CHAPTER IV
THE SPY
"Fifteen metres fine grey sand, Herr Kapitan."
Ober-leutnant Hans von Preugfeld, commanding officer of U 247, was typically Prussian in his thoroughness. Carefully he examined the sand adhering to the "arming" of the lead line that the leadsman held up for his inspection.
He grunted a sort of congratulatory reply and, turning his back upon the black oilskinned seaman, addressed himself to the second-in-command.
"Good, Eitel!" he exclaimed. "We are not far from the spot. But caution the men to keep their ears open and to stop running at intervals. I am in no mood to fall in with any of those hornets, nor do I want an English destroyer cutting us in twain."
Eitel von Loringhoven, unter-leutnant of the Imperial German Submarine Service, nodded his head comprehendingly. He, too, fully realised the perils that beset pirate unterseebooten, for, despite all possible precautions, Germany's under-water fleet was in a bad way. It came home to him in a very personal manner, too, for he was the last survivor of five brothers who had gone out into the North Sea mists at the behest of Admiral von Tirpitz. Four had never returned. Of the manner of their demise he was in total ignorance. Perhaps some day, if he survived the period of hostilities, the British Admiralty might enlighten him, but until then his knowledge of how four von Loringhovens simply vanished was merely a matter for conjecture. And the very mystery of it all was both nerve-racking and terrifying not only to Eitel von Loringhoven but to every officer and man serving in the unterseebooten flying the dishonoured Black Cross Ensign.
Throughout the day U 247 had been feeling her way through fog of varying intensity by aid of compass, lead line, and patent log. Whenever the thud of the engines of an approaching vessel was heard the U-boat submerged promptly and without ceremony. Although five out of every six vessels that passed within audible distance were of the British Mercantile Marine, U 247 made no effort to ascertain that they were not warships. The risk of closing with any craft in the fog was too great, for, although the U-boat could shell an unarmed merchantman with impunity, she had long learnt to respect both men-of-war and armed merchant ships.
Von Preugfeld had vivid recollections of the s.s. Contraption, a six-knot tramp two hours out of Grimsby. He had had information from an unimpeachable source that the Contraption was unarmed, that she carried munitions for Archangel, and that she expected to join a convoy off Flamborough Head.
With these facts in his possession, the ober-leutnant showed far less discretion than he usually exercised. Unable to resist a chance of playing upon the nerves of the crew of the English ship, he brought U 247 to the surface, and at reduced speed maintained a position a bare cable's length from the tramp's starboard bow.
Therein he made a great mistake. He had completely underrated the stubborn courage of the British Mercantile Marine.
Hard-a-port went the Contraption's helm. Barely had the crew of the U-boat time to scurry below and submerge at record speed when the tramp's forefoot rasped athwart the U-boat's deck. It was a near thing, as the moisture on von Preugfeld's ashen-grey features testified.
Twenty minutes later U 247 rose to the surface, and at a safe distance shelled her antagonist and sent her to the bottom; but the U-boat had to "leg it" back to Wilhelmshaven with her pumps going continuously to keep down the water that oozed through ominous dents in her hull.
"Ten metres, Herr Kapitan."
"Any signs of the lighthouse?" he demanded.
"None, Herr Kapitan."
"Keep her at that," continued the ober-leutnant. "Inform me when you strike eight metres, unless you sight the headland before that."
Running just awash, and with her surface motors well throttled down, U 247 held on until the look-out man gave the much desired information:
"Land right ahead, Herr Kapitan. A white lighthouse two points on our starboard bow."
It was now close on sunset. A partial lifting of the fog revealed at a distance of about a mile a serrated ridge of dark cliffs culminating in a bold promontory crowned by the massive squat tower of a lighthouse. There was no need for von Preugfeld to verify the statement by means of his reflex glasses. He rapped out a curt order, and the U-boat swung round through eight points of the compass and settled down to a course south-south-west, or parallel with the forbidding shore.
"Tell von Preussen to hold himself in readiness," said von Preugfeld, addressing the unter-leutnant. "If he is not set ashore within forty-five minutes, I will accept no further responsibility in the matter."
Von Loringhoven clicked his heels and saluted.
"Very good, Herr Kapitan," he replied. "Von Preussen is even now changing into the accursed English uniform. Ach, here he is."
The ober-leutnant wheeled abruptly to see standing within three paces of him a tall, thickly built man wearing a khaki uniform.
