THE SECRET PETROL-DEPÔT
"NO, I don't want to meet Max & Co.--at least, not just yet,"
soliloquised Mr. Greenwood as he hurriedly and silently descended to
the floor of the tunnel. His first thought was to retrace his steps,
scramble through the opening and lie at full length upon the outside
ledge, until he realised that the mysterious frequenters of the cave
would still be between him and freedom.
Then he remembered that there was a space between the foot of the
ladder and the end of the tunnel. It was not at all likely that this
would be examined.
With an agility that he did not think himself capable of, Mr.
Greenwood crawled between two of the steps and crouched in his place
of concealment.
Barely had he done so when the trap-door was raised. A flood of light
streamed from above, although, fortunately, the flight of steps threw
a strong shadow upon the recumbent form of Mr. Greenwood.
"You vos leave open der door?" inquired a guttural voice.
"Yes, Max," was the reply. "It's main heavy, and there's no call to
exert ourselves to bustin'-point. No one'll come here after dark."
The speaker descended, holding an electric torch in his hand. He was
a short, thick-set fellow, dressed in soiled velveteens. He looked a
typical gamekeeper.
The person addressed as Max followed. He was a tall, fair-haired,
broad-shouldered man of about thirty years of age. He wore a long
overcoat and muffler, a hard felt hat, grey trousers and brown boots,
the latter being almost hidden under a thick deposit of mud.
"I've got a rope further along," continued the short man. "When they
answer our signals and send a boat, I'll lower you down. Only don't
forget it's cash on the nail."
"Vot vos dat?" asked Max.
"The fifty pounds agreed upon. We'll signal at intervals, but don't
be too jolly cocksure. They can't always be to time. If they show up
afore four in the mornin', count yourself lucky."
The men, still talking, moved down the tunnel, until a bend, that Mr.
Greenwood had passed without being aware of it, screened the light
from the place where he lay concealed.
"Now or never," he thought.
Extricating himself from his cramped position, he scaled the ladder.
Then, with his head almost level with the trap-door, he waited until
his eyes grew accustomed to the blaze of light.
The opening was placed in the floor of a room--the kitchen of a
small cottage, apparently. The two windows were heavily curtained.
The door was secured, in addition to the massive lock, by a stout
oaken beam resting in iron staples at either end. The furniture was
scanty, consisting of a deal table, on which lay the remains of a
meal and a large oil-lamp; three rush-bottomed chairs; a dresser, and
a well-worn horse-hair couch. On one of the beams overhead were slung
a couple of double-barrelled sporting guns. Opposite the door was
another opening to a second room.
Mr. Greenwood's first impulse upon emerging from the tunnel was to
slam the heavy trap-door and pile the furniture on top of it. But, he
reflected, the men had a means of escape by the rope of which the
short man had spoken. Moreover, they would raise the alarm and
prevent the approach of the expected boat, which, more than likely,
would put off from a German submarine.
No, he must make his escape without arousing suspicion. It would be
an easy matter to unbar the door, but since he could not replace the
cross-bar after he was outside, such a step would be unwise.
Throwing back the curtain he tried one of the windows. It was a
latticed casement. With a little agility he could squeeze through,
replace the curtain and trust to luck that the unsecured window might
escape detection.
Two minutes later he was breathing the open air--a free man.
He looked about him. The night air blew cold. He had no idea of the
direction of Auldhaig. For the time being his quest for the cruiser
was out of the question.
Far away and at a considerably lower level two rows of lamps
glimmered through the darkness. They were the anchor lights of the
decoy boats of the fleet lying in Auldhaig Harbour. The town and the
actual ships were shrouded in darkness, but every night numbers of
small boats, each showing a white light, were moored at some distance
from the fleet. At one time they might be placed half a dozen cables'
lengths to the north'ard of the anchorage, at another a similar
distance to the eastward, the idea being to mislead any Zeppelin that
might attempt to drop bombs upon the harbour and shipping.
Setting his face towards the friendly lights, Mr. Greenwood began the
descent of the rough hillside. Before he had gone a quarter of a mile
the irresistible yearning for a pipe assailed him. Turning his back
to the wind, he struck a match, and was soon puffing contentedly at
his gratifying briar.
Suddenly half a dozen dark forms pounced upon him. Before he could
utter a sound he was seized by a pair of muscular hands, and a hoarse
voice exclaimed:
"Now, then, wot's your little game? Flashing lights at this time o'
night, eh?"
Mr. Greenwood did not immediately reply. His dignity as a respectable
British citizen had been outraged. He drew himself up with as much
hauteur as the circumstances would permit.
"Allow me to inform you," he said stiffly, "that I will not be spoken
to in this dictatorial manner."
"All right, old sport, don't bust yourself," rejoined his questioner.
"Now, what are you doing here this time o' night? Wanderin' along
the cliffs at ten o'clock wants a little explanation."
"As a matter of fact I was looking for H.M.S. 'Pompey,'" began Mr.
Greenwood.
A roar of laughter greeted this announcement.
