Chapter XX Put to the Test
“It’s astonishing how much more interesting the North Sea has become since the beginning of the war,” remarked Vera Redisham, standing at the dining-room window, busily knitting a khaki muffler for some unknown soldier at the Front. “There’s a steamer passing now, a neutral, and I’m simply dying to know where she comes from and where she’s going, and if she has been in danger from German torpedoes.”
Her brother Mark, home on shore leave, was seated at the fireside, making up arrears in his reading of the newspapers. He was dressed in mufti, and looked very different from the rough-clothed signal boy who for weeks past had been battling with autumn storms and the perils of floating mines on the wave-swept decks of the Dainty.
“What flag’s she flying?” he questioned, turning in his comfortable chair.
“I can’t make out,” his sister answered. “It’s blue, with a white cross. And the same colours are painted on her side. And, oh, Mark, isn’t it sweet of her? She’s saluting the Kingfisher!”
“So she ought to,” declared Mark, dropping his paper and rising to his feet. “All neutrals ought to salute the White Ensign, seeing what our Navy is doing by keeping the seas clear of the enemy. A Danish ship saluted our squad of mine-sweepers the other day. Blue with a white cross? She must be Greek. I expect she’s carrying a cargo of currants. Isn’t her name painted on her side?”
He went to the window and looked out upon the sea.
“Yes, she’s Greek,” he decided. “She’s from Pireus. That’s the harbour outside Athens, isn’t it? Who’s this coming in at the gate? A policeman delivering handbills!”
The parlourmaid presently brought in a sheet of typewritten paper, saying that it had been left at the door by a police sergeant. Mark Redisham took it from her and glanced at it. It was an order, issued by the Chief Constable of the county, under the Defence of the Realm Act.
“This ought to keep silly people along the front from showing lights from their windows,” he announced. “Listen!”
“All lights visible from seaward shall be effectually obscured. No person shall show a light on the shore or on the land adjoining thereto, or visible from seaward.
“The public are hereby warned that non-compliance with this regulation will render them liable to instant arrest, and that patrols have been instructed to fire at sight and without further warning on any person found signalling.”
“That’s what should have been done weeks ago.”
“Bright lights on motor-cars ought to be prohibited, too,” pursued Vera.
“Yes,” agreed Mark, “and all Germans ought to be shut up. If innocent Belgian refugees are not allowed to stay in Haddisport, why should we let Germans live in houses overlooking the coast? They ought to be cleared out instead of being given the chance of sending messages over to Germany. It’s certain there are spies all along the East Coast. Otherwise, how could the enemy know so well about the movements of our warships?”
He picked up the ball of khaki wool which Vera had dropped.
“I believe they’re only waiting their chance to slip across and do a bit of raiding,” he went on. “The Admiralty seem to think it possible, anyhow. That’s why they have altered the positions of the lightships and buoys. I expect they’ll continue to shift them about, so that the enemy may be confused.”
“Of course, motor-cars and bicycles, however brightly lighted, can’t send messages across the North Sea,” Vera reflected.
Mark shrugged his shoulders.
“What’s to hinder a motor-car being fitted with secret aerials?” he asked. “The Germans are not children. They’re up to all sorts of cunning tricks. Why, only last week one of our Haddisport drifters went out to the herring fishing with a splash of red paint on her starboard bow. Nobody knew who put it there, the crew least of all; they didn’t even see it. But when the boats were drifting to their nets on the fishing ground, a German submarine came nosing round, spotted the red splash of paint, and then went off in a bee-line for Heligoland.”
“Well?” questioned Vera, not understanding. “What did it mean?”
“Well?” repeated Mark. “I don’t know what it meant. But the men on the submarine did. It was a pre-arranged sign—a message. It’s an old Scout trick. Darby Catchpole wanted to communicate with me once, by a way we’d fixed upon. I watched for the postman, and when he came past this gate I saw some flour dust on his left arm. That meant ‘No.’ If the flour dust had been on his right arm, it would have meant ‘Yes.’ In the same way a German spy could put a secret mark on a railway carriage or a motor-car, going to a known destination, and give information to hundreds of other spies along the route.”
“Dear me!” exclaimed Vera. “Perhaps it was a spy who tied the mysterious piece of ribbon to the handle-bar of my bicycle yesterday!”
“Likely enough,” surmised Mark. “Perhaps the same one who daubed the paint on that fishing-boat. There’s no doubt there are spies around here. And there’s a green motor-car that goes dashing about between here and Buremouth with lamps shining like searchlights. The police and the military patrols have had instructions to capture it. Constable Challis has been put on night duty now. Challis is rather too fond of talking, but he’s an uncommonly smart policeman.”
Mark Redisham’s estimate of Constable Challis was justified sooner than he expected.
On the very next night, indeed, Challis was on his beat patrolling the rabbit warren and the dark lanes to the north of the town, when his smartness was put to the test.
Formerly he would have been watching for tramps, suspicious loiterers, and possible burglars; but, since the outbreak of war, crime had diminished, even gipsies were fewer, and he could do nothing so useful as to watch the road for unauthorised vehicles and for spies flashing signals across the sea.
Before ten o’clock he had visited five different houses to alarm the occupants by informing them that lights were visible from their windows.
In three cases it was discovered that the lights were to be seen through the chinks of imperfectly drawn curtains or ill-fitting blinds; in one case a nurse had left the gas burning by mistake, and in the other, where the light came through an open stable door, a groom was attending to a sick horse and had not known of the new regulations. By midnight, however, the whole neighbourhood was in darkness.
