CHAPTER XIII

Nocturnal Investigations

"We might have guessed that," remarked O'Hara.

"Oh?"

"Yes; don't you see, she was spotted by our gunboat. She couldn't get away up the Mohoro River until Friday, and rather than run the risk of being sunk at anchor she's landed her mob of reservists and has put to sea again."

"To be promptly snapped up? No; I don't care to admit your reasoning, old man. We haven't come all this way through that confounded forest for nothing. Listen!"

A faint, rapid throbbing was borne to their ears. The sound came not from the sea but along the shore to their left, where a projecting tongue of land limited their range of vision.

"Motor," announced O'Hara laconically.

"And not a marine one," added Denbigh. "Come on. We'll follow this path; it's a jolly sight safer than keeping to the shore."

Once again they plunged into the mangrove forest, following a beaten track that, judging by its well-worn condition, had been in existence long before the arrival of the _Pelikan_.

Suddenly Denbigh halted and held up his hand. Footsteps were approaching, not those of the naked feet of natives but the booted tramp of white men.

The subs took cover and waited, fervently hoping that the oncomers had not a dog with them. The party advanced slowly and haltingly, so much so that for the moment Denbigh imagined that their suspicions had been aroused.

But without once glancing in the direction of the hidden officers the men passed by. One was a petty officer of the _Pelikan_. Denbigh recognized him by his bushy beard. With him were four seamen, walking two abreast. The leading pair carried a roll of something wrapped in a painted canvas cover; the others bore a large reel of wire, paying out the thin cable as they went.

"H'm, telephone wire," muttered Denbigh. "That doesn't look as if the ship has cleared out. More than likely they've landed some of the guns to form a masked battery. It strikes me pretty forcibly that we'll have to investigate at both ends of the wire."

Not until the sound of the receding footsteps had died away--and it took an exasperating time--did the subs emerge from their place of concealment. The air was now almost free from mist. Occasionally patches of vapour drifted across their path, but generally speaking the miasmic belt ended at a distance of about half a mile from the sea.

O'Hara stooped and lifted up the wire.

"Let's cut the dashed line," he suggested.

"All in good time," replied Denbigh. "If we do so now they'll be buzzing around before we've made our investigations. I think we're on to a good thing."

Nearer and nearer grew the sound of the motor, until upon emerging from the grove the subs found themselves within a hundred yards of a German base.

At this point the ground sloped gently to the edge of the lagoon. Without any apparent attempt at concealment two searchlights had been set in position. A dozen men in naval uniforms were standing around the projectors. The lights were "running" as was evident from the crackle of the carbons, but the shutters were closed, cutting off the rays. The current was produced by a dynamo, the power being supplied by means of the petrol motor, the pulsations of which had given the subs a clue to its position.

"What's the idea?" whispered O'Hara, indicating the unconcealed searchlight.

"A blind," replied his companion. "I guessed it. We'll carry on a little farther before we retrace our steps."

Another _detour_ was necessary, but on plunging into the mangrove forest on to the other side of the clearing the Irishman's foot tripped in the telephone wire.

"Good!" he ejaculated. "You're right, old man."

Five hundred yards farther on the explorers almost tumbled into a deep pit, protected on the seaward side by sandbags, between which were stuck shrubs and branches of trees to screen the artificial work from seaward.

In the pit were two quick-firers, with basket cases of ammunition in readiness. Pacing up and down between the guns was a sentry, while under a tarpaulin supported by short poles were about a dozen sleeping men. Farther on was another excavation, but what it contained the British officers were unable to ascertain. The battery, it was evident, was manned by some of the reservists from the _San Matias_.

Denbigh, having taken a compass bearing of the entrance of the lagoon, nudged his chum, and they began to retrace their steps. Moving as rapidly as their sense of caution would permit, they again skirted the searchlight station and picked up the telephone wire trail in the woods beyond.

"We must not forget the time," cautioned the Irishman.

"By Jove, no!" replied Denbigh. As a matter of fact he had. The excitement of their discoveries had banished all thought of anything else. Even the perils of their return journey to the _Myra_ had been lightly brushed aside. "Hang it all, there's that confounded mist again."

At a distance of a quarter of a mile from the searchlight position the path bent obliquely towards the lagoon. Here the trees grew right to the water's edge, the cliff at this point being roughly twenty feet above the sea.

"What's that?" whispered O'Hara.

A cable's length from shore, and just visible through the mist, was a large indistinct shape. At first sight it looked like a small island thickly covered with coco-nut palms.

"The cunning blighters!" ejaculated Denbigh. "That's the _Pelikan_."

It was the raider. Her masts and funnels were decked with branches; the whole tops of trees festooned her sides. The outlines of her bow and stern were concealed by trailing masses of vegetation. Viewed from seaward, against the tree-clad hillocks, the _Pelikan_ could not be distinguished from her natural background. A short distance along the shore there was a gap in the line of cliffs. Here a boat was lying, with her crew standing about on shore.

