Chapter 13

The Arm of the Law

"Hulloa! What the deuce have we got here?" enquired Commander Devereux of H.M. torpedo-boat destroyer _Yealm_, as three dripping figures were transferred from the destroyer's dinghy to the deck. "One strafed Hun, right enough; but who are these fellows in mufti?"

"Can't say, sir," replied the coxswain. "They sort o' collapsed directly we got 'em into the boat."

"Then take them below," continued Devereux. "I say, Fanshawe, there's a job for you at last, my festive sawbones."

Fanshawe, lately a young country practitioner with a scattered "panel" connection, had but recently entered the Navy as a surgical probationer R.N.V.R. He joined purely through patriotic motives, having sacrificed a fairly substantial income in order to do so. Up to the present his work had been almost a sinecure. The _Yealm_ had not had the faintest chance of taking part in an engagement. Her crew--to use Fanshawe's own words--were "that beastly healthy, don't you know", that, out of sheer anxiety to do something, he was learning navigation from the Sub-lieutenant.

The medico undertook his first important professional task on board the _Yealm_ with great alacrity, and it was not long before Ross and Vernon were in a fit state to be questioned. Hans Koppe was in a bad plight. So utterly shaken were his nerves that he seemed on the point of collapse.

"So you are the son of Admiral Trefusis," said the Lieutenant-Commander. "I can't say that I know him personally, although I know of him. But how did you get on board the submarine?"

Ross explained. He felt hurt at having to do so. The Lieutenant-Commander's ignorance of the disappearance of the two chums from St. Mena's Island "took all the wind out of his sails". In pre-War days the principal papers would have devoted at least half a column to the supposed deaths by drowning, off the Cornish coast, of two well-connected youths. Nowadays editors had neither space nor inclination to devote to such a comparatively trivial matter. Consequently Devereux could be exonerated of all lack of knowledge of the supposed accident. Yet his interest grew as Ross proceeded with his narrative.

"Look here," he remarked. "We've got to dodge around for a few hours in case your pal U77 does put in an appearance. But I'll wireless the Admiral and ask for a telegram to be sent to your homes, to let your people know you are still alive and kicking."

"Better not, sir," objected Ross.

Devereux looked curiously at the lad.

"And why not?" he asked.

"Well, you see," explained Trefusis, "a telegram is not such a confidential matter as one would like it to be, especially in a remote country district."

"It's good news though," remarked the Lieutenant-Commander.

"Yes," admitted Ross; "but it is absolutely necessary to keep it dark for a while. A few hours won't make very much difference one way or the other to my people, but it would make a thumping lot to our friend Dr. Ramblethorne, otherwise von Hauptwald. If he were to hear that we were alive, he'd do a bunk. The same with that other spy, von Ruhle. They must be arrested promptly, and within a few hours of each other, in case one of them scents trouble and clears out."

"I see your point," admitted Devereux. "I won't send a wireless at present. You must be feeling peckish. I'll get my steward to bring you in some grub. Excuse me, I must be off again. We've a lot to attend to, you know."

The Lieutenant-Commander went on deck to conduct operations. He was temporarily senior officer, and it fell to him to issue orders to his two consorts relating to the investigation of the scene of the battleship's exploit.

For two hours the three destroyers cruised over the spot where the two submarines were supposed to have sunk. At length wreckage was found by means of grapnels. It was, of course, much too deep to send a diver down to report; but the spot was buoyed, and served as a base while sweeping operations were proceeded with in the hope of locating the hull of the second unterseeboot. In a very short space of time two operations undertaken for the purpose of destroying the sunken submarine were highly satisfactorily carried out. The first resulted in the release of a small quantity of buoyant wreckage, amongst which was the flagstaff of U75. The second brought to the surface a quantity of oil, showing that a submarine had been sunk there, but the injuries she previously received had not been sufficient to liberate the contents of the heavy oil-tanks. The explosive charge had completed the destruction of U77.

Just before five in the afternoon, the _Yealm_ and her consorts passed the eastern arm of the breakwater in Plymouth Sound and brought up in the Hamoaze. Ross and Vernon, arrayed in borrowed clothes and accompanied by Lieutenant-Commander Devereux, lost no time in going ashore and proceeding to the offices of the Commander-in-Chief.

