Spies of the Kaiser: Plotting the Downfall of England

by William Le Queux

  CHAPTER X

  THE SECRET OF THE CLYDE DEFENCES

  A curious episode was that of the plans of the Clyde Defences. It was aFebruary evening. Wet, tired, and hungry, I turned the long grey touringcar into the yard of the old "White Hart," at Salisbury, and descendedwith eager anticipation of a big fire and comfortable dinner.

  My mechanic Bennett and I had been on the road since soon after dawn,and we yet had many miles to cover. Two months ago I had mounted the carat the garage in Wardour Street and set out upon a long and wearyten-thousand-mile journey in England, not for pleasure, as you may wellimagine--but purely upon business. My business, to be exact, wasreconnoitring, from a military stand-point, all the roads and by-roadslying between the Tyne and the Thames as well as certain districtssouth-west of London, in order to write the book upon similar lines to_The Invasion of 1910_.

  For two months we had lived upon the road. Sometimes Ray and Vera hadtravelled with me. When Bennett and I had started it was late andpleasant autumn. Now it was bleak, black winter, and hardly the kind ofweather to travel twelve or fourteen hours daily in an open car. Dayafter day, week after week, the big "sixty" had roared along, ploughingthe mud of those ever-winding roads of England until we had lost allcount of the days of the week; my voluminous note-books were graduallybeing filled with valuable data, and the nerves of both of us werebecoming so strained that we were victims of insomnia. Hence at night,when we could not sleep, we travelled.

  In a great portfolio in the back of the car I carried the six-inchordnance map of the whole of the east of England divided into manysections, and upon these I was carefully marking out, as result of mysurvey, the weak points of our land in case an enemy invaded our shoresfrom the North Sea. All telegraphs, telephones, and cables from Londonto Germany and Holland I was especially noting, for would not theenemy's emissaries, before they attempted to land, seize all means ofcommunication with the metropolis? Besides this I took note of placeswhere food could be obtained, lists of shops, and collected a quantityof other valuable information.

  In this work I had been assisted by half a dozen of the highest officersof the Intelligence Department of the War Office, as well as otherwell-known experts--careful, methodical work prior to writing myforecast of what must happen to our beloved country in case of invasion.The newspapers had referred to my long journey of inquiry, and oftenwhen I arrived in a town, our car, smothered in mud, yet its powerfulengines running like a clock, was the object of public curiosity, whileBennett, with true chauffeur-like imperturbability, sat immovable,utterly regardless of the interest we created. He was agentleman-driver, and the best man at the wheel I ever had.

  When we were in a hurry he would travel nearly a mile a minute over anopen road, sounding his siren driven off the fly-wheel, and scentingpolice-traps, with the happy result that we were never held up forexceeding the limit. We used to take it in turns to drive--three hoursat a time.

  On that particular night, when we entered Salisbury from Wincanton Road,having come up from Exeter, it had been raining unceasingly all day, andwe presented a pretty plight in our yellow fishermen's oilskins--whichwe had bought weeks before in King's Lynn as the only means of keepingdry--dripping wet and smothered to our very eyes in mud.

  After a hasty wash I entered the coffee-room, and found that I was thesole diner save a short, funny, little old lady in black bonnet andcape, and a young, rather pretty, well-dressed girl, whom I took to beher daughter, seated at a table a little distance away.

  Both glanced at me as they entered, and I saw that ere I was halfthrough my meal their interest in me had suddenly increased. Withoutdoubt, the news of my arrival had gone round the hotel, and the waiterhad informed the pair of my identity.

  It was then eight o'clock, and I had arranged with Bennett that after arest, we would push forward at half-past ten by Marlborough, as far asSwindon, on our way to Birmingham.

  The waiter had brought me a couple of telegrams from Ray telling me goodnews of another inquiry he was instituting, and having finished my mealI was seated alone by the smoking-room fire enjoying a cigarette andliqueur. Indeed, I had almost fallen asleep when the waiter returned,saying:

  "Excuse me, sir, but there's a lady outside in great distress. She wantsto speak to you for a moment, and asks if she may come in." He presenteda card, and the name upon it was "Mrs. Henry Bingham."

