The Mystery Ship: A Story of the 'Q' Ships During the Great War
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CHAPTER X
THE SALVAGE SYNDICATE
"WHAT'S your little game, Cumberleigh?" demanded the major. "Hangedif I can see what you are driving at."
Lunch was over at Auldhaig Air Station. Most of the officers haddrifted in twos and threes into the ante-room to seize theopportunity of enjoying a smoke before falling in on parade. Thesecond-in-command and Captain Cumberleigh found themselves alone.
"I may be mistaken, sir," replied Cumberleigh, "but I'm not at allsure about that fellow Fennelburt."
"What d'ye mean, old thing? asked the major.
"It's a rotten business to explain," replied the captain. "I hope Idon't do the fellow an injustice, but I believe he's a spy."
Major Sparrowhawk raised his eyebrows in a manner that indicatedincredulous objection.
"Goodness gracious, Cumberleigh!" he exclaimed. "What are you drivingat? The idea's preposterous. There are limits to the imagination, andI think you're exceeding them."
"I have reasons, sir,"
"Well, what are they?"
"You remember I asked him about Smithers and Tomlinson? I know for afact that they were both at Sheerness a week ago."
"Yes, and Captain Fennelburt said he knew them."
"He did--but I deliberately gave him a totally wrong description ofthem. Smithers is fat, but he's short--about five six, I shouldthink--and he certainly hasn't a mole under his eye. Tomlinson isfair, not dark, and I've never known him to touch a card either inthe mess or out of it."
"There are some very queer cusses in the Service, I'll admit,"remarked Major Sparrowhawk thoughtfully. "Getting a commission in wartime isn't the same as in normal times. The chap may be pulling yourleg, Cumberleigh. But why did you pal up to him and promise to takehim to the theatre and all that?"
"Just to gain time, sir," answered Captain Cumberleigh. "I thoughtI'd ask your permission to telegraph to Sheerness Air Station. Theinquiry could be worded discreetly, and if the reply's satisfactorythere's no harm done. If it isn't, then we can take action."
"But what aroused your suspicions in the first instance?" asked thesecond-in-command.
Cumberleigh shrugged his shoulders.
"Just a little mannerism of his, sir," he replied. "I've neverbefore tumbled across it on this side of the Rhine. Spent part of myfar distant youth at Heidelburg, and one notices certain things. SoI've practically put the fellow under arrest, only he doesn't knowit. Young Jefferson'll take him fishing this afternoon, and in themeanwhile the wires can be getting busy."
"Bet you a double whisky you're wrong, Cumberleigh," offered MajorSparrowhawk.
"Done, sir," was the prompt reply.
Meanwhile Lieutenant Jefferson, assisted by a couple ofair-mechanics, was getting his boat ready for the fishing expedition.One of the advantages of being in the Service in war time is that theuniformed owner of a private boat has a "pull" over his civilianconfrère. The one can make use of his craft almost without restraintthe other is hedged in by a formidable and galling array ofrestrictions that are none the less necessary for the well-being ofthe State.
The _Pip-squeak_, Jefferson's boat, was about fifteen feet in lengthand provided with a standing lug-sail and centre-board. Formerly shebelonged to an Auldhaig waterman, who on being mobilised for theR.N.R. sold her for 3 pounds. Her new owner, who contrived to escape theirregular meshes of the Recruiting Officer's net, had palmed the_Pip-squeak_ off on Jefferson for six times the amount he had paid,or, roughly, the same sum that the boat had cost to build twentyyears ago.
The _Pip-squeak_ was no chicken, nor did she lay claim to beauty.Bluff-bowed, and with an almost entire lack of sheer, she had onecompensating quality: she was as stiff as a house.
At the edge of the jetty gathered most of the crew--Cumberleigh,Jefferson, a "second loot" named Pyecroft, and von Preussen.
"An' what are we waitin' for?" demanded Pyecroft, clapping his handsand stamping his feet. "When I go sailing I like to get on with it.What are we waitin' for?"
"Bait," replied Jefferson laconically.
"A _sine quâ non_ for a fishing expedition," added the major, who,though not one of the party, had strolled down to the jettyostensibly to see the start but in reality to observe "CaptainFennelburt" more closely. The seeds of suspicion are apt to shootrapidly.
"Here's Blenkinson with the bait," announced Cumberleigh, as anotherkhaki-clad individual, a first lieutenant, appeared carrying a rustytin in one hand and a mud-covered spade in the other.
"Here are your precious rag-worms, Jeff," he remarked bitterly. "Nexttime you get me on that job I'll borrow your rubber boots. The mud'sstiff with broken glass, and I've cut mine through--look."
To prove his words, Blenkinson adroitly balanced himself on one footand kicked off a rubber boot. As the foot-gear fell upon the woodenstaging of the jetty a quart of black sea-water poured out.
Jefferson sniffed judiciously at the tin.
"Fresh enough," he observed, "but, old son, pity you didn't devoteyour energies to the worms instead of wasting your time pulling bitsof glass out of your boots. These won't last any time."
"No more will my boots, you slave-driving blighter," rejoined theworm-digger. "I'll swear I shifted a ton of mud without finding asingle worm."
"Don't stop there arguing all the blessed afternoon!" exclaimedCumberleigh. "If we can't fish we can sail. 'Once aboard the lugger,'my hearties."
The party embarked awkwardly after the fashion of men wearingbreeches, puttees or leggings, and heavy boots. With the exception ofJefferson and von Preussen, they were raw amateurs in the art ofsailing save on board a coastal airship. On those occasions theyshone. In the present instance they did not.
