The Mystery Ship 25

The Mystery Ship 25

The door was locked upon the prisoners, and the three officers

hurried on deck. Q 171 was forging ahead, moving in wide circles

around the sinking pirate craft.

 

By this time the U-boat had dipped her stern. Waves were lapping

along her deck as far as the after quick-firer. Her stem was

correspondingly raised until the bow tubes were visible above water.

 

Higher and higher rose the submarine's bows. Tons of water were flung

into her hull through the open after-hatch. Compressed air was

hissing loudly. Little rivulets of iridescent oil were forming on the

surface. Occasionally interior fittings, giving way under the

ever-increasing pressure, creaked and groaned to add to the

discordant noises of the sinking craft.

 

Then, with a shuddering movement, the U-boat slithered under the

water. For a brief instant her bows stood almost on end. A column of

water, forced by the terrific pressure through the fore-hatch,

spurted a good fifty feet, ejecting with it a quantity of debris and

oil.

 

"_Bon voyage!_" exclaimed Wakefield.

 

A turmoil of agitated water marked the spot where the submarine

disappeared. For a full minute the maelstrom surged and swirled,

then, overcome by the liberation of tons of heavy oil, the disturbed

water died down, leaving in its place an ever-increasing patch of

multi-hued colours. Forty fathoms down the submarine had made a

permanent acquaintance with the bed of the North Sea.

 

"Well, any luck?" inquired Morpeth, who, having left Ainslie in

charge, had rejoined his unofficial guests in the ward-room. "What

did you get out of von Preugfeld?"

 

"Precious little," admitted Wakefield. "He tried to hedge. We'll have

to confront him with some of his mutineering men."

 

"I'll find out if there's any reference to the mysterious captain in

this," said the R.N.R. skipper, holding up U 247's log-book. "Any of

you fellows read the lingo?"

 

"Sorry," replied Meredith.

 

"You needn't be, old son," rejoined Morpeth. "I can't an' don't want

to, although just now it would come in mighty handy. Some years back

the Foul Anchor Line turned me down when I wanted a job as Second

Officer on one of their crack boats because I couldn't speak German.

They were carrying a lot of German passengers and South Americans at

that time. Another fellow--Campbell was his name--got the billet

'cause he'd gained a first prize for German on a cadet training-ship.

First trip he piled the old hooker aground off the entrance to Rio

Harbour, 'and a dozen or more Huns got drowned."

 

"So you were glad you didn't get the appointment after all?" asked

Cumberleigh.

 

"Rather," agreed Morpeth, with a laugh. "Not that I'd have put the

ship aground. Guess I know that part of the South American coast too

well. But, looking back on it, young Campbell was a patriot, only he

didn't know it. We might have had another dozen Huns to fight. But to

get back to business: here's this log wants looking into, and it's

young Ainslie's trick. He's the Hun lingoist."

 

"I'll have a shot at it," volunteered Captain Cumberleigh. "I was in

Germany. ...Long before the war," he added apologetically, speaking

with the weight of experience of twenty-two years.

 

He opened the log-book at the last-written page.

 

"'Fraid it won't help us much," he announced. "Apparently it doesn't

go beyond 8 A.M. of the 15th--that is the morning of the day they

collared us. By Jove! Morpeth, you've caught a much-wanted specimen.

Von Preugfeld's the fellow who torpedoed the hospital ship

_Columbine_ and the _Camperdown Castle_."

 

"The Lord have mercy on his soul, then!" said Morpeth solemnly.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER XXI

 

BLUFFED

 

 

"HOWEVER," remarked Cumberleigh briskly, "the _Columbine_ business

hasn't anything to do with friend Fennelburt. We get no forrarder."

 

"I don't know so much about that," demurred Morpeth. "I'll use it as

a lever to prize a secret out of this von Preugfeld. We'll have him

up here and give him the shock of his life."

 

The R.N.R. officer touched a bell.

 

"Take a couple of hands and bring the U-boat skipper here," he

ordered.

