CHAPTER III
GREENWOOD SENIOR'S DISCOVERY
EARLY on the following afternoon a train in connection with the nightexpress for King's Cross arrived at Auldhaig station from Edinburgh.
Amongst the passengers were Mr. Theodore Greenwood and his daughterDoris. The former's object in making the long and tedious journeyfrom Devonshire to the bleak north-east coast of Scotland wastwofold. He wanted to hand his daughter over safely to the NavalHospital--and this in spite of the nineteen-year-old young lady'sassurances that she was quite capable of travelling alone. He alsothought that there might be a possibility of seeing Eric, since heknew that the "Pompey's" base was at Auldhaig. Notwithstanding thefact that the Assistant Paymaster R.N.R. had studiously adhered tothe regulations and had made no mention of where the ship was or whatshe was doing, that information had been forthcoming.
Nor was Mr. Greenwood alone in the possession of the supposed secret,for already several of the officers' wives and families had bravedthe rigours of the wintry climate and had taken either furnishedhouses or apartments in the town, which since the war had developedout of all knowledge.
Having duly rid himself of his responsibility of handing Doris overto the Head Nursing Sister, Mr. Greenwood set out on his quest forH.M.S. "Pompey." Being naturally of a somewhat nervous disposition,he hesitated to ask if the cruiser were in harbour, reflecting thatsuch a question might lead to his arrest as a spy. In his imaginationhe fancied that everyone he met eyed him with suspicion.
At length he arrived at the shore of an arm of the intricate harbour.Lying at moorings in the channel were half a dozen destroyers, butthere were no signs of any vessel approaching the armoured cruiser intonnage.
For some moments he stopped to read a notice-board on which was setforth a list of things that the inhabitants of Auldhaig must or mustnot do, the document being signed by the senior naval officer of theport.
"There's nothing like taking every possible precaution," murmured Mr.Greenwood approvingly. "One cannot be too particular in wartime."
Just then an old fisherman sauntered by. To him the strangeraddressed himself, inquiring if he knew whether the "Pompey" was inharbour.
The old Scot shook his head.
"I dinna ken what you say, mon," he said.
Mr. Greenwood repeated his question.
"Oh--ay. Weel, tak yon path----"
He gave his questioner lengthy and bewildering directions which notonly left the Devon man completely tied up in knots, but with also areply to a misunderstood question, for the old man had come to theconclusion that Mr. Greenwood was asking the way to Ponhaugh, a smallfishing-village about four miles from Auldhaig by the cliff-path.
Gaining the outskirts of the town, Mr. Greenwood commenced the longclimb to the edge of the rugged granite cliffs. From the moment hestruck the open country he did not see another person of whom hemight make further inquiries, but with complete reliance upon the oldfisherman's directions he walked briskly along the narrow, windingpath.
This he followed for nearly two miles without finding any signs ofhis quest. Instead, he made the disconcerting discovery that thetrack split into two parts, one branch trending inland, the otherdescending steeply to the beach.
Mr. Greenwood took the latter route. Upon gaining the shore he foundthat the track ended at the firm sands that fronted the base of therugged and indented line of cliffs.
Undaunted, he proceeded, expecting as he rounded each projection tofind the non-existent harbour in which he supposed H.M.S. "Pompey" tobe lying; but headland after headland was passed without anysatisfactory result.
Presently he arrived at a little bay. The distance between the twoenclosing promontories was less than a hundred yards apart. The shorewas of sand, but, unlike the rest of the beach, was interrupted by aseries of low ledges of rock. Between the water's edge and the baseof the cliffs the distance averaged twenty yards, although the waveswere almost washing the wall of granite at either end of the bay.
Suddenly Mr. Greenwood caught sight of a cylindrical object lying onthe shore. It was a little larger than a football and glistened inthe dull light. At every undulation it was flung upon the sand,whence it receded in the undertow until thrown back by the succeedingwave. Attached to it was a short length of frayed rope.
"That must be a mine," decided the alarmed man. "The authorities mustbe informed."
Although half inclined to retrace his steps, he walked cautiouslypast it, keeping as close to the cliffs as possible, until he gainedthe furthermost headland. Here, to his dismay, he found the distantaspect was a misleading one, for his progress was barred by a deepgulley through which the tide was surging right up to the wall ofgranite.
"I hope the tide is going down," thought Mr. Greenwood.
