As Skipper M'Kie had surmised, neither of the trawlers had been molested by the German battle-cruisers or destroyers. Carried away by their frantic desire to make a display of frightfulness upon an unprotected English watering-place they had totally ignored the seemingly innocuous cable-grappling craft.
"It will blow like billy-oh before morning," remarked Lieutenant Crosthwaite to his subordinate. "I'm going to tell them to buoy and slip the cable. We've done very well, I think. You might make an observation; I'll take another, and we'll check our calculations. I'll guarantee we won't have much trouble in fishing up the cable next time."
Crosthwaite's orders to the skippers of the trawlers were smartly carried out, and the cable, left with its position marked by a green wreck-buoy, a sufficient guarantee against detrimental examination by curious fishermen. Before sunset the Calder and her two charges were snug in Lowestoft harbour, the crews being cautioned against the risk of letting fall any hint concerning their recent work--an injunction that they loyally carried out.
It was three days before the gale blew itself out. During that period events had been moving rapidly. And here one of the few advantages of being on particular service became apparent. Had not the Calder been detailed for escort duties to the cable-grappling trawlers the chances were that she would be plugging against heavy green seas, while those of her crew not on duty on deck would be existing under battened hatches. Instead, the destroyer was lying snugly berthed in a harbour, and her crew were able to enjoy brief spells of liberty ashore.
The next step was to locate the shore end of the cable. This work required particular skill and discretion, since the German operator would certainly be on the alert for the first suspicious movement.
Scotland Yard detectives, disguised as fishermen and longshoremen, eventually succeeded in tracing the source of the leakage of information. The temporary cable had been brought ashore nearly four miles from the original landing-place of the severed line, and led to a wooden hut on the edge of the sandy cliffs.
For the present, all that was required to be done in that direction was performed. The Admiralty had decided to let the cable turn the tables upon the Huns, and, until the time was ripe, the spy could telegraph without interruption, but unwittingly he was digging a pit for himself from which no escape was possible.
It was well into the third week in May when the Calder received orders to proceed to Rosyth, replenish stores and oil-fuel, and rejoin her flotilla. The news was hailed with delight, since it was possible that many of the officers and crew would be able to proceed on leave.
Another week passed. Information had reached the Commander-in-Chief of a certain amount of German activity in the North Sea. Something had to be done to attract the attention of the German populace from the series of rebuffs experienced by the Huns before Verdun. Exaggerated reports concerning the prowess of the German High Seas Fleet, coupled with news of spasmodic raids upon the British coast, helped to foster the ill-founded belief of the Huns in the invincibility of their navy, while, to keep up the deceit, Admiral von Scheer took his ships out for various discreet cruises off the Danish coast, where there was ever a possibility of making a quick run back under the guns and behind the minefields of Heligoland.
On the 29th May orders were issued for the First and Second Battle Squadrons and the Second Battle-Cruiser Squadron to proceed to a certain rendezvous in order to carry out target practice. The instructions were issued through the usual channels, with the almost certain knowledge that the information would leak out. The Commander-in-Chief's anticipation proved to be correct, for within three hours of the issuing of the order the news was transmitted to Germany by means of the tapped cable.