Number 70, Berlin Part 27

"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 sp.a.w.n," 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 Sat.u.r.day night. Bill Chesney was out fis.h.i.+n' 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 naively.

"No, not particularly," replied his visitor. "Only when strangers come along here, in the prohibited area, we naturally like to know who and what they are."

"Quite so, sir. An' if I see any stranger a-prowlin' about 'ere in future, I won't fail to let Mr Judd know of 'im."

"That's right, Small," was the officer's response. "There are lots of rumours around the coast of our fishermen giving a.s.sistance to the enemy by supplying them with petrol and other things, but, as far as I can gather, such reports are disgraceful libels upon a very hardworking and deserving cla.s.s. We know that some of them put down tackle in Torbay, and elsewhere, when they learn the fleet is coming in, so that they may obtain compensation for damage caused to their nets. But as to their loyalty, I don't think anyone can challenge that."

"I 'ope not, sir," was Small's fervent reply. "There ain't a fisherman along the whole coast o' Lincolns.h.i.+re who wouldn't bear his part against the enemy, if he could--an' bear it well, too."

The clean-shaven officer reflected for a few moments.

"You've never, to your recollection, seen a pale grey closed-up car anywhere about here, have you?" he asked at last.

"Never, sir."

"Quite sure?"

"Positive, sir. The roads about 'ere are not made for cars," was the old fellow's reply. "I certainly did see a car one night, about six weeks ago. The man had lost his way an' was driving straight down to the sea. He wanted to get to Cleethorpes. They were Navy men from the wireless station, I think."

The old man's manner and speech had entirely disarmed suspicion, and presently the pair rose, and bidding him good-bye, and urging him to keep a sharp look-out for strangers, they left.

The moment they were safely away, Rodwell emerged from the bedroom, and in a low, apprehensive voice, asked:

"What does all this mean, Tom--eh?"

"Don't know, sir. That Judd's been about here constantly of late. 'E's up to no good, I'm sure. I've told you, weeks ago, that I didn't like the look o' things--an' I don't!"

Rodwell saw that the old fellow was pale and alarmed. He had preserved an impenetrable mask before his two visitors, but now they had gone he was full of fear.

Rodwell, as he stood in the low-pitched little room, recollected certain misgivings which Molly had uttered on the previous night, just before he had left Bruton Street. His first impulse now was to leave the house and slip away across the fen. Yet if he did somebody must certainly see him.

"Shall you get off now, sir?" asked the old man suddenly.

"Not till to-night," was the other's reply. "It would be a bit dangerous, so I must lay doggo here till dusk, and then escape."

"Do you think they really suspect us, sir?" asked the old fellow, in a voice which betrayed his fear.

"No. So don't alarm yourself in the least," replied the gentleman from London. "I suppose I've been seen about, and my car has been noticed on the roads. There's no danger, as long as I'm not seen again here for a bit. I'll get through to Stendel, and let him know that I shan't be back again for a fortnight or so."

"Yes; you must certainly keep away from 'ere," Tom urged. "They'll be a-watchin' of us, no doubt."

"I've got a lady coming here, as I told you--Mrs Kirby, to whom you telegraph sometimes. She won't get here till night, and I must wait for her. She'll have some urgent information to send across to the other side. Penney will meet her in Lincoln, where she'll arrive by train, and he'll bring her on by car."

"You'd better keep to the bedroom," urged the old man. "They might come back later on."

"Yes: I won't be seen," and returning to the stuffy little room, he reopened the cable instruments and soon got into communication with Stendel, in order to pa.s.s away the time which he knew must hang heavily upon his hands, for even then it was not yet nine o'clock in the morning.

He sat smoking and gossiping with the old fisherman nearly all the day, impatient for the coming of darkness, for his imprisonment there was already becoming irksome.

It grew dusk early when, about four o'clock, a footstep outside caused them both to start and listen. In answer to the summons at the door Tom went, and was handed a telegram by the boy messenger from Huttoft.

Opening it, he found it had been despatched from London, and read:

"Impossible to leave till to-morrow.--M."

He gave it to Rodwell, who at once saw that the woman he expected had been delayed. Probably she had not yet been able to gather that important information which was wanted so urgently in Berlin.

The telegram puzzled him. Was it possible that the arrangements which he had made with such cunning and forethought, and had left to Molly to carry out, had broken down after all?

Lewin Rodwell bit his lip, and wondered. He seemed that day beset by misfortune, for when at five o'clock, Ted having returned, he tested the cable as usual, a call came through from Berlin.

Rodwell answered it, whereupon "Number 70" flashed the following message beneath the sea.