by Mark Hodder
From his pocket Sexton Blake drew a sheet of paper and a pencil, and for the next hour he sat at the table and worked. When he at last rose and left the cabin, his pocket held a complete copy of the chart of the Germans.
THE FIFTH CHAPTER
Away from the Island—Pursued—Spearing arrives in time.
CONFIDENT NOW IN his disguise, which at present no one had suspected, Sexton Blake calmly made his way back to the centre of the island, the faint light that came from the living-hut being guide enough. He entered the place without hesitation, and stood in the presence of the Kaiser and Colonel von Harmann who were poring over papers. Both looked up as the detective entered.
“You are back early, lieutenant,” the Kaiser said shortly.
“The night is dark,” Sexton Blake answered, “and to look out to sea is to fix the eyes on a blank wall.”
The detective crossed to the further end of the room, where a number of sleeping-bunks had been fixed up, and threw himself into one. Never in his life had he been in such an extraordinary position, and he meant to make the most of it. True, he had already learnt many things, but there were still others to learn.
Above all, did the Germans contemplate an attack on Great Britain, or were all these preparations merely—
“Five years, not a day less,” the Kaiser said irritably, with the air of a man who has finally come to a conclusion that he did not wish to reach.
“I should say four—not a day more,” Colonel von Harmann corrected. “You say, wait for these battleships that are building; but I say that there is no need. Has not our fleet been here before, so why should it not come again?”
The Kaiser rose from his seat and paced up and down the floor. When he stopped at the table again the moody expression had left his face, and he laughed.
“Why, so, Harmann,” he said, “we speak as if we meant to attack Great Britain, while in reality all this is merely a precaution, a way of making our power felt should the occasion ever arise. I hope to heaven it never may!”
Sexton Blake’s face was towards the wall, or the men must have seen the expression of relief that crossed it. At last he had heard what he had been so anxious to hear—that there was no real danger from Germany—for the present, at least.
Over by the table the Kaiser and Colonel von Harmann were examining their papers, and Sexton Blake, tired with all that he had been through, dropped off into a doze.
He awoke with angry cries in his ears, and he sat up sharply in his bunk, his hand dropping to the pocket in which his revolver lay. He looked out into the room, but for the present only the colonel and the Kaiser were there, and they had sprung to their feet, their eyes towards the door, from the other side of which the sounds came.
“We can’t have been discovered?” the Kaiser asked, in an agitated voice. “I was a fool ever to come here.”
“It is our own men—there is something wrong!” the colonel growled in answer. “They make noise enough to be heard in Lerwick.”
Before more could be said the door was flung open, and two of the Germans, a third man between them, whom they were supporting by the arms, came into the room. This third man, who appeared to be suffering from exhaustion and excitement, was the real Lieutenant Bergern.
Looks of amazement were on the faces of the Kaiser and Harmann.
“What is this?” the latter gasped. “Who is this man?”
“I am Lieutenant Bergern,” the rescued man answered, in a weak voice, throwing himself free of the others, and standing upright, though he swayed slightly on his feet.
“This morning some man leapt upon me, half stunned me, then bound me, and left me a prisoner. Only now have my comrades found and liberated me.”
With a cry, the colonel swung round and faced Sexton Blake, who, seated on the edge of his bunk, was smiling blandly. But behind his smile his brain was working rapidly. At all costs he had to get away. He knew that, and he meant to do it.
“There is the traitor!” Bergern screamed, pointing a shaking hand at the detective.
The latter slid down from his bunk, and stood with his hands in his pockets. The likeness between him and the real man was simply remarkable. They were alike as two peas.
“I think this man must be mad,” he said quietly to the staring Germans.
Lieutenant Bergern made a fierce rush forward, but Sexton Blake gripped him by the arms and flung him back. At the same time he moved nearer to the door, though no one seemed to notice it.
With a half mad gesture, as if he wished to convince even himself of his identity, Lieutenant Bergern snatched papers from his pocket and flung them onto the table.
“Does that prove who I am?” he cried.
The Kaiser glanced down at the letters, Colonel Van Harmann looking over his shoulder; then both swung round upon Sexton Blake, who stood within ten feet of the door.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
Quite calmly Sexton Blake peeled the moustache from his upper lip, his expression changed, and he stood revealed.
“I am really sorry that you do not remember me, sire,” he said, in a tone of regret, “even if not as a friend, as a worthy foe.”
“Sexton Blake!” the Kaiser gasped, and his face went white.
Cries of rage broke from the other Germans, and one snatched at a revolver that lay on a shelf.
“Stop!” Sexton Blake thundered, and there was something in the tone that sent the man’s hand dropping hastily to his side.
Sexton Blake still stood smiling against the wall, but now there was a revolver in his hand, and its barrel covered the Kaiser.
As the Germans saw this, and realised that their ruler was in danger of his life, they stood spellbound and speechless. Any one of them would have willingly given up his life for the Kaiser, but how—
“You see, it would be foolish to get excited,” Sexton Blake remarked in an even tone. “Excitement makes the hand unsteady, and this is a hair-pull trigger.”
