The Secret Service Submarine: A Story of the Present War

I did. There was a noise like a motor-bicycle in the sky, and the crow grew to an eagle, developed into an aeroplane, such as I had seen so often in the illustrated papers.

"I suppose we'd better submerge, though I don't want to run from a beastly mechanical kite, after sinking Kaiser Bill's lovin' enthusiastic soldiers, all in the box, complete, one shilling! I say, John, would you like a little bit of sport?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't suppose this fellow is going to do us any harm, and any way, it's a toss up. Now you rather pride yourself as a wild-fowler, don't you?"

"If I hadn't been a wild-fowler," I said, "we shouldn't have been where we are now."

"Quite so. Now, there's a rack of excellent rifles down below, and dozens of clips; see if you can't pick this Johnny off."

He bellowed down through the hatch.

"Bring up a magazine rifle and some ammunition. Look sharp!"

I got the rifle in a few seconds. I think we were both perfectly reckless. I know I was. I laughed as I tucked the gun into my shoulder. There was a complicated arrangement of sights, but I never even snapped up the foresight. It did not seem worth while; the mark was so big.

The hydroplane fetched a sweep of quarter of a mile round us, and then came head on. I could see the pilot distinctly and, a little below him, the gentleman who was getting ready to drop his bombs.

It was quite delightful. They were not going at a higher speed than a flock of widgeon. To me, it was child's play.

I plugged the bomb expert with the second shot. Then, and I really rather pride myself on what I did next, I hit the long, sausage-like petrol tank and ripped it up. There was a huge roar, an overhead explosion, and as the whole beastly thing turned a somersault and fell, I am pretty certain, too, that I put the pilot out of his pain with my last shot.

We were surrounded by ships – they had come racing north out of Harwich just in time. The big Vengeance was still booming away, but two snaky-like destroyers were coming up hell for leather and a big seven thousand ton cruiser was not more than three hundred yards from us.

Puff! puff! A white pinnace, with a shining brass funnel, swirled round and came up on our quarter. My brother and myself, together with the two Dickson boys, were standing by the conning-tower.

The pinnace was full of men. It was steered by a youngish-looking, clean-shaved officer, wearing the badges of a lieutenant.

Adams, Scarlett, and Bosustow were over the side in a minute, a coil of rope ran out, boat-hooks appeared from nowhere. There was a subdued hum of chatter, as the men from the cruiser greeted the three heroes of the submarine.

Then I heard a sharp and rather squeaky voice.

"Hallo, Whelk!" it said.

Bernard leant over the rail; he was nearly done, but he found voice to answer that hail.

"That you, Reptile?" he muttered, "you are more like a stuffed frog than ever!"

Such are the greetings and amenities of the Navy. But the last thing I remember hearing that afternoon came from the lieutenant in charge of the pinnace.

"I say, excuse me for mentioning it, but 'well done,' you fellows!"

CHAPTER XII

THE LAST CHAPTER – IN TWO PARTS

Part I. – Doris and Marjorie have a Late Visitor

Note. – I have certainly written this chapter – with a pen, that is. Neither my brother's wife nor my own actually set down a word of the following. I am not responsible, and I will say no more. You will understand why when you have read this last chapter. If I were the usual sort of poopstick that often lurks behind such a story, I should say: "This is put in at the request of my friends." It is not. It is done simply to tell you the end of our little affairs, and rather more with my heart in my mouth than my tongue in my cheek. —

    J. C.

It was Sunday night in Lieutenant Murphy's house at Cockthorpe. The wires had worked. By dawn there was an army of police from Norwich in a fleet of motor cars. They invested Morstone House School. Old Mr. Pugmire, startlingly sober for once, was placed in charge of the boarders, who were all sent home during the course of the next day. Another, and more dangerous reprobate, Mrs. Gaunt with the broken leg, was interrogated by a stern-faced inspector in the presence of a doctor. The hag had been in von Vedal's confidence for years. The police learned much.

By ten o'clock, others than the County Police had arrived. There were clean-shaved, quiet-mannered officials from the Admiralty. There was a lean, elderly gentleman in khaki, with the red band round his cap and on his shoulders which pronounced him of the War Office Staff.

Admiral Kiderlen-Waechter and the man, Schweitzer, were in Norwich Castle by eleven. The whole countryside and coastline buzzed like swarming bees. A detachment of Territorials patrolled the village. Nobody knew anything at all of what had really happened, but everyone was very excited. All the local people agreed that there had not been a Sunday like this for many years!

Doris and Marjorie Joyce were at Cockthorpe, in the Lieutenant's house. They were being looked after by Mrs. Murphy, a jolly old Irishwoman with all the tact and humour of her nation – a woman who knew when to foil hysteria with a jest, to hearten a girl with a sharp word, and, when the final interrogation was over, to invite the warm relieving flood of tears with the instinctive motherhood of one who nightly prayed to Mary to pray for those in distress.

The girls were troubled very little. The Lieutenant of the Coastguards had seen almost everything. There would not be an inquest for two or three days. They had made their statement to a courteous person from London. They were to be left in peace.

After lunch the old lady came to them – came to the little sitting-room which opened out of the bedroom she had given them.

"Now, my dear children," she said, "ye'll just take off your stays and pull down your hair, and I'll tuck ye in under the eiderdown, and ye'll sleep!"

She had two tumblers in her plump hands, upon which sparkled many rings – the Irish carbuncles, which are so much larger and more brilliant than mere rubies, the Ballysheen emeralds, "which you can only find at Ballysheen, me dear, and glad the jewellers of Regent Street would be if they could get a supply of 'em! Faith! and the doctor has given me this for you. Bromide to calm the nerves – not that I ever had any nerves, meself, when I was your age! But I never had a crool stepfather lying dead in an adjacent village, nor was mixed up with spies, though in the Sin-fein riots of '84 – Marjorie, me darlint, take your shoes off. Now then, I'll tuck ye both up and pull down the blinds to keep out the sunlight, though it's shutters I would be putting up when I was a gurl!"

It was like a fairy story, and Mrs. Murphy was the good Mrs. Bedonebyasyoudid: "The children sank into a deep, dreamless sleep."

Poor dears, how they must have wanted it after all they had been through! I can see them lying there…

(Excision by censor and pencil note in the margin of the manuscript: "John Carey, you liar, don't obtrude yourself and your sickly sentiments.")

It was about six when Doris and Marjorie awoke. They came out of the bedroom into the sitting-room adjoining. A bright fire burnt upon the hearth with that clear redness which indicates a dry and frosty night. On a little table there was an equipage of tea, and a copper kettle sang gently.

These two girls were essentially healthy and plucky. The semi-imprisoned life they had led at Morstone House School had broken nothing of their spirit. The death – the righteous execution – of the man who had hurried their mother into her grave affected them not at all. They were too brave and fine to affect an emotion that they did not, could not, feel. All that had happened in the large, L-shaped house was hideous and horrible, yet not to be overmuch remembered or deplored.

They had another subject of discussion, these two beautiful sisters.

"Doris, it was desperate from the first."

"Yes, it was, Marjorie."

"Then, do you think – ?"

"That they will come out all right, you mean?"

"Yes, do you?"

"My red-haired sister," Doris answered, "if you go on like this I'll be bound to bite!"

"Of course, Commander Carey knows all about submarines, and he's one of the bravest officers…"

"Yes, I rather like Bernard myself."

"You rather like him, Doris!"