CHAPTER XVIII--Too Late!
"Eight days' leave--both watches."
The welcome order was given to the survivors of the _Calder's_ crew witha promptitude that betokened official regard and appreciation of theplucky destroyer's ship's company.
The _Calder_, safe in dock, was handed over to the care of the shipyardauthorities. At high pressure, the task of getting her ready for seaonce more would occupy the best part of two months, so badly had shebeen knocked about.
When in dry dock, a discovery was made that showed how narrow her escapehad been from instant destruction. A large-sized German torpedo wasfound in her flooded forepeak, its head flattened against the inside ofthe bow-plates. Fired at a distance of a few yards, it had passedcompletely through the thin metal hull, and, failing to penetrate theother side, had remained trapped in the waterlogged compartment.Examination showed that the safety-fan in the head of the weapon had nothad sufficient time to revolve and liberate the firing-pin. Adifference of a few yards would have been enough to transform theinnocuous missile into a deadly weapon, capable of shattering the_Calder_ like an egg-shell.
Having written up his report to the Commander-in-Chief, seen Crosthwaitesafely into a shore hospital, and dispatched a telegram to his homeannouncing his safe return, Sefton bathed and turned in.
Six hours later he was up, feeling considerably refreshed. All that hadto be done in an official sense had been carried out, and he was free toproceed on well-earned leave.
A steam pinnace landed him and his scanty belongings on the Gatesheadside of the river. Clad in mufti, since his uniform was little more thana collection of scorched rags, the sub made his way towards the station.
Perhaps, now that the arduous period of responsibility had passed,Sefton was feeling the reaction. At any rate his usual alertness hadtemporarily deserted him, for, on crossing a crowded thoroughfare, henarrowly escaped being knocked down by a passing motor-car.
"Why don't you look----?" began the owner of the car; then: "Bless mysoul, Sefton! Whoever expected to see you here! Thought you had beendone in, 'pon my soul I did. Where's the _Calder_? And how's oldCrosthwaite?"
The speaker was Sub-lieutenant Farnworth, Sefton's old shipmate on boardthe _Hammerer_, where both had served as midshipmen during the earlierstages of the war.
"They slung me out of the submarine service," said Farnworth, afterSefton had briefly replied to his friend's enquiries. "Why? Oh, merelya bit of bad luck! Crocked my leg, don't you know."
Farnworth was too modest to give details. He had vivid recollections ofa dirty day in the North Sea, with submarine E-- lying awash, and ahostile mine foul of her bows. The plucky young officer, assisted by acouple of equally resolute seamen, succeeded in freeing the submarinefrom the unwelcome attentions of the metal globe, but in so doing themooring-chain had surged, fracturing Farnworth's thigh as the heavy minedropped clear.
It took three months at Haslar Hospital, followed by six weeks atOsborne, to set matters right, but the sub's leg was permanentlyshortened. To his great relief, Farnworth was not invalided out of theService, although unfit for sea. He was given a good billet in theIntelligence Department, his district covering the Tyne ports, Hull, andLiverpool.
With a powerful car at his disposal, Farnworth was in clover. His soleregret was his inability to tread the planks of a British war-ship. Thecall of the sea was strong. He would willingly have relinquished his"cushy job" to be in command of the slowest little torpedo-boat flyingthe White Ensign.
"I'm keeping you," said Sefton at length.
"Not at all," said Farnworth, with a grin. "It's Government petrol I'musing, you know, and I'm not due at Liverpool until eight to-night. Doit on my head, so to speak. And you?"
"Just off to the station, old man," replied Sefton. "Want to get hometo-night."
"Southampton? I doubt it, old bird. You've missed the express toKing's Cross. No, I'm not to blame. It had gone long before you triedto commit hara-kiri under my car. Look here; hop in and I'll drop youat Manchester in plenty of time to pick up the through train."
Sefton accepted the invitation with alacrity. Being whisked through theair in a comfortable car was infinitely to be preferred to being coopedup in a railway-carriage after a tedious wait in a draughty station.
The ninety odd miles to Halifax was covered in two hours and a half,for, on the open road, Farnworth let the car all out, only slowing downwhile passing through the big industrial towns that lay on his route.
"Now for a ripping stretch of country," exclaimed Farnworthenthusiastically. "Something to blow the cobwebs away, don't you know.I always take this road in preference to the Hebden Bridge way. It'ssteeper, but the car can do it hands down."
Up and up, with very little reduction of speed, the high-powered carclimbed. Sefton, drowsy for lack of sufficient sleep and from theeffects of the strong air, failed to share his companion's enthusiasm.Lulled by the rhythmic purr of the motor-car, he was fast becomingoblivious to his surroundings when Farnworth gave him a violent shakewith his disengaged hand.
"What's wrong?" enquired Sefton.
"Scrap," replied his chum laconically. "Something more than adog-fight. What?" he muttered under his breath as he pulled up.
Twenty yards from the road was an overturned car. Close to it lay akhaki-clad figure, while engaged in a desperate struggle were two pairsof interlocked combatants. Approaching them with stealthy steps was ashort, thickset, bullet-headed man holding an automatic pistol.
This much Sefton took in with a glance as he leapt from the car.Fatigue and sleepiness had vanished in an instant. All he realized wasthat a party of motorists was being molested by a gang of armed roughs,and that was enough.
