THE SPY
"FIFTEEN metres fine grey sand, Herr Kapitan."
Ober-leutnant Hans von Preugfeld, commanding officer of U 247, was
typically Prussian in his thoroughness. Carefully he examined the
sand adhering to the "arming" of the lead line that the leadsman held
up for his inspection.
He grunted a sort of congratulatory reply and, turning his back upon
the black oilskinned seaman, addressed himself to the
second-in-command.
"Good, Eitel!" he exclaimed. "We are not far from the spot. But
caution the men to keep their ears open and to stop running at
intervals. I am in no mood to fall in with any of those hornets, nor
do I want an English destroyer cutting us in twain."
Eitel von Loringhoven, unter-leutnant of the Imperial German
Submarine Service, nodded his head comprehendingly. He, too, fully
realised the perils that beset pirate _unterseebooten_, for, despite
all possible precautions, Germany's under-water fleet was in a bad
way. It came home to him in a very personal manner, too, for he was
the last survivor of five brothers who had gone out into the North
Sea mists at the behest of Admiral von Tirpitz. Four had never
returned. Of the manner of their demise he was in total ignorance.
Perhaps some day, if he survived the period of hostilities, the
British Admiralty might enlighten him, but until then his knowledge
of how four von Loringhovens simply vanished was merely a matter for
conjecture. And the very mystery of it all was both nerve-racking and
terrifying not only to Eitel von Loringhoven but to every officer and
man serving in the _unterseebooten_ flying the dishonoured Black
Cross Ensign.
Throughout the day U 247 had been feeling her way through fog of
varying intensity by aid of compass, lead line, and patent log.
Whenever the thud of the engines of an approaching vessel was heard
the U-boat submerged promptly and without ceremony. Although five out
of every six vessels that passed within audible distance were of the
British Mercantile Marine, U 247 made no effort to ascertain that
they were not warships. The risk of closing with any craft in the fog
was too great, for, although the U-boat could shell an unarmed
merchantman with impunity, she had long learnt to respect both
men-of-war and armed merchant ships.
Von Preugfeld had vivid recollections of the s.s. _Contraption_, a
six-knot tramp two hours out of Grimsby. He had had information from
an unimpeachable source that the _Contraption_ was unarmed, that she
carried munitions for Archangel, and that she expected to join a
convoy off Flamborough Head.
With these facts in his possession, the ober-leutnant showed far less
discretion than he usually exercised. Unable to resist a chance of
playing upon the nerves of the crew of the English ship, he brought U
247 to the surface, and at reduced speed maintained a position a bare
cable's length from the tramp's starboard bow.
Therein he made a great mistake. He had completely underrated the
stubborn courage of the British Mercantile Marine.
Hard-a-port went the _Contraption's_ helm. Barely had the crew of the
U-boat time to scurry below and submerge at record speed when the
tramp's forefoot rasped athwart the U-boat's deck. It was a near
thing, as the moisture on von Preugfeld's ashen-grey features
testified.
Twenty minutes later U 247 rose to the surface, and at a safe
distance shelled her antagonist and sent her to the bottom; but the
U-boat had to "leg it" back to Wilhelmshaven with her pumps going
continuously to keep down the water that oozed through ominous dents
in her hull.
"Ten metres, Herr Kapitan."
"Any signs of the lighthouse?" he demanded.
"None, Herr Kapitan."
"Keep her at that," continued the ober-leutnant. "Inform me when you
strike eight metres, unless you sight the headland before that."
Running just awash, and with her surface motors well throttled down,
U 247 held on until the look-out man gave the much desired
information:
"Land right ahead, Herr Kapitan. A white lighthouse two points on our
starboard bow."
It was now close on sunset. A partial lifting of the fog revealed at
a distance of about a mile a serrated ridge of dark cliffs
culminating in a bold promontory crowned by the massive squat tower
of a lighthouse. There was no need for von Preugfeld to verify the
statement by means of his reflex glasses. He rapped out a curt order,
and the U-boat swung round through eight points of the compass and
settled down to a course south-south-west, or parallel with the
forbidding shore.
"Tell von Preussen to hold himself in readiness," said von Preugfeld,
addressing the unter-leutnant. "If he is not set ashore within
forty-five minutes, I will accept no further responsibility in the
matter."
Von Loringhoven clicked his heels and saluted.
"Very good, Herr Kapitan," he replied. "Von Preussen is even now
changing into the accursed English uniform. Ach, here he is."
The ober-leutnant wheeled abruptly to see standing within three paces
of him a tall, thickly built man wearing a khaki uniform.
