Kitabı oku: «Spies of the Kaiser: Plotting the Downfall of England», sayfa 7
It travelled in a circle several times over the tree-tops, and then, just as at Dulnan Bridge, it dived straight away over the dark pine forest towards the lonely moors of Cromdale. Without a second's hesitation I mounted and rode full speed after her, keeping her well in sight as I went towards Deva.
Yet scarcely had I gone half a mile when I again heard behind me the "pop-pop-pop" of another cycle, and turning, saw to my satisfaction the man Goldstein, who had evidently seen the aeroplane, and was now bent upon obtaining all details of it.
Going up the hill I drew away from him, but as we descended he passed me, and in order to pose as an excited onlooker, I shouted to him my surprise in seeing such an apparatus in the air.
He evidently knew more of the new invention than I did. And yet Ray held aloof from me.
Next day, having been out for a stroll, I returned to the hotel about noon, when a few moments later my friend entered the reading-room.
"Let's go to your room," he suggested; therefore we ascended the stairs, and I opened the door with my key.
As soon as I had done so, he made a swift tour of the apartment, examining both the carpet and the red plush-covered chairs without uttering a word.
Then he stood in the centre of the room for a moment, and slowly selected a cigarette from his case. Ray Raymond was thinking – thinking deeply.
"Your friend Goldstein has a visitor," he remarked at last.
"Not to my knowledge," I said.
"He occupies room No. 11 in this hotel," he went on. "This is 16, therefore he must be quite near you."
"But who's the visitor?"
"A friend of Goldstein's. Downstairs you can discover his name."
I descended and found that on the previous evening there had certainly arrived at the hotel a Mr. William Smith, who occupied room No. 11.
But how was Ray aware of it?
I returned to my room, and found him staring out of the window into the roadway below. I saw that he was unusually agitated.
"My dear Jack," he said, turning to me when I told him the name of the occupant of No. 11, "how horribly stuffy this room is! Do you never have the window open?"
"Of course," I said, crossing to open it as usual. But I found that it had been jammed down tightly, and that felt had been placed in the crevices by the hotel people to exclude the draught.
Ray noticed it, and a curious smile crossed his aquiline countenance.
"I'd remove all that, if I were you," he exclaimed. "And I'd also pull out all that stuffing I see up the chimney. You never have a fire here, I suppose."
"I hate a fire in my bedroom," I answered. "But what has that to do with our friend Goldstein?"
"A good deal," was his reply. "Take my advice and have a fire here;" and by his look I saw that he had discovered more than he wished at that juncture to tell me. Had I known the astounding truth, I certainly should not have taken his words so calmly.
He appeared to evince an interest in my room, its position and its contents, but when I remarked upon it he pretended unconcern. He rang the bell and inquired of the waiter for Mr. Goldstein and Mr. William Smith, but the man informed him that both gentlemen were out. "I believe," added the waiter, "that Mr. Goldstein is leaving us this evening or to-morrow, sir."
"Leaving!" I echoed as soon as the man had closed the door. "Shall I follow?"
"No. It really isn't worth while," Ray replied, "at least not just at present. Remain here and have a care of yourself, Jack."
What did he mean? We ate a hasty lunch, and then, mounting into the car, my companion ordered the chauffeur to drive south again past Dulnan Bridge to Duthil, where we turned up to the right and ascended the thickly wooded hill of Lochgorm on that stony road that leads out upon the desolate Muirs of Cromdale. After we had cleared the wood he ordered the man to pull up, for the road was so bad. Descending, we climbed the steep ascent to the summit of a hill, where, after sweeping the surrounding country with a small pair of powerful glasses I carried, I at last discerned the aeroplane heading westward some ten miles distant.
Unfortunately, however, the clouds came down upon us, and we quickly found ourselves enveloped in a gradually thickening Scotch mist, while the aeroplane, soon but a faint grey shadow, quickly faded from our gaze.
Ray Raymond was ever a dogged person. He decided to descend, and this we did, passing over the other side of the hill for half an hour, progress of course being slow on account of the clouds.
Presently a puff of cold wind came up out of the east, and patches of dun-coloured moorland began to appear below through the rents of the fast-breaking clouds; when presently our watchful eyes caught the dull leaden gleam of a sheet of water about three miles ahead, which a look at my map enabled me to recognise as Lochindorb.