  Rather surprised, I nevertheless consented to see her, and in a fewmoments the door reopened and the younger of the two ladies I had seenat dinner entered.

  She bowed to me as I rose, and then, evidently in a state of greatagitation, she said:

  "I must apologise for disturbing you, only--only I thought perhaps youwould be generous enough, when you have heard of our difficulty, togrant my mother and I a favour."

  "If I can be of any assistance to you, I shall be most delighted, I'msure," I answered, as her big grey eyes met mine.

  "Well," she said, looking me straight in the face, "the fact is that ourcar has broken down--something wrong with the clutch, our man says--andwe can't get any further to-night. We are on our way to Swindon--to myhusband, who has met with an accident and is in the hospital, but--but,unfortunately, there is no train to-night. Your chauffeur has told ourman that you are just leaving for Swindon, and my mother and I have beenwondering--well--whether we might encroach upon your good nature andbeg seats in your car?"

  "You are quite welcome to travel with me, of course," I replied withouthesitation. "But I fear that on such a night it will hardly be pleasantto travel in an open car."

  "Oh, we don't mind that a bit," she assured me. "We have lots ofwaterproofs and things. It is really most kind of you. I had a telegramat four o'clock this afternoon that my husband had been taken to thehospital for operation, and naturally I am most anxious to be at hisside."

  "Naturally," I said. "I regret very much that you should have such causefor distress. Let us start at once. I shall be ready in ten minutes."

  While she went back to her mother, I went out into the yard where thehead-lights of my big "sixty" were gleaming.

  "We shall have two lady passengers to Swindon, Bennett," I said, as mychauffeur threw away his cigarette and approached me. "What kind of carhave the ladies?"

  "A twenty-four. It's in the garage up yonder. The clutch won't hold, itseems. But their man's a foreigner, and doesn't speak much English. Isuppose I'd better pack our luggage tighter, so as to give the ladiesroom."

  "Yes. Do so. And let's get on the road as soon as possible."

  "Very well, sir," responded the man as he entered the car and beganpacking our suit-cases together while almost immediately the two ladiesemerged, the elder one, whose voice was harsh and squeaky, and who was,I noticed, very deformed, thanking me profusely.

  We stowed them away as comfortably as possible, and just as thecathedral chimes rang out half-past ten, the ladies gave partinginjunctions to their chauffeur, and we drew out of the yard.

  I apologised for the dampness and discomfort of an open car, and brieflyexplained my long journey and its object. But both ladies--the name ofthe queer little old widow I understood to be Sandford--only laughed,and reassured me that they were all right.

  That night I drove myself. With the exhaust opened and roaring, and thesiren shrieking, we sped along through the dark, rainy night up by oldSarum, through Netheravon, and across Overton Heath into Marlboroughwithout once changing speed or speaking with my passengers. As we camedown the hill from Ogbourne, I had to pull up suddenly for a farmer'scart, and turned, asking the pair behind how they were faring.

  As I did so I noticed that both of them seemed considerably flurried,but attributed it to the high pace we had been travelling when I had sosuddenly pulled up on rounding the bend.

  Three-quarters of an hour later I deposited them at their destination,the "Goddard Arms," in Old Swindon, and, descending, received theirprofuse thanks, the elder lady giving me her card with an address inEarl's Court Road, Kensington, and asking me to call upon
her when inLondon.

  It was then half an hour past midnight, but Bennett and I resolved topush forward as far as Oxford, which we did, arriving at the "Mitre"about half-past one, utterly fagged and worn out.

  Next day was brighter, and we proceeded north to Birmingham and acrossonce again to the east coast, where the bulk of my work lay.

  About a fortnight went by. With the assistance of two well-knownstaff-officers I had been reconnoitring the country around Beccles, inSuffolk, which we had decided upon as a most important strategicalpoint, and one morning I found myself at that old-fashioned hotel "TheCups," at Colchester, taking a day's rest. The two officers had returnedto London, and I was again alone.

  Out in the garage I found a rather smart, good-looking man in navy sergechatting with Bennett and admiring my car. My chauffeur, with pardonablepride, had been telling him of our long journey, and as I approached,the stranger informed me of his own enthusiasm as a motorist.

