Kitabı oku: «Spies of the Kaiser: Plotting the Downfall of England», sayfa 15
"Ah, sir! For heaven's sake, put that down – very carefully. Touch nothing there, or we may both be blown to pieces! See!" she added in a low, intense voice of confession, as she, dashed forward, "there are finished bombs there! Gustave could not carry them all away, so he left those with me."
"Then Gustave made these, eh?"
"Yes. And, see, he gave me this" – and she drew from her breast a small, shining cylinder of brass, a beautifully finished little object about four inches long similar to those used at the barricade. "He gave this to me to use – if necessary!" the girl added, a meaning flash in her dark eyes.
For a moment I was silent.
"Then you would have used it upon that Cossack?" I said slowly.
"That was my intention."
"And kill yourself, as well as your assailant?"
"I have promised him," was her simple answer.
"And this Gustave? You love him? Tell me all about him. Remember I am your friend, and will help you if I can."
She hesitated, and I was compelled to urge her again and again ere she would speak.
"Well, he is German – from Berlin," she said at last, as we still stood before the bomb-maker's bench. "He is a chemist, and, being an anarchist, came to us, and joined us in the Revolution. The petards thrown over the barricades to-day were of his make, but he had to fly. He left yesterday."
"For Berlin?"
"Ah! How can I tell? The Cossacks may have caught and killed him. He may be dead," she added hoarsely.
"What direction has he taken?"
"He was compelled to leave hurriedly at midnight. He came, kissed me, and gave me this," she said, still holding the shining little bomb in her small white hand. "He said he intended, if possible, to get over the hills to the frontier at Satanow."
I saw that she was deeply in love with the fugitive, whoever he might be.
Outside the awful massacre was in progress, we knew; but no sound of it reached us down in that rock-hewn tomb.
The yellow candle-light fell upon her sweet dimpled face, but when she turned her splendid eyes to mine I saw that in them was a look of anxiety and terror inexpressible.
I inquired of her father and mother, for she was of a superior class, as I had from the first moment detected. She spoke French extremely well, and we had dropped into that language as being easier for me than Russian.
"What can it matter to you, sir, a stranger?" she sighed.
"But I am interested in you, mademoiselle," I answered. "Had I not been I should not have fired that shot."
"Ah, yes!" she cried quickly. "I am an ingrate! You saved my life," – and again she seized both my hands and kissed them.
"Hark!" I cried, startled. "What's that?" for I distinctly heard a sound of crackling wood.
The next moment men's gruff voices reached us from above.
"The Cossacks!" she screamed. "They have found us – they have found us!" And the light died out of her beautiful countenance.
In her trembling hand she held the terrible little engine of destruction.
With a quick movement I gripped her wrist, urging her to refrain until all hope was abandoned, and together we stood facing the soldiers as they descended the stairs to where we were. They were, it seems, searching every house.
"Ah!" they cried, "a good hiding-place this! But the wall was hollow, and revealed the door!" and next moment we saw the figures of men.
"Well, my pretty!" exclaimed a big, leering Cossack, chucking the trembling girl beneath the chin.
"Hold!" I commanded the half-dozen men who now stood before us, their swords red with the life-blood of the Revolution. But before I could utter further word the poor girl was wrenched from my grasp, and the Cossack was smothering her face with his hot nauseous kisses.
"Hold, I tell you!" I shouted. "Release her, or it is at your own peril!"
"Hulloa!" they laughed. "Who are you?" – and one of the men raised his sword to strike me, whilst another held him back, exclaiming, "Let us hear what he has to say!"
"Then listen!" I said, drawing from my pocket book a folded paper. "Read this, and look well at the signature. I am a British subject, and this girl is under my protection!" – and I handed to the man who held little Luba in his arms my permit to travel hither and thither in Russia, which the Ambassador in London had signed for me.
The men, astounded at my announcement, read the document beneath the lamp-light and took counsel among themselves.
"And who, pray, is this Jewess?" inquired one.
"My affianced wife," was my quick reply. "And I command you at once to take us under safe conduct to General Krasiloff – quickly, without delay. We took refuge in this place from the Revolution, in which we have taken no part."
I saw, however, with sinking heart, that one of the men was examining the bomb-maker's bench, and had recognised the character of what remained there.