"So you are ready?" remarked von Preugfeld, not with any degree of
cordiality. Truth to tell, he was not at all keen about this
particular undertaking, namely, to set ashore a German spy disguised
as a British officer. "Well, I suppose your get-up will pass muster,
von Preussen? If it does not, I fancy you'll be in a tighter hole
than ever you've been before."
"I can look after myself, I think, Herr Kapitan," replied the spy. "I
can assure you that from my point of view my work ashore will be
child's play to the time I spent on board your vessel. Ach! I do not
hesitate to confess that I am not of a disposition suitable for
_unterseebooten_ work. It appals me."
The ober-leutnant shrugged his shoulders.
"It will help you to appreciate the perils that we undergo for the
honour of the Fatherland," he observed. "Perhaps, on your return, you
might communicate your views on the subject to the Chief of Staff.
Our task grows more difficult every day. The men, even, are showing
signs of discontent, thereby magnifying our dangers. But,
there--better come below and let von Loringhoven and me have a final
kit inspection; and at the same time we may join in a bottle of
Rhenish wine and drink to the success of our joint enterprise."
The kapitan having enjoined a petty Officer to maintain a vigilant
watch, led the way, followed by von Preussen, the unter-leutnant
bringing up the rear, and the three adjourned to a narrow,
complicated compartment that served as a ward-room. In spite of
scientific apparatus for purifying the air, that confined space
reeked abominably. Everything of a textile nature was saturated with
moisture, while the metal beams, although coated with cork
composition, exuded drops of rust-tinged water.
In the glare of the electric lamps Karl von Preussen stood stiffly
erect, clad in the uniform of a captain of the British Royal Air
Force. In height he was about five feet eight, broad of build, and
with decidedly Anglo-Saxon features. He could speak English fluently
and colloquially, and thanks to a British Public School education,
followed by a three years' appointment in a London shipping office,
he was well acquainted with the peculiarities and customs of a
country that was Germany's chief enemy.
Long before August 1914 von Preussen had been a spy. One might say
that the seeds of the dishonourable profession were germinating
during his school-days: they were certainly decidedly active when he
was occupying an ill-paid post in Threadneedle Street, where his
modest pound a week was augmented by sundry substantial sums paid in
British gold but emanating from Berlin.
The outbreak of hostilities found von Preussen fully prepared. Posing
as one of the principals of a steel factory, he practically had an
entry to every British Government establishment. Armed with forged
documents, he was not for one moment suspected. From Scapa Flow to
the Scillies, and from Loch Swilly to Dover, his activities brought
valuable information to the Imperial Government. Within a week of the
mining of a British Dreadnought--a calamity that the Admiralty vainly
attempted to conceal--von Preussen had conveyed details and
photographs of the lost vessel to Berlin, and on the following
morning the German Press published illustrated reports of a "secret"
known throughout the world.
When occasion offered, von Preussen did not hesitate to commit acts
of sabotage. More than once, disguised as a munition worker, he was
instrumental in the destruction of a shell factory, while it was he
who gave instructions and furnished material to the noted spy Otto
Oberfurst in order that the latter could and did destroy the cruiser
_Pompey_ in Auldhaig Harbour.
The stringent passport restrictions placed upon all travellers to and
from Great Britain considerably curtailed von Preussen's activities.
The difficulty of making a sea passage to the Continent was almost
insurmountable. Once, indeed, the spy essayed to fly, and was within
an ace of success, when the stolen machine crashed. Fortunately for
the spy, the accident happened in an unfrequented spot, and being but
slightly injured he contrived to get away; but the mystery of the
abandoned machine puzzled the brains of the Air Ministry for months.
Von Preussen returned to the Fatherland via Bergen, disguised as a
fireman on board a Norwegian tramp.
The spy had not long been in Berlin before he was peremptorily
ordered off on another "tour." The Hun High Command knew how to get
the best out of their secret service agents, and since Karl von
Preussen had been a success his employers kept him running at high
pressure. Accordingly, armed with instructions to report upon various
British air stations, and to obtain accurate information respecting
the bombing 'planes known to be building for the express purpose of
blowing Berlin to bits, the spy was sent on board U 247, the
commander of which was furnished with orders to land his passenger on
the east coast of Scotland.
"Here's to your venture, von Preussen!" exclaimed Ober-leutnant von
Preugfeld, as he raised his glass. "Your health."
With a profusion of "Hoch, hoch, hoch!" their glasses clicked and the
toast was drunk. Then, tightening the belt of his trench-coat, the
spy ascended the ladder and gained the deck.