Part 12 (2/2)
A bottle of whiskey and a bundle of cigars were calculated to be sufficient to move the information required. But they failed. Patience and perseverance rarely fail. On this occasion both seemed useless.
From 2 p.m. until 2 a.m., twelve solid hours, I sat listening, talking, complimenting, criticising, flattering, cajoling, and arguing in such manner that at first I entirely disagreed, then allowed myself to be talked round to absolute approval. In short, no artifice that calculated cunning could suggest was omitted, yet results proved fruitless. Thus at 2 a.m. I was forced to abandon my objective of the day, and I agreed it was time to turn in.
Perhaps the disappointment of failing to achieve a purpose influenced my judgment. Perhaps it was the weather. Perhaps it was the mellowing effects of some decent whiskey which made me feel devil-may-care and careless. Anyhow, I was foolish in the extreme not to have accepted the proffered and pressed invitation of a berth on board the s.h.i.+p I was then visiting in preference to the more or less dangerous pa.s.sage of the docks which was my only alternative.
That there was any real danger never entered my head. Had it done so it would probably have made little difference, excepting that I might have borrowed a stick, or some weapon of defence. It was not until I was actually cornered that I remembered I had left my revolver at home. The incident was so sudden there was no time to think. Spontaneous action alone was capable of saving what might have proved a remarkably awkward position.
Hanging on to a rope guide I slid down the gangway which was covered some inches thick with a coating of ice. Groping a pathway as best I could across the quay in the dark, amongst innumerable stacks of freighted goods and merchandise of every description, was no easy matter. Nor were my difficulties lessened by a snowstorm which raged at the time. Pa.s.sing between some sheds, and stack after stack of cotton bales, destined for the land of barbaric ”kultur,” I made my way towards the only faint glimmering light which flickered its bilious rays from the one solitary lamp-post in that immediate neighbourhood.
Just as I reached it I heard a voice. At the same time I observed two shadows which seemed to appear and disappear somewhere near the piles of cotton. No complete sentence reached my ears, only two words, ”Das vas,”
uttered in a high-pitched key and with startling suddenness. The remaining words were lost in the lowered tone. Those words, however, were quite enough. I had been privately informed, only that morning, by an interesting conveyer of intelligence newly arrived, from Berlin, that some rather important German officials were taking a kindly interest in my welfare; certainly to the extent that they had offered quite a substantial sum of cash (not paper or cheques) for my delivery in their country, condition no object. The sum named was far and away beyond what I would ever have imagined my uninteresting carcase was worth. In a flash the situation became clear to me. It was a plant to kidnap. Great, blundering, self-satisfied, careless, conceited a.s.s that I undoubtedly was, I had walked right into the spider's web without so much as a toothpick on me with which to put up a fight.
Immediately in front of where I was standing was an open s.p.a.ce, some forty yards across. The ground was covered a foot deep or more with snow. Concealed thereby and beneath it were railway lines, points, uneven places, bits of wood, parts of packing-cases, hoops, and innumerable obstacles of all kinds, which I knew of too well, having been frequently tripped by them on former occasions. To attempt to rush it would be courting disaster.
The shadows, hardly discernible in the feeble light, seemed to flicker nearer and nearer. Then I observed a third, and silently I wondered how many in all I should have to contend with. Only one thing was absolutely definite in my mind, that was, come what might, I had not the slightest intention of having my liberty curtailed without a fight to a finish.
As before stated, I had reached the only lamp-post anywhere around. My movements were observable, whereas those who were hunting me were concealed by the shadows. Involuntarily I dived my hands deep into the pockets of the thick overcoat I was wearing. I felt a pipe and tobacco pouch--common enough objects, but the former was never more welcome.
Somewhere in the dim and distant past I had heard or read of highway robbers, or burglars, or other rough people, having been tricked by the use of a wooden tobacco pipe as a make-believe for a revolver. Why not try it now?
There was just a chance the bluff might come off. Anything was better than to be caught and ill-treated by Germans.
