Number 70, Berlin Part 14

His speech, of which this was only one very small extract, was certainly a brilliant and telling one. When he sat down, not only was there a great thunder of applause while the fine organ struck up "Rule Britannia," but a number of strong young men, in their new-born enthusiasm, rose from the audience and announced their intention of enlisting.

"Excellent!" cried Rodwell, rising again from his chair. "Here are brave fellows ready to do their duty! Come, let all you slackers follow their example and act as real honest, patriotic men--the men of the Scotland of history!"

This proved an incentive to several waverers. But what, indeed, would that meeting have thought had they caught the words the speaker whispered in German beneath his breath, as he reseated himself? "More cannon-fodder," he had muttered, though his face was brightened by a smile of supreme satisfaction of a true Briton, for he had realised by his reception there in Edinburgh, where audiences were never over-demonstrative, how exceedingly popular he was.

Afterwards he had supper at the Caledonian Hotel with the Cabinet Minister whom he had supported; and later, when he retired to his room, he at once locked the door, flung off his coat, and threw himself into the armchair by the fire to smoke and think.

He was wondering what action his friends at Number 70 Berlin were taking in consequence of the report he had made on the previous night. On Wednesday the north-east coast of England would be left unguarded.

What, he wondered, would happen to startle with "frightfulness" the stupid English, whom he at heart held in such utter contempt?

That same night Jack Sainsbury was on his way home in a taxi from the theatre with Elise. They had spent a delightful evening together. Mrs Shearman had arranged to accompany them, but at the last moment had been prevented by a headache. The play they had seen was one of the spy-plays at that moment so popular in London; and Elise, seated at his side, was full of the impressions which the drama had left upon her.

"I wonder if there really are any spies still among us, Jack?" she exclaimed, as, with her soft little hand in his, they were being whirled along up darkened Regent Street in the direction of Hampstead.

"Alas! I fear there are many," was her lover's reply. "Poor Jerrold told me many extraordinary things which showed how cleverly conceived is this whole plot against England."

"But surely you don't think that there are really any spies still here.

There might have been some before the war, but there can't be any now."

"Why not, dearest?" he asked very seriously. He was as deeply in love with her as she was with him. "The Germans, having prepared for war for so many years, have, no doubt, taken good care to establish many thoroughly trustworthy secret agents in our midst. Jerrold often used to declare how certain men, who were regarded as the most honest, true John Bull Englishmen, were actually in the service of the enemy. As an instance, we have the case of Frederic Adolphus Gould, who was arrested at Rochester last April. He was a perfect John Bull: he spoke English without the slightest trace of accent; he hated Germany and all her works, and he was most friendly with many naval officers at Chatham.

Yet he was discovered to be a spy, having for years sent reports of all our naval movements to Germany, and in consequence he was sent to penal servitude for six years. In the course of the inquiries it was found that he was a German who had fought in the Franco-German war, and was actually possessed of the inevitable iron cross!"

"Impossible!" cried the girl, in her sweet, musical voice.

"But it's all on record! The fellow was a dangerously clever spy; and no doubt there are many others of his sort amongst us. Jerrold declared so, and told me how the authorities, dazzled by the glamour of Teuton finance, were, unfortunately, not yet fully awake to the craft and cunning of the enemy and the dangers by which we are beset."

Then he lapsed into silence.

"Your friend Dr Jerrold took a very keen interest in the spy-peril, didn't he?"

"Yes, dear. And I frequently helped him in watching and investigating,"

was his reply. "In the course of our inquiries we often met with some very strange adventures."

"Did you ever catch a spy?" she asked, quickly interested, for the subject was one upon which Jack usually avoided speaking.

"Yes, several," was his brief and rather vague reply. The dead man's discretion was reflected upon him. He never spoke of his activity more frequently than was necessary. In such inquiries silence was golden.

"And you really think there are many still at large?"

"I know there are, Elise," he declared quickly. "The authorities are, alas! so supine that their lethargy is little short of criminal. Poor Jerrold foresaw what was happening. He had no axe to grind, as they have at the War Office. To-day the policy of the Government seems to be to protect the aliens rather than interfere with them. Poor Jerrold's exposure of the unsatisfactory methods of our bureau of contra-espionage to a certain member of Parliament will, I happen to know, be placed before the House ere long. Then matters may perhaps be remedied. If they are not, I really believe that the long-suffering public will take affairs into their own hands."

"But I don't understand what spies have done against us," queried Elise, looking into her lover's face in the furtive light of the street-lamp they were at that moment pa.s.sing. Her question was quite natural to a woman.

"Done!" echoed her fine manly lover. "Why, lots of our disasters have been proved to be due to their machinations. The authorities well know that all our disasters do not appear in the newspapers, for very obvious reasons. Look what spies did in Belgium! Men who had lived in that country all their lives, believed to be Belgians and occupying high and responsible positions--men who were deeply respected, and whose loyalty was unquestioned--openly revealed themselves as spies of the Kaiser, and betrayed their friends the instant the Germans set foot on Belgian soil.