And just as we were able to locate the spot we again saw the big white-winged aeroplane as she swooped down to the surface of the loch, upon which she floated swanlike and majestic.
"Well?" I asked, turning and looking him in the face.
"Well, Jack, I've seen it in flight just as you have," he said, "but I've never yet approached it. I've had reasons for keeping away. After to-day, however, there is no longer much necessity for hesitation."
"I hardly follow you, old chap," I declared, my eyes still fixed through the glasses upon the aeroplane sailing along the surface of the distant lake.
"Probably not," he laughed, "but you'll see the motive of my actions before a few days are over, I hope. Let's go back." And returning to the car he carried me as far as the entrance to Grantown, where he deposited me, and then turning, ordered the man to drive with all speed back to Kingussie.
When I re-entered my comfortable hotel I learnt that Goldstein had left by the afternoon train for the south. My interest therefore lay in the new arrival in No. 11, but though I waited up till midnight, he did not return.
Just as I was returning to bed I made a curious discovery in my room. Running from the top of the high, old-fashioned mahogany wardrobe, with its heavily ornamented cornice, was a long piece of strong, black cord, which, passing down the side panel, was placed close to the wainscoting, so as to avoid notice, the end being placed beneath the mat outside the door.
At once I suspected a practical joke, but on mounting one of the old-fashioned chairs, I looked along the top of the wardrobe, but discerned nothing.
So I gathered up the piece of cord, held it in my hand with curiosity for a few moments, and then wondering who had any object in playing such a prank, turned in and slept soundly till morning.
I had scarcely sat down to breakfast in the small upstairs coffee-room – which is used in winter – when I was summoned to the telephone, where Ray predicted that the mysterious Mr. Smith would soon return, and if he did, I was to betray no interest in him whatsoever, and above all, avoid any friendship.
Such instructions mystified me. But I had not long to wait for the return of the man who called himself Smith, for he arrived just as it was growing dusk.
After dinner I was seated in front of the blazing fire in my room, smoking and reading the Courier, when I heard a man in heavy boots pass my door, and recognised his low, hacking cough as that of the occupant of No. 11.
I opened the door, and peering forth saw that he was dressed in his loose mackintosh and cap and carried a stout stick. He was going forth for a night walk!
Therefore I slipped on my thick boots and coat and followed. He had turned to the right on leaving the hotel, but in the silence of the night it was difficult, nay, almost impossible, to watch his movements unobserved.
For about two miles I went forward, following the sound of his footsteps in the dark night in the direction of Dava Moor, until we entered the forest of Glaschoile, where the footsteps suddenly ceased.
I halted to listen. There was a dead silence. The man had realised that he was being followed, and had plunged into the forest.
So, disappointed, I was compelled to retrace my steps to the hotel.
I tried to telephone to Ray, but was told that late the previous night he had gone out on the car and had not returned.
Therefore I remained there, impatient and helpless, the mysterious Smith being still absent.
At three o'clock that afternoon the car pulled up before the door and Ray descended.
"Put on your coat and come with me," he said briefly. And a few minutes later we were tearing along over the same road which the mysterious Smith had taken in the darkness – the direct road which leads north by way of Dava, away to Forres.
Just past the little school house of Dava we left the main road, and striking across the wide, bleak, snow-covered moor for about a mile, suddenly came into view of a wide and lonely expanse of dark water in the centre of the desolate landscape. It was Lochindorb, where, in the distance, we had seen the Kershaw aeroplane alight and sail along the surface.
As we reached the edge of the loch I saw out upon a small islet in the centre a ruined castle, a long, almost unbroken, grey wall of uniform height, without turrets or battlements, occupying the whole of the islet. Below the walls a few bushes grew from the water's edge, but it was as dreary and isolated a spot as I had ever seen. Beyond stretched the big, dull sheet of water, backed only by the low, uninteresting moorland, the only break in the all-pervading flatness and monotony being afforded by a few wind-stunted trees on the right of the road, and a small dark plantation ahead.
When the car had stopped and we had got out and walked a few yards, Ray said:
"Yonder is the old castle of Lochindorb, Jack. Behind those walls is the shed which shelters the Kershaw aeroplane. Look!"
