The Mystery Ship 18

The Mystery Ship 18

These messages, written on official forms, lay on the table in the

private room of the Commander-in-Chief's office at Auldhaig.

 

There were three persons in the room. One, the Commander-in-Chief, a

breezy, dark-featured, clean-shaven naval officer of about

fifty-five; the second, the dapper, boyish-faced lieutenant-colonel

who held the post of Officer Commanding the R.A.F. Air Station. The

third was the Commander-in-Chief's secretary--a silent, almost

taciturn individual whose face was almost the same colour as that of

his gilt aiguillettes. In his head the secretary held knowledge upon

which depended the success of the Grand Fleet and for which Germany

would willingly have paid millions; but that firmly set mouth was

sealed upon all matters appertaining to the war save when lawful

occasion demanded. And in a few months' time John Elphinhaye would be

placed upon the Retired List with a pension that, with Income Tax

deducted, would be little more than the wages of an artisan.

 

"The whole business seems a general muck-up, Greyhouse," observed the

Commander-in-Chief, addressing the lieutenant-colonel. "There's

something wrong somewhere. How can this confounded lighter be sunk in

collision and shortly afterwards be blown up?"

 

"There were two lighters, sir," replied Colonel Greyhouse. "It is

quite possible that one was mistaken for the other."

 

"As a matter of fact there were half a dozen," explained the

Commander-in-Chief. "And all, except No. 5, are accounted for. That

is so, Elphinhaye?"

 

"Yes, sir," corroborated the secretary.

 

"But the main reason why I came to see you, sir," said

Lieutenant-Colonel Greyhouse, "was the affair of my missing officers.

In the first instance they went off in a boat belonging to one of my

lieutenants. I cannot conceive how they came to be on board the

lighter. True, she was to be transferred to the R.A.F., but she left

here under an R.N.V.R officer and crew."

 

"Sub-lieutenant John McIntosh, sir, who reported from Donnikirk,"

announced the secretary, in response to his superior's inquiry

--mutely expressed by the raising of his bushy eyebrows.

 

"Exactly," agreed the Commander-in-Chief. "The situation required

further information, and I have wired instructions to Mr. McIntosh to

report immediately upon his return to-day."

 

"Then there is the question raised by the presence of Captain

Fennelburt----"

 

"That," interrupted the naval officer, "is a matter that concerns the

Air Force. I have no jurisdiction in the case."

 

"But," persisted Colonel Greyhouse, "that officer visited Auldhaig

Dockyard."

 

"He called upon the Staff Captain, sir," reported the secretary, who

appeared to have a knowledge of the movements of every stranger

within the gates of Auldhaig Dockyard at his fingers' ends.

 

"And yet the Air Ministry and Sheerness Air Station deny all

knowledge of him," continued Colonel Greyhouse. "I was away on duty

at the time he reported at my station, but curiously enough Captain

Cumberleigh, one of the missing officers, entertained a suspicion of

him. He communicated his doubts to my second-in-command, Major

Sparrowhawk, who this morning reported to me on the matter. It is now

his belief, although he scouted the idea at the time, that this

Captain Fennelburt is a spy, or at least an impostor, masquerading as

an R.A.F. officer, with certain shady motives behind him. That is why

I came, in order to find out his alleged motives for visiting

Auldhaig Dockyard."

 

"That's the worst of these new-fangled shows," declared the

Commander-in-Chief vehemently. He was a sailor of the Old School who

did not take kindly to innovations. "When the R.N.A.S. was in

existence we had good men who could fly. Now with this amalgamation

it seems to me that for every effective pilot the Air Ministry grants

a dozen commissions to men who never will 'go up' and who apparently

have nothing better to do than to knock about in uniform doing work

badly that a civilian clerk could do well, and trying to bluff people

that they are the salt of the earth. Apparently Captain Fennelburt is

one of this crowd, only the Air Ministry has forgotten his existence.

I rather feel inclined to pooh-pooh the spy theory."

 

The colonel suffered the Commander-in-Chief's strictures in silence.

Although his career in the Service had been limited to a period of

four years, his promotion had been rapid. He had a real pride in the

R.A.F., but at the same time he knew that there was considerable

truth in the naval man's assertions. Also he realised that it was

both inadvisable and contrary to discipline to argue with an officer

of superior rank.

