CHAPTER XVI
The News Leaks Out
"Here's a letter from Kiel for you," announced Octavius Smith as he entered the cabin of the Diomeda. "You're a rum card, Stirling; you generally manage to get hold of everything you want. Bless me if I ever thought you'd get a reply from Pfeil."
"It's quite about time," replied Gordon Stirling unconcernedly as he caught the envelope his companion tossed towards him.
Ten days had elapsed since Stirling had set out to carry off a journalistic scoop. Allowing for two Sundays, that were not counted in ordinary leave, only six more days remained. In less than a week he would have to be slogging away in the Inland Revenue Office at Lowestoft, making up arrears of work that his confrères were bound to keep open for him. That is one of the ethics of a Government Department. A fellow returning from leave is supposed to be like a young giant refreshed with wine—ready and willing to tackle any accumulative work. The result is that almost all the benefits from a holiday are thrown away upon a desperate attempt to reduce the pile of bookwork to reasonable dimensions.
For days past the westerly breeze had held. Smith was beginning to fret at the enforced detention, especially as he learnt from meteorological reports that only a few miles to the north the wind was almost exactly in the opposite direction.
"There you are!" exclaimed Stirling excitedly. "Didn't I say so?"
"Say what?" demanded the skipper, deliberately recharging his pipe.
"I'll read you Pfeil's letter. There are one or two words I can't make out without a dictionary, but I can make a very good guess at them:
"T.B.D. S167.
"KIEL.
"DEAR SIR,—
"In answer to your letter, I hasten to send this by the next dispatch. I know your friends, Herr Hamerton and Herr Detroit, are in Heligoland, so there must be a mistake in the story that they met with a disaster. How I know is this: my brother Sigismund is in S174, one of the boats operating with us when I fell overboard and was rescued by your friends. Directly I was landed I wrote to him assuring him of my safety, and describing the yacht and her crew who treated me so kindly. In his reply he told me the English yacht was lying off Heligoland, and that Herr Hamerton and his friend had landed to be the guests of one of our German officers. The next day the yacht was towed away—I think it was to Bremen—to undergo some repairs. The Englishmen remained. Five days ago my brother's torpedo-boat destroyer S174 left for the purpose of towing her back to Heligoland. She has apparently been delayed by bad weather, for she has not yet returned. This ought to dispel any doubts in your mind concerning an accident to your friends. We leave for Stettin to-morrow on a three-weeks' cruise.
"With respects,
"Yours,
"HANS PFEIL."
"There, old man, what do you think of that?"
Smith puffed vigorously at his pipe for a minute or so. His knitted eyebrows showed that he was deep in thought.
"Fishy; decidedly fishy," he remarked. "Stirling, you stand a chance of pulling off your scoop after all. It is fishy—very. The Diomeda, lying here in Delfzyl, is supposed to be at Bremen for repairs. The German destroyer S174 is supposed to be sent to tow her back. I wonder whether that vessel that is persistently hanging about off the entrance to the Dollart is S174?"
"We'll find out," said Stirling decisively. "Come along. Van Wyk will be able to tell us."
They found the old harbourmaster in his office.
"The number of that German destroyer?" he repeated. "I know not; but since you are curious I can find out. Come with me to the quay; the Maas has just returned. It is possible that Captain Jan will be able to tell us."
Captain Jan van Hoes, the skipper of the botter Maas, was sitting on the brightly painted skylight of his craft. A long pipe was in his mouth; his hands were deep in his voluminous pockets; his legs, encased in stiff baggy, trousers, were thrust out straight in front of him.
"Passed that German craft, aye, that I did," said the old skipper, without removing either his pipe or his hands. "Steaming south-south-west about four miles outside Rottumeroog. S174 was her number. Saw it through my glass as plainly as I can see the town-hall clock."
"Thank you for your information," said Stirling, offering the old fellow a gulden. Captain Jan looked at the coin, began to draw one hand from his pocket, and then slowly thrust it back again.
"I want no money for doing nothing, Mynheer," he said. "You are welcome to what I have told you."
"Look here," began Smith, when the two Englishmen regained the deck of the Diomeda, "this job wants any amount of tact. I don't think I'd telegraph the information. It will keep a few hours longer."