"So you are ready?" remarked von Preugfeld, not with any degree of cordiality. Truth to tell, he was not at all keen about this particular undertaking, namely, to set ashore a German spy disguised as a British officer. "Well, I suppose your get-up will pass muster, von Preussen? If it does not, I fancy you'll be in a tighter hole than ever you've been before."
"I can look after myself, I think, Herr Kapitan," replied the spy. "I can assure you that from my point of view my work ashore will be child's play to the time I spent on board your vessel. Ach! I do not hesitate to confess that I am not of a disposition suitable for unterseebooten work. It appals me."
The ober-leutnant shrugged his shoulders.
"It will help you to appreciate the perils that we undergo for the honour of the Fatherland," he observed. "Perhaps, on your return, you might communicate your views on the subject to the Chief of Staff. Our task grows more difficult every day. The men, even, are showing signs of discontent, thereby magnifying our dangers. But, there—better come below and let von Loringhoven and me have a final kit inspection; and at the same time we may join in a bottle of Rhenish wine and drink to the success of our joint enterprise."
The kapitan having enjoined a petty Officer to maintain a vigilant watch, led the way, followed by von Preussen, the unter-leutnant bringing up the rear, and the three adjourned to a narrow, complicated compartment that served as a ward-room. In spite of scientific apparatus for purifying the air, that confined space reeked abominably. Everything of a textile nature was saturated with moisture, while the metal beams, although coated with cork composition, exuded drops of rust-tinged water.
In the glare of the electric lamps Karl von Preussen stood stiffly erect, clad in the uniform of a captain of the British Royal Air Force. In height he was about five feet eight, broad of build, and with decidedly Anglo-Saxon features. He could speak English fluently and colloquially, and thanks to a British Public School education, followed by a three years' appointment in a London shipping office, he was well acquainted with the peculiarities and customs of a country that was Germany's chief enemy.
Long before August 1914 von Preussen had been a spy. One might say that the seeds of the dishonourable profession were germinating during his school-days: they were certainly decidedly active when he was occupying an ill-paid post in Threadneedle Street, where his modest pound a week was augmented by sundry substantial sums paid in British gold but emanating from Berlin.
The outbreak of hostilities found von Preussen fully prepared. Posing as one of the principals of a steel factory, he practically had an entry to every British Government establishment. Armed with forged documents, he was not for one moment suspected. From Scapa Flow to the Scillies, and from Loch Swilly to Dover, his activities brought valuable information to the Imperial Government. Within a week of the mining of a British Dreadnought—a calamity that the Admiralty vainly attempted to conceal—von Preussen had conveyed details and photographs of the lost vessel to Berlin, and on the following morning the German Press published illustrated reports of a "secret" known throughout the world.
When occasion offered, von Preussen did not hesitate to commit acts of sabotage. More than once, disguised as a munition worker, he was instrumental in the destruction of a shell factory, while it was he who gave instructions and furnished material to the noted spy Otto Oberfurst in order that the latter could and did destroy the cruiser Pompey in Auldhaig Harbour.
The stringent passport restrictions placed upon all travellers to and from Great Britain considerably curtailed von Preussen's activities. The difficulty of making a sea passage to the Continent was almost insurmountable. Once, indeed, the spy essayed to fly, and was within an ace of success, when the stolen machine crashed. Fortunately for the spy, the accident happened in an unfrequented spot, and being but slightly injured he contrived to get away; but the mystery of the abandoned machine puzzled the brains of the Air Ministry for months. Von Preussen returned to the Fatherland via Bergen, disguised as a fireman on board a Norwegian tramp.
The spy had not long been in Berlin before he was peremptorily ordered off on another "tour." The Hun High Command knew how to get the best out of their secret service agents, and since Karl von Preussen had been a success his employers kept him running at high pressure. Accordingly, armed with instructions to report upon various British air stations, and to obtain accurate information respecting the bombing 'planes known to be building for the express purpose of blowing Berlin to bits, the spy was sent on board U 247, the commander of which was furnished with orders to land his passenger on the east coast of Scotland.
"Here's to your venture, von Preussen!" exclaimed Ober-leutnant von Preugfeld, as he raised his glass. "Your health."
With a profusion of "Hoch, hoch, hoch!" their glasses clicked and the toast was drunk. Then, tightening the belt of his trench-coat, the spy ascended the ladder and gained the deck.