Number 70, Berlin: A Story of Britain's Peril

“Of course you do. I should – were I in your place,” was Rodwell’s response. “But the confidential business in which you and I are engaged just now is not one in which a woman has any concern. She’s out of place here; and, moreover, few women can keep a still tongue. Just reflect a moment. Suppose she told some friend of hers what was in progress under your roof? Well, the police would soon be out here to investigate, and you’d both find yourselves under arrest. No,” he added. “Keep your girl away from here – keep her away at all costs. That’s my advice.”

“Very well, sir, I will,” replied the wrinkled old fellow, rubbing the knees of his stained trousers with his hands, and drawing at his rather foul pipe. “I quite see your point. I’ll get the girl away to Bristol this week.”

“Oh! and there’s another thing. I’d better remain in here all day to-day, for I don’t want to be seen wandering about by anybody. They might suspect something. So if anyone happens to come in, mind they have no suspicion of my being here.”

“All right, sir. Leave that to me.”

“To-night, about ten or eleven, I’m expecting a lady down from London. She’s bringing me some important news. So you’d better get something or other for her to eat.”

“A bit o’ nice fish, perhaps?” the old fellow suggested as a luxury.

“Well – something that she can eat, you know.”

“I’ll boil two or three nice fresh crabs. The lady may like ’em, if I dress ’em nice.”

“Excellent!” laughed Rodwell. Truly his was a strange life. One day he ate a perfectly-cooked dinner in Bruton Street, and the next he enjoyed fat bacon cooked by a fisherman in his cottage.

Old Tom, glancing through the window out upon the grey, misty sea, remarked:

“Hulloa! There’s that patrol a-comin’ back. For two days they’ve been up and down from the Spurn to the Wash. Old Fred Turner, on the Seamew, what’s a minesweeper nowadays, hailed me last night when we were baitin’ our pots. He got three mines yesterday. Those devils have sown death haphazard!”

“Devils!” echoed Rodwell, in a reproachful tone. “The Germans are only devils because we are out to win.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” exclaimed the old fellow, biting his lip. “I didn’t think when I spoke.”

“But, Tom, you should never speak before you think. It lands you into trouble always,” his visitor said severely.

“Yes, I – But – I say – look!” cried the old man, starting forward, and craning his neck towards the window. “Why, if there ain’t that there Judd, the coastguard petty-officer from Chapel Point again! An’ he’s a-comin’ across ’ere too.”

“I’ll get into the bedroom,” whispered Rodwell, rising instantly, and bending as he passed the window, so as not to be seen. “Get rid of him – get rid of him as soon as ever you can.”

“’E’s got a gentleman with him,” old Tom added.

“Don’t breathe a word that I’m here,” urged the spy, and then, slipping into the stuffy little bedroom, he closed the door and turned the key. Afterwards he stood listening eagerly for the arrival of the visitors.

In a few moments there was a loud knocking on the tarred door, and, with a grunt, Tom rose to open it.

“Hulloa, Tom!” cried the petty-officer of the coastguard cheerily. “’Morning! How are you?”

“Oh! pretty nicely, Muster Judd – if it warn’t for my confounded rheumatics. An’ now, to cap it all, I’ve got my girl laid up ’ere very bad. She only got ’ome last night.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr Judd. “But I thought you had a gentleman visitor this morning?”

“Gentleman visitor? Yes. I’ve ’ad the doctor to my girl – a visitor I’ve got to pay – if that’s what you mean. She’s been awful bad all night, an’ Ted’s now gone into Skegness for some med’cine for ’er.”

The man who accompanied the coastguard-officer remarked:

“This is a lonely house of yours, Mr Small. A long way from the doctor – eh?”

“It is, sir, an’ no mistake. We don’t see many people out ’ere, except Mr Judd, or Mr Bennett – or one o’ the men on patrol.”

Then, being compelled to ask the pair inside, for it had started to rain heavily, Tom Small sat with them chatting, yet full of wonder why they had called at that early hour.

The man in the next room stood breathless behind the door, listening to all their conversation. It was quite plain that he had been seen to enter there, whereupon the coastguard’s suspicions had been aroused. He scented considerable danger. Yet his adventurous spirit was such that he smiled amusedly at old Small’s story of his sick daughter, and of the visit of the doctor.

Judd, seated in the chair which Rodwell had occupied until he had vacated it in alarm, suddenly turned to old Tom, and said:

“This gentleman here is my superior officer, Tom, and he wants to ask you something, I think.”

“Yes, sir, what is it?” asked the crafty old fisherman, turning to the man in plain clothes.

“You had a visitor here last Thursday – a gentleman. Who was he?” asked the stranger suddenly.

“Last Thursday,” repeated Small reflectively. “Now let me see. Who came ’ere last Thursday? Weren’t we both out fishin’? No,” he added: “I know! Yes, we did ’ave someone come – Mr Jennings, of course.”

“And who is Mr Jennings?”

“Why, ’e comes regularly from Lincoln for our insurances.”

The petty-officer exchanged meaning glances with his superior, who then asked —

“Aren’t you in the habit of receiving visits from a gentleman – somebody who’s been seen about here in a closed car, painted pale grey?”

“No car ’as ever come ’ere, sir,” declared the old man blankly. “Folk in cars don’t come to visit people like Tom Small.”

“And yet you are not quite so poorly off as you pretend to be, Mr Small,” remarked his questioner. “What about that nice little balance you have in the bank – eh?”

“Well, I’ve earned it, therefore I don’t see why it should concern you,” protested the old fellow angrily.

“Just now it does concern me,” was the other’s rather hard reply – words to which the man in the inner room listened with breathless concern.

Was it possible that the existence of the secret cable was suspected? Had Tom, or his son, been indiscreet? No; he felt sure they had not. They had everything to lose by disclosing anything. And yet those two visitors were bent upon extracting some information from him. Of what nature he was not quite clear.

An awful thought occurred to him that he had left his cap in the sitting-room, but, on glancing round, he was relieved to see that he had carried it into the bedroom when he had sat down at the instruments.

What would those two men say, if they only knew that, within a few yards of them, was the end of a cable which ran direct to Berlin?

While the rain continued pelting down for perhaps a quarter of an hour, the pair sat chatting with Small. It was evident that the naval officer was disappointed with the result of his visit, for the old fisherman answered quite frankly, and had given explanation of his two visitors which could not well be met with disbelief.

“Are you gentlemen a-lookin’ for German spies, then?” asked old Small at last, as though sorely puzzled at the questions that had been put to him.

“We’re always on the look out for those devil’s spawn,” answered Judd. “There was a Dutch trawler off here last night, and she wasn’t up to any good – I’m sure of that.”

“Perhaps it’s the same craft as wor ’ere about a fortnight back. She flew the Dutch flag, but I believe she wor a waitin’ for a German submarine, in order to give ’er petrol. They were a talkin’ about ’er in the Anchor on Saturday night. Bill Chesney was out fishin’ an’ got right near ’er. I think one o’ the patrol boats ought to ha’ boarded ’er.”

“She was seen off the Spurn, and was then flying the British flag,” remarked Judd’s superior officer.

“Ah! There you are!” cried Small. “I was certain she was up to no good! Those Germans are up to every bit o’ craft and cunnin’. Did you gentlemen think that Mr Jennings, from Lincoln, was a German spy?” he asked naïvely.