To satisfy his curiosity on that point he wasted ten preciousminutes, only to be ocularly assured that the tide was on the flood,and that there was no possible chance of going further.
Again he passed the cylindrical object. By this time it was within afew feet of one of the ledges of rock.
"When the waves throw it against those rocks it will explode,"commented Mr. Greenwood. "How dangerous! Thank goodness I have yettime to put a safe distance between me and that infernal machine."
Thirty seconds later he "brought up all standing." Where a short timepreviously had been an expanse of hard sand, the waves were lappingagainst the cliff. His retreat was cut off.
Even then, at the expense of wet feet, he might have negotiated thepassage, since the water was only about a foot or eighteen inches indepth; but Mr. Greenwood hesitated and, figuratively, was lost.
Step by step he retreated before the rapidly rising tide, each steptaking him nearer again to the object of his apprehension. A belt ofseaweed rising six or seven feet from the sand marked the limit ofmean high tides on the face of the cliffs. It was evident thatnowhere within the arms of the bay was safety to be found except byscaling the frowning precipice.
Discarding his umbrella--he wedged it tightly into a crevice in thegranite in the hope that he might be able to retrieve his trustyfriend--Mr. Greenwood sought for a suitable spot at which to commencehis hazardous feat. At the same time he kept an anxious watch uponthe derelict mine, which, having escaped being cast upon the ledge,was now being carried close to the main wall of rock.
In his heated imagination he fancied himself fifty or a hundred feetup the cliff with the powerful explosive going off and hurling him toa terrible death upon the rocks beneath. He shouted, but only theechoes of his own voice mocked his appeal for aid. In vain he lookedseaward, where the mists of evening were already creeping over thewild North Sea. Not a sail was visible.
Mr. Greenwood was one of those men who, by disposition timid andunassuming, possessed a great reserve of courage and determinationwhen called upon to extricate themselves from a tight corner. And,having found himself in a tight corner, he acted accordingly.
After a brief search he discovered a rift in the cliff, which at thispoint was not so sheer as it appeared at first sight. In any case thefootholds obtainable extended sufficiently high to enable him toclimb above high-water mark. Here he could wait until the tide felland take his chance with the mine.
The first six feet gave him great trouble, for the weed and kelpafforded little foothold, but beyond this height he was able tomaintain a steady progress. Up and up he climbed, not daring to lookdown, although the attraction of that deadly cylinder was almostirresistible. He wanted to watch its progress towards the base of thesolid rock.
At length, fifty feet above the sea, he gained a fairly broad ledge,the presence of which was invisible from the beach. Nor could it beseen from the top of the cliffs, for higher up they projected wellbeyond the ledge, the face being so smooth that further climbing wasa matter of sheer impossibility.
"At any rate, I am safe for the time being," soliloquised Mr.Greenwood. "That is something to be thankful for, although I wouldinfinitely prefer the comfort of a bed to the prospect of spending awinter's
night less than halfway up a wall of rock. And even if thatmine explodes I think this ledge will provide sufficient protectionto minimise the force of the detonation."
Cautiously extending himself, he peered over the edge. In thefast-gathering gloom he could just discern the mine as it rolled toand fro on the shelving sand. The waves had almost borne it to thebase of the rocks.
A new danger now confronted the stranded man. Perilous as the climbhad been, the descent was doubly dangerous. When the time came, hecould no more essay the feat of regaining the beach than he couldhope to clamber up the remaining two hundred feet of beetling cliff.Unless aid were forthcoming, he was in danger of perishing of coldand hunger.
Mr. Greenwood's next step was to prepare for his approaching vigilwhile there was yet light enough for him to see. The ledge was almosttwelve feet in length and five in its widest part, graduallydiminishing to nothing at either end. One portion was covered by awithered bush, a circumstance that aroused the investigator'scuriosity, since it seemed remarkable that vegetation could grow onthe face of a granite cliff.
"Thank goodness I have pipe, matches, and tobacco," he thoughtphilosophically. Now that the immediate danger was past, hedetermined to make the best of things.
He again directed his attention upon the bush. To use it as a seatwould be preferable to sitting on the hard, cold rock.
As he sat the bush gave way. In vain he clutched wildly for support.Toppling backwards, he disappeared into what appeared to be the solidrock.
