Billy Barcroft, R.N.A.S Part 27

In orderly formation the party set off to the place where the pedlar had left his cart. At "Scouts' Pace"--alternately walking and running--the distance was quickly covered. b.u.t.terfly and the load were still in sombre isolation. "He made off in that direction,"

whispered Peter.

"To Black Ghyll Bay then," replied the petty officer. "Artful bounder! He knew when our patrols pa.s.s, and chose his time."

With redoubled caution the party set off in single file, the sailor leading the way and Peter following up at the rear of the Scouts.

Not a sound betrayed their presence--it was mainly owing to the fact that they all wore well-used foot gear.

Presently Peter found himself on the point of cannoning into the back of the Scout just ahead of him. The party had halted. With out the slightest confusion they concealed themselves behind a row of bushes that grew almost on the edge of the cliff. The petty officer raised one hand and pointed.

Through the darkness Barcroft could just distinguish the outlines of a human form crouching in the gorge barely ten yards on his right front, where the cliff began to fall away and form a ravine known as Black Ghyll.

At intervals the man in hiding raised his head and peered cautiously over the thick bush. Not once did he look behind. His attention was centred solely upon the foresh.o.r.e or else seaward; he was totally oblivious of the fact that he was being watched intently by eight pairs of eyes.

Out to sea everything seemed swallowed up in pitch-black darkness.

Only the measured beating of the groundswell upon the s.h.i.+ngly sh.o.r.e gave the watchers any indication, apart from their local knowledge, that the wide North Sea was almost at their feet. The stars, too, had disappeared from view, for the mist had increased and was now threatening to develop into a regular sea-fog.

Suddenly the darkness was pierced by a faint ray of light emanating from a mere pinp.r.i.c.k of luminosity. Short flash--obscuration--long flash--obscuration--short flash: that was all, but sufficient to indicate that out in that void of Cimmerian gloom some one was signalling.

The suspect rose and leaned forward. It looked as if he were spread-eagled over the gorse-bush. For quite a minute he remained there, then leaving his place of concealment he made his way towards the beach, crouching as stealthily as a panther behind every obstacle until he made sure of his ground.

Perhaps it was the strain of watching in the darkness; perhaps the thought that the suspect might escape; but whatever the motive the fact remained that one of the Scouts, uttering a loud yell, broke from cover and dashed towards the man, brandis.h.i.+ng his staff like a Berserk.

"That's done it!" mentally e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Peter. The premature and unauthorised action left no alternative.

"At him, lads!" shouted the petty officer. The fellow stood his ground, expostulating angrily. But his words fell unheeded. Like a pack of hounds the eager and alert youngsters literally threw themselves upon the suspect, and bore him to the ground.

Over and over they rolled, the gorse crackling under their weight.

Only a few gaunt stumps prevented the struggling mob from tumbling over the brink of the fearful abyss. Unable to bear a hand Peter and the petty officer stood well-nigh breathless with suspense, expecting every minute to see the suspect and his a.s.sailants topple into s.p.a.ce.

The struggle was short-lived. The fellow's efforts at resistance ceased. Bound hand and foot and with the ten-stone patrol leader sitting on his chest he realised that the game was up.

"Get your staves, lads," ordered the patrol-leader. "Form a stretcher. We'll carry him as far as the cart."

"Strikes me I hear engines," declared the coastguardsman. "There, what's that?"

A dull, rasping sound and the splash of disturbed water broke the silence. A moment later the night breeze carried the unmistakable noise of a vessel's engines running at full speed ahead.

The petty officer was quick to act. Raising his hands to his mouth he shouted in stentorian tones:

"s.h.i.+p ahoy! Go full speed astern instantly. You're heading straight for Black Ghyll."

The clang of the engine-room telegraph bell followed quickly, to the accompaniment of short, crisp orders and the trample of boots upon a metal deck.

It was already too late. With a rending crash the vessel, whatever she might be, ran bows on to the jagged rocks.

"That's done it! Her number's up," exclaimed the petty officer.

"Now, lads, four of you come with me. There's work to be done there, I reckon. The others stay with this gentleman and guard the prisoner till we return."

"Look here," said the captive in well-nigh breathless expostulation.

"You've made a rotten mistake. Spoilt everything."

Peter felt his heart give a furious beat. Regardless of regulations he bent over the prostrate prisoner and struck a match.

The flickering flame revealed the indignant features of Philip Entwistle.

CHAPTER XXIII

ON THE ROCKS

"So I haven't been able to chuck you fellows yet," remarked Lieutenant-commander Tressidar. "And what is more I see no likelihood at present of so doing. We've just had a wireless to proceed east to a position somewhere off the mouth of the Humber."

"We are not at all fed up with your hospitality, Tress," replied Fuller, "only we ought to have been on board the old 'Hippo' long ago. I think, if there's a chance, we ought to get ash.o.r.e, report to the Commander-in-Chief and await orders."

The "Antipas" was steaming at a good twenty knots. It was late in the afternoon; the sea calm, the sky slightly overcast. With a steadily-rising gla.s.s the weather showed indication of continuing fine, notwithstanding the presence of patches of sea-fog.

Towards sunset the fog increased until it was no longer safe for the destroyer to maintain her speed. Fis.h.i.+ng boats, dauntlessly risking the submarine menace, were frequently in these waters. To tear blindfold through the dense mist would be courting disaster.

The slowing down of the engines brought the three airmen on deck.

"Fog!" exclaimed Kirkwood. "Rough luck. I thought that we were entering port when the skipper rang down for easy ahead."

"Pretty thick, too," added Barcroft. "It's as much as I can do to see the bridge. Beastly calm, too; what do you say to returning to our little rubber of dummy?"

"Now I'm here I'll stop," decided Fuller, drawing his coat across his chest. "Hullo! they're taking soundings. That looks as if we were nearing sh.o.r.e."

For nearly an hour the "Antipas" literally "smelt her way." Darkness had fallen, and with it the fog bank increased in density and dimensions. No longer was it possible to discern anything beyond a couple of yards. No discordant hoot blared from the syren, no navigation lights were shown. Beyond slowing down nothing more could be done, owing to war conditions, to safeguard the destroyer from risks of collision.

"Hullo, you fellows!" exclaimed the lieutenant of the destroyer as, clad in oilskins, sou'wester and sea boots, he groped his way for'ard. "Have we made it too comfortable for you down below?"

"Didn't know that it was your 'trick,'" remarked Barcroft.

"Neither is it. That's one of the penalties of serving on a destroyer. You never know when you're off duty. The skipper's just spoken through: we're on the track of a strafed U-boat. Picked her up by microphone."

"Here's to the bridge, then," decided Fuller. "Come on, you would-be card-players. Let's see the fun."

"One of the advantages of going dead slow, I suppose," commented Tressidar as his guests rejoined him. "We've cut across the trail of a submarine, that's certain. Come in, and see how things are progressing."

The lieutenant-commander opened the door of the chart-room. Against one bulkhead stood the receiver of the submarine-signalling apparatus. Standing in front of it was a bluejacket with both ear-pieces clipped to his ears. With his left hand he was alternately actuating the switch that connects both receivers.

"Right dead on, sir," he reported. "Less than a couple of cables'

lengths ahead, I'll allow."

Behind him stood the helmsman at the steam-steering gear, his eyes fixed upon the cryptic movements of the operator's hands, as the latter transmitted the course to the quartermaster.