Gabrielle signified that she understood, and soon after got up and moved listlessly away. She had no sooner turned the corner than the “Italian” rose and followed her. Of me he took no notice whatever, and apparently he had not the least suspicion that Madame Gabrielle and I had been in communication.
I was burning with impatience to be off, but I dared not hurry. The “Italian” was evidently no fool. I lay still, apparently asleep, but keenly on the look-out. A few minutes later the “Italian” suddenly returned; evidently he meant to make sure I had no sort of association with Madame Gabrielle. Had I foolishly got up at once as soon as she went, his suspicions would almost certainly have been aroused. But I lay still, seemingly asleep, and, after a scrutinising gaze at me, he turned away, obviously satisfied.
The course was clear now, always assuming that the rendezvous arranged between Bruno and the supposed Fontan was real and not pretended. But that I had to chance. As a matter of fact, the spot was well chosen for any business connected with the Huns’ submarine activities. It was in a lonely spot, the road ran near the edge of the cliffs, and the coast at that point was studded with deep coves where a lurking U-boat could lie concealed without much fear of detection.
During the afternoon I saw Madame Gabrielle leave for the station in the hotel omnibus, the “Italian” following in a cab. So anxious was he to make sure she had gone that, as I heard afterwards, he actually followed her to the train, and did not leave the station until after it had started. Probably his suspicions were lulled by the pretty little Frenchwoman thus leaving the field apparently clear for him; but, be that as it may, he later walked straight into our trap.
Chapter Three
Berlin’s Secret Code
Towards sundown I wandered along the coast road for some three miles, until I caught sight of a great crooked tree, which stood remote from the road at the head of a narrow cleft, through which a steep track descended to the beach. I had very little doubt, when I had thoroughly examined the place, that it was an ideal spot for the Hun purposes. The pebbly beach sloped steeply into the water; it was evident that deep water came close in to the shore. The spot was far from any human habitation; the road was a lonely one, set back at this point at least a mile from the edge of the cliff. I knew that the superstitious Spaniards were not fond of being about the cliffs at night, and that if the U-boat pirates were really using the coast as a secret base, they would, if they took ordinary precautions, run very little risk of detection.
My first task was to find a hiding-place. After some deliberation I selected a thick clump of brushwood which grew about half a mile from the point at which the track from the beach rose to the top of the cliff. Lying down at full length, I felt satisfied that I could see without being seen, and, pulling out the excellent pair of night-glasses with which I had taken the precaution to equip myself, I prepared for my vigil.
Just as sunset was darkening into night I caught sight of two men coming along the road. Through my small pair of powerful glasses I instantly recognised one of them as the “Italian.” The other, no doubt, was Fontan. Their figures showed black and sinister in the last gleam of the sunlight. They were walking quickly, and Fontan, if indeed it was he, carried in his hand a well-filled sack.
As they drew near they left the road and made straight for the edge of the cliff, disappearing into the cleft almost beneath the very branches of the big tree. It was now or never for me, and, loosening my automatic in my pocket, I cast all prudence aside and raced at top speed for the cliff.
Arriving at the edge, I flung myself flat on my face and peered over. Below, to my intense gratification, I could see assembled on the sands a dozen sailors in German uniforms, while only a few yards from the shore lay a big German submarine, its conning-tower and fore and aft guns showing clear of the long grey hull, which lay almost awash. The crew were being exercised along the sands, while Fontan was handing to an officer a quantity of fresh vegetables, with a packet of letters and telegrams, from the sack. Close by, the “Italian” and another officer, evidently the captain of the U-boat, were in earnest talk.
The light was failing rapidly, and soon it became too dark to see more. A lantern twinkled on the beach, and I could plainly hear steps and voices ascending the rough path to the top of the cliff. It was essential I should hear more, therefore I took the desperate course. Swiftly climbing into the tree, I laid myself down at full length on a big branch which jutted out over the path.
Preceded by a sailor bearing a lantern, three men came up the path. Two of them I knew to be the “Italian” and the captain of the U-boat. The third was Fontan, at whom I particularly wanted to have a look, for something in his walk reminded me of someone I had failed definitely to recall.
As the sailor reached the top of the cliff he turned and swung the lantern so as to show the last few steps of the rugged path. Its rays fell for a second upon the face of Fontan, and I nearly fell from my perch with amazement. Willi Bernhard, by all that was wonderful! One of the Kaiser’s most expert spies, who was head of one of the departments of the Königgrätzer-strasse, posing in Santander as a humble boatman. No wonder I had failed to recognise him until I saw his face!
“No need for me to come any farther,” said the deep voice of the U-boat captain in German. “We shall lie here until midnight to-morrow, and will expect you at sundown with the latest instructions. I only want to make sure the others are ready at their stations. And then,” he added, with a cruel laugh, “good-bye, Athabasca!”
The Athabasca was the liner I had come out to save!
I gritted my teeth with rage at his brutal callousness, and when I thought of the two thousand or so lives dependent on the Athabasca’s safety I could barely restrain myself from emptying my revolver into his head. That, however, would have been merely suicide, so I bided my time.
The “Italian” and Bernhard, as I may as well call him now, wished the captain au revoir and started to walk briskly to Santander; the sailors returned to the shore. Once the way was clear I wasted no time. I am a good runner, but never in my life have I covered three miles as quickly as I did that summer night in my dash for Santander.
I was elated beyond measure. For I had quite obviously dropped right on to the submarine supply-base, the existence of which had for months been a practical certainty. And, further, I had discovered the identity of “Fontan,” the German spy who was acting as the “post office” of the U-boats, and supplying them with all necessaries. It now remained only to smoke out the pirates’ nest and destroy the whole brood!
That cryptic telegram which was delivered to me at the Ezcurra in San Sebastian had been sent to Bernhard – in the name of Fontan – at the poste restante in San Sebastian and called for by the “Italian.” It was originally sent out by wireless, intercepted by the International Bureau, and retransmitted to me for my information and guidance. In the code of the maritime department of the German Secret Service at Kiel, when decoded it read:
“Fontan remains here.” (The following message is sent to Fontan at your poste restante.) “Goods marked C.X.B.” (the wireless call letters for the British liner Athabasca, from New Zealand, bound for London) “arrived” (meaning due to arrive) “fourteenth” (to-day was July 12th), “twenty-three cases” (twenty-three o’clock Continental time, in our time 11 p.m.). “Awaiting samples second quality” (“samples” in the spy code meaning submarines – “second quality” German – “first quality” meaning British).
Thus the submarine commander was informed of the coming of the great liner and was lying in wait in the calm, secluded cove, ready to pounce out and sink the great ship with two thousand souls on board, including a large number of New Zealand troops.
Racing