The thought was mother to the action. Backing a few yards to a veritable rampart of cotton, I half bobbed down and suddenly whipped out the pipe in my hand from the right coat pocket. It was of ordinary briar-wood, having a silver band, and holding it close to the pit of my stomach I slowly moved it round _a la_ American up-to-date methods. Probably the small silver mounting showed some glint from the straggling rays of the solitary lamp. Anyhow, I saw the shadows, which had appeared well separated before, fading away and concentrating in the rear. This gave me a chance which I was not slow to avail myself of. Moving as rapidly as I conveniently could I crossed the open s.p.a.ce towards the warehouses beyond. I had covered half the distance when I saw that I was being pursued in force. Risking all possibilities of a trip and a fall, I raced for my life to the first street turning into the town proper. I had obtained a bit of a start and had the great advantage of thoroughly knowing the ground. The leading German fell. I heard him swear. The language was distinctly Teutonic.
When I reached the corner of the street I was not more than twenty yards ahead of those behind me. Here again a practical knowledge of the tricks and ways of sportsmen of the Western States of America stood me in good stead. In fact, it saved the situation and pulled me through. Instead of das.h.i.+ng at full speed up the street after I had negotiated the corner, when I should for certain have been caught and pulled down within about fifty yards, I stopped short and peeped round, exhibiting my nose, one eye, and part of my hat; also the hand holding the spoof pipe-revolver.
The effect was electrical, not to say humorous. The two Prussian sleuth-hounds who were racing full pelt after me pulled up dead in their tracks: so suddenly, in fact, that the third, who was rapidly making up lost way behind, b.u.mped into them, and all three sprawled in the snow.
As soon as they could pick themselves up they cautiously opened-out the corner, fearing that their quarry was waiting behind it to pot them off one at a time as they came round. Imagine their disgust when they discovered the ruse and saw me in the distance scooting far away up the deserted street with a good long lead. As I turned the next corner leading into a diverging street I b.u.mped into a crowd of merry-makers which poured out from some large, brilliantly-illuminated building.
Every one of them was very exuberant and seemed to be embracing everyone else. Every one of them appeared to be supremely happy and good-natured, whilst every one of them was without doubt most gloriously drunk.
What a haven of refuge to a hunted being almost at his last gasp, fleeing from unknown terrors, from capture, torture, imprisonment, or possible death! Before they realised my presence I was in the very heart of the crowd, where I was at once embraced. Needless to add that I returned the endearments with a vigour and sincerity that I had never before equalled in all my life. Nor did I attempt to go further until I had linked up with a convoy of homeward-bound convivial souls, far too intoxicated to know whether I was myself or one of them, or some other person.
FOOTNOTE:
[8] A fict.i.tious name, but near enough to give the desired clue.
CHAPTER VIII
ESCAPING FROM THE CLUTCHES OF A VERY CLEVER LADY
DISGUISES--IMPORTANCE OF HANDS--SERVICE ON A BALTIC TRADER--”IDLE, DIRTY, GOOD-FOR-NOTHING SCAMP”--A TENDER-HEARTED LADY--A FAs.h.i.+ONABLE GATHERING--THE ENGLISH DUDE--THEIR SECOND MEETING--SUSPECTED--CLEVER FENCING--WHALES WITH IRON SKINS--ALLIANCE OFFERED--A WOMAN SCORNED--MEDITATION--FLIGHT.
So many people imagine that anyone and everyone who is engaged in detective or Secret Service work carries about with him a large a.s.sortment of wigs, false hair, and other disguises. When any of this work is reproduced on the stage or in moving pictures, or in the pages of works of fiction, disguises of various kinds are generally well to the fore. But, gentle reader, take it from me, who have been through the real thing, and rest a.s.sured that any kind of disguise is always attended with danger. To wear false hair or wigs, or even to have them found in your possession, would mean death instantaneously, or at best next dawn, in an enemy country; probable imprisonment in a fortress for many years in a neutral one. The cleverest men I have met in the Service rarely a.s.sume any artificial disguise, although I admit that there are exceptional and urgent occasions when its aid must be sought of necessity.
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