The Mystery Ship: A Story of the 'Q' Ships During the Great War

by Percy F. Westerman

  CHAPTER XVI

  COVERING HIS TRACKS

  FOR the second time within forty-eight hours Karl von Preussentramped the deserted road leading to Nedderburn Junction railwaystation. On the previous occasion he called himself Captain GeorgeFennelburt; on the second he had assumed the name of RonaldBroadstone.

  He travelled light, but in place of his khaki, leather-reinforcedhaversack he carried a small portmanteau, which, owing to unforeseencircumstances, was practically empty. He decided that at the firstfavourable opportunity he would replenish a portion of his kit andreplace that lying at the Auldhaig Hotel. But in the portmanteau wasan automatic pistol of British manufacture. Its possession showedeconomy and discrimination in small details. Since it had beenacquired from a battlefield, it had cost von Preussen nothing; andbeing of British make it was in keeping with the spy's rôle as anofficer of the Royal Air Force.

  He walked quickly and unhesitatingly along the bleak, unfrequentedroad. Delay meant the great possibility of missing the night trainand a consequent detention at Nedderburn, which was too close toAuldhaig to be pleasant. He had good reasons for steering clear ofAuldhaig "for the rest of the duration." The place had been a"wash-out," and since von Preussen was of a superstitious nature healways avoided scenes of previous failures.

  Beyond meeting a belated shepherd, who greeted the spy in an unknownHighland dialect, von Preussen arrived at Nedderburn withoutencountering anyone. The station had just been lit up, two feebleparaffin lamps providing the necessary illumination for the safety ofpassengers. Peeping through the high wooden palisade, von Preussentook stock of the people on the up-platform.

  There were half a dozen "Jocks" with full equipment, including "tinhats" and rifles with the breech-mechanism bound in strips of oiledcloth.

  "Highlanders returning from leave to the Front, curse them!" mutteredvon Preussen.

  He had reason for his maledictory utterance. In the earlier days ofthe war, when he was a lieutenant of Uhlans, he soon learnt to have awholesome respect for the stalwart, bare-kneed, kilted men from"Caledonia stern and wild." He recalled an incident at a certainvillage about twenty kilometres from Mons. His squadron had overtakentwenty tired Highlanders tramping along the _pavé_. Observation bymeans of binoculars showed that they were bordering on utter fatigue.Most of them wore blood-stained bandages. They had no officer withthem. They looked to be an easy prey to the lances of his Uhlans. VonPreussen never had a worse shock. Instead of the kilted men taking totheir heels at the sight of the charging cavalry and thus fallingeasy victims to the steel-tipped lances, they coolly threw themselvesinto a circle fringed by a ring of glittering bayonets. Three volleysin quick succession were too much for the Uhlans to stomach. Theygalloped off, amongst them von Preussen groaning and cursing with abullet wound through his left shoulder.

  In the present instance he decided that he had nothing to fear fromthese men. A little further on were three greatcoated officers. Witha grunt of satisfaction von Preussen noted that their cap-bands werenot black with the badge of the crown, eagle and wings. He had goodcause to avoid Air Force officers and men just at present.

  Beyond stood a sturdily-built man with a long black coat and softhat--evidently a clergyman. He was trying to decipher a poster in thefeeble glimmer of the station lamps.

  The changing of the signal from red to green warned the spy that itwas time to enter the station. Outside the entrance stood an old andsomewhat decrepit porter who, after inquiry as to whether the newarrival had any luggage and receiving a negative reply, hobbled offto ring the bell. At the doorway stood a girl ticket-collector.

  "Warrant, miss!" exclaimed von Preussen, holding out a buff paper.

  The girl examined it perfunctorily.

  "Carlisle--change at Edinburgh!" she announced.

  The spy thanked the girl for the gratuitous and unnecessaryinformation. To change at Edinburgh was his intention. By so doing hecould withhold and destroy the faked railway warrant, which, had itbeen retained by the ticket collector, would eventually be presentedto the Air Ministry for payment. Already von Preussen had travelledthousands of miles over British railways without payment, and neveronce had he surrendered the buff slip that would otherwise have beena clue to his movements.

  With much hissing of steam the night mail train drew up at theplatform. The handful of travellers hurried along, peering into thedimly-lit compartments in the hope of finding vacant seats. VonPreussen happened to secure one in the company of five naval officerswho were already "bored stiff" with their tedious journey from a farnorthern base. The spy soon discovered that there was precious littleinformation to be picked up from them.

  At Perth the spy changed compartments. He now found himself in thecompany of four rather lively subalterns and the clergyman he hadnoticed on Nedderburn Junction platform. The latter, deep in thepages of the _Church Times_, took no notice of the new arrival.

