CHAPTER I

Flirt’s Indiscretion

“Come here, Flirt! Heel at once!”

Noel Fordyce had good cause to be anxious concerning his pet. It was
the dog’s first run with him for over five months, and, left during
that period to well-meaning yet lax guardians, the animal had been
reported out of hand; while, in her great joy and excitement, Flirt had
apparently forgotten the discipline imparted during puppyhood.

Noel Fordyce, Sub-Lieutenant, R.N.R., was spending a fortnight’s
hard-earned leave at his parents’ home on the outskirts of the naval
town of Otherport. For five months he had been on submarine patrol
work in the North Sea, including brief periods spent in a certain East
Coast port while R19 was replenishing stores and fuel.

The Sub was a tall, broad-shouldered youth barely out of his teens.
His complexion was dark; his eyes a deep grey that betokened resolution
and determination. His lips were full, and firmly set in repose; but
when he smiled he revealed an even set of white teeth that glinted in
contrast to the mahogany tan of his weather-beaten face.

He was in mufti. For one thing, it was a change to slip out of
uniform; for another, his uniform badly needed renewal. A strenuous
period on board one of H.M. submarines is not conducive to longevity on
the part of gold lace and blue cloth.

Flirt was an Irish terrier, now in her second year. Fordyce was deeply
fond of the dog, and she was devotedly attached to him; but,
unfortunately, Flirt had already had her “first bite”, and was
developing a tendency to fly at persons to whom she took a dislike.

Flirt obeyed the order to come to heel, but that merely aroused her
suspicions. Coming towards the Sub was a tall, loosely-built man,
whose chief peculiarities were his abnormally sloping shoulders and a
shuffling gait. Fordyce knew him by name, although he had never spoken
to him.

He was Councillor Mindiggle, a retired “something in the City”, who had
taken a house at Otherport a few months before the outbreak of war. Of
a most plausible manner, and having strong Socialistic views, he soon
gained a seat on the Town Council as a representative for a
working-class district of Otherport. Always carelessly and almost
meanly dressed, he nevertheless seemed well-provided with this world’s
goods, although he was reported to be a “near” man as far as spending
was concerned.

It was the sight of Councillor Mindiggle’s shuffling feet that upset
Flirt. The dog never could tolerate a slovenly gait. Before Fordyce
could stop her, she had flown at the man’s legs, and was tearing down
the street with a piece of cloth between her teeth.

“I’m awfully sorry,” began the Sub. “I hope my dog hasn’t bitten you?”

“Being sorry won’t mend my trousers, Mr. Fordyce,” replied the
aggrieved man. “As for being bitten, I distinctly felt the brute’s
teeth. And it’s not the first time she has flown at me. What have you
to say to that?”

“Of course what is done cannot be undone in this case,” continued
Fordyce, “but if I can make any reparation—-“

“The only reparation you can make is to have that dog destroyed,”
interrupted Councillor Mindiggle. “What’s more, I mean to take out a
summons against you for not keeping a dangerous dog under proper
control. Good morning!”

The irate Mindiggle shuffled away, while Fordyce turned and walked back
to his home, whither Flirt had preceded him and, with the trophy still
in her mouth, was awaiting her master.

“What, back already?” enquired Mr. Fordyce. “Anything wrong?”

“Yes, Pater,” replied his son. “Flirt has flown at that Mindiggle
fellow. He must have hacked her some time ago or she wouldn’t have
gone for him like that,” he added in defence of his pet.

“That animal will get you into trouble,” declared Mr. Fordyce; “or,
rather, I get the worry of her, since you are away most of the time.
It’s a pity you can’t take Flirt with you.”

The Sub had not thought of that possibility. A dog would lead a dog’s
life indeed on board a submarine. But a more urgent problem offered
itself.

“Mindiggle swears he’s going to take out a summons, Dad,” he continued.

“Then it’s your funeral–or Flirt’s,” added his parent grimly. “From
Mindiggle’s point of view he’s justified in taking steps, to remove a
public danger. I don’t want our name to figure in the local
police-court report, and you don’t want to lose Flirt. So the best
thing you can do is to allow Mindiggle to cool down a bit, and then
call and see him. He may relent.”

Noel Fordyce took his father’s advice. Already he had sufficient
experience of human nature to know that a man is in his best humour
after a good meal; so that evening he called at the councillor’s house,
prepared to eat humble pie for the sake of his canine chum.