"D'ye expect to find her on top of a cliff?" asked the man when the
merriment had subsided. "Look here, this is a serious matter. We're
the Coast Patrol. We saw a light about a quarter of an hour ago and
another just now."
"When I lit my pipe," added Mr. Greenwood, who, still ruffled by his
reception, had decided not to impart the secret to the uncouth crowd
that had waylaid him; "and what I said about the 'Pompey' is
absolutely correct. I was directed along the cliffs, missed my way,
and got cut off by the tide. My object was to visit my son, who is an
officer on board the cruiser in question. If you have any reason to
doubt my statement, inquiries on board will remove all suspicion."
"You came up over the cliffs, sir?" asked the man respectfully, for
Mr. Greenwood's declaration that he was the father of a naval officer
could not lightly be ignored.
"I did," replied Mr. Greenwood with studied pride. He did not think
it necessary to explain how.
"Well, you're a game 'un, pardon my saying so. P'raps, sir, you won't
mind if we sees you back to the town. Dooty is dooty, an' we must
satisfy ourselves that you are what you says you are. Got any friends
at Auldhaig?"
Mr Greenwood was adverse to causing his daughter anxiety at that time
of night. At the hotel he was known only as a stranger putting up for
a few days.
"I'm afraid I haven't," he replied. "But, if it is not too late, I
suppose you could accompany me on board the cruiser?"
The men conferred amongst themselves; then the spokesman again
addressed the object of his suspicion.
"All right, sir; that'll be the best way, I'm thinking. Best foot
forward, sir. We may just catch the six-bell boat from the staith."
The speaker and another member of the patrol fell in on either side
of their suspect, while the rest of the party disappeared in the
opposite direction.
"We are members of the National Guard," explained the senior of the
two men. "'Tain't exactly a soft job, but it's something. Not often
do we come across strangers on the cliffs after dark. When we do, we
generally run 'em in. My word, I'd like to know how you got up here
from the beach, sir!"
Mr. Greenwood declined the bait. He was well satisfied with the way
events were shaping themselves. In spite of his misadventures and the
lateness of the hour, he stood a fair chance of seeing his son that
night.
Half an hour's steady tramp brought him and his escort to the staith
or quay. Answering the challenge of the armed seaman on sentry, the
patrol men ascertained that the "Pompey's" boat had not yet put off
to bring back a party of officers who had been ashore on leave.
Presently several great-coated forms appeared through the darkness.
Amongst them was the commander.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the sentry. "Three civilians require passage
to the 'Pompey.'"
"Eh, what?" queried the commander. "At this time of night? What for?
Who are they?"
Mr. Greenwood seized the opportunity by explaining to the naval
officer that he had urgent reasons for seeing his son--Assistant
Paymaster Eric Greenwood, R.N.R.
"Personal reasons?" asked the commander. "I am afraid you will have
to defer your visit till the morning. Sorry; but personal
considerations have to stand aside in wartime. And who might your
companions be?"
"My--er--my goalers, I suppose I must term them," explained Mr.
Greenwood. "I am, I believe, under arrest. In addition to personal
reasons I have a matter of national importance which I wish to bring
to the notice of the authorities. Since I know only two people
connected with the service, both of whom are officers on the
'Pompey,' I thought---- But I'd rather explain to you alone."
The commander hesitated. He was a genial man, ready to do anyone a
good turn. If, however, he took the responsibility of introducing a
civilian on board on the strength of what might prove to be a
cock-and-bull story, he might be rapped over the knuckles by the
Admiralty--and, he reflected, being rapped over the knuckles by My
Lords generally resulted in the sting remaining for many a long day.
"Why not make your report to the flag captain?" suggested the
commander suavely. "His shore office is open day and night, and that
would save you a tedious boat journey on a cold night like this."
Mr. Greenwood could be very obstinate when occasion arose. Having
gone thus far, he was determined to see the business through in the
manner he had intended.
"No, sir," he replied. "I do not want to run about after flag
captains at this hour of the night. If you cannot see your way clear
to accede to my request, the important matter of which I hinted must
wait. The responsibility which is no light one--will be transferred
to other shoulders."
It was the turn of the commander to be taken aback. He was not used
to be talked to like this by civilians. He tried to fix the
middle-aged gentleman with his best quarter-deck glare, but the
darkness foiled him. Had he been able to see the dishevelled
individual in the light he would doubtless have come to the
conclusion that he was being tackled by a person with an unhinged
mind.
"Very well--carry on," he exclaimed. "Here's the boat. Coxswain!
assist this gentleman into the stern-sheets."
"And us, sir?" began the National Guard, but the naval officer
"choked him off."
"No, no," he interrupted hurriedly. "I'll be responsible for
your--er--prisoner."
Guided by the coxswain, Mr. Greenwood stepped off the quay into the
stern-sheets of the picquet-boat. In fifteen seconds he found himself
sandwiched between two young officers, while another half a dozen
completely crowded out the strictly limited space.
The coxswain sounded a bell in the engine-room. The engines were
reversed and the long, lean boat backed from the quay. Then, at full
speed ahead, she glided rapidly, without lights, through the pitch
dark waters of Auldhaig Harbour.