The spy was on his best behaviour. Although he kept his eyes and earsopen, he purposely avoided asking any questions relating to naval ormilitary affairs at Auldhaig. Once, when Cumberleigh tried to "draw"him by pointing out the scene of the disaster to the _Pompey_, vonPreussen adroitly changed the subject by a reference to theforthcoming performance of "The Maid of the Mountains."
For an hour or more the _Pip-squeak_ made steady progress under astiffish breeze. She was by no means a flyer, but on the other handshe sailed well with the wind broad on the beam. Beyond a few slapsof spray she proved herself a dry boat, so that the crew, with theexception of Jefferson, who was at the helm, were able to sit on thebottom boards and smoke to their heart's content.
"Get a move on, you lazy hogs!" exclaimed Jefferson. "We're close onthe right spot. Down with the canvas! Blenkinson, stand by to let gothe anchor."
With a splash the anchor was lowered to obtain a grip in ten fathomsof water. Riding head to wind and tide, the boat brought up, pitchingsharply in the short crested waves.
As long as the supply of bait lasted, sport was good. So engrossedwere the sportsmen that they failed to notice that the wind wasrising, and with the turn of the tide the waves were growingdecidedly vicious.
"Hadn't we better be getting a move on?" suddenly inquiredCumberleigh, as he realised that the motion was causing anuncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Remember, some ofus are going to the theatre to-night."
"What's the hurry, old bean?" inquired the enthusiastic boat-sailer,Jefferson. "If it comes to that, you can see the 'Mountains' fromhere, although there's no 'Maid'--not even a mermaid. But, I say,what's that?"
He pointed seawards. At about a mile distant was a long, low-lyingblack hull, apparently drifting broadside on to the waves.
"Boche submarine, perhaps," ventured the facetious Pyecroft. "She'scoming to give us a tow back to Auldhaig. Did anyone remember tobring a Lewis gun in his trouser pocket?"
With the others, von Preussen looked in the direction of themysterious craft. He had no pressing desire to renew acquaintancewith one of His Imperial Majesty's _unterseebooten_, although theconsequences would be far less awkward for him than it would be forhis present companions. But a brief glance assured him on that point.The craft, whatever it might be, was certainly not a U-boat. No
amount of camouflage could alter that.
"She's a derelict," exclaimed Jefferson. "Get up the anchor, youfellows. We'll run alongside and have a look at her."
Quickly the anchor was broken out and the sail hoisted. Cumberleigh,who had been silently keeping the derelict under observation,suddenly turned and thumped von Preussen on the shoulder.
"Fennelburt," he vociferated, "Providence has played into your hands!You came here to inspect X-barges. Lo and behold, one of themobligingly drifts down to greet you!"
"You're right, Cumberleigh," said Pyecroft. "It's one of those thatleft Auldhaig this morning. I saw them go out. That red-haired Scotchap--McIntosh, you know him--was in charge."
"Hanged if he is now, at any rate," added Jefferson. "An' the oldthing is well down by the stern. I believe she's sinking."
It took ten minutes for the _Pip-squeak_ to close with X-lighter No.5. Running up into the wind on the lee side, Jefferson got way offthe boat.
"How about it, you fellows?" he inquired. "Think it's safe to runalongside?"
"Might have a shot at it, old thing," replied Cumberleigh. "Shehasn't altered her trim during the last five or ten minutes. I say,do we get salvage on a job like this, or is there some rottenregulation debarring underpaid officers from making a bit? What doyou make of her, Fennelburt? You are a marine expert."
Von Preussen, who had been maintaining a discreet silence, venturedan opinion that it might be safe to board her provided thesailing-boat were kept alongside.
"Good enough," replied Cumberleigh. "You, Blenkinson and I willcomprise the boarding-party; the others stand by in the boat. _Enavant, mes braves!_ Over the top you go, and the best of luck."
Fending off the _Pip-squeak_ lest her planks should be stove inagainst the massive rubbing-strake of the lighter, the three mencontrived to effect a safe transhipment. A brief examination revealedthe fact that the derelict had been in collision and that she hadbeen badly holed right aft. The engine-room was flooded, and only theiron bulkhead between it and the hold had kept the craft fromfoundering.
"Now what's to be done?" inquired Blenkinson. "We can't tow her in.That's a moral cert."
"No, but we can send for a tug," said Cumberleigh. "Jefferson cansail back to Auldhaig in about an hour even if he doesn't fall inwith a tug or even an M.L. on the way."
"What about 'The Maid of the Mountains'?" asked Blenkinson.
"We'll cut the appointment," replied the captain, with a laugh."Excuse--the exigencies of the Service."
"But," protested von Preussen, "the lighter might founder. We shouldbe in an awkward predicament if she did, the boat having left us. Iwould suggest that we all go back in the _Pip-squeak_ and report thematter."
"I agree," added Blenkinson. "After all's said and done, we don'tstand a chance of getting anything out of the deal. And what mattersif the old tub does sink? Her value is but a mere fleabite out of sixmillions a day."
But Captain Cumberleigh was made of sterner stuff. Once having sethis hand to this maritime plough, he was loth to turn back.
"We'll stick it," he decided resolutely. "Jefferson will cruisearound in case of an accident. If we find we are drifting on shore wecan let go that anchor. I don't see there's much to get the wind upabout."
"Cheers for the R.A.F. Salvage Syndicate," exclaimed Blenkinson,fired by his companion's enthusiasm, but von Preussen merely shruggedhis shoulders. He hadn't risked the perils of the North Sea in orderto protect the property of His Majesty the King of England.