"You are acting with remarkable discretion," observed the Admiral, when Ross reiterated his desire not to communicate with his home until the spies were safely under lock and key. "Fortunately there ought to be no undue delay, as we have two expert Scotland Yard men investigating a case in the Dockyard. I'll telephone to the Superintendent of Police, and get him to send the officers here at once."

Within ten minutes the officers were ushered into the Commander-in-Chief's presence. Ross and Vernon looked at them with considerable curiosity. It had not before fallen to their lot to come into contact with two real representatives of the famous Scotland Yard. Yet there was little about the appearance to occasion comment. They were not in any way disguised. The taller of the two, who was introduced as Detective-Inspector Ferret, was about forty years of age. His closely cut hair was dark-brown, with a plentiful sprinkling of grey hairs. He wore a beard trimmed naval or "torpedo" fashion, with a moustache. He was dressed in a grey lounge suit, with dark-brown boots and a golfing cap. There was nothing of a piercing nature about his eyes, which were of a deep-grey tint. He seemed to be perpetually beaming; the lines on his face gave one that impression.

His companion, Detective Hawke, was a short, thick-set man of about thirty-five. He was clean-shaven. His features were ruddy and heavy. There was a bulldog look about his jaw that proclaimed him to be a tough customer. His rough, brown, Harris-tweed suit and bowler hat gave him the appearance of a prosperous yeoman rather than a successful tracker of criminals.

"Now, young gentlemen," began Mr. Hawke briskly, after the introductions had been made, "we'll get to business. With your permission, sir" (addressing the Admiral), "I will ask Mr. Trefusis to give me his version of the affair. To save time, I feel certain that Mr. Haye will have no objection to going with my colleague and telling him his story. That, I must explain, is the best way to eliminate any discrepancies. We prefer to make a fair start, and then all ought to go well."

During the next hour Detective-inspector Hawke was very busy. He made no written notes. He relied solely upon his marvellous retentive memory, and it was not long before he was in full possession of the facts of the case.

His next step was to telephone to St. Bedal. From the police there, he learnt that Dr. Ramblethorne was medical officer to the 4th battalion of a west-country regiment, but that he was temporarily detailed to act on the recruiting staff at Wellington.

Hawke thereupon telegraphed to Harwich. The Customs officers there informed him that the Harwich-Flushing boat service had been suspended for nearly a week, owing to the discovery of a hostile mine-field off the Dutch coast. Sailings were to be resumed that night. A man who gave himself out to be a Dutchman, but who answered to the description of von Ruhle, had applied that morning for a permit to leave the country by the night boat. His berth had been booked under the name of Cornelius Vanderhuit.

"Which one ought we to nab first?" asked Ferret. "We'll have to be very sharp, or one of them, finding that he is no longer in communication with his accomplice, would smell a rat and clear out."

"Under normal conditions I would reply, 'Collar the principal first'," replied Hawke. "It is evident that Ramblethorne, _alias_ von Hauptwald, is the master-spy. Directly he's laid by the heels, the whole of the organization immediately under his control goes by the board. But there's this Harwich business. Von Ruhle crosses the North Sea to-night, unless otherwise prevented. We comprise the otherwise, I hope."

"Then it would mean catching the midday express to Waterloo," remarked Ferret.

"Could we go with you?" asked Ross.

The police officers looked rather astonished at the cool request. Like most professional men, they scouted the idea of amateur assistance when the main issue was at stake.

"Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea," remarked Hawke. "You have already shown great discretion in the matter. Most fellows would have made a bee-line to the nearest telegraph office and given the whole show away. The only difficulty is--I suppose, by the way, you are not feeling too done up after your trying experiences?--the only difficulty is, I was remarking, that von Ruhle might spot you. Look here, Ferret; suppose you take these young gentlemen, and proceed to Harwich by an ordinary train? Keep well out of sight when you arrive at Parkeston Quay, but keep a sharp eye on the boat. I'll travel from Liverpool Street by the boat train, and see if I can pick out our quarry amongst the passengers."

It was a tedious journey from Plymouth to Harwich. Arriving at Waterloo, Ferret took the lads to a quiet hotel and ordered lunch; while Hawke, excusing himself, called in at "the Yard" to report his new case to the Chief, and to wait for the Great Eastern boat train.

The weather had changed completely during the run from the West, for when Ferret and the two lads arrived at Parkeston Quay it was raining heavily, accompanied by half a gale of wind from the east'ard.