The Kaiser straightened himself, and there was no fear in his eyes.
“You forget who I am!” he said fiercely. “I am the Kaiser!”
Sexton Blake bowed, but his eyes never left the other’s face, and his hand did not remove the fraction of an inch.
“I think you are forgetting that you have already told me that you are Colonel Kelner,” he said, very slowly and distinctly. “I must also add, Colonel, that where I should hesitate to shoot the Kaiser, I shall have no such qualms with regard to you.”
The German who had tried to snatch the revolver from the shelf was eyeing the weapon again.
“One more thing!” the detective said sharply. “You are the leader here, so if one of your men makes a move against me, I shoot!”
There was a dead silence. From the expression of the Kaiser’s face, it could plainly be seen that unpleasant thoughts were passing through his brain. Not that he feared death—he was too much of a man for that—but he was wondering what would happen when it was discovered that he was no longer in Germany. How would his death be explained?
“And to come down to my own position—which, I admit, is awkward,” Sexton Blake continued calmly, “I must ask you to obey my orders.”
“Never!” Colonel von Harmann growled.
“It must be!” the Kaiser said bitterly. “I am thinking of my country, not of myself!”
“It is a wise man who knows when he is defeated,” Sexton Blake remarked. “All move over to the bunks.”
At first the Germans hesitated, but a word from the Kaiser, who had already moved, sent them to the position ordered by Sexton Blake. There they stood glaring, and the detective quietly backed to the door.
He opened it, and stood in the doorway, a little smile on his lips—a smile that spoke of quiet determination rather than mirth.
“Gentlemen,” he said coolly, “I have been through some exciting experiences in my time, but I really think that this one caps all. Good night!”
With a sudden jerk the detective had swun
g round and raced away across the uneven ground. His only chance was to get clear of the island by swimming, and that was what he intended to do.
From behind came wild cries of rage, and before Sexton Blake had run a hundred yards, making for the cleft in the rocks where the secret cave lay, two rifle bullets whizzed unpleasantly close to him. One struck the rock, splintering a small piece against his face.
“Whew!” he ejaculated. “I did not think they would dare to fire!”
There was no mistake about them daring to do so, for a perfect volley of shots pursued the running man; but now boulders lay in between him and his pursuers, so that there was little danger of being hit.
The firing ceased, the Germans evidently realising the uselessness of it, but the sound of men scrambling along behind him told Sexton Blake that he was not to be let off so easily. Down the cutting he ran, pulling up where it dropped sheer down to the rocks.
In the darkness he peered over, and just made out the rocks some fifteen feet below him; then a bullet hummed by, and he dropped down. His feet slipped on the slimy rocks, and he fell forward, missed his grip of the stone, and plunged into the sea.
Luckily the waves were slight, or they must have dashed him back against the rocks, and so beaten the life out of him. As it was, he was well able to fight against them, and a few strong strokes took him out into practically clear water.
Would he still be followed, that was the question?
Twenty yards from the shore Sexton Blake turned and looked back. He saw the dark outline of the rocks of the little island, and as he scanned them closely a figure showed darkly on the summit, paused there a second, and came hurtling down into the sea, diving straight past the rocks.
The diving man was an enemy, yet Sexton Blake could not help catching his breath as he realised the risk that he was taking of hitting the rocks, and a sigh of relief escaped as he saw the man rise to the surface and strike out towards him.
No longer could Sexton Blake hesitate, and he swirled around in the water and swam straight for the open sea. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of another man diving from the rocks, while at the same moment a rifle cracked, the bullet splashing into the water close to his head.
The Kaiser and his men knew what would happen if he escaped, that the plans that had taken them years to formulate and carry out would all be knocked on the head, and they were doing their best to prevent him getting clear.
With a steady over-arm stroke Sexton Blake swam through the smooth water, meaning to get well out from the land, then turn and make for Lerwick. This would mean a three-mile swim; but he had accomplished that distance many a time before, and had no fear of failure now.
A hundred yards, two hundred, he covered, and turned to see where his pursuers were. To his amazement, he saw that the nearest was within ten yards of him, and swimming with a powerful over-arm stroke that was sending him through the water like a fish. Sexton Blake was no mean swimmer, but he realised that this man was quite as good as himself, and that a hard race lay before him, with for a prize—his life. Not that he thought of the latter. His one idea was to get away, so that the plans of the Germans, their years of subtle scheming and working, should be made useless.
Sexton Blake swam hard now, altering his stroke to a racing one, but when he looked back, after going a quarter of a mile, he saw that he had gained scarcely a foot on his pursuer. Probably the man had thrown most of his clothes off, so as to swim better, but the detective did not pause long enough to follow his example.
Low in the water, striking out straight ahead, Sexton Blake swum for dear life. A current caught him and whirled him in the direction of Lerwick, but that gave him no hope, for it would help his pursuer just as much. More than once he thought of stopping and fighting it out with the man, but each time put the idea from him. He knew what a fight in the water meant—probably the death of both. Life was precious to him just now—Great Britain had to be warned of its danger.
