Chapter Nineteen. Spy’s Letter Deciphered.

Back in Curzon Street, completely at a loss, I flung myself into a big arm-chair, and over a succession of pipes tried to piece our disconnected facts into a consecutive whole. Shackleton, or Schack, had moved from Newcastle to Bristol before the war, and I had little doubt that he had done so by express orders from the Königgrätzer-strasse. From this I argued mentally that Bristol would almost certainly be the seat of his main activities, and that his early return thither might be looked for with some degree of confidence. Added to this, we knew from the frank declaration of a high port official that the Bristol Channel towns were swarming with spies, and I felt little doubt that they were acting under Schack’s direction. On the whole, now that we had apparently lost the two men in London, Bristol seemed the most promising base for our operations.

I decided therefore to return, and, leaving Madame at the Grosvenor in London, I took Aubert with me, together with an English secret agent whom I will call Moore.

Moore took lodgings opposite Shackleton’s house in Bristol and at once opened an unwinking vigilance over the place. For a fortnight, however, there was no sign. In the meantime two letters arrived, addressed to Shackleton, at Soulsby’s. These were opened by the authorities, photographed, and, after being resealed, were delivered in the ordinary way.

In one of the letters, which had been posted in London and purported to be an ordinary business transaction, was the statement:

“We are having great difficulty with our clients Johnson and Phillips, so we have placed the matter in the hands of our solicitors for advice.”

This letter ostensibly came from a firm of estate agents in the Harrow Road. I made an immediate inquiry, and was not altogether surprised to learn that no such a firm existed. In the meantime I studied the letter on the assumption that it contained a spy cipher, and after some hours’ work succeeded in extracting from its apparently innocent contents the following startling message:

“Angorania will convey troops from Montreal on 30th proximo.”

This set me at work with furious speed. An inquiry at the port offices showed me that the great liner was at the moment lying at Avonmouth, and that she would sail for Montreal a week later in order to bring over several thousand Canadian troops.

Shackleton now made what was to me, I confess, a very welcome return to the scene. I had been seriously perturbed by the fear that we had lost him. While he was under my own immediate observation I felt capable of checkmating his designs, but the knowledge that an able enemy agent was at large and uncontrolled, with enough herbethite in his possession to create an appalling disaster, worried me more than I can tell.

Shackleton appeared on the scene the day after the delivery of the letter we had intercepted and photographed. Where he had been in the interval we never learned, but he did not arrive in Bristol from London; that was certain, for every train, day and night, was closely watched. Evidently the letter meant a good deal to him. He went at once to Avonmouth, closely followed by Moore. To our intense surprise, he seemed very well known at the docks and was freely admitted everywhere. He walked along the quays for some time, and we noted his obvious interest in the Angorania, now busily getting ready for her coming trip. We learned later that Shackleton had very cleverly wound himself into the confidence of a local shipping agent, and by this means had secured such frequent admission to the docks that his presence there was accepted almost as a matter of course.

I now began to feel practically certain that the Angorania was the object of the conspirators, and that the herbethite was the means to be adopted to bring about her destruction. But how?

Madame Gabrielle was to solve the question for us. The great liner was timed to leave at six o’clock, and an hour earlier the boat-train had arrived from London, bringing an unusually large assembly of passengers. These included several Government officials on their way to Canada, a number of highly placed military officers, and the members of two or three important war commissions.

Some time after the arrival of the train, a shabbily-dressed woman in a battered old hat pushed rudely against me. I turned, and to my amazement recognised Madame Gabrielle. She was obviously almost at the end of her strength, pallid with fatigue, and with deep circles round her eyes which spoke eloquently of exhaustion.

She made me a sign to follow her and slipped away from the crowd, which was hastening to the gangway. Directly we reached a quiet space, she gasped out:

“Norman has booked cabin Number 189 on the Angorania, in the name of Nash. I followed him to the shipping office and overheard.” A moment later she fainted and fell heavily into my arms.

I carried her at once to a waiting-room, and, handing her over without ceremony to the woman in charge, dashed at top speed for the quay where the Angorania was lying, now almost ready for departure. Not even for the sake of Madame Gabrielle would I venture a moment’s delay.

The “last bells” were ringing for the steamer’s departure as I rushed on to the quay. As I neared the gangway I saw, to my utter amazement, the man Norman stroll leisurely from the ship with the very last of the people who had been on board for the customary farewells. Evidently he was not going by the vessel at all. A moment later the gangways were withdrawn and the big liner moved away. Norman remained on the quay with the crowd, idly waving a real or pretended farewell to some supposed friend on the crowded decks.

