The Steel Duichman

Star (Christchurch), Volume LXVI, Issue 20365, 24 July 1934, Page 14

The Steel Duichman

A GREAT STORY OF ADVENTURE ON LAND AND SEA

(Author of “Paradise Orchid,” “The Green Hat,” etcA

By

Vincent Cornier

CHAPTER XXVIII. The Mysterious Drifter. Even while the police and Merlincote.. And Cleone Bainbridge wore watching the strangely daring vessel that had sidled in from the sea-ways of safety to this dangerous reef of rock, a craft suddenly shot out from the farthermost side of the cliff. It was a big “horse-boat.” as the coastal vernacular dubbed the largest size of fishing coble used thereabouts. Capable of holding fifteen men with comfort, it could be seen.

There was no doubt as to that crew’s identity. The Sloughstowe men who had accompanied Merlincote and Cleone along the smugglers’ tunnels to the cavern, when they were taken captive, made up the vessel’s complement. In the clear air it was also plain to be seen that only one man of th* gang was missing—Harry Ilardisty was not there. Merlincote’s heart took a sickening fall of dread. He wondered if the queer but decent-minded little fellow had paid for liis betrayal of the Slo’stoweianV code by his life, as Ilaggorston swore he should do. But there was hardly time to consider the aspects of that particular in the general urgency of the case. . . . Here the remainder of the Steel Dutchman's satellites were heading for freedom, and nothing the police could do was in any way calculated to stop them Apart from the fact that the police had not a boat at their command—nor could they obtain one except from Slouglistowe, two miles away the escaping men were travelling at tremendous speed. Again it was noticed that neither oars nor sail was used. Again there was no sound of an engine—this “horse-boat” was evidently deriving its speed and ease of control from a motor plant similar to that insignificant little “mincing machine” fitted in the coble Merlincote had captured. Then . . . Van Klaus must he somewhere in the vicinity. It came with a wild and exciting rush into Merlincotes mind, that this must be the way of things. Recalling his talk to Cleone; recalling that they had both agreed Van Klaus could deflect emissions of his own mysterious power sufficiently strong to enable these “mincing machines” to propel small vessels at tho same rate that the Fliegende Sehaum attained—then the pirate could not be very far away! Probably, Merlincote thought, this shabby-looking drifter to which the horse-boat was heading was one of the Steel Dutchman’s supply vessels, one of his secret allies. And, over the horizon, the white and rakish Fliegende Sehaum eoul.l be waiting, for the drifter to tranship these followers to her decks.

When these men did arrive on Fliegende Sehaum, the whole effective strength of Sloughstowe was in the Dutchman’s service. Only old people and the wives and children of the piratical craft’s crew remained—to constitute such a problem as almost to make Merlincote’s brain reel in considering it. What on earth would have to be done with these? It was certain that the Slo’stoweians could never again set foot in their native place. They had deliberately chosen to enter outlawry with the giant Dutchman. Their necks were forfeit, since the olden laws ag*iinst piracy on the high seas stiU obtain. They were all of them capital criminals. What then was to be done with the families left behind?

Merlincote grunted and gave it up. He had a kind of half-formed idea of what Van Klaus had originally intended; either to remove the whole of the secret village's inhabitants en masse or to swoop down on the coast, at some later time, and remove them. Had it not been for the fact that the fight on the Bainbridge “eye” had precipitated matters, doubtless, this would have been done, in secrecy, even before the first piracy was committed. However, while he cogitated, the horseboat reached the drifter. Davits were swung and falls dangled—the tackles were affixed to the big coble and it was drawn up, men and all, to the decks. Merlincote almost jumped: /“See that?” He loudly inquired of the police. “Don't you notice something queer in that —eh?” “In what?”