"And what then?"
"Get back to London as fast as you can. Don't mind me; I can hang on here very comfortably. See your editor and explain matters to him. He'll be able to deal with the business far more diplomatically than either you or I can. If he thinks fit to publish the news, well and good; but my private opinion is that he will communicate with the Foreign Office. The British and United States ambassadors in Berlin will be instructed to ask a few questions, and in less than a week Hamerton and Detroit will be set at liberty."
"But supposing Thompson decides otherwise?"
"Then there'll be war between Great Britain and the United States on the one hand and Germany on the other, unless Germany climbs down. Popular sentiment will be raised to such a pitch that war will be inevitable. But Thompson won't, except as a last resource. Now pack up and clear out. You'll just manage to catch the Harwich boat."
Sixteen hours later Stirling entered the private office of Harold Bennett, the editor of The Yachtsman's Journal. Bennett eyed him sadly, for Stirling's "special" looked as if it meant a financial loss to the already slender resources of the paper.
"I've found out something," exclaimed Stirling excitedly. "Hamerton and Detroit are alive. They are in Heligoland. There is every reason to believe that they are imprisoned as spies under the names of John and William Smith."
"Have you proof?"
"Yes."
"Then why in the name of thunder didn't you wire? We've just gone to press, and there'll be nearly a week's delay. I'm bound to inform Thompson, and by next Friday the news will be as stale as anything. Anyhow, let's have the story."
Not a word did Bennett speak while Stirling was relating the incidents of his stay at Delfzyl and expounding his theories. Occasionally he would make a pencil note on his blotting pad.
"I quite agree with you, Stirling," he said at length. "A precipitate disclosure would be most injudicious. I'll ring up Thompson.
"You there, Thompson? This is Bennett. Can you spare me half an hour?"
"Impossible."
"You must. Stirling, my special, has just returned from Holland. Very important news."
"Well, out with it."
"Must see you personally."
"Very well then." Thompson glanced irritably at the half-completed "leader" on his desk. "Half an hour. Ring off."
It was more than two hours before The Yachtsman's Journal editor and Stirling left the offices of The Westminster Daily Record. They did not leave alone. Thompson accompanied them, having delegated the completion of his leader to the sub-editor.
Outside the offices the three men entered a taxi and were driven to the Foreign Office. The presentation of Thompson's card was a sure passport to the sanctum of Sir Theophilus Brazenose, the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs.
Sir Theophilus was essentially a strong man. He was active in mind and body, prompt to act, yet displaying a natural caution that on many occasions had stood him in good stead, and had piloted the nation through many an international crisis.
"You are quite right, Thompson," he remarked, after carefully listening to the editor's narrative, and perusing the letter which Stirling had received from Hans Pfeil. "This is a delicate situation. Extreme reticence and secrecy are essential. Of course I quite agree with you that this German seaman's name should not appear in any dispatches forwarded to our ambassador in Berlin. It would result in the severest punishment being inflicted upon him by the German Admiralty for his unquestionable indiscretion, however serviceable it may be to us. By all means refrain from making the news public. I will decide what is to be done as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Mr. Stirling, let me offer you my congratulations on your zeal, tact, and astuteness."
Stirling bowed. In his mind he was wondering whether Sir Theophilus would be so lavish with his praises if he knew that he (Stirling) was a civil servant drawing a paltry salary of a hundred a year.
"You'll be in town for a few days, I hope?" asked Thompson, when the three journalists returned to the offices of The Westminster Daily Record. "I hardly know. You see, my leave is up next Saturday."
"Your leave?" asked Thompson brusquely.
"Yes; I'm not on the regular staff of The Yachtsman's Journal. I'm in the Inland Revenue Office at Lowestoft."
"Good post?"
"Hardly," Stirling told him.
"Chuck it, my lad. Send in your resignation. You're merely wasting your time there. I'll offer you a post at two hundred and fifty pounds as special correspondent; permanency, mind you, with good prospects; send you back to the Continent till this Heligoland business is finished with."
Two more days passed. The Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs was in constant telegraphic communication with the British Ambassador in Berlin. The most elaborate cipher was used, and precautions taken to prevent leakage of unauthentic information.