 

"Say, Skipper," remarked Cumberleigh, who had been skimming the pages

of the log-book, "here's a rummy entry:--'2 A.M. Landed von

Preussen.' Who's von Preussen, and where else could he have been

landed except on the Scottish coast? One minute."

 

He turned over more leaves rapidly, nevertheless scanning the

sloping, flourish-embellished words.

 

"No mention of this von Preussen having been taken on board again,"

he continued. "First this fellow and this Fennelburt are landed--that

is, if the German bluejacket's yarn is correct. Will you allow me to

commence the examination, Skipper?"

 

"Tough Geordie's" weather-lined face wrinkled with a smile.

 

"By all means," he replied. "I'm not much of a hand at talky-talky.

The best argument I used in the Foul Anchor Line was a big boot.

Dagoes and Dutchies understood that. Stand by; they're bringing the

swine in."

 

Kapitan von Preugfeld entered jauntily. He had imagined, judging from

the result of the previous interview, that he had completely bluffed

his captors on the subject of Captain Fennelburt, and that, if he

persisted in his story, he would emerge triumphant from the ordeal.

 

Cumberleigh came to the point at once. "I'm anxious to know," he

remarked, "what connection there is between Leutnant Karl von

Preussen of the Prussian Guards and Captain George Fennelburt of the

British Air Force. You can enlighten me, Herr Kapitan, and I await

your explanation."

 

Attacked from a totally unexpected quarter, von Preugfeld's defences

were literally rushed.

 

"I know not," he replied sullenly.

 

"Try again," persisted Cumberleigh.

 

"_Der Teufel!_ vot you mean?" asked the U-boat commander.

 

"Mean? This," replied Cumberleigh, holding up U 247's log-book. "Here

is one entry:--'2 A.M. Landed von Preussen.' That is in your

handwriting."

 

Von Preugfeld was forced to admit the truth of the impeachment.

 

"It was practically the last entry you made," continued Cumberleigh,

"but there are more, apparently written by your subordinate officer.

I'll read some:--'5 P.M. Broke surface. Found large barge, X 5,

derelict. Took off her as prisoners three English officers'--not

four, you'll note. There certainly were four in R.A.F. uniforms. Now

again:--'4.10 A.M. Set von Preussen ashore.' It's perfectly obvious

that if von Preussen were set ashore twice he must have come on board

during that interval. There is no mention of your vessel

communicating with the shore between the two times you mentioned. So

I put it to you that von Preussen and Fennelburt are one and the same

person."

 

The Hun's face grew pale. Beads of perspiration oozed from his

forehead.

 

"A curse on von Loringhoven!" he muttered in German. "His lack of

caution has spoiled everything." Then in broken English he added: "I

call you to make testimony. It vos not I dat betray von Preussen. It

vos mein unter-leutnant, von Loringhoven."

 

"That's all we wanted to know," rejoined Captain Cumberleigh quietly.

"I might add, however, that it is hardly playing the game to put the

blame upon your subordinate. Perhaps it is a way Prussian officers

have, so it would not be surprising to hear that, later on, you will

blame him for torpedoing the hospital ship _Columbine_ and the

unarmed liner _Camperdown Castle_. Think it over."

 

He turned to Lieutenant-Commander Morpeth.

 

"Any further questions you want to ask, sir?" he inquired, with

strict formality.

 

"No," replied Morpeth. "Take him away."

 

The sliding door closed on the prisoner. "Tough Geordie" turned to

the successful amateur barrister.

 

"By Jove, Cumberleigh," he exclaimed, "you bowled him out this time!

But I thought you said that the log-book wasn't up to date."

 

"Neither was it," admitted Cumberleigh, passing his cigarette-case.

"I took the liberty of imagining that it was and ascribing the

authorship to that little worm of a von Loringhoven."

 

The R.A.F. captain was flushed with pleasure at his triumph. He had

vindicated himself concerning his doubts of "Fennelburt's"

genuineness. Until he had done so he was considerably uneasy in his

mind, for he hated a suspicious nature.

 

"I suppose you can wireless the information to Auldhaig?" he

continued. "Goodness only knows what that spy might be up to before

he's laid by the heels!"Morpeth shook his head.