He looked at us, smiled grimly, and whispered something to one of his companions.
Again in an authoritative tone I demanded to be taken to Krasiloff, and presently, after being marched as prisoners across the town, past scenes so horrible that they are still vividly before my eyes, we were taken into the chief police-office, where the hated official, a fat red-faced man in a general's uniform – the man without pity or remorse, the murderer of women and children – was sitting at a table. He greeted me with a grunt.
"General," I said, addressing him, "I have to present to you this order of your Ambassador, and to demand safe conduct. Your soldiers found me and my – "
I hesitated.
"Your pretty Jewess – eh?" – and a smile of sarcasm spread over his fat face. "Well, go on" – and he took the paper I handed him, knitting his brows again as his eyes fell upon the British royal arms and the visa.
"We were found in a cellar where we had hidden from the revolt," I said.
"The place has been used for the manufacture of bombs," declared one of the Cossacks.
The General looked my pretty companion straight in the face.
"What is your name, girl?" he demanded roughly.
"Luba Lazareff."
"Native of where?"
"Of Petersburg."
"What are you doing in Ostrog?"
"She is with me," I interposed. "I demand protection for her."
"I am addressing the prisoner, sir," was his cold remark.
"You refuse to obey the order of the Emperor's representative in London! Good! Then I shall report you to the Minister," I exclaimed, piqued at his insolence.
"Speak, girl!" he roared, his black eyes fixed fiercely upon her. "Why are you in Ostrog? You are no provincial, you know."
"She is my affianced wife," I said, "and in face of my statement and my passport she need make no reply to any of your questions."
A short, stout little man, shabbily dressed, pushed his way forward to the table, saying:
"Luba Lazareff is a well-known revolutionist, your Excellency. The German maker of bombs, Gustave Englebach, is her lover – not this gentleman. Gustave only left Ostrog yesterday."
The speaker was, I afterwards discovered, one of Hartmann's agents.
"And where is Englebach now? I gave orders for his arrest some days ago."
"He was found this morning by the patrol on the road to Schumsk, recognised, and shot, your Excellency."
At this poor little Luba gave vent to a piercing scream and burst into a torrent of bitter tears.
"You fiends!" she cried. "You have shot my Gustave! He is dead —dead!"
"There was no doubt, I suppose, as to his identity?" asked the General.
"None, your Excellency. Some papers found upon the body have been forwarded to us with the report."
"Then let the girl be shot also. She aided him in the manufacture of the bombs."
"Shot!" I gasped, utterly staggered. "What do you mean, General? You will shoot a poor defenceless girl, and in face of my demand for her protection. I have promised her marriage," I cried in desperation, "and you condemn her to execution!"
"My Emperor has given me orders to quell the rebellion, and all who make bombs for use against the Government must die. His Majesty gave me orders to execute all such," said the official sternly. "You, sir, will have safe conduct to whatever place you wish to visit. Take the girl away."
"But, General, reflect a moment whether this is not – "
"I never reflect, sir," he cried angrily, and rising from his chair with outstretched hand, he snapped:
"How much of my time are you going to lose over the wench? Take her away, and let it be done at once."
The poor condemned girl, blanched to the lips and trembling from head to foot, turned quickly to me, and in a few words in French thanked me, and again kissed my hand, with the brief words, "Farewell; you have done your best. God will reward you!"
Then, with one accord, we all turned, and together went mournfully forth into the street.
A lump arose in my throat, for I saw, as the General pointed out, that my passport did not extend beyond my own person. Luba was a Russian subject, and therefore under the Russian martial law.
Of a sudden, however, just as we emerged into the roadway, the unfortunate girl, at whose side I still remained, turned and, raising her tearful face to mine, kissed me.
Then, before any of us were aware of her intention, she again turned, wrenched herself free, and rushed back into the room where the General was still sitting.
The Cossacks dashed after her, but ere they reached the chamber there was a terrific explosion, the air was filled with débris, the back of the building was torn completely out, and when a few minutes later I summoned courage to enter and peep within the wrecked room, I saw a scene that I dare not describe here in cold print.
Suffice it to say that the bodies of Luba and General Stepan Krasiloff were unrecognisable, save for the shreds of clothing that still remained.