And gazing in the direction he indicated, I saw a skiff with three occupants coming across from the shadows on the left towards the island. The man steering was a corporal of engineers in khaki.
"It appears," Ray went on, "that the machine takes her flight from the open surface of the loch, which, as you see, is about two miles long. She enters and leaves the shed by water."
As we were speaking, a bearded gillie of gigantic stature came up from nowhere and promptly ordered us away, an order which we were very reluctantly compelled to obey.
At last, however, we had discovered the obscure spot where the secret trials were in progress.
"I knew from the first that the tests must be in progress in this district," Ray said, "for a month ago that motor engineer in Grantown of whom you hired your cycle made a small part of a new motor for a man who was a stranger. The part was broken, and the stranger ordered another to be made. I learnt that the first night we were in Grantown."
He resolved to spend that night at Grantown, therefore we dined together, and when we rose from table he went to his room in order to obtain his pipe.
Ten minutes later he returned, saying:
"Just come with me for a moment, Jack."
I rose and followed.
We ascended the stairs, and passing along the corridor he halted before the door of No. 11 and tapped at it quietly.
It opened, and Smith stood upon the threshold.
"I wish to speak with you a moment," Ray said, facing him determinedly.
The man's face fell. We both entered, but so surprised was he that he could utter no protest.
We saw that on the table beneath the lamp was spread a number of photographs and papers.
He had been writing upon a sheet of foolscap and the writing was in German.
"Yes," exclaimed Ray in a tone of satisfaction as he bent over to glance at the first few lines. "I see. You report: 'The upper plane is somewhat curved, with an – '"
"What's my business to do with you, pray?" the man asked defiantly in excellent English.
"Well, your business has interested me greatly, Herr Straus," calmly replied my companion, "and I congratulate you upon the ingenious method by which you got a sight of the Kershaw aeroplane at an early hour this morning. I was at Lochindorb with you – and rather cold waiting, wasn't it?"
The man now recognised gave vent to a quick imprecation.
"I see you've just developed that photograph you took in secret as she sailed within twenty yards of you! But I shall trouble you to give it over to me, together with the rough sketch I see, and your written description of our new military invention," he said, with mock politeness.
"I don't know you – and I shall do nothing of the sort."
"I know you, Karl Straus, as a spy of Germany," exclaimed my friend, with a grin. "Your reputation for ingenuity and cunning reached us from France"; and snatching up the sheet of foolscap he turned to me, saying, "Listen to this, Jack," and while the German agent stood biting his lips in chagrin at being discovered at the eleventh hour, my friend read aloud the spy's report, as follows:
"The upper plane of the Kershaw aeroplane is somewhat curved, with an upward curve at the front. The side planes are composed of a light framework covered with a number of small squares of some light material, each stretched on a light frame hinged to the main frame at the rear end of each. To the front end is fastened a strong silken cord. These cords are all fastened at their lower ends to a large ring. To this is attached a wire rope, which passes over a pulley-wheel at the end of a species of outrigger, and thence into the cigar-like body of the car. From what I have observed when the machine is in flight, it is evident to me that the steersman (who sits at the fore part of the car) is able to manipulate these by means of levers, so that the numerous flaps forming the surface of the side planes can be opened and closed at will.
"Thus suppose the machine to be diving; slackening these ropes, the pressure of the air underneath causes the flaps to open. As soon as this happens their inclination upwards tends to make the machine rise so long as the propellers are driving her forward, the angle of ascent being controlled by the angle to which they are allowed to open. If the machine inclines to lean over to right or left, the opening and closing of the flaps on one side or the other can be used to counteract it and restore the balance. With all kept tightly closed she can go forward or dive. With them open, and engines stopped, she dives quickly. The rudder is of box-kite form, and fastened to the after end of the cigar-like car, which apparently contains the engines, petrol tanks, etc., and enough air space to render the machine buoyant when water-borne. The propellers, which are placed on hollow shafts, whose bearings are supported on horizontal braces between the two V-shaped aluminium lattice girders attaching the planes to the car, are driven by separate endless chains, which come up out of the centre of the cylinder. They seem to be made either of aluminium, or more probably magnalium.
