CHAPTER XII
PRISONERS OF WAR
"What in the name of goodness is that?" exclaimed Captain Cumberleigh.
He knew perfectly well. The sight of a slender pole inclined slightly from the perpendicular and throwing out a double feather of spray as it cleft the water told him that it was the periscope of a submarine.
His exclamation attracted the attention of his companions. Even as they looked appeared the tip of the second periscope, followed almost immediately by the bows and conning-tower of the submarine. Then like a gigantic whale the long, bulging hull slithered above the surface, the water pouring from its deck in cascades of swirling foam.
"One of our submarines, by Jove!" exclaimed Pyecroft. "Wonder what she's doing here?"
"A Hun!" corrected Cumberleigh. "We're properly in the soup, you fellows."
He gave a hurried glance in the only direction from which they could expect aid—skywards. Not an aircraft of any description was in sight. The gorgeous prospect of seeing a seaplane swoop down upon an incautious Fritz was out of the question.
"Jefferson!" he shouted. "Run for it, man. Don't wait for us."
The owner of the Pip-squeak took in the situation at a glance. True, the U-boat was between him and the shore, but there was a stiff leading wind. While the Hun was concentrating his attention upon the X-lighter the sailing-boat had a fair chance of getting away, but Jefferson was a "white man."
"No fear, old bird!" he shouted. "We're all in this stunt. I am coming on board."
With that he ran the sailing-boat alongside the barge, and, without waiting to lower the sail, leapt on deck and secured the painter.
Meanwhile the hatches of the U-boat had been thrown open and her two guns manned and trained point-blank upon the helpless lighter.
"'Fraid this isn't the time for a death-or-glory stunt," remarked Cumberleigh. "Fritz is evidently 'one up.'"
Of the five, "Captain Fennelburt" was the least perturbed. The spy was distinctly annoyed at the unexpected turn of events. It looked as if his carefully prepared campaign was to be nipped in the bud. Consequently he was liable to heavy financial loss in addition to a waste of valuable time, for his employers in Berlin paid only for definite results. "No work, no pay," was the motto of the German Secret Service, and before von Preussen could be landed in Great Britain again weeks might elapse. As a secondary consideration, there was the doubt of how he would be received by his compatriots. For very good reasons he wished to conceal his identity from his companions on the lighter. In spite of strenuous precautions, British prisoners of war sometimes contrived to effect their escape, and it would be a very serious matter for von Preussen if it became known through the medium of a former captive in Germany that the soi-disant Captain Fennelburt was a Secret Service agent of the German Intelligence Department.
"Gentlemen!" observed Pyecroft facetiously. "The R.A.F. Salvage Syndicate is dissolved."
With her guns still trained upon the lighter, U 247 approached slowly and with evident hesitation. At the back of von Preugfeld's mind lurked the haunting suspicion that X 5 was a snare. The very temptingness of the bait increased his suspicions. Perhaps a British submarine was lying in wait to blow him and his U-boat to atoms; or somewhere in the clouds a coastal airship was floating motionless, awaiting an opportunity to swoop down and let loose an aerial torpedo before the Germans had time to close hatches and submerge.
On the other hand, there was von Preussen, clad in a British R.A.F. uniform and standing seemingly unconcerned upon the lighter's deck. Surely, if there were a trap, the Hun would contrive to make a mute signal to his compatriots.
Von Preussen gave none. He was content to let events take their course.
Presently U 247 reversed engines and brought up within half a cable's length of the barge. Clambering upon the raised platform abaft the conning-tower, the kapitan raised a megaphone to his lips.
His delivery of English was execrable, but he was unaware of the fact. He rather prided himself on the knowledge that he could speak the language, having learnt it from a third-rate German professor in a minor university in the Fatherland.
"You vos surrender make!" he shouted. "It all of an instant up is mit you. Get into der leedle boat and put you yourselves on board dis scheep. If you drouble giff, den we shoot."
"Right-o, old bean!" hailed Cumberleigh in reply.
Von Preugfeld was puzzled by the reply. Mentally he resolved at the first opportunity to consult Volume II (Ba-Cu) of a British Encyclopaedia that he had on board.
"Look you pointed about it!" he exclaimed angrily. "I you give half a minute to quit der boat."
"Come on, boys!" said Cumberleigh. "The old josser's getting jumpy."
"Is that an order or a request, Cumberleigh?" asked Pyecroft. "If it's an order, well and good; if not, I'm not having any."
"Please yourself, old man," replied the captain. "And the very best of luck."
The four stepped into the Pip-squeak. Her sail was hurriedly stowed, and under oars the boat approached the submarine.
"Der vos five!" exclaimed Ober-leutnant von Preugfeld, as the prisoners came over the side. "Vere is der odder?"
A look of blank ignorance appeared on each man's face. Even the spy failed to betray any sign that would reveal the secret. The kapitan turned to a petty officer.
"Place these men below," he ordered.
"These three in No. 3 store-room; this one will go aft. You, there," he added, addressing another seaman. "Take an axe and knock out the garboards of that boat."
