The Wireless Officer Part 11

The Code-book

Mr. William Porter--otherwise Ludwig Schoeffer, had taken readily to his new surroundings on board the S.S. _West Barbican_. He made it a habit to do so, wherever he was: at the Wilhelmstra.s.se, Berlin, or in Sing Sing Prison, New York. He made a speciality of studying men and things, and, in order to do so, he naturally came to close quarters with the objects of his professional attention.

He had failed to prevent the s.h.i.+pment of the Brocklington Company's consignment of steelwork for the Kilba Protectorate. There remained a chance of achieving his object while the steelwork was on the high seas; and to that end he had booked a pa.s.sage in the _West Barbican_.

His primary idea was to sink the s.h.i.+p without loss of life. It might have been a new-born hesitation to take human life that actuated his plans. During the war he had not been so scrupulous. Now, perchance, he looked upon murder and manslaughter in a different light. Or perhaps he was developing nerves and was afraid of falling into the clutches of the law, for he knew full well that, if he bungled, his employers in Germany would utterly repudiate him.

It might have been possible for him to place a delayed-action infernal machine in the hold of the _West Barbican_ when she was loading up at Brocklington. But he had not an intimate knowledge of the construction of the s.h.i.+p, and he feared to take drastic steps without being certain of his surroundings. Nor did he wish to immolate dozens of pa.s.sengers.

The majority of the latter would be leaving the s.h.i.+p either at Cape Town or Durban, so their departure would ease the situation as far as the remnants of his conscience were concerned.

He decided, therefore, to go as far as South Africa as a pa.s.senger on the _West Barbican_. During the voyage he could obtain a good knowledge of the s.h.i.+p's routine, and the accessibility or otherwise of the holds and bunkers. Then, before leaving the s.h.i.+p at Durban, he could "plant" his high-explosive bomb and send the _West Barbican_ to her doom.

It was an easy matter to convey the explosives on board. The customs officers at British ports are vigilant enough in connection with homeward-bound pa.s.sengers' baggage, but not so in the case of departing s.h.i.+ps. No one paid any attention to the dark-red, cloth-bound book that Mr. Porter carried under his arm. It never occurred to Ludwig Schoeffer that it was hardly fair to a book to be carried so openly on a damp, foggy day.

Outwardly it was a book, but between the covers there were no leaves except dummy edges. In the recess thus formed was four pounds of very high explosive, sufficient to blow a hole completely through the steel plating of a merchant-s.h.i.+p's hold. The explosive without a primer was comparatively innocuous. It could be subjected to a severe blow without detonating; fire had no effect upon it, except that it would smoulder without bursting into flame. But when mixed with a solution of potash the latent power was instantly and terrifically released.

Until the bomb was prepared for action Schoeffer kept the gla.s.s tube containing the potash separate from the main explosive. If necessary he could easily explain the potash by saying it was medicine.

The detonation of the infernal machine was actuated by a fairly simple device. It was only necessary to smash the gla.s.s tube of potash; but the point was: how could Schoeffer break the gla.s.s when he was away from the s.h.i.+p?

If anyone had had an opportunity of inspecting Mr. Porter's watch he would certainly have been interested; for, in addition to the hours, minutes, and seconds hands, the dial sported a hand that indicated the days up to seven. But in place of numbers on the day circle there were seven black dots. Each of these dots proved to be a small insulated metal peg, capable of being raised until it projected a fraction of an inch from the dial, yet sufficiently to hold up the hand.

To complete the outfit there was a small eight-volt battery, which, on a circuit being formed, would detonate a minute charge of explosive, enough to smash the gla.s.s tube, liberate the potash, and cause the desired catastrophe. By means of the watch Schoeffer could delay the explosion from one to seven days after he had set the bomb in position.

Mr. Porter made rapid strides in forming acquaintances on board. He was affable without being obtrusive; communicative up to a certain point, without volunteering information; a good conversationalist without boring his listeners. He took a keen interest in the officers, the stewards, and even the lascars, but, in the course of conversation with them, he rarely if ever asked questions concerning their professional duties.

One person in particular he cultivated. That was Wilkins, the Captain's steward. Wilkins was a professional postage-stamp agent; he bought large quant.i.ties of stamps in foreign parts on behalf of a London firm. Mr. Porter was a keen amateur collector, and so a bond of interest was formed.

Since the facilities for encouraging conversation between pa.s.sengers and stewards are limited, Schoeffer found a convenient opportunity to confer with Wilkins on the subject of postage stamps. The opportunity occurred just before "lights out", the venue being the pantry.

Schoeffer found that the subject of stamps afforded him a splendid chance of gaining information concerning the Old Man. He knew that the skipper kept the code-books in his cabin. Two of them--the _ABC_ and the _Telegraph Code_--were practically public property, but the third was the private code of the Blue Crescent Line, by which the owners telegraphed orders to their various s.h.i.+ps.

The German agent made no attempt to suborn the steward to "borrow" the code-book. He preferred to work single-handed. It was infinitely safer. But he soon discovered that Captain Bullock was a light sleeper and that he was practically an abstainer from strong drink, except for his regular "night-cap".

One night the chance occurred. Wilkins had mixed the Old Man's grog.

His attention diverted for a minute, he was unaware that Mr. Porter had dropped into the gla.s.s a cube resembling sugar but containing a powerful narcotic quite devoid of taste.

"Well, sir," remarked Wilkins, "I must push off and take this to the skipper."

With this gentle intimation the steward speeded his guest. He had reasons for so doing. He had no desire to let even an affable gentleman like Mr. Porter know that he was in the habit of helping himself to the Old Man's whisky.

A few minutes later Wilkins poured out another stiff gla.s.s of grog and carried it to the skipper, leaving for his own consumption the gla.s.s that Schoeffer had doped.