The Ambassador was instructed to apply to the German Government for permission to interview John and William Smith, the condemned spies; the authorities at Berlin hedged. They took umbrage at the somewhat unusual request.
Suddenly a journalistic bombshell burst upon the British public. In The Morning Remembrancer, a "rag" with a comparatively limited circulation, appeared the following, in heavy type:—
"THE IDENTITY OF THE HELIGOLAND SPIES
"STARTLING REPORTS
"(Specially contributed to this Journal)
"Advice from our own correspondent reveals the startling fact that the identity of the two persons sentenced, under the names of John and William Smith, to five years' detention for espionage has been made known. The victims of an international outrage are Sub-Lieutenant John Hamerton, R.N., and Mr. Oswald Detroit, son of Senator Jonathan Detroit, of Norfolk, Virginia, U.S.A. The story of their supposed tragic fate in the North Sea, being reported to have been lost overboard from the yacht Diomeda, is still fresh in the public memory. Further startling disclosures are imminent. We understand that representations have been made to Germany by the Governments of Great Britain and the United States for the immediate release of the alleged spies."
Stirling happened to be at the office of The Westminster Daily Record when Thompson's attention was called to the dramatic announcement in the rival publication.
Thompson was not usually a man to give way to outbursts of temper. He was generally brusque, deliberate, and level-headed, but on this occasion his fury for a few moments was uncontrollable.
"Someone has sold us!" he shouted. "That wretched rag has got the laugh at us. If I could only get hold of the fellow that supplied the information—it wasn't you, Stirling?"
"No, sir," replied that individual.
"I believe you. Sorry I asked the question." Thompson was growing calmer by this time. "It's bad enough for our reputation to let a rival collar what is by right our scoop. Makes my blood boil. And, not only that, there's a fresh danger of an international rupture. A little diplomacy would perhaps have settled this spy business. Sir Theophilus Brazenose has the matter in hand, and now the fat is in the fire. Just you 'phone to Bennett and ask him if he knows anything about the matter."
But before Stirling could get connected the editor of The Yachtsman's Journal hurriedly entered.
"Seen this, Thompson?" he asked, holding up a folded copy of The Morning Remembrancer.
"Of course," replied Thompson dryly. "It does not do to go about with one's eyes shut. All the same, it's a bad business; another case of journalistic integrity letting one down pretty badly."
"What do you propose doing?"
"Calling at the Foreign Office. It's close on ten, and Sir Theophilus will be there at that hour. Come along, and you too, Stirling."
"One moment," said Bennett. "You will be losing precious time. Get a special out. Explain matters, and ask the public to reserve judgment until the Foreign Office has had its say."
Without a word Thompson sat down, took up a pencil, and began to scribble. There was no hesitation; the point of his pencil glided over the paper at a rapid pace, yet each letter was formed as clearly as if it were copperplate.
"There!" he exclaimed, when the leader was finished. "How will that do?"
Bennett took the proffered slip, and read:
"THE HELIGOLAND ESPIONAGE CASE
"With reference to the report appearing in the columns of a contemporary, it will doubtless be interesting to know that the material facts brought to public notice have been known to this journal for some time. Since it is our principle to take our readers into our confidence, we now have no hesitation in stating the actual facts of the case. Our special commissioner returned from the Continent on Monday last, bringing with him the startling news that the spies condemned under the names of John and William Smith were supposed to be Sub-Lieutenant Hamerton, R.N., and Mr. Oswald Detroit, an American citizen. We venture to suggest that our contemporary has no actual proof that such is the case, and we throw out a challenge to that effect.
"Immediately upon receiving our commissioner's report, we, together with the editor of an influential yachting journal, waited upon Sir Theophilus Brazenose, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, and laid the matter before him. Sir Theophilus acted immediately, issuing instructions to the British Ambassador in Berlin. At the same time he urged upon us the necessity of withholding the news from the public until our commissioner's report was either confirmed or contradicted.
"This we cordially agreed to do, in the belief that it was in the interests of the nation. Unfortunately the news has leaked out through some obscure channel. We therefore ask the public to refrain for the moment from making any demonstrations of antagonism towards a friendly Power, and to leave the issue confidently in the hands of His Majesty's most able Minister for Foreign Affairs."