"My drawing has rather exaggerated the diameter of the cylindrical car. There is a light wooden foot-board at either side, which also helps to steady the machine when on the water and two small floats at the end of the outriggers for the same purpose. There are also three small wheels fitted, I presume for facilitating ascent from dry ground.
"Karl Straus."
The spy laughed a low, hollow laugh of defiance. What could he say? He had been outwitted just at the supreme moment of his success.
"I admit, my friend, that you were extremely clever in putting forward Goldstein as the spy, and thus misleading my friend Jacox," Ray said in triumph, as he laid his hand upon the rough sketch of the Kershaw invention. "But for a very timely discovery, too, my friend would have met with the terrible fate which you and your accomplice planned with such devilish ingenuity. So if you don't wish to be arrested for conspiracy and murder you'd better make yourself scarce out of England quickly."
"What do you mean, Ray?" I cried.
"I'll show you," he answered as he gathered up the whole of the spy's papers while the German stood helpless. "Come along to your room with me."
When inside he pointed to the old red-plush-covered chairs, and said:
"Do you recollect my arrival after Straus's visit? I examined those chairs, and saw upon one the traces of chalk. The shoes of the occupant of room No. 11 had been chalked by the boots with his number, and upon the chair I saw traces, and knew that he had stood there to gain the top of your wardrobe."
"For what reason?" I asked.
For answer he turned up the gas and pointed to the cornice of the ceiling behind the wardrobe, where I saw that upon the leaden gas-pipe running along it was a long, narrow strip of what looked like paper which had been pasted.
"Those men meant to kill you, Jack," he said. "On the morning I came here Straus had entered, climbed up to the gas-pipe, and with his clasp-knife cut a hole in it. Over that he, as you see, placed several thicknesses of medical plaster, attaching to it a piece of strong black cord, and carrying it outside the door. After that they plugged up your window and chimney, so that when you were asleep all they had to do was to just pull the string, which would strip off the plaster, allow the gas to escape into the room, and thus asphyxiate you. The plaster could be dragged beneath the door into the passage outside."
"Great heavens!" I gasped, staring astounded at the white medical plaster on the gas-pipe along the cornice. "What a narrow escape I've had!"
"Yes. While I was in London, Vera went up with her maid and stayed at the 'Star' at Kingussie, where she overheard the two men in conversation, and learnt the clever trick they were playing with Goldstein as the spy. She suspected that they intended to rid themselves of your unwelcome surveillance, and returned at once to me in London. Fortunately I discovered the dastardly plot, and that morning I cut the cord."
"That fellow Straus is a much more desperate character than he looks."
"Yes. But we'll just go back and you can tell him your opinion of him," he laughed.
We went together along to No. 11. The spy had already left, but ascending the stairs was Vera, in a long travelling-coat, her maid following with the wraps.
She had just arrived from London, and after she had greeted us in her usual merry manner, told us that she was the bearer of very important news – news of the activity of spies in another quarter.
We quickly told her how we had managed to outwit Straus, while I, on my part, thanked her warmly for having made that startling discovery which had, no doubt, saved me from falling a victim to that dastardly plot formed by one of the most ingenious of the many unscrupulous spies of the Kaiser.
CHAPTER VI
THE SECRET OF THE NEW ARMOUR-PLATES
"I wonder if that fellow is aware of his danger?" remarked Ray, speaking to himself behind the paper he was reading before the fire in New Stone Buildings, one afternoon not long after we had returned from Scotland.
"What fellow?" I inquired.
"Why Professor Emden," he replied. "It seems that in a lecture at the London Institution last night, he announced that he had discovered a new process for the hardening of steel, which gives it no less than eight times the resisting power of the present English steel!"
"Well!" I asked, looking across at my friend, and then glancing at Vera, who had called and was seated with us, her hat still on, and a charming figure to boot.
"My dear fellow, can't you see that such an invention would be of the utmost value to our friends the Germans? They'd use it for the armour-plates of their new navy."
"H'm! And you suspect they'll try and obtain Emden's secret – eh?"
"I don't suspect, I'm confident of it," he declared, throwing aside the paper. "I suppose he's a bespectacled, unsuspicious man, like all scientists. The Times is enthusiastic over the discovery – declaring that the Admiralty should secure it at once, if they have not already done so. It's being made experimentally at Sheffield, it seems, and has been tried in secret somewhere out near the Orkneys. Admiralty experts are astounded at the results."