  "Curiously enough," he added, "I have been wishing to meet you, in orderto thank you for your kindness to my mother and sister the other nightat Salisbury. My name is Sandford--Charles Sandford--and if I'm notmistaken we are members of the same club--White's."

  "Are we?" I exclaimed. "Then I'm delighted to make your acquaintance."

  We lounged together for half an hour, smoking and chatting, untilpresently he said:

  "I live out at Edwardstone, about ten miles from here. Why not come outand dine with me to-night? My place isn't very extensive, but it's cosyenough for a bachelor. I'd feel extremely honoured if you would. I'm allalone. Do come."

  Cosmopolitan that I am, yet I am not prone to accept the invitations ofstrangers. Nevertheless this man was not altogether a stranger, for washe not a member of my own club? Truth to tell, I had become bored by thedeadly dullness of country hotels, therefore I was glad enough to accepthis proffered hospitality and spend a pleasant evening.

  "Very well," he said. "I'll send a wire to my housekeeper, and I'llpilot you in your car to my place this evening. We'll start at seven,and dine at eight--if that will suit you?"

  And so it was arranged.

  Bennett had the whole of the day to go through the car and do one or twonecessary repairs, while Sandford and myself idled about the town. Mycompanion struck me as an exceedingly pleasant fellow, who, havingtravelled very extensively, now preferred a quiet existence in thecountry, with a little hunting and a little shooting in due season, tothe dinners, theatres, and fevered haste of London life.

  The evening proved a very dark one with threatening rain as we turnedout of the yard of "The Cups," Sandford and I seated behind. My frienddirected Bennett from time to time, and soon we found ourselves out onthe Sudbury road. We passed through a little place which I knew to beHeyland, and then turned off to the right, across what seemed to be awide stretch of bleak, open country.

  Over the heath we went, our head-lights glaring far before us, for abouttwo miles when my friend called to Bennett:

  "Turn to the left at the cross-roads."

  And a few moments later we were travelling rather cautiously up a roughby-road, at the end of which we came to a long, old-fashioned house--afarm-house evidently, transformed into a residence.

  The door was opened by a middle-aged, red-faced man-servant, and as Istepped within the small hall hung with foxes' masks, brushes, and othertrophies, my friend wished me a hearty welcome to his home.

  The dining-room proved to be an old-fashioned apartment panelled fromfloor to ceiling. The table, set for two, bore a fine old silvercandelabra, a quantity of antique plate, and, adorned with flowers, wasevidently the table of a man who was comfortably off.

  We threw off our heavy coats and made ourselves cosy beside the firewhen the servant, whom my host addressed as Henry, brought in the soup.Therefore we went to the table and commenced.

  The meal proved a well-cooked and well-chosen one, and I congratulatedhim upon his cook.

  "I'm forty, and for twenty years I was constantly on the move," heremarked, with a laugh. "Nowadays I'm glad to be able to settle down inEngland."

  A moment later I heard the sound of a car leaving the house.

  "Is that my car?" I asked, rather surprised.

  "Probably your man is taking it round to the back in order to put itunder cover. Hark! it has started to rain."

  To me, however, the sound, growing fainter, was very much as thoughBennett had driven the car away.

  The wines which Henry served so quietly and sedately were of the best.But both my host and myself drank little.

  Sandford was telling me of the strange romance concerning his sisterEllen and young Bingham--a man who had come into eight thousand a yearfrom his uncle, and only a few days later had met with an accident inSwindon, having been knocked down by a train at a level-crossing.

  Presently, after dessert, our conversation ran upon ports and theirvintages, when suddenly my host remarked:

  "I don't know whether you are a connoisseur of brandies, but I happen tohave a couple of rather rare vintages. Let's try them."

  I confessed I knew but little about brandies.

  "Then I'll teach you how to test them in future," he laughed, adding,"Henry, bring up those three old cognacs, a bottle of ordinary brandy,and some liqueur-glasses."

  In a few minutes a dozen little glasses made their appearance on atray, together with four bottles of brandy, three unlabelled, while thefourth bore the label of a well-known brand.