With Farnworth limping close at his heels, Sefton ran to the rescue. Anencouraging shout from his companion caused the armed ruffian to turn.
Brandishing his pistol, he shouted a warning to the two new-comers to"clear out and mind their own business".
Undeterred by the sight of the weapon, the two subs bounded forward. Acouple of bullets whizzed past Sefton's head, one of the pieces ofnickel chopping a slice out of the lobe of Farnworth's left ear.
Before Hans could fire again, the deep report of a heavy revolver rangout, followed by a bluish puff of smoke from underneath the overturnedcar.
Clapping his hands to his side, the German spun round three times andcollapsed to the ground.
As he passed, Sefton kicked the fellow's pistol, sending it flying adozen yards. If the Hun were playing 'possum, the sub meant to take nounnecessary risks.
In ten seconds the struggle was over. A powerful blow from Farnworth'sclenched fist made George's assailant relax his grip on the lad's throatand fall like a log.
Leslie's antagonist, who was fast choking the plucky lad into a state ofinsensibility, broke away, and, with a yell of terror, fled for hislife, hotly pursued by Jack Sefton. Realizing that he was beingoutstripped, the miscreant made straight for the lake and plunged in.
Vainly the sub waited for him to rise to the surface. Either the man'shead had struck against some hard substance at the bottom or else he hadbecome entangled in the weeds.
Greatly to Jack's surprise, he found that it was his young brother whohad put up such a game struggle with his burly antagonist, and that DickCrosthwaite's father and brother were of the party. Still greater wasthe sub's astonishment when he heard a well-known voice exclaim,
"Bear a hand, Jack. It's not at all comfortable here."
With assistance the admiral was extricated from the wreckage, little theworse for his adventure.
"Hang it all, my boy," exclaimed Admiral Sefton, "we were coming to lookfor you. We heard the _Calder_ was overdue."
"Didn't you get my wire, sir?" asked Jack. "I telegraphed directly wegot ashore."
"Considering I've been three days on the road," replied his father, "mypostal address isn't of much use. Hulloa, Crosthwaite, what have yougot?"
"Nothing much,"
declared the general. "A clean bullet-wound. ThoughtI'd been plugged through the chest. The shock knocked me out. By Jove!That was a narrow squeak."
He held his cigar case up for inspection. The bullet had penetrated thelid, and had flattened itself against the back, a bulge proving by howlittle the missile had missed making a complete perforation.
"The rascal has spoilt two of my choice cigars," announced CrosthwaiteSenior wrathfully. "What was the object, I wonder? By George, Sefton,I see ourselves let in for a coroner's inquest."
While Jack and the admiral were attending to George and Leslie, neitherof whom showed any signs of serious injury, Farnworth examined thebodies of the three men. Two were stone dead--silent testimonies to theaccuracy of the admiral's aim. The third was unconscious, the blow fromFarnworth's powerful fist having stunned him. Of the others, one hadbeen drowned, while the remaining member of the gang--the one wounded bythe admiral--was at that moment limping painfully over the hills, andputting a safe distance between him and the scene of his rash and foiledexploit.
"By Jove, old man," exclaimed Farnworth, in the midst of his task ofexamining the contents of the dead man's pockets. "See what you make ofthis?"
He held up a sheet of soiled and creased paper, covered withclosely-written flourishing writing, for Jack Sefton's inspection."German, by the powers!" he added.
"Partly in cipher and partly in ordinary writing," declared Sefton."These fellows are Huns, right enough, but what is their object?"
Farnworth did not reply. He was intently studying the minutepenmanship. Suddenly he started to his feet.
"The swine!" he ejaculated furiously. "Look here--these threewords--all as plain as a pike-staff."
"Well, what does it mean?" asked the admiral, his attention drawn to thediscovery by Farnworth's exclamation.
"A diplomatic mission is leaving a certain port. By this time the vesseldetailed to convoy the party may have sailed. The spies knew this: thispaper proves that. Either they or their accomplices have designs tointerfere with the plan."
"A bold surmise on your part," remarked Admiral Sefton.
"I hope I'm mistaken, sir," replied Farnworth. "We'll have to be on themove at once."
"What's your plan, old man?" enquired Jack as the party set to work toconvey the wounded general to the waiting car.
"Make for the nearest telegraph office," was the prompt reply.
"And these?" enquired the admiral, indicating with a comprehensive sweepof his hand the overturned motor and the three motionless forms of theirformer assailants.
"Can wait, sir," replied Farnworth. "We'll send the police and abreak-down gang to clear up the business. All ready, Jack?"
Away glided the car, descending the curved road at terrific speed.Approaching the bottom of the pass, another car was encountered going inthe opposite direction. It contained the high personage who probablyowed his life to the blunder the Germans had made in mistakingCrosthwaite's party for his. In complete ignorance, the occupants ofthe two cars passed. The Government official was never to learn howclose he had been to a foul death by assassination on the desolateBlackstone Edge.
Over the rough setts of Rochdale, Farnworth's car tore, until the youngnaval officer slowed up to pass through a dense crowd gathered round thewindows of a firm of newspaper proprietors, and extending more thanhalf-way across the street.
Instinctively the occupants of the car looked at the bold lettersscrawled upon a large sheet of paper.
"Good heavens!" ejaculated the admiral, hardly able to believe his eyes;"we are too late!"