 

"Your best course," continued the Commander-in-Chief, "would be to

send some one over to Abercuish Cottage Hospital to interview Mr.

Pyecrust--I mean, Pyecroft. That is, naturally, if he is in a fit

state to give information."

 

Colonel Greyhouse inclined his head in assent. It was, moreover,

exactly what he had already given instructions to be done. The

colonel took his leave, and just as he stepped ashore at the Air

Station a motor car dashed into the parade-ground. From it alighted

Major Sparrowhawk.

 

"I've seen young Pyecroft, sir," he reported with a salute. "He's

going on well in the circumstances. The doctor informed me that he

will be fit to be removed to-morrow."

 

"That's good," commented the colonel. Together they walked a few

paces out of hearing of the transport driver and the coxwain of the

motor boat.

 

"Well?" inquired Colonel Greyhouse laconically.

 

"Dashed queer business, sir," replied the major. "Pyecroft is

perfectly fit mentally, which, considering what he has gone through,

is rather to be wondered at. It appears our fellows boarded a

derelict lighter and while on board were surprised by a Hun

submarine. Pyecroft got away, had a sticky time on a water-logged

boat, and finally drifted ashore more than half dead with cold and

exposure. The others, it seems, were taken prisoners by the Huns. And

now comes the extraordinary part of the story. We had an officer here

on inspection duties. Fennelburt--Captain George Fennelburt--he

announced himself on reporting."

 

Colonel Greyhouse nodded.

 

"Yes," he observed. "I know that much."

 

"Well, sir," explained Sparrowhawk, "he came ashore from the German

submarine at night, while Pyecroft was lying helpless on the beach.

Four men brought him ashore in a collapsible boat, and he vanished

inland, still rigged out in R.A.F. uniform. Pyecroft can swear

definitely on that point."

 

"And Sheerness Air Station has disclaimed all knowledge of him,"

remarked the C.O. "Why the deuce the Air Ministry cannot be more

particular in posting the movements of officers passes my

understanding! Can you give a fairly accurate description of

Captain--er--Fennelburt?"

 

"I think so, sir; he was at the mess to lunch, and I saw a good deal

of him."

 

"Good," ejaculated Colonel Greyhouse. "Send a report to 'Area,' and

at the same time to Scotland Yard. The police will then take the

matter up. You might also inform the Naval and Military Authorities.

If we don't lay the fellow by the heels within the next twelve hours

I'll eat my hat."

 

A vow that, taking into consideration the copious gold leaves that

adorned the peak, was an exceedingly rash one, unless Greyhouse had

the digestion of an ostrich.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XVI

 

COVERING HIS TRACKS

 

 

FOR the second time within forty-eight hours Karl von Preussen

tramped the deserted road leading to Nedderburn Junction railway

station. On the previous occasion he called himself Captain George

Fennelburt; on the second he had assumed the name of Ronald

Broadstone.

 

He travelled light, but in place of his khaki, leather-reinforced

haversack he carried a small portmanteau, which, owing to unforeseen

circumstances, was practically empty. He decided that at the first

favourable opportunity he would replenish a portion of his kit and

replace that lying at the Auldhaig Hotel. But in the portmanteau was

an automatic pistol of British manufacture. Its possession showed

economy and discrimination in small details. Since it had been

acquired from a battlefield, it had cost von Preussen nothing; and

being of British make it was in keeping with the spy's rôle as an

officer of the Royal Air Force.

 

He walked quickly and unhesitatingly along the bleak, unfrequented

road. Delay meant the great possibility of missing the night train

and a consequent detention at Nedderburn, which was too close to

Auldhaig to be pleasant. He had good reasons for steering clear of

Auldhaig "for the rest of the duration." The place had been a

"wash-out," and since von Preussen was of a superstitious nature he

always avoided scenes of previous failures.

 

Beyond meeting a belated shepherd, who greeted the spy in an unknown

Highland dialect, von Preussen arrived at Nedderburn without

encountering anyone. The station had just been lit up, two feeble

paraffin lamps providing the necessary illumination for the safety of

passengers. Peeping through the high wooden palisade, von Preussen

took stock of the people on the up-platform.

 

There were half a dozen "Jocks" with full equipment, including "tin

hats" and rifles with the breech-mechanism bound in strips of oiled

cloth.

 

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