, between now and the time that you
are tried by court-martial you will have time to reflect upon whether
you wish to try to save yourself from the death sentence by explaining
to the British authorities the full meaning of what had been written on
this sheet of paper and also the reasons for that civilian being aboard
your craft. Then, by throwing yourself on the mercy of the court, you
might escape the full penalty meted out to a spy.”
“I shall not do it,” declared von Bechtold, rising and drawing himself
to his full height.
“Nor do I believe I could be induced to tell what I knew if I stood in
your boots. Orderly!”
To the marine who entered Dave gave the order to summon the guard. Von
Bechtold was taken back to the “Logan’s” brig, and locked in for
absolutely safe keeping. Darrin went up to the bridge.
“Do you feel sorry for the fellow?” asked Dalzell, when he had heard an
account of the interview.
“No more sorry than I do for any man who is down and out,” Dave replied,
truthfully. “Now that he is captured and his spy work ended, I believe
that ships on these waters will be much safer.”
“He will be just one Hun less, after a firing squad has finished with
him,” Dan rejoined.
Dave nodded thoughtfully.
“War breeds savage ideas, doesn’t it?” demanded Danny Grin, with a shrug
of his shoulders.
“Not breeds, but brings out,” answered Darrin.
They were nearing the coast now. Destroyers, patrol boats, drifters and
mine-sweeping craft sighted the “Logan” and her prize, and the shrill
whistles of these hunters of the sea testified to their joy over the
capture.
Then the destroyer and her prize entered the port. Darrin brought his
craft to anchorage, while the captured submarine was anchored not far
away. The German prisoners were taken ashore under guard and turned over
to the British authorities.
Ober-Lieutenant von Bechtold, under the charge of being a spy, was
marched away under a special guard.
And then Dave made haste to present himself, with the half-destroyed
sheet of paper in his pocket, before the flag lieutenant of Vice Admiral
Speare.