Cumberleigh, Blenkinson and Jefferson found themselves escorted below in double quick time. When fear hangs on the heels of a U-boat's crew the promptness to execute an order borders on panic. Literally hustled along a narrow alley-way bristling with dozens, nay, scores, of valve-wheels, they were bundled into a dark, moisture-laden recess that at one time contained a quantity of consumable stores. The door was slammed and locked, and the three R.A.F. officers found themselves prisoners of war under highly objectionable circumstances—trapped in a U-boat.
Giving another glance skywards and all around the horizon, von Preugfeld walked aft to the hatchway through which von Preussen had disappeared. "I'll see you in the ward-room in less than five minutes, von Preussen," he said. "Apparently this affair requires an explanation. But what has become of the fourth Englishman?"
"Still on board," replied the spy. "He's trying to evade capture."
"There is an alternative," remarked the ober-leutnant grimly. "He's welcome to it."
Making his way back to the outside of the conning-tower, von Preugfeld noted that his order concerning the sailing-boat had been carried out. Levelling his binocular, he scanned the shelving deck of the X-lighter. There was no sign of life on board X 5.
Ringing for half speed, von Preugfeld increased the distance between the U-boat and her prize to three hundred yards.
"Give her a round amidships!" he ordered.
The U-boat rolled sluggishly to starboard under the recoil of the gun. Almost simultaneously with the report of the weapon came the crash of exploding shell. Amidst a welter of foam and yellow smoke X 5 disappeared beneath the waves, leaving the water dotted with floating debris in the shape of buoyant articles released from her hold by the shattering of her hatches.
For a full half-minute the ober-leutnant kept the flotsam under observation; then, satisfied that his work of destruction had been accomplished in its entirety, and that to remain on the surface much longer after the roar of the explosion was hazardous, he turned to von Loringhoven.
"Down to twenty-five metres," he ordered. "Course due west at eight knots for ten minutes. Then let her sound."
Leaving the unter-leutnant to carry out his instructions, von Preugfeld made his way to the cabin where the returned spy awaited him.
"I hardly expected to see you so soon, Karl," he began. "I hope I haven't disturbed your elaborate plans."
"You have," replied the spy, with marked emphasis.
"Himmel! How is that? Were you taken into the confidence of these English officers, and were your investigations a secret project that was being experimented upon to the disadvantage of the Fatherland?"
"You have put me to considerable inconvenience," replied von Preussen. "My kit is at an hotel at Auldhaig."
"No compromising documents, I hope?" asked the kapitan anxiously.
"No; but a man cannot get about in comfort without his travelling belongings," remarked the spy. "You will have to land me again, but my venture in the Auldhaig district is a failure. It means that I must make my way south and try my luck in Dover and Portsmouth. And I was getting on so nicely with those fellows at the air station," he added, little knowing to what purpose the hospitality had been extended.
"And what was the experiment?" asked von Preugfeld.
"Experiment? There was no experiment," declared the spy. "Those fools of Englishmen took a liking to me and insisted on my going with them on a fishing expedition. We fell in with an almost water-logged barge, and while we were exploring you appeared. Now comes the question, where and when do you intend to set me ashore?"
Von Preugfeld's feelings were far from those of composure. On the one hand, he had sunk an English vessel of sorts. It was true that she looked like sinking before, but that was a side issue. He had made a capture of three English officers and had killed a fourth. Unfortunately, they were of no great rank as he had hoped—merely junior officers. On the other hand, he would have to delay his return journey in order to set von Preussen ashore. Stores, fuel and provisions were already running short, and the delay would mean considerable inconvenience, possibly danger. His afternoon's work, like that of the bombardment of Aberspey, was not worth the candle.
"I have already carried out instructions with reference to yourself," he remarked stiffly.
"And almost immediately you have undone all the work required of you in the matter," added the spy.
The ober-leutnant shrugged his shoulders. He was obstinate, pig-headed and arrogant, but in argument he was no match for the trained finesse of the Secret Service agent.
"As a favour——" he began.
"No—as a right," corrected von Preussen firmly.
"Donnerwetter! You insist too much," grumbled von Preugfeld. "I suppose there is nothing to be done but to fall in with your whim."
"With official instructions," interpolated the spy.
"Have your own way then," snapped the ober-leutnant. "To land you must necessarily entail night-work. I propose, then, to set you ashore at the same place as before. We are, in fact, within a couple of miles of it, and you will observe that we have shut off the motors, and U 247 is even now resting on the bed of the German Ocean. I would suggest that you should walk to Nedderburn and catch the mail train south that stops at the junction shortly after three in the morning."
"And more than likely stumble across some of the officers and men from Auldhaig Air Station," objected the spy. "No, my friend, I prefer to lay my own plans; then, if anything does go wrong, I have only myself to blame. And since Captain George Fennelburt is either a prisoner of war or 'missing—presumed drowned,' I must needs beg, borrow or steal another name. Henceforth, until further notice, I am Captain Broadstone, also of the Royal Air Force. Will you oblige me by lending me a pen? There are certain forms which I must now fill in to bear out my new character."