All has long ago been prepared for an invasion of Great Britain, and when `the Day' comes we shall, depend upon it, receive a very rude shock, for the same thing will certainly happen."

"How wicked it all is!" she remarked.

"All war is `wicked,' dearest," was the young man's slow reply. "Yet I only wish I were fit enough to wear khaki."

"But you can surely do something at home," she suggested, pressing his hand. "There are many things here to do, now that you've left the City."

"Yes, I _will_ do something. I must, _and I will_!" he declared earnestly.

A silence again fell between them.

"It is a great pity poor Dr Jerrold died as he did," the girl remarked thoughtfully at last. "I met him twice with you, and I liked him awfully. He struck me as so thoroughly earnest and so perfectly genuine."

"He was, Elise. When he died--well--I--I lost my best friend," and he sighed.

"Yes," she answered. "And he was doing such a good work, patiently tracing out suspicious cases of espionage."

"He was. Yet by so doing he, like all true patriots, got himself strangely disliked, first by the Germans themselves, who hated him, and secondly by the Intelligence Department."

"The latter were jealous that he, a mere civilian doctor, should dare to interfere, I suppose," remarked the girl thoughtfully.

"The khaki cult is full of silly jealousies and petty prejudices."

"Exactly. It was a very ridiculous situation. Surely the man in khaki cannot pursue inquiries so secretly and delicately as the civilian. The Scotland Yard detective does not go about dressed in the uniform of an inspector. Therefore, why should an Intelligence officer put on red-tabs in order to make himself conspicuous? No, dearest," he went on; "I quite agree with the doctor that the officials whose duty it is to look after spies have not taken sufficient advantage of patriotic civilians who are ready to a.s.sist them."

"Why don't you help them, Jack?" suggested the girl. "You a.s.sisted Dr Jerrold, and you know a great deal regarding spies and their methods.

Yet you are always so awfully mysterious about them."

"Am I, darling?" he laughed, carrying her hand tenderly to his lips and kissing it fondly.

"Yes, you are," she protested quickly. "Do tell me one thing--answer me one question, Jack. Have you any suspicion in one single case?--I mean do you really know a spy?"

Jack hesitated. He drew a long breath, as again across his troubled mind flashed that thought which had so constantly obsessed him ever since that afternoon before Jerome Jerrold had died so mysteriously.

"Yes, Elise," he answered in a thick voice. "Yes, I do."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE ENEMY'S CIPHER.

The afternoon of December 16th, 1914--the 135th day of the war--was grey and gloomy in Northumberland Avenue, that short thoroughfare of high uniform hotels and buildings.

The street-lamps had just been lit around Trafalgar Square when Lewin Rodwell pa.s.sed out of the big hall of the Const.i.tutional Club, and down the steps into the street. At the moment a newsboy dashed past crying the evening papers.

The words that fell upon Rodwell's ear caused him to start; and, stopping the lad, he purchased a paper, and, halting, read the bold, startling headlines: "Bombardment of the East Coast this morning: Great destruction of seaside towns."

"Ach!" he murmured with a grin of satisfaction. "Ach! Number 70 was not slow in acting upon my message. Instead of the German Fleet falling into the trap, they have taught these pigs of English a lesson. Not long ago one Minister declared that if the German Fleet did not come out of the Kiel Ca.n.a.l, that the brave British would dig them like rats out of a hole. Good! They have come out to respond to that challenge," and he laughed in grim satisfaction. "Let's see what they've done."

Turning upon his heel, in his eagerness to learn the truth, he reascended the broad steps of the Club, and in the hall seated himself and eagerly devoured the account which, at that moment, was thrilling the whole country.

The paper stated, as all will remember, that the German ships having, by some extraordinary and unknown means, succeeded in evading the diligent watch kept upon them in the North Sea, had appeared on the Yorkshire coast early that morning. A German battleship, together with several first-cla.s.s cruisers, had made a raid, and sh.e.l.led Hartlepool, Scarborough and Whitby. At the three towns bombarded much damage was done, hotels, churches and hospitals being struck; and, according to the casualty list at that moment available, twenty-nine persons had been killed and forty-six wounded at Hartlepool; two killed and two wounded at Whitby, and thirteen casualties in Scarborough. The paper added that the list of casualties was believed to be very much greater, and would, it was thought, amount to quite two hundred. British patrol boats had endeavoured to cut off the Germans, whereupon the latter had fled.

Lewin Rodwell, having read the leading article, in which the journal loudly protested against the bombardment of undefended towns, and the ruthless slaughter of women and children, cast the paper aside, rose and again went out.