"Who is Emden?" I asked. "Just look at 'Who's Who?' It's by your elbow, old chap."
Ray proceeded to search the fat red book of reference, and presently exclaimed:
"It seems he's a Fellow of the Royal Society, a very distinguished chemist, and a leading authority on electro-metallurgy and ferro-alloys. He has improved upon the Kjellin furnace as installed at Krupp's at Essen, and at Vickers, Sons, and Maxim's at Sheffield, and by this improvement, it seems, has been able to invent the new steel-making process."
"If he has improved upon any of the machinery or processes at the Krupp works," remarked Vera, glancing across at me, "then, no doubt, our friends across the North Sea will endeavour to filch the secret from him."
"Yes," I agreed, "he certainly ought to be warned of his danger. As soon as Hartmann sees the announcement in the papers, there's certain to be a desperate attempt to get hold of the secret."
"That mustn't be allowed, my dear fellow," Ray exclaimed. "With such steel as this the British Navy will have a splendid and distinct advantage over that of our friend 'William the Sudden.' This is a great and important secret which England must keep at all hazards."
"Certainly," declared Vera. "Really, Ray, you ought to see Professor Emden and have a chat with him."
"His address is given at Richmond," was my friend's reply, "but I have to go up to Selkirk early to-morrow, and shall be away nearly a week."
"Then shall I run down and see him this evening?" I suggested. And agreeing with my idea, he wrote the address for me. Then we made a cup of tea for Vera, who always delighted in the rough-and-ready bachelordom of a barrister's chambers. Afterwards Ray took his fiancée home to her aunt's, while I went back to my rather dismal lodgings in Guilford Street, Russell Square.
At nine o'clock that evening I rang at a pleasant, good-sized, modern house, which overlooked the beautiful Terrace Gardens and the river lying deep below at Richmond – a house which, perhaps, commanded the finest view within twenty miles of London.
The door was upon that main road which leads from the town up to the "Star and Garter," but the frontage faced the Gardens. The dark-eyed maid who opened the door informed me that the Professor was at home, and took my card upstairs. Then, a few moments later, I was ushered up to a cosy den, the study of a studious man, where I found the distinguished scientist standing in expectation, with his back to the fire.
He was a strange-looking man of sixty-five, his hair unusually white and slightly bald on top. Tall beyond the average, he wore a moustache and slight pointed beard, while his countenance seemed very broad in the forehead tapering to a point. His face was, indeed, almost grotesque.
I commenced by apologising for my intrusion, but explained that I had called on a purely confidential matter. When the door was closed, and we were alone, I said:
"My mission, Professor, is a somewhat curious one"; and I went on to explain our fears that German secret agents might obtain knowledge of the new process to which he had referred at the London Institution on the previous night.
For a moment he stroked his pointed white beard thoughtfully. I detected that he was as eccentric as he was curious-looking. Then, with a light laugh, he replied:
"Really Mr. – Mr. Jacox, I can't see your motive, or that of your friends, in thus interfering in my private affairs!"
"But is not this splendid discovery of yours of national importance?" I protested. "Will it not give us an enormous advantage over our enemies? Therefore, is it not more than probable that you have already attracted the attention of these spies of Germany?"
"My dear sir," he laughed, "I tell you quite frankly that I don't believe in all these stories about German spies. What is there in England for Germany to discover? Nothing; they know everything. No, Mr. Jacox, I'm an Englishman, a patriot, and I still believe in England's power. We have nothing whatever to fear from Germany."
"Your theory is hardly borne out by facts, Professor," I said, proceeding to tell him of our discovery at Rosyth, and how we had outwitted the spies regarding the new submarine, and also the airship at Lochindorb.
But the strange-looking old scientist, distinguished as he was, only laughed my fears to scorn.
"I'd like to see any German trying to learn my secret," he said defiantly.
"Then I would urge you to take every precaution. These agents employed by the German Secret Police on behalf of the General Staff are bold and unscrupulous."
"And do you allege that there are actually German spies in England?" asked the strange man.