Ten minutes later the steward returned to the pantry, drunk the doctored whisky, and spent the rest of the night in a state of insensibility, in which condition he was found and befriended by the Chief Steward.

Returning to his cabin--a single-berth one on the port side--Schoeffer closed the deadlight and drew a curtain over the jalousied door. At twelve the electric lights in the pa.s.sengers' cabins were switched off, but that hardly troubled "Mr. Porter". An electric torch gave him all the light he required.

Two bells sounded. Cautiously Schoeffer switched off the torch, undressed, and put on dark-coloured pyjamas and felt bedroom slippers.

Then, after listening to hear that no one was about, he stole silently from his cabin.

He guessed that the officer of the watch would be drinking cocoa in the chartroom, and that the bridge would be deserted save for the native quartermaster at the wheel. If he were intercepted, Schoeffer would pose as a somnambulist and suffer himself to be led back to his cabin.

But no one was about. Boldly yet stealthily he gained the bridge and entered the skipper's cabin, confident that the Old Man was in a drugged sleep. He would have had a nasty shock had he known that Captain Bullock was merely drowsy and was aware of his presence.

With the private code-book in his possession Schoeffer retraced his way to his cabin. Luck was with him. Unseen and unheard he entered his stateroom and closed the door. For the next two hours he was hard at work carefully copying out cryptic letters, that in due course would enable him to carry out his nefarious plans to perfection. He also carefully committed to memory the instructions printed in the front of the book relating to the procedure to be followed in sending and receiving instructions by code.

Again he sallied forth to the Captain's cabin and replaced the book.

What rather puzzled him was the fact that the Old Man was sleeping naturally. His deep, regular breathing did not conform to the suggestion that he was under the influence of a powerful drug.

It was a disquieting discovery. He could not account for it. Perhaps, he thought, Captain Bullock had something up his sleeve. Even the satisfaction of having secured and made full use of the secret code-book had much of its greatness shorn by the haunting dread of the burly captain of the S.S. _West Barbican_.

CHAPTER XIII

Crossing the Line

"Mr. Mostyn."

"Sir?"

"Did you by any chance use the owner's code-book during the middle watch?"

"No, sir."

"Very good; carry on."

This was the brief conversation between the Captain and the Wireless Officer. The Old Man had by some unaccountable intuition fostered the idea that the code-book was the object of the intruder's presence.

Mostyn had a right to make use of it, and, before probing deeper into the problem, Captain Bullock had questioned him.

The skipper had a keen insight into human nature. In his official capacity he had come into contact with hundreds, nay thousands, of human beings for whose safety and welfare he, under Providence, was responsible. Some were notables, the majority common-place individuals, and not a few persons with unenviable reputations. He had had on board escaping murderers, defaulting company promoters, fraudulent trustees, absconding cas.h.i.+ers, and a variety of other criminals from the "flash" cracksman to the common "lag". Professional gamblers, sharpers, and pickpockets had pa.s.sed his way on the broad highway between Great Britain and the Dominion of South Africa.

Captain Bullock was generally very quick in "knowing his man". Rarely was he mistaken in his speedy yet calculating judgment. Already he had his Wireless Officer "sized up", and the verdict was favourable. Hence Peter Mostyn's "No, sir," was sufficient. The Old Man knew that he had spoken the truth and that he was not the mysterious intruder.

Anstey, the officer of the watch, was likewise questioned. He, too, was emphatic that he had not entered the Captain's cabin, nor had he seen anyone doing so during the middle watch.

For some days Captain Bullock pondered over the incident, blaming himself for not having challenged the intruder. Then he began to let the matter dwindle in importance, and by the time the s.h.i.+p reached Las Palmas he had practically forgotten all about it.

In fine, excessively hot weather the _West Barbican_ approached the Line. No tropical storm greeted her as she entered the once dreaded Doldrums, that belt of calms which has yielded its powers of holding s.h.i.+ps captive for days on end, to the all-conquering steam and internal-combustion engines. Rarely now is there a sailing-s.h.i.+p to be sighted wallowing helplessly in the Doldrums, her decks and topsides opening with the terrific heat, and her crew driven almost mad with the torturing glare of the tropical sun. Auxiliary power has changed all that, and even the huge, square-rigged s.h.i.+p engaged in trading round the Horn is now equipped with a semi-Diesel capable of pus.h.i.+ng her along at a modest four or five knots in a calm.

Preparations to pay the customary honours to Father Neptune were in full swing on board the _West Barbican_. For days before the s.h.i.+p was due to cross the Line all the officers and twenty-five per cent of the pa.s.sengers became temporary inquiry agents. Seemingly casual conversation was entered into with the primary object of discovering who had or who had not "crossed the Line". Within a few minutes of an unguarded remark being made by a pa.s.senger to the effect that he had not been in southern lat.i.tudes, that fact was duly recorded in a notebook by the indefatigable Acting Chief Officer. Preston was a veritable sleuth-hound in these matters, and already his "bag" was a.s.suming favourable proportions.

Among the names recorded were those of Partridge and Plover. The two Watchers had never heard of the time-honoured ceremony, and were in utter ignorance of the ordeal through which they would have to pa.s.s.

Their lack of general knowledge, combined with a somewhat surly reticence, had made them no friends on board. They kept to themselves, hardly exchanging a word with anyone else except when duty compelled them to speak.

At length the eventful day arrived when the s.h.i.+p was due to cross the parallel of maximum length. Soon after day-break eager lascars had been employed in spreading a huge tarpaulin over a rectangular frame, so as to form a large bath. At one end, facing the for'ard portion of the promenade deck, a platform was erected and draped with bunting.