A splash behind Sexton Blake caused him to turn. The German was so close behind that he could almost have reached out a hand and touched him, and between his teeth was an ugly-looking knife.
The man took the knife from between his teeth, and sprinted with it ready in his hand. Sexton Blake tried to do the same, but his sodden clothes held him back, and he could not increase his pace.
Something ripped down the back of his coat, and he knew that it was the knife, which had just missed cutting into his flesh. Desperately he swung round to face the attack.
Then a strange thing happened. The German let go his knife, which sunk in the water, and turned and raced for the shore.
What did it mean? Why had he given up his task when it seemed so easy of accomplishment? Sexton Blake watched the man racing away, and was filled with amazement.
Chug, chug, chug!
The sound of a propeller reached the detective’s ears, and as he turned in that direction he could faintly make out the outline of a small craft coming towards him.
“Help!” he shouted, and swam slowly in its direction, his strength failing him now that the worst of his task was over. That the boat was an English one he had no doubt, for he was certain that the Germans dared not approach with the Fleet so near.
A few minutes later a warship’s steam pinnace swirled alongside the detective, and he was hauled into it.
“What been doing?” the voice of Spearing jerked. “Couldn’t find you anywhere. Got permission to search islands. Beast of a job. Admiral so high and mighty.”
“Leave him alone,” the voice of Tinker put in. “Can’t you see that he’s done right up?”
“I’m all right.” Sexton Blake managed to sit up, gasping for breath, and turned to the young officer in charge of the pinnace. “Kindly make for the flagship at once,” he said.
The officer looked doubtful, though he knew who the rescued man was.
“Sorry, sir,” he answered, “but I have orders to return to my own ship if you are found.”
“As you will.” Sexton Blake was quickly recovering, and his voice was quite steady. “I can only tell you that if you do not obey me now you may have no ship to return to to-morrow.”
The officer bent forward from the tiller, a questioning expression on his face.
“What do you mean?” he demanded.
“Possibly the admiral will tell you when I have explained to him,” Sexton Blake answered coldly.
The officer hesitated, annoyed at the way he was being treated, yet impressed by the detective’s voice and manner.
He put the tiller over until the pinnace headed for Lerwick and the flagship.
THE SIXTH CHAPTER
The Admiral surprised—A Night Landing—The Airship pursued—The Kaiser in trouble.
THE LITTLE PINNACE ploughed its way through the smooth sea at a good pace, Sexton Blake sitting in the stern, entirely recovered from his exertions. But even now he was not out of his difficulties. He had decided to see Sir Henry Farrar, the admiral in command, and to show him all that was on the little island.
But the Kaiser? That was the trouble. Sexton Blake knew the type of man that the admiral was, and that he would make the Kaiser a prisoner as readily as he would punish one of his own men, and that was just what the detective did not want. He wanted to get the Kaiser away, to make terms with him.
Well, there was no time to think about it now, for the pinnace grated against the gangway of the flagship. The young officer led the way up onto the deck.
“How is that?” a gruff voice demanded angrily. “Lieutenant Anderson, I thought you knew that no one was to be allowed aboard a ship of the Fleet during the manoeuvres?”
Lieutenant Anderson saluted a trifle nervously. It was the admiral who was speaking, and most of the officers went more or less in dread of him, though he was a kind enough man at heart.
“I know, sir,” he answered; “but this is Mr. Sexton Blake, the man who was missing. His friends are with him.”
“But, hang it all, why bring �
��em here?” the Admiral snorted. “Think I run this ship as a home for lost civilians, or what?”
Sexton Blake stepped forward and bowed stiffly.
“I am pleased to meet you, Sir Henry,” he said.
The admiral glared, especially when he saw that the young lieutenant evidently wanted to laugh.
“Sorry can’t return the compliment, sir,” he said shortly. “I must ask you to leave at once. No one allowed aboard now. There are important manoeuvres to be carried out to-night. Good evening!”
But Sexton Blake held his ground, though he would have liked to have turned and taken the man at his word. But he remembered what his discovery meant to Great Britain, and he thought of the country, not of the man before him.
“You know why I am here?” he asked shortly.
“Heard something about it,” the admiral admitted grudgingly. “Lords of the Admiralty!”
“Precisely, Sir Henry,” Sexton Blake agreed. “They sent me up here to find out things, and I have succeeded.”
“What are they?” the admiral growled suspiciously.
Sexton Blake shrugged his shoulders.
“Surely there is some better place than this to discuss important affairs,” he answered.
The admiral frowned; he was not used to being dictated to at any time, and especially on his own ship. But something in the detective’s quiet bearing, a certain dignity which even his sodden clothes could not rob him of, impressed him.
“Come to my cabin,” he said shortly.
Along the deck the men went, and into the admiral’s state-room. It was a plainly furnished apartment, with none of the fancy articles that many an officer ashore regards as essential to his comfort. It was the room of a man.
“Sit down!” Sir Henry said; and Sexton Blake took a chair by the table. “Now tell me what all this mystery means,” the admiral continued. He glanced at the clock on the wall, and frowned impatiently. “In ten minutes I must sail.”