Luba had used her bomb in revenge for Gustave's death, and she had freed Russia of the heartless tyrant who had condemned her to die.
But the man Hartmann – the German "patriot," whose underlings had stirred up the revolt – was already on his way back to Berlin.
As in France and Russia, so also in England, German Secret agents are, we have discovered, at work stirring strife in many directions.
One is a dastardly scheme, by which, immediately before a dash is made upon our shores, a great railway strike is to be organised, ostensibly by the socialists, in order to further paralyse our trade and render us in various ways unable to resist the triumphant entry of the foe.
When "the Day" comes, this plot of our friends across the North Sea will assuredly be revealed, just as the truth was revealed to me at Ostrog.
CHAPTER XIII
OUR WIRELESS SECRETS
Something important was being attempted, but what it was neither Ray Raymond nor myself could make out.
We had exerted a good deal of vigilance and kept constant watch upon Hartmann's house in Pont Street since my return from Poland, but all to no purpose.
Vera had been staying in London with her aunt and had greatly assisted us in keeping observation upon two strangers who had arrived in London about a month ago, and who were staying in an obscure hotel near Victoria Station.
Their names were Paul Dubois, a Belgian, and Frederick Gessner, a German. The first-named was, we judged, about forty, stout, flabby-faced, wearing gold pince-nez, while the German was somewhat younger, both quiet, studious-looking men who seemed, however, to be welcomed by many of the prominent members of the German colony in London.
On five separate occasions we had followed the pair to King's Cross Station and watched them take third class tickets to Hull. They would remain there perhaps two or three days, and then return to London.
After a while they had grown tired of their hotel, and had taken a small furnished house at the top of Sydenham Hill, close to the Crystal Palace, a pleasant little place with a small secluded garden in which were several high old elms. They engaged a rather obese old Frenchwoman as housekeeper, and there they led a quiet life, engrossed apparently in literary studies.
I confess that when it came my turn to watch them I became more than ever convinced that Raymond's suspicions were ungrounded. They seldom went out, and when they did, it was either to dine with Hartmann, or to stroll about the suburban roads of Norwood, Sydenham, and Penge.
Late one afternoon, however, while I was down at Sydenham, I saw them emerge from the house, carrying their small suit-cases, and followed them to King's Cross Station, where they took tickets for Hull.
Instantly I rushed to the telephone and informed Ray in Bruton Street of my intention to follow them.
That same night I found myself in the smoke-grimed Station Hotel in Hull, where the two foreigners had also put up.
Next day they called at a solicitor's office at the end of Whitefriargate, and thence, accompanied by a man who was apparently the lawyer's managing clerk, they went in a cab along the Docks, where, at a spot close to the Queen's Dock, they pulled up before an empty factory, a place which was not very large, but which possessed a very high chimney.
The managing clerk entered the premises with a key, and for about half an hour the pair were within, apparently inspecting everything.
I was puzzled. Why they were in treaty to rent a place of this description was an utter enigma.
They returned to the hotel to luncheon, and I watched them engaged in animated discussion afterwards, and I also noticed that they despatched a telegram.
Next day they called upon the solicitor, and by their satisfied manner when they came forth from the office, I guessed that they had become tenants of the place.
In this I was not mistaken, for that same afternoon they went together to the factory and let themselves in with the key, remaining within for over an hour, evidently planning something.
That night I wrote a long report to Raymond, and next morning spoke to him over the telephone.
"Vera wants to know if you want her in Hull. If so, she'll come," my friend said. "I'm just as puzzled as you are. Those two men mean mischief – but in what manner is a mystery."
"If Miss Vallance can come, I'll be only too thankful," I replied. "I fear the men know you, but they don't know her. And she can greatly assist me."
"Very well, Jacox," was his reply. "She'll leave this evening. She'll wire to the hotel. She'd better not be seen with you. So, to the hotel people, you'll be strangers. Meet outside, and arrange matters. 'Phone me when you want me up there."
"Right, old chap," I replied. "I'll ring you up at eleven to-morrow and report. So be in. Good-bye."
And I rang off.