“Well, with the best part of a score of men in her, and weighing at least two tons herself —how the deuce has that horse-boat been lifted as easily as that?” The police looked at one another. They were not at all informed on the subject, yet their own common sense told them that a haul of that nature must have needed more power and more strength of gear than is usually at the command of simple herring-drifters. “Those davits are of a much more perfect type, as well, than those of the general run. Now, I wonder . . What he wondered, Guy Merlincote had not the courage to say. It seemed all so fantastic. But he was beginning to relegate his first idea —of Fliegende Schaum's lurking out of sight over the horizon—to give place to one that was novel beyond immediate mention. What if this “drifter” were the Fliegende Sehaum herself ? The size was about right. But everything else was all wrong, except the betrayal of that potential of power. Vessels had been disguised and camouflaged before; there were the classic instances of the Q-ships during tho war—and Van Klaus had showed such astounding ingenuity already that Merlincote could not help being impressed by this last possibility. Very carefully, he scanned the drifter. As usual with such craft, her engines were placed aft. A dirty little funnel stuck up above a squat bridge and before this was a spaciousness of deck, only occupied by net-hauling gear and steam winches. Her forecastle lifted in that

“sick” looking way that distinguished her class, and her bows were of exactly the requisite bluffness. .

For all this, Merlincote could not rid his thoughts of the uneasy suspicion that all was not as it should be. Of course the proof would be furnished if, and when, the vessel sailed. The Fliegende Sehaum had no need of 51 funnel. And the Fliegende Sehaum had greyhound excellences of speed; the silence too of a shadow . . .

Then a clanking and a wheezing came across the stilly water as though to dispel Merlincote’s suspicions. A whirry of steam arose from the deck of the drifter. The stubby chugging of a donkey engine sounded. The drifter's hook was being hauled —and a tongue of black smoke began to lift from her funnel. No. the vessel could not be the pirate in disguise. Steam, donkey-engine, smoke . . . all co-ordinated and made for genuineness. The arrogant Dutchman had no use for such primitiveness of power. No. the herring drifter was pniv a pawn in the mighty game.

As she slipped away out to sea again the thud of her noisy single-expansion steam plant could distinctly be heard coming through her flimsy plates from her shoddy bowels. She blared a monotonous note—and steam twisted from her syren, even before the “farewei!-and-be-damned-to-you” insolence of it reached them. And. quick-quick over the quiet sea, travelled the ringing of her indicators. As Merlincote turned back to the police and Cleone he looked rueful; crestfallen. He never liked to be caught out mares’ nesting. And for once in a while he had been too romantically inclined. “Well, I was wrong, it seems. Evidently drifters can be provided with davits fit for ocean-going liners—um!”

With saying so much, his suspicions returned a hundred-fold increased. Yes, it might be the Fliegende Sehaum in a marvellous disguise, after all . . . else why hadn’t steam power been utilised to haul that horse-boat to that nubbly deck ? Men had not done it. Plenty were standing by, but nary a hand was laid on a windlass . . . Van Klaus for all his perfection of imitation smoke-stack, smoke, steam, sounding bells, engines and the rest, had given himself away on that one point. Those two and a half tons of humanity and sturdy timbers had been lifted from the sea face by the silent and smoothly functioning power that impelled the pirate vessel. Merlincote, satisfied, lit a cigarette and began to vnter into discussion of bis recent adventures with Cleone in the caverns of the cliff. He only outlined the escapade. He had an idea that the details of the matter were for the attention of the Secret Service chief himself —Sir Gerald Homer.

CHAPTER XXIX. The Sinking of the Hollandan Witch. Some twenty-eight hours after that “herring drifter” appeared off the coast, opposite Hartness Slem, it was sighted by a flotilla of destroyers some fortyfive miles S.S.E. of Lowestoft. Wireless messages were interchanged. The destroyer flotilla commander wanted to know if the drifter had seen anything of a rakish white yacht, called the Fliegende Sehaum. Certain added details were given—very curious details indeed. The warships told the drifter that the j-aelit might have been flying a crimson flag carrying a skull and crossbones . . . while from her foremast might have trailed a black pennant, terminated by a bound-up bunch of broom twigs. The drifter skipper wanted to know if the commander had been spending liis shore leave at the pictures, and asked for liis other leg to be pulled. Whereat the commander's messages became slightly devastating and not at all in accordance with the truest observances of sea-speaking courtesy. Then—no, the drifter skipper had not seen any nightmares recently, thank you! If lie chanced on such a vessel lie would let everybody know—including the inspector of the nearest society for the protection of helpless naval blokes with more imagination than honest work on their plates. The meeting then terminated, acidly . . . and the destroyers sailed on. At night, a herring drifter slugged her way across the Harwich-Hook of Holland routes.

Strangely enough she was no longer emitting lots of smoke and noise. But she glided here and there and nosed about the waters with a secretive and furtive air.

