Chapter XVII Told Through the Telephone
Seth Newruck’s belief was confirmed when he reached the harbour and met his Scoutmaster and Darby Catchpole.
“Give whatever help you can, Newruck,” said Mr. Bilverstone. “These boats coming in are from Ostend, with Belgian refugees, who will want food. Many of them will be ill, some wounded. The boats will be brought up alongside the Kingfisher, first of all. Then the people will be taken to the public hall.”
The jetties and quays were crowded with townsfolk, watching the trawlers drift slowly in to the outer harbour. As the first boat came alongside the quay there was an audible gasp of pity for the forlorn victims of war. The little craft was thronged with women and children, looking miserably ill and hungry, and still showing in their grim faces the lingering horror of all they had gone through, mingled with doubt as to the manner in which they would be received in a foreign land.
Then caps were raised in silent salute, handkerchiefs were waved in welcome, and the townsfolk pressed forward eagerly to throw down tins of biscuits, bags of buns, bananas, and chocolate, and to pass cans of hot coffee and milk.
Among the most eager was Mrs. Daplin-Gennery, who had loaded her motor-car with food from a neighbouring confectioner’s and got Darby Catchpole to help her to distribute it as each boat was warped in. All the time, tears of sympathy and sorrow were running down her cheeks, and she spoke to the Belgians in French, which some of them understood. Once, when a particular boat was passing, crowded with women, all of whom seemed to be ill, she took off her rich coat and threw it down to one of them and then returned to her car to buy yet more food.
There were over fifty boats in all, bringing considerably more than a thousand of the poorest refugees from all parts of Belgium, with such little treasures as they had been able to snatch from their desolated homes. Many of them had brought their dogs, their cats, and their canaries. Many were wounded, and had to be taken to the hospitals. Some were taken to houses in the town, but most of them were driven in cars to the public hall, where they were well cared for.
Mr. Arnold Bilverstone, taking temporary leave from his duties at the naval base, had mustered all the Scouts in the town to give help in attending to the distressed refugees. He was busy in the public hall, making a list of the Belgians’ names, when Seth Newruck went hurriedly up to him and plucked at his sleeve.
“Mr. Bilverstone, I’ve got something to tell you, sir,” began Seth.
Mr. Bilverstone laid aside his fountain pen and prepared to listen.
“Yes,” he smiled, “what is it? Some more families got accidentally mixed up? Children separated from their mothers and sent to the wrong billets?”
“No, sir, it’s not that,” Seth went on haltingly, as if fearing that after all his communication was of no importance. “It’s something I’ve seen. I don’t know if you noticed one of the Belgian boats, a small, yawl-rigged vessel, called La Belle Pucelle, of Blankenberghe? She was one of the last that came in, and about the most untidy of the lot. She was like a floating rag-bag.”
“I didn’t see her to my knowledge,” returned Mr. Bilverstone, turning back a page of his list, “but I wrote her name within the last half-hour. Here it is, La Belle Pucelle, with the names of the thirty-nine refugees who crossed in her—twenty-two women, five children, four infants in arm’s, three men, apart from a crew of four men and a boy, and two dogs of doubtful breed. That’s the lot.”
Seth Newruck was looking at the list over the Scoutmaster’s shoulder.
“That is eight men, including the boy,” he said. “But as a matter of fact, sir, there were nine, and you haven’t got the ninth man’s name, because he didn’t get registered. He didn’t come ashore in the same way as the rest of them. I watched him, sir. The reason why I took particular notice of him was that he looked of a different class from the others, and was about the only refugee of military age, apart from the fishermen who did the seamen’s work.”
“Well?” urged Mr. Bilverstone.
“He wore a very shabby overcoat,” Seth continued, “but beneath it he had a good tweed suit. Just as the boat came alongside the quay he slipped behind the mainsail; and when he appeared again, he had taken off the overcoat, changed his cloth cap for a bowler, and was carrying a brown leather handbag. While the other refugees were pressing forward to receive the food that was handed down to them, he got round to the stern, stepped on the quarter rail, and from that on to the quay, where he quickly disappeared in the crowd.”
“I expect he was an Englishman who had missed the passenger steamers and come over by the only way possible,” suggested Mr. Bilverstone.
“No, sir,” insisted Newruck, “he wasn’t an Englishman, nor yet a Belgian. He wasn’t even a genuine refugee. I’m rather good at remembering faces, sir, and I knew I’d seen his face before, somewhere; though it wasn’t until he’d gone that I realised who he was. I’m certain, now, however, I know that he was an alien enemy, a German, and a spy. I know that he was Fritz Seligmann—Herr Hilliger’s secretary.”
Mr. Bilverstone looked up sharply.
“Indeed?” he cried. “You are sure?”
“Certain.” Seth Newruck nodded emphatically. “I believe he has smuggled himself over here to do some spying work.”
The Scoutmaster was silent for some moments. He took up his pen, but did not use it.
