"Oh, I'm Stirling! I've seen you at a distance, you know, only----"
"Glad to meet you, Mr. Stirling," said the Sub warmly. "I know who you are now, right enough. You're the fellow who discovered that Detroit and I were prisoners on the island of Heligoland."
"Didn't do much good, I'm afraid," added Stirling modestly. "You got away independent of that. But this is what I want to see you about," holding out a small paper parcel. "I found it stowed away on the _Diomeda_. It's a torpedo book."
"You did, by Jove!" exclaimed Hamerton. "Stirling, you have done a national service. I thought the book had been found by the German officer who searched the yacht. Stand by in the waiting-room for a few minutes longer, Pater; I'm going to take Mr. Stirling in to see the First Lord."
It would be no exaggeration to affirm that the whole of the English-speaking inhabitants of the globe were agitated by the astounding escape of Sub-Lieutenant Hamerton from captivity.
In America anti-German sentiments rose high, while urgent representations were made to the Capitol that an emphatic demand for Detroit's release should be instantly sent to Berlin.
Both in Great Britain and the United States it was realized that an international crisis was imminent. Consols dropped lower than they had ever been known to fall before. The American Pacific Fleet was ordered to pass through the Panama Canal and join the Atlantic Squadron at a rendezvous off Cape Hatteras, and await orders. Simultaneously the British Fleet, that for years past had been placed on a war footing, was unostentatiously mobilized; the Portsmouth, Portland, and Devonport ships being ordered to concentrate at the Nore, while the Third and Fourth Squadrons of the Home Fleet were sent to Cromarty Firth.
For the present nothing more could be done without indirectly challenging Germany to settle the matter by the arbitrament of war. Diplomatic relations were yet to be given one more chance, in the hope of allaying the enmity between the great rivals for sea supremacy.
General Heinrich von Wittelsbach had been once more hurriedly summoned to Berlin. With a heavy heart he set out to meet his imperial master. Fate had indeed treated him badly, though no less than his high-handed actions--done, according to his views, in the interest of the Fatherland--demanded. Not only had he failed to keep one of the alleged spies under lock and key; he was threatened with ignominy. It seemed impossible for him to explain satisfactorily the reason for deceiving the Emperor, who, on his assurances, had imperiously replied to the British and American Ambassadors' Note. There was also the humiliation of having lost one of the latest Zeppelins, which Great Britain was keeping under the pretext that it was unfit to be towed back to Heligoland, but in reality as a hostage.