Vera arrived just before eleven that evening. I was in the hall of the hotel when the porter entered, carrying her dressing-case. She passed me and went to the office, but I did not acknowledge her. She wore a neat dark blue travelling gown, well cut by her tailor, and a little toque which suited her face admirably. She possessed perfect taste in dress.
Half an hour later I sent a note up to her room by a waiter, asking her to meet me outside on the railway platform at ten o'clock next morning.
She kept the appointment, and in order to escape observation we entered the refreshment-room.
"The numbers of the rooms occupied by the two men are sixty-eight and seventy-two," I explained. "Perhaps it will be as well if you watch them the whole of to-day. They are at present in the writing-room, so you can at once pick them up."
"Certainly, Mr. Jacox," she said. "Jack is intensely anxious. He's very puzzled as to what they intend doing."
"Yes," I replied, "it's quite a mystery. But we shall discover something ere long, never fear."
Vera laughed as she sipped the glass of milk I had ordered.
Then I briefly explained all that I had discovered, telling her how the two men had evidently taken the factory on a lease, and how they were there every day, apparently making plans for future business.
"But what business do they intend starting?" she asked.
"Ah!" I said; "that's what we have to find out. And we shall do so before very long, if we are careful and vigilant."
"Trust me," she said; "I am entirely at your orders."
"Then I shall wait and hear your report," I said. "When you return to the hotel send a line to my room."
And with that arrangement we parted.
That day I spent idling in the vicinity of the hotel. It was mid-August, and the atmosphere was stifling. That district of Hull is not a very pleasant one, for it is one of mean provincial streets and of the noise of railway lorries rumbling over the granite setts.
The afternoon I spent in playing billiards with the marker, when about six o'clock a page-boy brought me a note from my enthusiastic little friend.
"I shall be in the station refreshment-room at half-past six. Meet me. – Vera."
Those were the words I found within the envelope.
Half an hour later, when I sat at the little marble-topped table with her, she related how she had been following the pair all day.
"They were in the factory from half-past one until four," she said. "They've ordered a builder to put up ladders to examine the chimney. They appear to think it isn't quite safe."
She told me the name of the builder, adding that the contract was to have the ladders in position during the next three days.
"They are leaving for London to-night by the last train," she added. "I heard the Belgian telling the hall-porter as I came out."
"Then we'll wire to Ray to meet them, and keep an eye upon them," I said. "I suppose you will go up to town?"
"I think so. And when they return I will follow them down if Ray deems it best," replied the pretty girl, who was just as enthusiastic in her patriotism as ourselves.
So still mystified I was compelled to remain inactive in Hull, while Vera and the two foreigners whom we suspected of espionage went up to London.
For the next four days I heard nothing until suddenly, at eight o'clock one morning, Ray entered my bedroom before I was up.
"I've found out one thing about those Johnnies!" he exclaimed. "They've been buying, in Clerkenwell, a whole lot of electrical appliances – coils of wire, insulators, and batteries. Some of it has been sent direct to the place they've taken here, and the rest has been sent to their house down in Sydenham."
"What can they want that for?" I queried.
"Don't know, my dear chap. Let's wait and see."
"Perhaps, after all, they are about to set up in business," I said. "Neither of them has struck me as being spies. Save that they've visited Hartmann once or twice, their movements have not been very suspicious. Many foreigners are setting up factories in England, owing to the recent change in our patent laws."
"I know," said my friend. "Yet their confidential negotiations with Hartmann have aroused my suspicions, and I feel confident we shall discover something interesting before long. They came back by the same train as I travelled."
After breakfast, we both strolled round to the factory. The ground it covered was not much, and it was surrounded by a wall about twelve feet high, so that no one could see within the courtyard. It had, at one time, been a lead-mill, but for the past eight years had, we learned, been untenanted.
Even as we loitered near, we saw the builder's men bringing long ladders for the inspection of the chimney.
We watched for a whole week, but as each day passed, I became more confident that we were upon a false scent.
The chimney had been inspected, the ladders taken down again, and once more the German and the Belgian had returned south to that pleasant London suburb.
In order to ascertain what was really in progress I called one morning upon the solicitor in Whitefriargate, on pretext of being a likely tenant of the factory. I was, however, informed by the managing clerk that it was already let to a firm of electrical engineers.
Thus the purchase of electrical appliances was entirely accounted for.