Yet, still there were belated cyclists carrying lighted lamps. The worst offenders were the motor-cyclists, and these were mostly military men who, as Challis reflected, ought to have known better. Once a large motor-car dashed along the road at high speed with acetylene lamps which shone for many yards in advance of the wheels, illuminating the trees and hedges on either side of the road.
Much to Challis’s surprise, when he stood and held out a warning arm and called to the driver to stop, he was obeyed. Even more to his surprise, he discovered the driver to be Mrs. Daplin-Gennery, and that her companion was her nephew, Lieutenant Ingoldsby.
“Very sorry, ma’am,” said Challis apologetically, “but I’ve got strict orders to stop all cars with high lights. I’m afraid I must ask you to lower yours, or else screen them.”
“Quite right, constable,” laughed Lieutenant Ingoldsby, jumping out. “I’m glad you stopped us without opening fire upon us.”
Challis gathered that Lieutenant Ingoldsby was on the way to Buremouth to visit a friend who had been sent home wounded. When the car had gone on, with greatly reduced lights, he returned towards Haddisport along the edge of the cliff, then made inland to the Alderwick road.
As he approached the road through the intricate maze of bramble and gorse, he became aware of the sound of an approaching car. Could it possibly be Mrs. Daplin-Gennery returning so soon?
Instead of going into the road, he concealed himself within the shadow of a hawthorn-tree and watched. The car was coming slowly—so slowly that it made very little sound; and its lights were exceedingly dim. He waited, feeling instinctively that something was about to happen. It occurred to him that the dimness of the lights and the quiet slowness with which the car was moving were due to the extreme caution on the part of the driver, who evidently wished to escape observation.
In the darkness Challis could hardly see the vehicle itself, only the two tiny lights which were like the glimmer of candles. Suddenly, just opposite to him, it stopped, then backed and curved towards the farther side of the road.
Only at that moment did the watcher realise that just at that point was a narrow lane leading to Alderwick Hall. It was into this lane that the car was backing, obviously for the purpose of concealment. When its whole length was within the lane, hidden under the overhanging trees, it stopped.
The driver got out, stood for some moments as if listening, then went softly to the front of the car to extinguish the lamps. As he bent down to the first of them, the light shone in his face.
Challis hitched his cuffs back from his wrists. His eyesight was very keen. He had seen the man’s face and recognised it. It was the face of Fritz Seligmann, the German spy!
With the stealthy softness of a cat stalking its prey, the policeman crept forward, and, just as Seligmann had raised his hand to turn out the second light, leapt upon him, gripping him from behind by the two arms.
There was a heavy gasp from the astonished German as he went down on his knees, the policeman’s weight on top of him. He writhed and struggled to free himself, and succeeded in getting his right hand to his hip pocket, from which, with an effort, he drew his loaded revolver.
Challis guessed rather than knew what was in the man’s hand. In an instant he had seized the German’s wrist, twisted the hand under it, and secured the weapon from the helpless fingers.
“Now,” he said, speaking for the first time, “I think I’ve got you. If you move I’m goin’ to use this here pistol. You’re an enemy, and you may take it from me I don’t care if I shoot you dead here and now no more than if I killed you on the field of battle.”
Seligmann was lying with his face to the grass, panting, writhing, heaving under the weight of the constable’s knee planted in the small of his back, while the cold ring of the revolver muzzle was pressed against the bone behind his ear and the policeman’s forefinger was twitching at the trigger.
Thus they remained for some minutes, the one utterly helpless, the other resolute, alert, and astonishingly strong.
In those tense minutes Challis wondered what he was going to do. He did not want to use the revolver as anything else than a menace, and yet he knew that if he should move there would be a struggle, during which, by some trick or dexterity, his captive might escape.
In the back pocket of his overcoat was a pair of handcuffs. But how could he get hold of them without dropping the revolver? How could he hope to fix them on the German’s wrists?
But if he could not get at the handcuffs, at least he could summon help. There were houses within call. The nearest was Sunnydene, for which Seligmann had no doubt been shaping; the next was Green Croft, then Major Redisham’s. He managed to draw out his whistle, while his captive straggled more desperately than ever to get free. Just as he raised the whistle to his lips, he heard the quick patter of feet along the road. He blew a long, shrill blast.
Seligmann heaved himself upward with a mighty effort; but the revolver muzzle was pressed yet more forcefully against his skull, and the constable’s knees were almost breaking his back.
The footsteps approached swiftly, and at length the flash of an electric torch shed its slanting ray upon the desperately struggling pair.
“What’s up? Hullo, Challis, I’ve been searching for you.”
It was the voice of Mark Redisham. He had received a telephone message from the police-station, bidding him find Constable Challis and help him to waylay this same suspected motor-car, coming from Buremouth.
“Quick! Feel in my back pocket for the handcuffs,” Challis ordered, dropping the revolver and seizing his prisoner’s two wrists. “Right. Now hold his head while I put ’em on. Then you can drive him and me to the police-station.”
There was a sharp clip as the steel rings were locked upon the German’s wrists. Mark went to the car, turned up the lights, and got ready. They bundled the prisoner into the body of the car, where Challis sat with him, covering him with the revolver. Mark drove off through the town, and soon brought up at his destination. In the car they discovered a complete wireless outfit, a signalling lamp, and a handbag containing certain compromising documents.
“Yes,” said the Superintendent, when Seligmann was safely locked in a cell. “He has been busy with that wireless apparatus to-night. Some of his messages were jammed, but not all of them. Not all.”