CHAPTER VIII
VON PREUSSEN'S BLANK DAY
"WHAT a ghastly welcome!" soliloquised Leutnant Karl von Preussen, ashe approached the "prohibited area" of Auldhaig. For the present hisassumed name was Captain George Fennelburt, R.A.F., and in adoptingthe name and character he had left very little to chance. Hispocket-book bulged with spurious official documents, printed inGermany, and replicas of papers that had either been surreptitiouslyobtained from British air stations, or had been found on capturedmen.
It was not a pleasant sort of evening. The sea mist had turned to asteady drizzle, accompanied by gusts of icy-cold wind. On the road,cut up by exceptionally heavy motor traffic, the mud lay four inchesdeep. Wearing a heavy trench coat, thick boots and leggings, andencumbered by a bulky haversack, von Preussen found himself decidedlyhot and clammy before he had covered many miles of his long tramp.
He had studiously avoided the cliff road, preferring to make a detourinland and to approach Auldhaig from the railway station.
At length he gained the summit of the hill overlooking the town. Onhis left lay the important munition factory of Sauchieblair, shroudedin utter darkness, although there were aural evidences in plenty ofthe activity that was in progress day and night. A mile to the northgleamed lights. Von Preussen smiled grimly as he saw them. He knewprecisely the meaning of the unscreened gleams. They were decoys,shown for the purpose of putting a raider off the scent, and up to acertain point had justified their existence.
Ahead lay Auldhaig, also shrouded in utter darkness. Neither in thewide ramifications of the landlocked harbour, nor from the vastexpanse of wharves and docks, was there the faintest sign of a light;but the clatter of pneumatic hammers and the rumbling of locomotivesindicated pretty plainly that the shipyards were running at highpressure.
Without difficulty, von Preussen passed the guard at the block-houseon the bridge and entered the sombre town. It was now four o'clock inthe morning, and the spy wisely decided to make for an hotel and havea much needed rest.
In response to a knock the door of the Antelope Hotel was opened by asleepy night porter, who evinced no surprise at the belated arrivalof a guest.
"You'll be registering in the morn, sir," he remarked.
"Thanks; I may as well register at once," replied the spy, not thathe wanted to take the trouble to do so, but because he had ulteriormotives.
In a bold hand he made the perfunctory declaration:--"GeorgeFennelburt, Captn. R.A.F.; business--on duty; where stationed--Sheerness; name of Commanding Officer--Lieut.-Colonel H. B. L.Greathooks, O.B.E."
"Silly lot of rot, sir," remarked the porter, "giving a gent no endof trouble. If you was to put down 'Julius Caesar' or 'ChristopherColumbus' I don't see as how it 'ud matter."
"It's regulations, you know," said von Preussen, handing the fellowhalf a crown. "Now get me a glass of something hot and a snack. I'mhungry."
The porter hurried off to execute the commission, pondering in hismind on the inconsistency of the officer, who almost in one breathhad upheld the regulations and had broken them in the matter ofobtaining liquor during prohibited hours.
Seizing his opportunity during the man's absence, von Preussenscanned the pile of registration forms lying on the reception clerk'sdesk. It behoved him to ascertain "who's who" with regard to thenaval, military and air officers staying at the hotel--particularlythe latter, as he had no desire to meet anyone hailing from Sheernessor Isle of Grain air stations.
Satisfied on that point, the spy went to bed, apologising for themuddy state of his boots by stating that he had missed the last trainfrom Nedderburn, and had been compelled to walk to Auldhaig.
He slept soundly till close on eleven in the morning. At noon, spickand span, he made his way to Auldhaig Dockyard, with the plausibleintention of inspecting X-lighters, but with the real object ofkeeping his ears and eyes open.
Noon was a well-chosen time. The dockyard "maties" had knocked offwork for dinner, while the officials, with the prospects of lunch inthe near distance, would almost certainly request the pseudo-CaptainFennelburt to call again at three. That meant, once inside thedockyard gates, the spy had three hours in which to make usefulobservations.