Apparently she was waiting for some vessel or other that frequented those routes. Her very attitude was one akin to the slinking footpad awaiting tlie approach of a victim. And. round about midnight, the lights and the funnel glare of a fast travelling ship appeared. dead in the drifter's track —a mile or so to the SAV. Whereupon the drifter began to wallow as though she had a mortal hurt, and signalled and blared for assistance. The mail packet steamer, Hollandan Witch, checked her speed and went out of her way to find what ailed the shabby drifter . . . She turned on her bridge searchlights and came within hailing distance. “Ahoy there —who are you—what’s your trouble?” The searchlight showed a few seabooted and roughly clad men on a rusty deck that was not| fit for much else but the scrap heap, it seemed. One of the mail packet officers glowered down on it and cursed. “Those chaps get ’emsffelves to sea as though anything's O.K. so long as it’ll hold together. Did you ever see sueli a sailing dump? Holding us up like this tor a blasted burst steam pipe, like as not. The whole dam' caboodle looks as though it'd be better burst altogether.”

“Ahoy there—you! Wliat'a the ' matter Y Who the hell are you . . . Haven’t got all night to waste,” came another hailing. ‘‘Quick about it—what’* the jokeY” Suddenly a stream of men in black helmets and long black gloves came pouring on to the drifter’s deck. And with equal suddenness a long quick-firer was poked from a flimsy concealment in the bows. A flag was run and broken . . . a black flag, velvet with a white bunting skull and cross bones centred on it . . . and: “Tlite is the Flicgcnde Sehaum—commanded by Kvjer van Klaus,” came a stentorian answer. “You are covered. We mean to board you. Don’t attempt escape or we’ll sink you and all on board . . . Fliegende Sehaum—pirate!” A huge laugh burst across the narrow lb no of water. “Sounds funny, but it isn’t!” The wireless operator of the Ilollandan Witch ran to the chart house and handed in a flimsy. Hie face wae grey and his eyes popped from his head. “Read that sir!” An affronted oflicei took the message. “That’s the last in —all reception stopped now. What in the name o’ —” He broke off and fearfully gazed at the pirate. The captain of the Ilollandan Witch

all as fearfully scanned the wireless message form. It was an official warning sent out in code ... It said that a ship, probably disguised a 6 a herring drifter, would be on the track of sea traffic between Holland and southern Kngland about that time. All master* • wen warned. The craft was piratical and

heavily armed; absolutely ruthless . . . The craft was commanded by Mynheer Rvjer van Klaus, and had sunk two war vessels within the past forty-eight

hours; Rykneld, a Norwegian fisheries’ protection gunboat, torpedoed and lost with full complement . . . and H.M.s. ITeraelon —an eighteen thousand ton battle cruiser—torpedoed and sunk with the loss of five in crew. “By the lord Harry—a—a batth cruiser,” the captain of the Hollandan Witch breathed. Then he straightened himself and reached for engine room telegraph and speaking tubes. “Full speed ahead.” he signalled, and—“ Ram the swine,” he shouted. That was Fliegende Schaum’s nearest squeak. For, like a dancer turning brightly on a heel, the great passenger ship swung and clouted the pirate. So near was the blow that it scraped away a long belt of the “drifter’s” 6ide ... a long belt of stained canvas, that in its rippling let a sheer white glow of enamel peep through. Fliegende Schaum’s speed alone saved her from that disaster. She swept away from the Hollandan Witeli and began to shoot ... in five seconds fifteen shells struck the Witch along her water-line. She was settling by the head as the crew of the pirate boarded her. Before they abandoned her to sink, they had committed more than one murder, and not a single valuable was left untouched of all the precious store on board—especial attention was paid to the scores of jewel carrying registered parcels which the vessel carried. All were removed.

When at last the Flieprende Schaum was enveloped in darkness and wireless, communication re-established, the packet boat was in direst straits. Her stern had lofted from the midnight waters and the greatest difficulty was being experienced in getting away her passengers and the crew. Then, as though by divinest ordination, a flotilla of warships speeded to the site of the disaster. They circled around and lighted the scene with their battle lights and sent boat after boat across to the sinking victim of Mynheer van Klaus. It was a timely intervention, only made possible by one thing . . . MerTincote’s decision to open his mouth about the suspected ‘Tierring drifter” . . .