  "Tickets, please!"

  A gigantic inspector examined the tickets and vouchers of theoccupants of the compartment.

  "Change at Edinburgh," he remarked, as he clipped von Preussen'swarrant. "Through train to Carlisle at 7.5."

  With the resumption of the journey, the clerical passenger offeredvon Preussen a copy of an evening paper as a prelude to openingconversation. He was, he informed the spy, travelling from Nedderburnto Hawick, where he was about to take up an Army chaplaincy at StobsCamp. In return von Preussen told a fairy tale to the effect that hewas joining an R.A.F. balloon station near Carlisle and gave somevivid and totally imaginary stories of his adventures in the air. Yetin spite of several attempts to draw the subalterns into theconversation, the hilarious representatives of the "One Star Crush"limited their discourse to anecdotes calculated to bring blushes tothe cheeks of the padre.

  It was nearly six in the morning when the train reached Edinburgh.Without difficulty von Preussen passed the barrier and emerged intoPrinces Street. For the rest of the day he remained in seclusion at asmall private hotel just behind Edinburgh's main thoroughfare.

  He had a nasty shock that evening. The evening papers came out withan announcement that there was a reward of one hundred pounds forinformation leading to the detection of a certain individual givingthe name of George Fennelburt, aged about thirty; height, five feetseven or eight; broadly built, fair featured with blue eyes. Believedto be wearing the uniform of a captain in the Royal Air Force, andlast seen in the neighbourhood of Auldhaig.

  Von Preussen broke into a gentle perspiration. Furtively he glancedat his companions in the commercial room. They were, fortunately forhim, deep in a game of chess.

  The spy had registered in the name of Captain Broadstone. That wasnow, of itself, a decidedly risky proceeding, since, the hue and crybeing raised, there would most certainly be a stringent examinationof registration forms at all the hotels.

  Even in his panic von Preussen was curious. He could form nosatisfactory theory on the matter. How was his presence known, sinceit was reasonable to conjecture that the authorities knew he had goneon the fishing expedition that had been so unpropitious to histemporary companions? Obviously the notice offering a reward for hisapprehension had not been issued before his visit to Auldhaig; andsince he, with others, was missing and presumed to be drowned, why goto the length of advertising for his arrest? Perchance U 247 had beencaptured and the British prisoners released. Even in that case noneof those knew the true facts. When they were sent below they wereunder the impression that he, von Preussen, was also a prisoner ofwar. In the absence of detail the newspaper notice was terrible inits gaunt wording.

  "I will have to find a different disguise," he decided. "But how? Topurchase civilian clothing would be courting instant suspicion. Icannot get it myself, nor can I trust anyone to obtain it for me. Yetto persist in appearing in this Air Force uniform would be simplemadness. It is equally futile to dye my hair and eyebrows. The peoplehere would notice the difference instantly. And if I changed my hotelI would run fresh and possibly greater risks. _Himmel!_ What
can Ido?"

  He glanced suspiciously round the room. The players, deep in theirgame, paid no attention to anyone or anything else.

  "There's one blessing," he soliloquised. "I registered as Broadstone,not Fennelburt. I think I'll go to bed. It's safer."

  He went, placed his automatic pistol under his pillow, and foundhimself looking at the empty portmanteau. Then, switching off thelight, he attempted to court slumber.

  It was in vain. For hours he lay wide awake, racking his ready brainfor a solution to the apparently insurmountable difficulty. He heardthe occupant of the next room retiring, the click of the electriclight switch, and very soon after, the first of a series of loudsnores.

  "At all events," thought the spy, "the fellow is luckier than I: hecan sleep soundly."

  The sleeper and the empty portmanteau: subconsciously von Preussenconnected the two. Why, he knew not, but gradually and withincreasing lucidity a plan matured. Why not steal the sleeper'sclothes, pack them into his portmanteau, and change in a remotecountry spot?

  "It may throw suspicion on me," he thought, "but it's worth trying.Given four or five hours' start, I'll throw them off the scent."

  Cautiously von Preussen got out of bed and opened the door. A lightburned in the corridor. By its aid he could see pairs of bootsstanding outside the various rooms: either the servant responsiblefor the cleaning of them was late, or else the task of collection wasleft till early in the morning.

  Silently the spy picked up a boot belonging to the person he intendedto rob and examined it carefully. It was an "eight":--a similar sizeto his. So far so good; he could only hope that the fellow resembledhim in build and height. He must at all events avoid the incongruityof donning the clothes of a man five feet two or six feet one.