  "It is not generally known, I think, that one cannot test brandy withany degree of accuracy by the palate," he said, removing his cigar.

  "I wasn't aware of that," I said.

  "Well, I'll show you," he went on, and taking four glasses in a row hepoured a little spirit out of each of the bottles into the bottoms ofthe glasses. This done, he twisted each glass round in order to wet theinside with the spirit, and the surplus he emptied into his finger-bowl.Then, handing me two, he said: "Just hold one in each hand till they'rewarm. So."

  And taking the remaining two he held one in the hollow of each hand.

  For a couple or three minutes we held them thus while he chatted aboutthe various vintages. Then we placed them in a row.

  "Now," he said, "take up each one separately and smell it."

  I did so, and found a most pleasant perfume--each, however, quiteseparate and distinct, as different as eau-de-Cologne is from lavenderwater.

  "This," he said, after sniffing at one glass, "is 1815--Waterloo year--amagnificent vintage. And this," he went on, handing me the second glass,"is 1829--very excellent, but quite a distinct perfume, you notice. Thethird is 1864--also good. Of the 1815 I very fortunately have twobottles. Bellamy, in Pall Mall, has three bottles, and there are perhapsfour bottles in all Paris. That is all that's left of it. Thefourth--smell it--is the ordinary brandy of commerce."

  I did so, but the odour was nauseating after the sweet and distinctperfume of the other three.

  "Just try the 1815," he urged, carefully pouring out about a third of aglass of the precious pale gold liquid and handing it to me.

  I sipped it, finding it exceedingly pleasant to the palate. So old wasit that it seemed to have lost all its strength. It was a reallydelicious liqueur--the liqueur of a gourmet, and assuredly a fittingconclusion to that excellent repast.

  "I think I'll have the '64," he said, pouring out a glass and swallowingit with all the gusto of a man whose chief delight was the satisfactionof his stomach.

  I took a cigarette from the big silver box he handed me, and I stretchedout my hand for the matches.... Beyond that, curiously enough, Irecollect nothing else.

  But stay! Yes, I do.

  I remember seeing, as though rising from out a hazy grey mist, a woman'sface--the countenance of a very pretty girl, about eighteen, with bigblue wide-open eyes and very fair silky hair--a girl, whose eyes bore inthem a hideous look of inexpressible horror.

  Next instant the blackness of unconsciousness fell upon me.

  When I recovered I was
amazed to find myself in bed, with the yellowwintry sunlight streaming into the low, old-fashioned room. For sometime--how long I know not--I lay there staring at the diamond-panedwindow straight before me, vaguely wondering what had occurred.

  A sound at last struck the right chord of my memory--the sound of myhost's voice exclaiming cheerily:

  "How do you feel, old chap? Better, I hope, after your long sleep. Doyou know it's nearly two o'clock in the afternoon?"

  Two o'clock!

  After a struggle I succeeded in sitting up in bed.

  "What occurred?" I managed to gasp. "I--I don't exactly remember."

  "Why nothing, my dear fellow," declared my friend, laughing. "You were abit tired last night, that's all. So I thought I wouldn't disturb you."

  "Where's Bennett?"

  "Downstairs with the car, waiting till you feel quite right again."

  I then realised for the first time that I was still dressed. Only myboots and collar and tie had been removed.

  Much puzzled, and wondering whether it were actually possible that I hadtaken too much wine, I rose to my feet and slowly assumed my boots.

  Was the man standing before me a friend, or was he an enemy?

  I recollected most distinctly sampling the brandy, but beyondthat--absolutely nothing.

  At my host's orders Henry brought me up a refreshing cup of tea andafter a quarter of an hour or so, during which Sandford declared that"such little annoying incidents occur in the life of every man," Idescended and found Bennett waiting with the car before the door.

  As I grasped my host's hand in farewell he whispered confidentially.

  "Let's say nothing about it in future. I'll call and see you in town ina week or two--if I may."

  Mechanically I declared that I should be delighted, and mounting intothe car we glided down the drive to the road.

  My brain was awhirl, and I was in no mood to talk. Therefore I sat withthe frosty air blowing upon my fevered brow as we travelled back toColchester.