Once again I returned to London. They seemed, by the electrical accessories that had been delivered, to be fitting up a second factory in their house in Sydenham.
That, being a private house, seemed somewhat mysterious.
They had become friendly also with a tall, rather well-dressed Englishman named Fowler, who had the appearance of a superior clerk, and who resided in a rather nice house in Hopton Road, Streatham Hill.
Fowler had become a frequent visitor at their house, while, on several occasions, he dined with Dubois at De Keyser's Hotel, facing Blackfriars Bridge.
In consequence of some conversation I one evening overheard – a conversation in English, which the Belgian spoke fluently – I judged Fowler to be an electrician, and it seemed, later on, very much as though he had been, or was about to be, taken into partnership with them.
As far as we could discover, however, he had been told nothing about the factory in Hull. More than once I suspected that the two foreigners were swindlers, who intended to "do" the Englishman out of his money. This was impressed I upon me the more, because one evening a German woman was introduced to their newly-found friend as Frau Gessner, who had just arrived from Wiesbaden.
Whether she was really Gessner's wife I doubted. It was curious that, on keeping observation that evening, I found that the lady did not reside at Sydenham, but at a small hotel in Bloomsbury, not a stone's-throw from my own rooms.
There was certainly some deep game in progress. What could it be?
Vera had watched Fowler on several occasions, but beyond the fact that he was an electrical engineer, occupying a responsible position with a well-known telegraph construction company, we could discover nothing.
After nearly three weeks in London, Dubois and Gessner returned to Hull, where, while living at the Station Hotel, they spent each day at their "works." They engaged no assistant, and were bent apparently upon doing everything by themselves. They were joined one day by a shrivelled-up old man of rather seedy appearance, and typically German. His name was Busch, and he lived in lodgings out on the Beverley Road. He was taken to the works, and remained there all day.
A quantity of electrical appliances were delivered from London, and Dubois and Gessner received them and unpacked them themselves.
Ray Raymond was down at Sheerness upon another matter – a serious attempt to obtain some confidential naval information – therefore I remained in Hull anxiously watching. Vera had again offered her services, but at that moment she was down at Sheerness with Ray.
Day by day old Busch went regularly to the factory, and by the appearance of the trio when they came forth, it was apparent that they worked very hard. I was intensely inquisitive, and dearly wished to obtain a glance within the place. But that was quite out of the question.
Busch, it seemed, had lived in Hull for a considerable period. Inquiries of his neighbours revealed that he was a well-known figure. He did but little work, preferring to take long walks into the country.
One man told me that he had met him twice away near Spurn Head, at the estuary of the Humber, and on another occasion he had seen him wandering aimlessly along the low-lying coast in the vicinity of Hornsea. In explanation of this, it seemed that he had once lived for a whole summer in Withernsea, not far from Spurn Head, and had grown fond of the neighbourhood. Everybody looked upon him as a harmless old man, a trifle eccentric, and a great walker.
That constant rambling over that low-lying district of Holderness had aroused my suspicions, and I determined to turn my attention to him.
One day the old man did not go to the factory, but instead went forth upon one of his rambles. He took train from Hull to Hornsea, where the railway ends at the sea, and walked along the shore for several miles; indeed until he was three parts of the distance to Bridlington, when he suddenly halted near the little village of Barmston, and producing a neat pocket-camera took a long series of snap-shots of the flat coast, where I saw there were several places which would afford an easy landing for the invader.
The truth was in an instant plain. Old Busch was a "fixed-agent," who was carrying on the same work along the Yorkshire coast as his ingenious compatriots were doing in Norfolk, Suffolk, and Essex. The remainder of that day I kept a sharp eye upon him, and witnessed him making many notes and taking many photographs of the various farms and houses near the sea. He noted the number of haystacks in the farmyards – for his report on fodder stores, no doubt – and made certain notes regarding the houses, of great use, no doubt, when the Germans came to billet their troops.
It was not until nearly midnight that I was back at the hotel in Hull. Then, by judicious inquiry of the hall porter – who had become my particular friend – I ascertained that Gessner had left for London by the last train.
Should I follow, or should I remain in Hull?
I decided upon the latter course, and retired to bed, thoroughly fagged out.