The first official he called upon was the Senior Naval Officer, who,forgetting that the X-barges had left early that morning in thecharge of Sub-lieutenant Jock McIntosh, R.N.V.R., referred CaptainFennelburt to the Captain of the Dockyard. That individual, who had adim recollection that the craft in question were in his charge andwere about to be handed over to the Royal Air Force, requested the_soi-disant_ representative of that branch of the Service to inquireof the Chief Writer. The Chief Writer, about to go to lunch, summonedthe Head Messenger, who in turn told off a messenger to accompanyCaptain Fennelburt on his search for the elusive X-lighters.
For the next three-quarters of an hour the spy was hurried to and froover the slippery cobble-stones of Auldhaig Dockyard. He saw verylittle that would be of service to the Imperial German Government.For one reason, the messenger stuck like a leech and lost no time,since he too was wanting his dinner. For another, everything in theway of new ship construction was being done under cover, whilezealous, lynx-eyed policemen--picked men from the Metropolitan PoliceForce--were everywhere in evidence; and von Preussen had a wholesomerespect for men in blue.
"What's that vessel?" inquired von Preussen, indicating a trampsteamer with her sides and deck covered with tarpaulins.
"Merchantman, sir," replied his escort.
"Why is she in a Government dock?" continued the spy. "I thoughttramp steamers would be repaired in the commercial dock."
"So would she," answered the man. "Only there wasn't room. Torpedoed,she was, 'bout a month ago."
"Then why all that canvas over her?" asked von Preussen, beginning tofind himself on the track of something mysterious.
"'Tis like this, sir," explained his companion with the utmostgravity. "Her captain is living on board, an' 'e's got a bald 'ead.When it rains they rigs up an awning to keep the drops off 'is pate,'cause 'e gets awfully up the pole an' leads the crew a regular dog'slife if he's upset by gettin' 'is 'ead wet."
"I perceive you are a humorist," remarked von Preussen drily.
"Didn't know it, sir," rejoined the man. "My mates usually call me'Mouldy Bill.' But hangin' around 'ere won't find what you're lookin'for, sir, so let's make a move."
It was an application of "official reticence and reserve" on thepart of this minor servant of the Admiralty. He knew perfectly wellthat the tramp was in reality a Q-boat, and that under those canvasawnings lay hidden a collection of mysterious "gadgets," for adetailed description of which the authorities at Berlin would give ahigh sum in gold.
To linger would arouse suspicion, so reluctantly the spy followed hisguide on what he knew to be a vain quest for craft that were nolonger at Auldhaig.
"Why not try the Kite and Balloon Section of the R.A.F.?" suggestedan official. "The depot is just across the harbour. I'll let you havea boat."
Von Preussen debated before replying. The offer was a tempting one,for not only would he get a chance of having a closer view of variouswarships in the stream, but there was no telling what information hemight pick up at the depot. On the other hand, he didn't want to beasked awkward questions by men wearing the same uniform as himself.He knew, however, that it was no exception to detail perfectlyincompetent officers on inspection duties. He had heard of a case ofone who hardly knew one end of a boat from another who was sent on a700-mile journey to report upon some rowing-boats about to bepurchased for a station in the south of England.
"Thanks," he replied. "I may even yet get on the track of thoseelusive X-barges."
Twenty minutes later von Preussen was seated in the stern-sheets of aharbour service duty boat. To his guarded inquiries of the coxwain asto the names of the vessels lying at the buoys, he received anequally guarded answer:
"Dunno, sir they comes and goes all hours of the day and night, an'not havin' no names painted on 'em, and bei
n' all disguised-like, Ican't tell no more'n a nooborn baby."
The duty-boat rubbed gently alongside the stone steps of the jetty.Von Preussen stepped ashore, returned the sentry's salute, andinquired the way to the adjutant's office.