  "I didn't know you intended staying the night, sir," Bennett ventured toremark just before we entered the town.

  "I didn't, Bennett."

  "But you sent word to me soon after we arrived, telling me to return atnoon to-day. So I went back to 'The Cups,' and spent all this morning onthe engines."

  "Who gave you that message?" I asked quickly.

  "Mr. Sandford's man, Henry."

  I sat in silence. What could it mean? What mystery was there?

  As an abstemious man I felt quite convinced that I had not taken toomuch wine. A single liqueur-glass of brandy certainly could never haveproduced such an effect upon me. And strangely enough that girl's face,so shadowy, so sweet, and yet so distorted by horror, was ever beforeme.

  Three weeks after the curious incident, having concluded my survey, Ifound myself back in Guilford Street, my journey at last ended.Pleasant, indeed, it was to sit again at one's own fireside after thosewet, never-ending muddy roads upon which I had lived for so long, andvery soon I settled down to arrange the mass of material I had collectedand write my book.

  A few days after my return, in order to redeem my promise and to learnmore of Charles Sandford, I called at the address of the queer oldhump-backed widow in Earl's Court Road.

  To my surprise, I found the house in question empty, with every evidenceof its having been to let for a year or more. There was no mistake inthe number; it was printed upon her card. This discovery caused meincreasing wonder.

  What did it all mean?

  Through many weeks I sat in my rooms in Bloomsbury constantly at workupon my book. The technicalities were many and the difficulties not afew. One of the latter--and perhaps the chief one--was to so disguisethe real vulnerable points of our country which I had discovered on mytour with military experts as to mislead the Germans, who might seek tomake use of the information I conveyed. The book, to be of value, had, Irecognised, to be correct in detail, yet at the same time it mustsuppress all facts that might be of use to a foreign Power.

  The incident near Colchester had nearly passed from my mind, when onenight in February, 1909, I chanced to be having supper with Ray Raymondand Vera at the "Carlton," when at the table on the opposite side of thebig room sat a smart, dark-haired young man with a pretty girl inturquoise-blue.

  As I looked across, our eyes met. In an instant I recollected that I hadseen that countenance somewhere before. Yes. It was actually the face ofthat nightmare of mine after sampling Sandford's old cognac! I sat therestaring at her, like a man in a dream. The countenance was the sweetestand most perfect I had ever gazed upon. Yet why had I seen it in myunconsciousness?

  I noticed that she started. Then, turning her head, she leaned over andwhispered something to her companion. Next moment, pulling her cloakabout her shoulders, she rose, and they both left hurriedly.

  What could her fear imply? Why was she in such terror of me? That lookof horror which I had seen on that memorable night was again there--yetonly for one single second.

  My impulse was to rise and dash after the pair. Yet, not beingacquainted with her, I should only, by so doing, make a fool of myselfand also annoy my lady friend.

  And so for many days and many weeks the remembrance of that sweet anddainty figure ever haunted me. I took a holiday, spending greater partof the time on a friend's yacht in the Norwegian fjords. Yet I could notget away from that face and the curious mystery attaching to it.

  On my return home, I was next day rung up on the telephone by my friendMajor Carmichael, of the Intelligence Department of the War Office, whohad been one of my assistants in preparing the forthcoming book. At hisurgent request I went round to see him in Whitehall, and on beingushered into his office, I was introduced to a tall, dark-bearded man,whose name I understood to be Shayler.

  "My dear Jacox," exclaimed the Major, "forgive me for getting you herein order to cross-examine you, but both Shayler and myself are eagerlyin search of some information. You recollect those maps of yours, markedwith all sorts of confidential memoranda relating to the EastCoast--facts that would be of the utmost value to the German WarOffice--what did you do with them?"

  "I deposited them here. I suppose they're still here," was my reply.

  "Yes. But you'll recollect my warning long ago, when you werereconnoitring. Did you ever allow them to pass out of your hands?"

  "Never. I carried them in my portfolio, the key of which was always onmy chain."

  "Then what do you think of these?" he asked, walking to a side tablewhere lay a pile of twenty or thirty glass photographic negatives. Andtaking up one of them, he handed it to me.