"That ought to act as a cold douche to our hot-headed friends on the staff of The Morning Remembrancer," observed Bennett. "Now, we'll be off to the Foreign Office."
They found Sir Theophilus considerably perturbed at the ill-judged announcement in The Morning Remembrancer. He realized the danger of a popular outburst.
"The nation ought to be roused to a pitch of indignation should Mr. Stirling's report prove correct," he observed; "only, there is this radical point: we have no proof. It is evident that some subordinate has been induced to impart confidential information, and this catchpenny journal has jumped to the conclusion that Mr. Stirling's suppositions are absolutely correct. They may be, of course, but on the face of it the action of the German authorities seems preposterous."
"Yet Stirling is emphatic upon the point that Hamerton and his American friend are in Heligoland. There is also definite proof that a German destroyer is dodging about off the Dollart. There was also a report spread about to the effect that the yacht was towed to Bremen for repairs, while all the time she was lying at Delfzyl," observed Thompson.
"There is certainly ground for strong suspicions," admitted Sir Theophilus. "I frankly admit that we have often to act on rumours far less trustworthy than these. However, we can only await a reply from the British Embassy at Berlin. Meanwhile there is popular opinion to be taken into account. I think that——"
A tap on the door, followed by the entry of one of the under-secretaries, caused Sir Theophilus to break off abruptly. The subordinate, observing that his chief was engaged, was about to back out of the door, when Sir Theophilus asked him what he wanted.
"Here is a copy of the special edition of The Westminster Daily Record, sir," he announced. "There is a leader on the Heligoland affair. I thought perhaps you would care to see it."
"So you could not refrain, Mr. Thompson?" asked Sir Theophilus, with a suspicion of reproachfulness in his voice.
Thompson did not reply. He merely shrugged his broad shoulders and waited.
The Secretary of State began to read. As he did so his visitors narrowly watched his features. Gradually the frown on his brows relaxed.
"Excellent, Thompson, excellent!" he exclaimed. "You've tackled the business with most praiseworthy skill. We can now only await developments. Rest assured that as soon as I have a communiqué from the Embassy I will send for you again."
But in spite of the efforts of the editor of The Westminster Daily Record, the storm raised by the rival journal attained huge dimensions. There were indignation meetings in almost every town and village of the United Kingdom. Letters abusing the Government and accusing the Foreign Office of being weak-kneed and incapable poured in by every post. Shouts of "Down with Germany" were raised in Parliament Street and in Trafalgar Square while intolerant demands were made that the Fleet should proceed to German waters and smash the Teutonic Navy to smithereens.
Nor was the anti-German outburst confined to this side of the "Herring Pond". From New York to San Francisco, and from the Canadian frontier to the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, the usually level-headed citizens of the greatest republic on earth shouted for revenge for the insult offered to one of their sons. It required the greatest diplomacy on the part of those in authority tactfully to curb the impatience of millions until the fateful report from Berlin should arrive.
The British and United States Ambassadors at the German capital lost no time in presenting a polite yet firm demand that they should be permitted to have access to the two condemned spies. To this the Kaiser's ministers promised their consideration.
Meanwhile General Heinrich von Wittelsbach had been hurriedly summoned to Berlin. He fully realized that there was danger ahead. There were two courses open to him: either to confess his error, explain his motives, and throw himself upon the clemency of his Imperial master; or else to take a high hand, stanchly declare that no mistake had been made, and appeal to the Kaiser not to lower the dignity of the Hohenzollerns by submitting to the arrogant demands of the ambassadors of Great Britain and the United States.
He chose the latter course. It would mean either victory or dishonour, whereas by the former course nothing but disgrace would be his portion.
It was at a levee in the imperial palace of Potsdam that the Emperor questioned the governor of his fortress of Heligoland.
Von Wittelsbach's answer came—firmly and without hesitation.
"Sire, I give you my solemn word—the word of a soldier—that neither the English officer, Hamerton, nor the American, Detroit, is in the Island of Heligoland."
Therein he spoke truthfully, for before leaving for Berlin the commandant had ordered the removal of the prisoners to the adjacent island of Sandinsel.