“Look here, Seth,” he said presently. “There may be more in this than appears on the surface. That man has come over here for no good. He ought to be tracked. Unfortunately, I can’t leave this work just now. But you can be spared, I think. Suppose you go up to Sunnydene. That’s where he’ll make for. Go up and have a look at the house. If you see anything to show that some one has entered—any smoke from the chimneys, if the gate has been left open, if there are any new footprints on the garden path—let me know at once. Mrs. Daplin-Gennery will let you use her telephone. I expect I shall be at the naval base until about midnight. If I don’t hear from you before then, I shall understand that nothing has happened, or that you have made a mistake in supposing that the man was Hilliger’s secretary.”
Mrs. Daplin-Gennery had taken into her home a family of the Belgian refugees. They were people of good class, from Bruges; and after all the misery they had endured in their flight to Ostend, and the hardships of their crossing the North Sea in a crowded, open boat, she was unwilling to allow them to undergo the further discomfort of being, as she said, “herded” in the public hall. So she had brought them, a mother and two daughters, to Green Croft, providing them with new clothes, giving up to them two of her best bedrooms, and entertaining them with the most dainty dinner that her cook could serve.
During the meal they had told her so many thrilling and shocking stories of the German invasion and occupation of Belgium that she was worked up into a condition of extreme nervousness and began to dread more than ever the possibility of the enemy extending their march of ruthless conquest and destruction by coming over to England.
When her three guests had retired for the night, and she was left alone, her nervousness increased; she started at every little sound that broke the silence of the house, and when at length there came a violent ring at an electric bell, she clutched the arms of her chair, trembling.
The ring was repeated. Some one was at the front door. She tried to master her fears. Rising unsteadily from her chair, she crept silently out into the unlighted hall and stood listening.
Again came a ring. She strode across to the hall table, opened its drawer and took out the loaded revolver which she had kept there since the beginning of the war in case of emergency. Gripping the weapon tightly, she approached the door and drew the bolt.
“Who’s there?” she demanded. “What do you want at this time of night?”
“It’s Seth Newruck,” came the answer. “I want to know if you will allow me to use your telephone, ma’am, to speak to the naval base?”
With all her courage coming back to her, Mrs. Daplin-Gennery flung open the door.
“Goodness gracious, boy!” she cried, hardly able to see him in the pitch darkness. “Whatever are you doing out alone at such an hour? Come inside, quick! Yes, of course you can use the telephone.”
She led him into the morning-room, where she lighted a candle, bright lights being prohibited. There she left him with the telephone receiver at his ear.
He was not long in getting into communication with Mr. Bilverstone.
“I’ve been watching Sunnydene since dusk, sir,” he reported. “One of the window blinds had been moved. I knew there was some one in the house. But nothing happened for hours, until, at last, just as I was thinking of going home to bed, I saw a man come out of the grounds by the side gate with a spade over his shoulder. He went down the cliff to the denes. I took cover and followed him. He was making straight for the place where we discovered the petrol, but stopped half way. There was a patrol of Territorials on the beach. He’d seen or heard them, and he had to turn back. As he passed the bush where I was hiding, I saw him more distinctly; but it’s fearfully dark, and I could only judge by his figure and walk that he was Fritz Seligmann.”
“That’s all right, so far,” Mr. Bilverstone interposed across the telephone. “Did he go back to the house?”
“Well, sir,” Seth continued, “he went by a round-about way, and I lost sight of him for a long time and couldn’t move for fear he should see me. While I waited, a very queer thing happened, sir. There were no ships anchored in the Roads, and of course there were none under weigh; and yet when I looked out to sea, I noticed a tiny, green light somewhere about the middle of Alderwick shoal. It disappeared as suddenly as it came. And then, sir, there was a curious grunting noise from the same spot. Are you listening, sir?”
“Yes. What sort of a noise do you say it was?”
“I said grunting, sir; but if it had come from deeper water I should have said that it was the sound made by a submarine emptying or filling her ballast tanks. Do you think it could have been?”
“Wait. Let me consider.” There was a long pause. “It’s just possible. You’ve to remember that secret store of petrol. There is no doubt that Heinrich Hilliger intended it to be used by a German submarine. In that case it’s not wildly improbable that a German submarine is hanging round with the intention of lifting it, not knowing that it has already been removed. But they can’t very well come ashore for it while the sentries are patrolling the beach. Neither can Seligmann do any digging, unless he’s desperate enough to shoot the sentries first, and so get them out of the way. Now, if it was indeed a submarine that you heard—a German submarine—and if she is short of petrol, she will wait there, submerged. In that case we may be able to drop on her. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” returned Seth. “And I understand, or rather guess, something else. I guess that if she has come to fill her petrol tanks from Alderwick beach, she must have been piloted there by some one who knows every fathom of that shoal. Don’t you think it’s likely that Max Hilliger is aboard of her, sir?”
“Listen!” Mr. Bilverstone’s voice responded. “I will send a couple of marines along to keep watch, while you cut home and dress yourself up as a fisher boy and come down to me here at the naval base.”
“A fisher boy, sir?” Seth inquired in wonder.
“Yes,” came the answer. “At the first gleam of daylight you are going out with me in a shrimping boat, to fish for shrimps round about Alderwick shoal. You understand? Right.”