"Kamerad!"
Where had he heard that cry in that tone of voice before? He could not decide on the moment, and yet he was apprehensive of an unpleasant discovery.
The captain of U-31 determined to investigate and ordered the lifeboat from which the hail proceeded to come alongside. The occupants could do nothing more sensible than obey. As it approached a young man with an empty left sleeve arose and repeated his appealing cry, and Irving almost dropped in his tracks.
The one-armed fellow was Adolph Hessenburg, alias Tourtelle, the former Canadian lieutenant of the tattooed cubist art cryptogram. Undoubtedly he was being sent to England to be held there for a determination of his fate after information had been received regarding the success or failure of his substitute spy's mission within the German lines.
CHAPTER XXXIX
"ACCIDENTS WILL HAPPEN"
If anybody had observed the precipitation with which Irving dived down the hatchway of U-31 a moment or two after he recognized the "cubist art spy," there is no doubt that the observer would have been impressed with the mystery of the proceeding. As it was, all of his boche companions on the outer deck were too much interested in seeking an explanation of the "kamerad" cry from the midst of a boatload of enemy soldiers and sailors to give attention to anything less than the explosion of a bomb on their own vessel.
Irving meanwhile picked up a sou'wester that he found on the lower deck, put it over his head so that it partly covered, shaded, and hence considerably disguised his face, and then returned to the outer deck. True, the weather was not stormy, but the air was chilly and the "cloudburst hood" added considerably to his comfort.
The real Hessenburg had been assisted on board and was being questioned by Captain Bartholf. Irving heard the latter ask him his name, and then suddenly something happened which the trembling spy has ever since declared undoubtedly saved his life and some very important information for the Allies.
What caused the sudden lurch of the submarine was not subsequently disclosed. Possibly one of the men below, accidentally or thoughtlessly moved a lever or wheel that resulted in a momentary spasm of mechanical action. At any rate, all on the outer deck were dancing around for several seconds to preserve their balance, and one of them was not as successful as the others. That was Hessenburg, who was thrown violently against the low railing so that he struck his head on one of the iron standards or posts.