"We've a long wait," commented Ferret. "Fortunately I know several of the Customs officials very well. I'll get them to let you take shelter in their shed. It's almost opposite the berth where the steamer generally makes fast. You'll be able to watch everyone who goes up the gangway. I'll go on board and speak to the steward. I don't suppose we'll spot friend von Ruhle until the boat train arrives, and by that time perhaps Hawke will have marked his man."

Undoubtedly, the wisest course would have been to send other officers to Wellington to arrest Dr. Ramblethorne; but Hawke was out for "kudos". Only a short while ago he had let a wanted man slip through his fingers, and had been rapped over the knuckles for it. With the professional assistance of Ferret, he hoped to carry out a double _coup_ and arrest both German Secret Service agents, thereby recovering his lost prestige.

Arriving at Liverpool Street he took his ticket, and spent the time until the departure of the boat train in walking up and down the platform. He had the knack of observing without being observed. He would look at a man in quite a casual way; there was no gleam of intelligence in his eyes as he did so, but little escaped his notice. An hour or two later he could accurately describe his appearance, dress, and mannerisms.

A minute before the train started, a man answering von Ruhle's description hurried down the platform. He carried a new cane under his left arm. In his right hand he held an attache case with the initials C. V.

Hawke waited until he had entered a carriage, then strolled to the other end of the corridor coaches and took his seat. He knew that the run was supposed to be a non-stop one.

The train started. The detective took his time. He waited for nearly twenty minutes before he made his way along the corridor, and entered the smoking-compartment occupied by the suspect.

Presently Hawke made a commonplace remark. The stranger replied stiffly and in rather a deep voice, with a slight foreign accent.

"An assumed voice," soliloquized the detective; but undaunted by the chilliness of his reception he again made some remark about the weather.

Before the train ran through Witham station, conversation was proceeding briskly. Hawke assumed the role of a commercial traveller, and volunteered the information that his brother had just returned from the Front.

The stranger showed no hesitation in discussing the war. Emboldened, the detective tackled the subject of East Coast defences and the futile German blockade.

"He's giving me absolutely false information," he thought. "Perhaps he's trying to throw me off the scent. I'll put a few questions that no one but an ignoramus would ask in good faith. If he's trying to bluff me, I'll beat him at that game."

Presently his fellow-passenger excused himself and, without removing his luggage, went into the corridor. As soon as he was out of sight Hawke took hold of the cane that the stranger had left in the rack. With a grunt of satisfaction he found that it was certainly not a Malacca, but made of metal.

The train began to slow down. Lifting the blind, Hawke looked out of the window. He could just discern a fairly big town, completely in darkness.

"Manningtree Junction," said Hawke to himself. "Something on the line, I suppose. H'm, we're stopping."

With a jerk the train pulled up at the station. The platform was almost deserted, for no train was due at that time to stop there. A door slammed. Again the detective pulled aside the blind. He was just in time to see his fellow-traveller, accompanied by the guard, disappear into the station waiting-room.

"He's tumbled to it!" exclaimed Hawke. "He's making off. He's tipped the guard to set him down. I'm after him!"

He made his way swiftly and stealthily down the platform, and with a quick movement threw open the waiting-room door.

The sudden transition from the semi-darkness of the platform to the brilliantly lighted interior of the room temporarily dazzled his eyes. Dimly he was aware that the place was occupied by khaki-clad soldiers struggling into their equipment, and that in their midst was the guard and the man of whom he was in search.

"At any rate there is plenty of assistance," thought Hawke as he advanced to tap the suspect on the shoulder; but before he could attain his object a deep, stern voice exclaimed:

"Arrest him, men!"

The next instant Detective-inspector Hawke was seized by half a dozen muscular hands.

"What's this tomfoolery?" he demanded angrily. "I'm a Scotland Yard officer, and----"

A roar of laughter burst from the Tommies. Even the subaltern in command smiled broadly.

The stranger spoke again.

"Take him to the guard-room. He is arrested under the Defence of the Realm Act for attempting to elicit information prejudicial to the welfare of the State. I won't detain the train any longer, guard, although I'll ask you to drop my gear on the platform."

Still protesting vehemently but ineffectually, the detective was unceremoniously hustled into an ante-room, used since the outbreak of the war as a guard-room for the military in charge of the line. The door was locked upon him. He heard the train rumble out of the station.