  It was a photograph of one of my own maps! The plan was the section ofcountry in the vicinity of Glasgow. Upon it I saw notes in my ownhandwriting, the tracing of the telegraph wires with the communicationsof each wire, and dozens of other facts of supreme importance to theinvader.

  "Great heavens!" I gasped. "Where did you get that?"

  "Shayler will tell you, my dear fellow!" answered the Major. "It seemsthat you've been guilty of some sad indiscretion."

  "I am attached to the Special Department at New Scotland Yard,"explained the dark-bearded man. "Two months ago a member of the secretservice in the employ of our Foreign Office made a report from Berlinthat a young girl, named Gertie Drew, living in a Bloomsburyboarding-house, had approached the German military attache offering, forthree thousand pounds, to supply him with photographs of a number ofconfidential plans of our eastern counties and of the Clyde defences.The attache had reported to the War Office in Berlin, hence theknowledge obtained by the British secret agent. The matter was at onceplaced in my hands, and since that time I have kept careful observationupon the girl--who has been a photographer's assistant--and those inassociation with her. The result is that I have fortunately managed toobtain possession of these negatives of your annotated plans."

  "But how?" I demanded.

  "By making a bold move," was the detective's reply. "The Germans werealready bargaining for
these negatives when I became convinced that thegirl was only the tool of a man who had also been a photographer, andwho had led a very adventurous life--an American living away in thecountry, near Colchester, under the name of Charles Sandford."

  "Sandford!" I gasped, staring at him. "What is the girl like?"

  "Here is her portrait," was the detective's reply.

  Yes! It was the sweet face of my nightmare!

  "What have you discovered regarding Sandford?" I asked presently, when Ihad related to the two men the story of the meeting at Salisbury andalso my night's adventure.

  "Though born in America and adopting an English name, his father wasGerman, and we strongly suspect him of having, on several occasions,sold information to Germany. Yesterday, feeling quite certain of myground, I went down into Essex with a search warrant and made anexamination of the house. Upstairs I found a very complete photographicplant, and concealed beneath the floor-boards in the dining-room was abox containing these negatives, many of them being of your maps of theClyde defences, which they were just about to dispose of. The man hadgot wind that we were keeping observation upon him, and had alreadyfled. The gang consisted of an old hump-backed woman, who posed as hismother, a young woman, who he said was his married sister, but who wasreally the wife of his man-servant, and the girl Drew, who was hisphotographic assistant."

  "Where's the girl? I suppose you don't intend to arrest her?"

  "I think not. If you saw her perhaps you might induce her to tell youthe truth. The plot to photograph those plans while you were insensiblewas certainly a cleverly contrived one, and it's equally certain thatthe two women you met in Salisbury only travelled with you in order tobe convinced that you really carried the precious maps with you."

  "Yes," I admitted, utterly amazed. "I was most cleverly trapped, but itis most fortunate that we were forewarned, and that our zealous friendsacross the water have been prevented from purchasing the detailedexposure of our most vulnerable points."

  That afternoon, Gertie Drew, the neat-waisted girl with the fair face,walked timidly into my room, and together we sat for fully an hour,during which time she explained how the man Sandford had abstracted theportfolio from my car and substituted an almost exact replica, prior tosending Bennett back to Colchester, and how at the moment of myunconsciousness--as he was searching me for my key--she had entered thedining-room when I had opened my eyes, and staring at her had accusedher of poisoning me. She knew she had been recognised, and that hadcaused her alarm in the "Carlton."

  That Sandford had managed to replace the portfolio in the car andabstract the replica next day was explained, and that he had held thegirl completely in his power was equally apparent. Therefore, I havesince obtained for her a situation with a well-known firm ofphotographers in Regent Street, where she still remains. The hump-backedwoman and her pseudo-daughter have never been seen since, but only acouple of months ago there was recovered from the Rhine at Coblenz thebody of a man whose head was fearfully battered, and whom the police, byhis clothes and papers upon him, identified as Charles Sandford, the manwith whom I shall ever remember partaking of that peculiarly seductiveglass of 1815 cognac.