For the next three-quarters of an hour the spy was hurried to and fro over the slippery cobble-stones of Auldhaig Dockyard. He saw very little that would be of service to the Imperial German Government. For one reason, the messenger stuck like a leech and lost no time, since he too was wanting his dinner. For another, everything in the way of new ship construction was being done under cover, while zealous, lynx-eyed policemen—picked men from the Metropolitan Police Force—were everywhere in evidence; and von Preussen had a wholesome respect for men in blue.
"What's that vessel?" inquired von Preussen, indicating a tramp steamer with her sides and deck covered with tarpaulins.
"Merchantman, sir," replied his escort.
"Why is she in a Government dock?" continued the spy. "I thought tramp steamers would be repaired in the commercial dock."
"So would she," answered the man. "Only there wasn't room. Torpedoed, she was, 'bout a month ago."
"Then why all that canvas over her?" asked von Preussen, beginning to find himself on the track of something mysterious.
"'Tis like this, sir," explained his companion with the utmost gravity. "Her captain is living on board, an' 'e's got a bald 'ead. When it rains they rigs up an awning to keep the drops off 'is pate, 'cause 'e gets awfully up the pole an' leads the crew a regular dog's life if he's upset by gettin' 'is 'ead wet."
"I perceive you are a humorist," remarked von Preussen drily.
"Didn't know it, sir," rejoined the man. "My mates usually call me 'Mouldy Bill.' But hangin' around 'ere won't find what you're lookin' for, sir, so let's make a move."
It was an application of "official reticence and reserve" on the part of this minor servant of the Admiralty. He knew perfectly well that the tramp was in reality a Q-boat, and that under those canvas awnings lay hidden a collection of mysterious "gadgets," for a detailed description of which the authorities at Berlin would give a high sum in gold.