He was shown into the councillor’s study, a large, well-furnished room,
the window curtains of which were closely drawn. Over the roll-top
desk was the only electric light that was switched on. The glare shone
directly upon a small packet, tied with cord, and sealed with red wax.
The Sub could not help noticing the address. The writing was in
Russian characters, and was as follows:–

RUSSIA,
PETROGRAD,
BOBBINSKY PROSPEKT, 19,
M. VLADIMIR KLOSTIVITCH.

Noel Fordyce could both read and write the Russian language. In
pre-war days he was in the Royal Seal Line, the vessels of which plied
between Newcastle and St. Petersburg, and, since the study of Russian
was regarded as a valuable adjunct to promotion, the lad had studiously
applied himself to master the manifold intricacies of the language.

After keeping his visitor waiting a considerable time–Mindiggle
rightly guessed that it was a supplicatory call–the victim of Flirt’s
animosity entered.

“Quite enough mischief done,” replied Mindiggle guardedly in answer to
Fordyce’s enquiry. “But I may change my mind about that summons. You
mentioned the word ‘reparation’. Well, you can do me a service; sort
of wheel within wheels, don’t you know.”

“In what way?” asked the Sub.

“You are leaving for the Baltic in submarine R19 in about fifteen days’
time,” asserted Mindiggle bluntly.

For some seconds Fordyce was completely taken aback. Submarine R19 was
certainly under orders for Cronstadt, but the secret was supposed to be
known only to the Admiralty and the officers immediately concerned.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

The man shrugged his shoulders and looked the Sub fixedly in the face.
There was something uncanny in the look. Fordyce felt as if those
steely eyes were focused on a point in the back of his brain.

“What I have said is so,” replied Mindiggle. “Now, to continue.
Knowing you are bound for Russian waters, I want you to take this small
packet,” he indicated the sealed parcel on the desk, “and hand it
personally to the addressee. To be open with you, I may mention that
the contents of the packet consist of small diamonds, not of great
intrinsic value in this country, but considerably so in Russia. If you
will agree to do this, I for my part promise to take no further steps
concerning your dog’s unprovoked attack upon me this morning.”

“Why can’t you send the diamonds in the ordinary way?” asked Noel.
“There would be less risk, and they could be fully insured. I presume
that you have no wish to evade the customs duties?”

“You are very fond of that dog, I take it?” asked Mindiggle, evading
the direct question.

“I am, tremendously so,” admitted the Sub.

“Then this is my ultimatum. Either give me your word of honour to
execute my commission or your dog will be destroyed by order of the
court.”

“You want me to transgress against the Defence of the Realm Act,”
rejoined Fordyce with rising temper. “I’ll see you to blazes first.
More than that, it will be my duty to report this conversation to the
proper authorities.”

“Do so, by all means,” said Mindiggle suavely. “Do you think anyone
would take your word against mine–a prominent municipal officer of
this town? Remember, we have no witnesses. I would also point out
that you have shown grave indiscretion (an unpardonable fault in a
military or naval officer) by informing me of the date of departure of
Submarine R19 and also her destination.”

“It’s my belief that you are tin-hatted,” exclaimed Fordyce. “You
mentioned those particulars: I did not.”

“Until you told me, Mr. Fordyce, I was quite unaware of the number of
your submarine or of your date of departure,” reiterated Mindiggle. “I
am afraid that in your agitation over the danger that threatens your
pet you have lost control of your tongue.”

“I’ve a good mind to lose control of my fist and to decorate your
figurehead,” thought Fordyce. “The fellow’s tactics savour of
blackmail or something suspiciously like it; but if I lay him out
there’ll be a most infernal row. Appearances will be against me.”

“Don’t be a fool,” continued Mindiggle. “It’s quite a simple matter.
No risk about it, and nothing to prejudice the safety of the realm and
all that sort of thing, don’t you know. Now, then.”

“I’ll report the matter to the police,” declared the Sub.

“Do so,” was the calm reply. “Would the police believe such an
accusation against a prominent member of the Watch Committee?
Supposing–even supposing, mind–that they did take action and search
my house. What would they find–nothing. Can’t you realize that I
hold the whip hand?”

“You can jolly well do what you like,” answered the Sub.

“Very good. To-morrow I take out a summons. If between the present
time and the date of the hearing you decide to accept my terms I will
immediately withdraw the summons and your dog’s life will be saved.
Good evening!”