  Very deftly von Preussen tried the door-handle. The sleeper hadomitted to bolt the door. The snores continued.

  Creeping into the room the intruder closed the door. The lawfuloccupant had evidently not intended to wake up and switch on thelight, otherwise he would not have thrown back the heavy curtains andadmitted the moonlight. Neatly folded on a chair were the man'sclothes. For once the methodical habits of their owner were to hisdisadvantage.

  Quickly von Preussen collected the articles, and, pausing only for afew minutes to make sure that the corridor was deserted, regained hisown room.

  Ten minutes later, having crammed his portmanteau with hisnewly-gotten booty, he again turned in.

  He had arranged to be called at eight-thirty. He saw no object inanticipating the hour. Let the occupier of the adjoining roomdiscover his loss. The management would not dare to question theofficer guest or examine his portmanteau.

  At seven he was awakened by a furious ringing and a bellowing voice.He smiled grimly. The fun was about to commence. He could hearvarious members of the hotel staff talking excitedly, while theindignant tones of the robbed guest dominated all.

  Pleading a headache caused by the noise and that he was sufferingfrom shell-shock, von Preussen had his breakfast brought to hisbedroom. Then, having shaved and paid his bill, he grasped his nowheavy portmanteau and left the hotel.

  He made his way to Princes Street, feeling horribly self-conscious.At every salute he received and returned, he felt that the man whogave it had his suspicions. He made haste to board the first tramcar,which, he noticed, was marked "Portobello and Joppa."

  Before the car had passed Scott's Monument a couple of R.A.F.officers boarded it and, to the spy's consternation, took seatsimmediately behind him.

  Presently one of them, a captain, tapped von Preussen on theshoulder:

  "Can you oblige me with a match, old bean?"

  The old bean complied without a word.

  The next question came with startling suddenness:

  "'Spose you haven't come across Captain Fennelburt?"

  The spy, controlling himself with an effort, turned his head andlaughed.

  "Hope you don't think I'm the fellow?" he inquired. "If, so, youwon't get that hundred pounds, old son. I heard this morning that hehad been collared at Perth."

  "Is that so?" asked the other, a subaltern. "What was all the racketabout?"

  "Misappropriation of mess funds, I believe," replied von Preussen. Henow felt more at ease and master of the situation. He forced theconversation on trivial topics until his undesirable acquaintancesreached their destination.

  The spy remained until the car stopped at the terminus; then hestarted to walk briskly inland, reproving himself for his badmanoeuvre in taking a car bound for a coast town.

  A four hours' stiff walk brought him to a desolate moor, standingwell on eight hundred feet above the sea. Sheltering from possibleobservation behind an overhanging rock, he made the necessary changefrom Captain Broadstone, R.A.F., to plain Thomas Smith, commercialtraveller, representing Collar & Grab, wholesale provision merchants(and incidentally profiteers), of Liverpool.

  For the next four days he remained at Galashiels, lying low andexplaining his presence by the plausible statement that the sampleshis firm had dispatched had gone astray. On the fifth he decided togo to York, where he knew of a Polish Jew, Polinski by name, who wasin reality a German Secret Service agent.

  At Newcastle he caught a fast train bound for London. He nowtravelled third class, finding himself in the company of fourbluejackets proceeding "on leave."

  Within a few minutes of the train leaving the station the commercialtraveller was apparently fast asleep. He was keenly on the alert togather information, and his wishes were realised.

  "S'elp me," exclaimed one of the men. "We'd got a blanked U-boatblazing away at us like mad. 'Course we didn't reply, an' they didn't'arf give us a dustin'. Then up comes another of the swine an' startsfirin', only 'er shells goes wide. Still our owner sticks it withoutso much as winkin'. Hopin', you see, to bag 'em both."

  "And did 'e?" inquired another.

  "Not 'e, worse luck," replied the other. "Just as we was about terdrop our false bulwarks an' give 'em perishin' socks, one of theU-boats slipped in a couple o' tawpedas into t'other an' blew 'er toblazes."

  "Wot for?" asked a bearded petty officer.

  "Wot for?" snorted the other. "To do us out of our bloomin' prizemoney, of course. There was we, with our decks littered with sheepand cattle, stickin' it for four mortal hours in the hope we'd put itabaft the swine, an' all for nothin'. The U-boat was one of our ownmystery ships, rigged up to bamboozle Fritz. She was orf right intoHeligoland Bight to do 'er dirty work, if I remember right."

  Von Preussen chuckled inwardly. Here indeed was a "scoop." Beforeeight that evening the information, transmitted in the form of anapparently genuine business telegram to a firm in Amsterdam, was inthe hands of the German Admiralty.