"They're expecting someone," whispered Denbigh. "Let's move."

Not until the subs were a safe distance from the shore did they exchange opinions.

"The _Pelikan_ is expecting an attack," said O'Hara. "So she is disguised. Some of her guns are taken ashore."

"Why not all?" asked Denbigh.

"I should not think so," was the reply. "They would be almost certain to keep those in position on the port side. They haven't abandoned the ship, otherwise the boat wouldn't be waiting to take somebody off to her. Hulloa, there they go!"

Two brilliant arcs of light swept across the lagoon. The searchlights had been unmasked and were directed towards the narrow gap in the coral reef.

"They've spotted something," continued O'Hara.

"Not necessarily," replied Denbigh. "Those lights are tantamount to a challenge. Our fellows will go for the searchlight, thinking that they are being worked from the _Pelikan_. Then the ship's guns and those of the masked battery will be able to open a converging fire. We'll have to stop their little game, old man."

"Can't see how," said O'Hara.

"No more can I at present," added his companion. "We've about three hours to daylight. We must allow an hour and a half at the very outside to work our way back to the _Myra_."

"If our fellows put the hat on the _Pelikan_, we may as well hang on and get them to pick us up. You can bet your bottom dollar they'll take good care to see that the _Pelikan_ is properly done in."

"My dear fellow," protested Denbigh, "are we fit to introduce ourselves as British officers, even suppose the cruisers send a landing party ashore?"

"Don't care whether I am or not," replied the Irishman recklessly. "Whether I wear an evening dress of burnt cork plus a very disreputable uniform of white ducks, or whether I am immaculately arrayed in No. 1 rig, makes little difference. I am still Patrick O'Hara."

"S'sh!" whispered Denbigh, for O'Hara had unconsciously raised his voice during the delivery of his protest. "Let's have another look to seaward, and then we'll cut the telephone wire and clap on all sail for our involuntary home of rest. By Jove, it's getting darker! We'll be barging into something if we aren't very careful."

Upon regaining the top of the cliffs the subs saw something that indicated the impending attack. Lights were in position at the entrance to the lagoon. The British vessels in the offing had sent boats to sound and drop calcium-light buoys in the narrow channel, preparatory to making a dash across the enclosed stretch of water.

Even as the subs watched a masthead light blinked rapidly. Since the vessels were equipped with wireless, light signals were unnecessary for communication. Denbigh could only conclude that one of the attacking craft was ordering the boats to return.

"I say, old man," whispered O'Hara. "It's not going to be long-range gunnery. I believe they're sending a couple of destroyers in. If so, they're going to try a torpedo on the _Pelikan_."

Before Denbigh could reply a faint gleam played upon the rock-strewn beach. Lying at full length in the coarse grass on the top of the cliffs, which were here only about ten feet in height, the chums waited and watched.

Coming towards them was a big-built man in the uniform of a German officer. At intervals he flashed a torch upon the ground to guide his footsteps. Behind him came a soldier with his rifle slung across his back, and carrying a heavy valise.

"Von Eckenstein," whispered Denbigh, recognizing the bullying Prussian by his voice. "And with an electric torch, too. We'll bag those fellows, Pat. No, not that pistol, you chump. We'll jump on 'em."

Cautiously the two subs crouched ready to spring. Denbigh, grasping a stout stick that he had found in the place of the one broken by the ape, signed to his companion to use his powerful fists and tackle the major's servant.

Unsuspectingly von Eckenstein passed by. Just as he flashed the torch Denbigh leapt. Before his feet touched the sand his stick descended heavily upon the German's head. His sun-helmet was insufficient to save him. Without a groan the major dropped.

O'Hara had been equally successful in his share of the attack. Taking Denbigh literally, he had alighted fairly on the German soldier's head.

"I've killed him!" exclaimed the Irishman.

"'Fraid so," agreed Denbigh. "But it's war, you know. Be sharp, drag them into the bushes. Our dear friend the major won't recover his senses in a hurry."

Taking possession of the torch Denbigh scaled the cliff and made his way through the mangroves until he was nearly twenty yards from the edge of the wood. From this point he could see the masthead light of the destroyer--for destroyer he felt sure it must be. He could now flash the torch with little risk of the glare being spotted from either the _Pelikan_ or the masked battery.

He "called up", at first without meeting with success, but at length a steady white light gleamed from the offing. It was not from the destroyer that had been using her masthead light, but from one farther out to sea.

Rapidly Denbigh flashed the warning message:--

"_Pelikan_ disguised, 400 yards to southward of searchlights. Masked battery 400 yards to northward of searchlights. Useless to attempt torpedo."

The white light vanished. With his nerves tingling with anxiety the sub waited.

Then through the darkness the destroyer's signalling lamp spelt out the single word:

"R-A-T-S."