I have cursed myself for my stupidity many times since, and even now I shudder at the thought of how nearly the dastardly plot against the liner came to success. The vessel was well under way when the idea flashed into my mind: “He has left the explosive on board!” How I failed to divine this earlier I cannot imagine. I suppose Norman’s return from the ship threw me temporarily off my guard.

But, in any case, there was not a second to be lost. The Angorania, heading down Channel, was gathering speed every moment, bearing somewhere on board enough explosives to sink her in ten seconds with the loss of hundreds of precious lives.

Boldness was the only course possible. I called a couple of dock police, and, showing them my authority, instructed them to arrest Norman at once. Before the spy could recover from his surprise, he was safely in custody and relieved of an extremely efficient automatic pistol.

And now for the Angorania. I rushed to the “competent military authority,” and briefly laid the facts before a veteran Colonel, in whom a life of splendid service to the Empire had bred a capacity for swift decision and prompt action.

“She won’t go far, Mr Sant,” he said cheerily, as he picked up the telephone.

A moment later I caught the crackle of wireless, and to my relief read the message: “To Q.Q.” (the Angorania’s code letters). “Heave to immediately and await instructions.—Port Commandant.” A few minutes later a clerk brought in the Angorania’s acknowledgment.

A quarter of an hour after I was aboard a British destroyer, which tore out into the Channel, and at thirty-five knots was flying along in the wake of the Angorania. We soon overhauled the big liner, and as we neared her could see the crowded passengers, evidently puzzled at the unexpected stoppage.

As soon as I got on board, I accompanied the Captain to his private cabin and told him the facts. Sending for the purser, he ordered him to bring on deck at once all the luggage which had come on board in the name of Nash. “And carry it carefully,” he added, as he told the purser what it contained.

By great good fortune, there was only one big trunk in the hold, and it was readily accessible. The rest of Nash’s luggage was in his cabin. We soon had the lot on board the destroyer, where the torpedo officer rapidly overhauled it.

In the big trunk, resting quite unconcealed on the top of a pile of clothes, were two tin canisters labelled “Golden Syrup.” I could not repress a shudder.

“I think this is what we want,” said the torpedo officer grimly, as he carefully picked up the dangerous canisters. And then he did a brave thing.

“If you don’t mind, sir,” he said to the Captain, “I will take them out in a boat and examine them myself.”

The Captain nodded silently, and a few minutes later the ship’s dinghy dropped over the side. The torpedo officer took his seat and rowed away alone, the canisters on the after-thwart winking in the blazing sunshine. He was literally taking his life in his hands. We could not let the liner go until we were sure we had got what we wanted, and no one could be sure that the mere lifting of the canister lids would not explode the terrible compound they contained.

Half a mile away from the ship the rowing-boat came to a stop. Through our glasses we saw the torpedo officer deliberately pick up the canisters and without hesitation prise up the patent lids. A moment later he waved to us, and at once commenced to row back to the ship.

“All right, let her go; I’ve got the stuff,” he shouted, as soon as he was within earshot, and a tremendous cheer went up from the crew, who in the mysterious “wireless” of the sea had learned what was afoot. A signal fluttered from the bridge of the destroyer. The Angorania dipped her pennant in acknowledgment, and soon the great liner was hurling herself through the sea on her interrupted journey.

The rest of the story is soon told. The herbethite, we found, was covered with a thin layer of sweets, and at the customs examination of luggage Nash had boldly lifted the lids and coolly showed the sweets to the officer. It was done so naturally as to defy any possible suspicion. But in the bottoms of the tins we found two exquisitely made detonators, fashioned in the shape of watches, and timed so as to explode the herbethite some twelve hours after the time fixed for the departure of the ship. These removed, the tins could be handled with comparative safety.

We made a clean sweep of the conspirators. No details were ever given to the public, and the stoppage of the big liner was easily explained away to the passengers. We found out that the small cylinder picked up at Mile End had been intended for the purpose of blowing up a munitions train in an important tunnel outside London, but the conspirators found the approaches too closely guarded and gave up the project. They were all sent to Paris for trial on a charge of stealing herbethite, and were eventually sentenced by court-martial to fifteen years’ imprisonment.

Madame Gabrielle, I am glad to say, received a handsome reward from the British Government, for our success was entirely due to her. She had followed Norman without food or rest or sleep for nearly three days, and was in the last extremity of fatigue when she gave me her final and all-important message. Pasquet, I am glad to say, justified the impression I had formed of him, and I had the satisfaction of seeing him develop into a respectable member of society, happy in the society of his wife, now fully restored to health, and again enjoying the confidence of his employers. We were able, through him, to account for all the stolen herbethite, and it was a relief to know that none of the terrible compound remained in the hands of our enemies.