For some moments he lay helpless, too dazed to realise what hadoccurred. He was almost in darkness. A peculiar pungent smellassailed his nostrils. Could it be possible that he owed his presentpredicament to the explosion of the derelict mine?
After a while Mr. Greenwood raised himself. Grimly he reflected thathis visit to Auldhaig had not been uneventful. Adventures werecrowding upon each other's heels. His zest for excitement wasincreasing.
The bush had broken his fall. He found himself on a flat floor ofwhat appeared to be a cavern. Where the foliage had been, appeared anirregular opening through which the dim twilight filtered withoutsufficient intensity to reveal his surroundings.
"One thing, I've a roof over my head," he soliloquised. "Now I amgetting on. But I really cannot understand this peculiar odour. Itreminds me very forcibly of a garage. Yes, petrol fumes. To be on thesafe side I don't think I'll smoke just at present. In fact, I thinkit would be well to investigate."
Cautiously and on all-fours Mr. Greenwood commenced his tour ofdiscovery, crawling lest there should be a hole in the floor.
Soon his head came in contact with a metallic object. It was a filledpetrol tin, one of dozens, possibly hundreds, stacked in orderlymanner against one wall of the cave.
"Now, that's strange," murmured Mr. Greenwood "It is pretty certainthat that lot would not have been brought into this place from thecliff, so there must be an outlet besides the hole through which Itumbled. Why should a place like this be chosen to store petrol? Andwhy was the hole so carefully hidden with a dead bush? It looks jollyfishy. Of course I've heard plenty of talk of German secretpetrol-bases in Great Britain, but I never believed the tales. Bysmoke! I fancy I've stumbled upon one now. The first question is, howam I to find a way out without being seen?"
Resuming his cautious crawl, Mr. Greenwood penetrated into therecesses of the cave, keeping within touch of the rows of petrol-canson his right. Contrary to his expectations, the floor was smooth,though tending to rise in the direction in which he was proceeding.
At about twenty yards from the hole through which he had tumbled, heremembered that he had left his tracks uncovered. No need to creep onall-fours now, for he had the irregular patch of light to guide him.Grasping the displaced bush, he replaced it in the opening, andchuckling to himself he again resumed his tour of exploration.
His spirits were rising rapidly. The love of adventure, that had laindormant for years, was reasserting itself. Also he began to realisethat he had now a chance of doing something definite for hiscountry--a chance that hitherto had been denied him on account of hisage.
He had quite forgotten the derelict mine. The fears that he hadentertained on that score had been completely dispelled by thethought that he had lighted upon a discovery of real nationalimportance--the existence of a secret base for hostile submarines.
For quite a hundred yards he groped his way. The darkness was sointense that it appeared to have weight--to press upon his eyes. Thetunnel, too, had contracted, for by extending both his arms he couldtouch the enclosing walls. Once or twice he stood erect to relievethe aching muscles of his back. He could then just touch the roof,which, although of solid rock, was bone-dry.
Suddenly his forehead came in contact with a hard object. It was thebottommost step of a stout ladder. The steps extended from side toside, for the tunnel was still contracting. Further progress, exceptby the ladder, was impossible, since the wall of rock terminated ashort distance beyond the base of the steps.
Mr. Greenwood examined his surroundings with great exactitude beforeattempting the ascent. Everything had to be performed by the sense oftouch. The steps were of far greater thickness than the usual type ofladder, and were more apart. Apparently they had been constructed tobear very heavy weights, each one being strengthened by means of acircular iron bar on the underside.
"I'm half inclined to use a match," thought Mr. Greenwood. "It'srisky, with all those petrol fumes about, but---- No, I won't; I'llmake the best of it."
Slowly he ascended. It reminded him of an infant attempting to climba staircase for the first time. The steps, in spite of theirsolidity, creaked under his weight. The sounds, intensified by theenclosed surroundings, added to the uncanniness of the mysteriouscave.
At the eighth step he found a trap-door above his head. It was whathe expected; but the question arose, what was on the other side? Hehad no desire to blunder into the presence of half a dozendesperadoes, who would doubtless have no scruples in knocking himover the head and toppling his corpse down the cliff.
Even as he was considering the best thing to be done, he heardfootsteps overhead and a deep voice exclaiming, "Now, then, Max;let's get on with the business. It's quite time we showed the signal.Hand me yon crowbar and bear a hand to lift this trap. It's heavy."