THE ATTACK
CHAPTER I
THE SURPRISE
Two of the myriad of Londons night-workers were walking down Fleet Street together soon after dawn on Sunday morning, 2nd September.
The sun had not yet risen. That main artery of London traffic, with its irregular rows of closed shops and newspaper offices, was quiet and pleasant in the calm, mystic light before the falling of the smoke-pall.
Only at early morning does the dear old City look its best; in that one quiet, sweet hour when the nights toil has ended and the days has not yet begun. Only in that brief interval at the birth of day, when the rose tints of the sky glow slowly into gold, does the giant metropolis repose at least, as far as its business streets are concerned for at five oclock the toiling millions begin to again pour in from all points of the compass, and the stress and storm of London life at once recommences.
And in that hour of silent charm the two grey-bearded sub-editors, though engaged in offices of rival newspapers, were making their way homeward to Dulwich to spend Sunday in a well-earned rest, and were chatting shop as Press men do.
I suppose you had the same trouble to get that Yarmouth story through? asked Fergusson, the news-editor of the Weekly Dispatch, as they crossed Whitefriars Street. We got about half a column, and then the wire shut down.
Telegraph or telephone? inquired Baines, who was four or five years younger than his friend.
We were using both to make sure.
So were we. It was a rattling good story the robbery was mysterious, to say the least but we didnt get more than half of it. Somethings wrong with the line, evidently, Baines said. If it were not such a perfect autumn morning, I should be inclined to think thered been a storm somewhere.
Yes funny, wasnt it? remarked the other. A shame we havent the whole story, for it was a first-class one, and we wanted something. Did you put it on the contents-bill?
No, because we couldnt get the finish. I tried in every way rang up the Central News, P.A., Exchange Telegraph Company, tried to get through to Yarmouth on the trunk, and spent half an hour or so pottering about, but the reply from all the agencies, from everywhere in fact, was the same the line was interrupted.
Just our case. I telephoned to the Post Office, but the reply came back that the lines were evidently down.
Well, it certainly looks as though thered been a storm, but and Baines glanced at the bright, clear sky overhead, just flushed by the bursting sun there are certainly no traces of it.
Theres often a storm on the coast when its quite still in London, my dear fellow, remarked his friend wisely.
Thats all very well. But when all communication with a big place like Yarmouth is suddenly cut off, as it has been, I cant help suspecting that something has happened which we ought to know.
Youre perhaps right after all, Fergusson said. I wonder if anything has happened. We dont want to be called back to the office, either of us. My assistant, Henderson, whom Ive left in charge, rings me up over any mares nest. The trunk telephones all come into the Post Office exchange up in Carter Lane. Why not look in there before we go home? It wont take us a quarter of an hour, and we have several trains home from Ludgate Hill.
Baines looked at his watch. Like his companion, he had no desire to be called back to his office after getting out to Dulwich, and yet he was in no mood to go making reporters inquiries.
I dont think Ill go. Its sure to be nothing, my dear fellow, he said. Besides, I have a beastly headache. I had a heavy nights work. One of my men is away ill.
Well, at any rate, I think Ill go, Fergusson said. Dont blame me if you get called back for a special edition with a terrible storm, great loss of life, and all that sort of thing. So long. And, smiling, he waved his hand and parted from his friend in the booking-office of Ludgate Hill Station.
Quickening his pace, he hurried through the office and, passing out by the back, ascended the steep, narrow street until he reached the Post Office telephone exchange in Carter Lane, where, presenting his card, he asked to see the superintendent-in-charge.
Without much delay he was shown upstairs into a small private office, into which came a short, dapper, fair-moustached man with the bustle of a person in a great hurry.
Ive called, the sub-editor explained, to know whether you can tell me anything regarding the cause of the interruption of the line to Yarmouth a short time ago. We had some important news coming through, but were cut off just in the midst of it, and then we received information that all the telephone and telegraph lines to Yarmouth were interrupted.
Well, thats just the very point which is puzzling us at this moment, was the night-superintendents reply. It is quite unaccountable. Our trunk going to Yarmouth seems to be down, as well as the telegraphs. Yarmouth, Lowestoft, and beyond Beccles seem all to have been suddenly cut off. About eighteen minutes to four the operators noticed something wrong, switched the trunks through to the testers, and the latter reported to me in due course.
Thats strange! Did they all break down together?
No. The first that failed was the one that runs through Chelmsford, Colchester, and Ipswich up to Lowestoft and Yarmouth. The operator found that he could get through to Ipswich and Beccles. Ipswich knew nothing, except that something was wrong. They could still ring up Beccles, but not beyond.
As they were speaking, there was a tap at the door, and the assistant night-superintendent entered, saying
The Norwich line through Scole and Long Stratton has now failed, sir. About half-past four Norwich reported a fault somewhere north, between there and Cromer. But the operator now says that the line is apparently broken, and so are all the telegraphs from there to Cromer, Sheringham, and Holt.
Another line has gone, then! exclaimed the superintendent-in-charge, utterly astounded. Have you tried to get on to Cromer by the other routes through Nottingham and Kings Lynn, or through Cambridge?
The testers have tried every route, but theres no response.
You could get through to some of the places Yarmouth, for instance by telegraphing to the Continent, I suppose? asked Fergusson.
We are already trying, responded the assistant superintendent.
What cables run out from the east coast in that neighbourhood? inquired the sub-editor quickly.
There are five between Southwold and Cromer three run to Germany, and two to Holland, replied the assistant. Theres the cable from Yarmouth to Barkum, in the Frisian Islands; from Happisburg, near Mundesley, to Barkum; from Yarmouth to Emden; from Lowestoft to Haarlem, and from Kessingland, near Southwold, to Zandyport.
And you are trying all the routes? asked his superior.
I spoke to Paris myself an hour ago and asked them to cable by all five routes to Yarmouth, Lowestoft, Kessingland, and Happisburg, was the assistants reply. I also asked Liverpool Street Station and Kings Cross to wire down to some of their stations on the coast, but the reply was that they were in the same predicament as ourselves their lines were down north of Beccles, Wymondham, East Dereham, and also south of Lynn. Ill just run along and see if theres any reply from Paris. They ought to be through by this time, as its Sunday morning, and no traffic. And he went out hurriedly.