Early next morning I went round to the telephone-exchange, rather than use the instrument in the hotel, and rang up Raymond.
To my delight he answered my call. He was at home.
I gave him a rapid digest of what I had discovered, and told him that the German had returned to Sydenham.
"All right, old chap," came his voice over the wire. "Vera will watch at this end, while you watch yours. If what I guess is right, they're doing something far more serious than surveying that flat coast north of the Humber. Be careful not to betray yourself."
"Trust me for that," I laughed. "Are you going back to Sheerness?"
"Yes. I'll be there all day to-day – and to-morrow I hope to get one of our friends the enemy arrested. That's what I'm trying for. Good-bye – and good luck," and he rang off.
Busch went to the factory where Dubois was already awaiting him. As I stood outside that building of mystery I wondered what devilment was being plotted within. It had not been cleaned or painted, the windows being still thick with soot, and several of them, which had been broken, were boarded up. The place had certainly not been cleaned down for years, and no wonder they had been suspicious of the stability of that chimney which towered so high towards the murky sky.
There was no sign whatever of activity within, or of any business about to be carried on. Thus, day followed day, Busch and Dubois spending most of their time within those high walls which held their secret.
One curious thing was the number of telegrams delivered there. Sometimes they sent and received as many as fourteen or fifteen in a day. How I longed to know with whom they were in such constant communication.
Suddenly, after the third day, the shoal of wires entirely ceased. Busch and Dubois, instead of going to the factory, spent the day in the country, taking train to Patrington and walking through Skeffling went out to Kilnsea, opposite Great Grimsby at the entrance to the Humber.
From the point where I watched I could see that the old man with considerable gesticulation was standing upon the shore facing seaward and explaining something to his companion.
The Belgian apparently put many questions to him, and had become intensely interested. Then presently his companion produced a paper from his pocket – evidently a plan, for he pointed out something upon it.
They both lit their pipes, and sitting down upon a rock discussed something quietly. Apparently Busch was making an elaborate explanation, now and then pointing with his finger seaward.
Where he pointed was the channel through which passed all the shipping into the Humber.
Then, after a time, he rose from where he sat, and seemed to be measuring a distance by taking paces, his companion walking at his side over the level expanse of sand.
Suddenly he halted, pointing to the ground.
Dubois examined the shore at that point with apparent curiosity. With what object I could not imagine.
They remained there for fully an hour, and the sun had already set when they returned to Patrington, and took the train back to Hull.
That old Busch was a spy I had proved long ago, but what part Dubois and Gessner were playing was not yet at all clear.
On the following evening, about ten o'clock, I saw Dubois near the Dock office, and on watching him, followed him to the factory, which he entered with his key. Beyond the gate was the small paved courtyard in which rose the high chimney. Within the factory he lit the gas, for I could see its reflection, though from the street I could not get sight of the lower windows.
The night was bright and moonlit, and as I waited I heard within the grinding of a windlass, and saw to my surprise, a thin light iron rod about six feet long and placed vertically rising slowly up the side of the chimney stack, evidently being drawn up to a pulley at its summit.
Dubois was hoisting it to the top, where at last it remained stationary, its ends just protruding beneath the coping and hardly visible.
Scarcely had this been done when Busch came along, and I had to exercise a quick movement to avoid detection. He was admitted by Dubois, and the door was closed and locked as usual.
I stood beneath the wall, trying to overhear their words. But I could understand nothing.
Suddenly a dull, crackling noise broke the silence of the night, as though the sound was dulled by a padded room.
Again I listened. Then at last the truth dawned upon me.
The spies had put in a secret installation of wireless telegraphy!
Those intermittent sounds were that of the Morse code. They were exchanging signals with some other persons.
Gessner was absent. No doubt the corresponding station was at that house high upon Sydenham Hill to the south of London, two hundred miles distant!
I waited for a quarter of an hour, listening to those secret signals. Then I hurried to the telephone, and fortunately found Raymond at home. I told him what I had discovered, and urged him to take a taxi at once down to Sydenham and ascertain whether they were receiving signals there.
This he promised to do, telling me he would 'phone me the result to the hotel at eight o'clock next morning.
Therefore I returned to the factory, and through the long night-hours listened to their secret experiments.