"X-barges?" queried the adjutant. "None this side. We used to borrow'em from the dockyard, but we transferred most of our observationballoons more than a month ago, and so we don't require the barges.But now you are here, come and have lunch. It's close on one-thirty."
"Many fellows here?" asked the spy, as he accompanied his host acrossthe wide parade-ground to a long wooden hut used as the mess.
"Twenty," was the reply. "All old R.F.C. and R.N.A.S. men. Most ofthem have been here for quite a long time. It's a posh station, andonce here a fellow doesn't want to be transferred elsewhere."
In the absence of the commanding officer, the head of the table wastaken by the major. On his right sat the adjutant. Next to him wasplaced von Preussen, who on his right had a youngster who lookedbarely eighteen, yet he wore a captain's uniform, embellished by theribbons of the D.S.O. and M.C.
The lunch was liberal and appetising. Deft-handed girls in W.R.A.F.uniforms were kept busily employed in attending to the wants oftwenty odd ravenous officers, for the keen northern air, combinedwith plenty of out-door activity, created vast appetites.
As the meal progressed, conversation, at first desultory, grew involume and interest. Although "shop" figured largely, strictlyofficial matters were rigidly tabooed. Von Preussen had again toconfess that from his point of view he was getting precious littlechange out of the entertainment.
"Did you say you were from Calshot?" inquired the officer on thespy's right.
"No--from Sheerness," replied von Preussen, devoutly hoping that noneof the men present had been stationed there recently.
"Who said Calshot?" inquired an indignant voice lower down the table."Beastly hole!"
"What's that?" demanded the major.
"Had to spend a night there, sir," was, the reply. "Forced landing.They gave me a cubicle that was more like a condemned cell. Concretewalls and floor dripping with moisture; not even a mat on the floor;a bedstead without a mattress and only two blankets. No otherfurniture. In the morning I had the worst breakfast I ever had onthis side of the North Sea. Filthy margarine, rancid bacon and weaktea; and they took jolly good care to make me plank down half adollar on the nail for my breakfast. Ugh! Makes me shudder to thinkof it."
"Sheerness," remarked the captain, returning to the attack. "You mustknow Smithers, then? A big, fat chap, with a mole just under his eye.He's been quartermaster there since '16."
Von Preussen acknowledged that he knew the quartermaster. He couldnot very well have denied it in the face of his inquisitor's remarks.
"And Tomlinson?" continued the latter. "Suppose he's still there, butI haven't heard from him recently. A short, very dark-featured oldbean, with a very dry sense of humour. Plays 'pack and brag' everyavailable five minutes, and uses most atrocious language when he'sput out and when he isn't."
"Tomlinson was sent to Dunkirk last month," declared von Preussenmendaciously; then, eager to change what was a most distasteful andembarrassing topic, he inquired:
"Is there a decent theatre at Auldhaig?"
"Not bad," replied Captain Cumberleigh--for that was the name ofvon Preussen's heckler. "'Maid of the Mountains' is on to-night. Seenit? Then, by Jove, you must, you priceless old thing!" he exclaimedeffusively. "No, we won't take a refusal. We've booked a box, and yousimply must come. After your fruitless journey to inspect thoseX-lighters, you owe yourself some relaxation. And I say, Jefferson,"he continued, addressing a lieutenant across the table, "we'll takeFennelburt out fishing this afternoon, just to kill time. Fine sportjust off the harbour."
"I ought to be on my way back," protested von Preussen, as he weighedup the possible advantages and disadvantages of remaining at AuldhaigAir Station.
"Rot, you conscientious old blighter!" said Cumberleigh boisterously."In any case, you wouldn't get further than Edinburgh to-night. We'llfix you up with a cabin, and you'll be all O.K., old bean!"
The Mystery Ship: A Story of the 'Q' Ships During the Great War Page 8