"Most certainly. We have in England and Scotland more than five thousand fixed agents, men of almost every nationality except German, and in every walk of life, from humble labourers to men and women in good positions, all of whom are collecting information at the order of the German travelling agents, who visit them from time to time, collect their reports, and pay them their salaries. French, Swiss, and Italians are mostly employed," I said. "At the present time my friend Raymond has under observation a German band, seven young fellows all army officers, who are playing in the streets of Leeds, and at the same time making a secret map of the water-mains of that city, in order that when 'the Day' of invasion comes, the enemy will be able to suddenly deprive a densely populated area of water."
"But have you any actual proof of this?" he inquired.
As he spoke the door opened, and there entered a pretty dark-haired girl of twenty-two, wearing a light skirt and a pale pink evening blouse.
"Oh, dad!" she exclaimed, halting suddenly, "I'm sorry I didn't know you had a visitor."
"I shan't be a moment, Nella dear," the curious-looking old man said, and after a quick, inquisitive glance at me the girl withdrew.
"Well," exclaimed the Professor, with a smile, "I'm really very obliged to you for troubling to come here to warn me, but I think, my dear sir, that warnings are quite unnecessary. I haven't the slightest fear that any attempt will ever be made to secure my secret"; and he rose impatiently.
"Very well," I replied, shrugging my shoulders. "I have warned you, Professor Emden. The Government will not admit the presence of spies amongst us, and for that reason we are now collecting indisputable evidence."
"Ah!" he laughed, "and you want me to help you, eh? Well, sir, I don't believe in a word of this scare – so I must decline that honour."
"And you will take no unusual precaution to keep the truth out of the hands of our enemies, eh?"
"I leave it to Joynson's of Sheffield," he said. "They've paid me a large sum down and a royalty for the secret of my process, and it is scarcely likely that they'll allow it to fall into other hands, is it?"
"They will not, but you, a private individual, may," I said.
"I think not," he laughed, and a moment later I descended the stairs, passing his pretty daughter Nella on the way out.
That night I called on Ray at Bruton Street, but he was out at the theatre with Vera. At half-past eleven they called as they went back to the girl's aunt's, and as they sat before the fire, Vera with her opera-cloak thrown back revealing a pretty pale blue corsage a trifle décolleté, I reported the non-success of my mission.
"He's a pig-headed old ass!" I declared. "One of millions of others in England. They close their eyes to the dangers of this horde of spies among us, and will only open them when the Germans come marching up the street and billet themselves in their houses. But he's a strange man, Ray, a very strange man," I added.
"You're right, Mr. Jacox," the girl declared. "Instead of teaching boys how to scout and instructing young men in the use of popguns, we should strike first at the root of all things. Cut off the source of this secret information which daily goes across the North Sea. Such hidebound patriots as the Professor are a peril to the nation!"
"If he refuses to help himself, Jacox, we must protect him ourselves," Ray declared. "I leave it to you and Vera to keep an open eye until I return from Selkirk next Monday. I'm bound to go down and see my sister. She seems very ill indeed."
And so a very important and delicate affair was thus placed in my hands.
Vera Vallance announced herself ready and eager to assist me, and that night I walked back to Bloomsbury much puzzled how next to act.
That the Germans would attempt to secure the secret of the new steel was absolutely certain. But to us, success meant the keeping of it to Britain, and the armouring of our new Dreadnoughts with a resisting power eight times that of our enemies.
Next day I journeyed down to Sheffield and called upon the manager of Messrs. Joynson and Mackinder, the great steel-makers, who, as you know, hold the contracts for making the armour-plates of our improved Dreadnoughts. He told me how the firm had just constructed six of the new Emden electrical furnaces, and had also taken over the wonderful new process which the Professor had invented.
He then courteously took me across to that portion of the great grimy works, with its wonderful steel melting and refining furnaces, to where the Emden process was about to be carried out.
"I suppose you have no fear of the new method being learnt by any of your rivals – by any German firm, for instance?" I asked.
"Not in the least," laughed the manager, a bluff, grey-bearded man, speaking in his broad Hallamshire dialect; "we take good care of that. Each workman only does a part, the whole of the process being only known to myself. It wouldn't do for us to give Professor Emden forty thousand pounds for the secret and then allow it to fall into foreign hands. The Germans would, of course, give anything for it," he added. "Emden is a patriotic Englishman even though he is very eccentric, and if he liked he could have got almost anything he cared to ask from Krupp's."
