That, at least, was to their great satisfaction. Had they encountered any enemy warships they would, of course, have stood and fought despite their mission and whatever the odds. But if they could slip past all searchers unobserved, they were well pleased, even feeling some of the satisfaction of the fox who has eluded the hounds. By standing well off, under the horizon, they could listen without detection to the latest Reuter's reports and evaluate them to some extent. Whatever their truth, one thing was evident: there was no reliable report of their own activities or whereabouts. And this was important, not only to them but to the enemy— though he might not be aware of it—for it added to his confusion.
A fleet of British warships [read one dispatch] is in search of the German raider Emden, which has fought viciously in our seas. Her frightfulness and record for atrocities is of a piece with German reputation. Sink, burn, or destroy her wherever she may be met.
Von Mueller studied the message incredulously. It was impossible to believe the evidence of his own eyes. These people knew him. They had called themselves friends! The man who had signed his name to that wire had stood with him often at some friendly bar and lifted his glass to say, "To King, to Kaiser, and to Home!" He was no beast. He knew that von Mueller was not. Could he possibly believe what he had written?
Von Mueller passed the message flimsy to von Muecke, who read it with a mounting flush of fury in his face. "He— sent this?" he cried. He also knew the sender. "Damn him! He should be sliced in thin ribbons and the skin flayed from his flesh! How dare he broadcast such utter—filth? He, of all men?"
"Gently, Helmuth," said von Mueller. "Read a little between the lines. It was sent under orders—and probably at dictation. He probably feels as badly about it as we do—even worse, I would not be surprised."
"I can only feel contempt for a coward!" said von Muecke.
"You'll deny it, surely, Herr Kapitan?" von Guerard, who had brought the message, said hopefully.
Von Mueller shook his head. "Listen to me, both of you gentlemen—Helmuth and Anton. We do not play games here. This is war, and we on both sides use the weapons at our command. Can't you see what that message is intended to do? They hope to sting us into a reply that would reveal our position. I would like to answer it as much as you. But to do so would serve no purpose for us. For them it would be invaluable. It would tell them exactly where we are."
He glanced at von Guerard, who was trembling with suppressed fury. "There will be time later, Anton," the Captain said, smiling, "to let them know where we have been; to challenge them on our own terms. In the meantime we have an opportunity to prove ourselves their equals, if not in weight of metal, at least in intelligence. Let them guess! Let them not taunt us into betraying ourselves; let them seek us out in the silence of the sea! There's a lot of ocean to be covered!"
Von Guerard looked doubtful. "I suppose you're right, Herr Kapitan," he said dismally.
"You know well I'm right," snapped von Mueller sharply. Great God, did he have to baby all of them? "In peace we have friends. In war we have none. You know that as well as I do!"
They held to their generally westward course, slipping along the underside of the islands and carefully avoiding any port. Never, between Timor and Kuta Raja—between the eastern tip of the Dutch East Indies and the western end, a distance of nearly three thousand miles—did they encounter a hostile ship. The men grumbled, wondering almost openly at their inactivity, but von Mueller pointed out that you can't catch what you can't see—and besides, it was possible that their presence was suspected and the seas swept clear before them. Not until they reached Simalur, near the western end of Sumatra, a good nine hundred miles beyond Sunda, did they receive any positive answer. This evidently came from the British cruiser Hampshire, talking by wireless, just over the edge of the sea:
Emden only possible enemy in vicinity. Contact all ships in area. Track down at all cost.
In the Emden they held their breaths. Was it possible they had been trapped after all this? Von Mueller sent a swih order to von Guerard:
"Maintain complete wire silence!"
Almost as if in reply came a message broadcast by Singapore Naval Radio:
Emden believed close to Sunda Strait. Block passage and maintain close watch in area.
Von Mueller laughed as he read it. "Let's hope they follow orders," he remarked with relief as he passed the message on to von Muecke. "Not even an Englishman can see a thousand miles!"
"They're not leaving much to chance," said von Muecke.
"Should they? Would we?" The Captain smiled. "They're only doing what their duty demands, as we would do ourselves. But I hardly think they would expect us to be sitting here in their laps!"
The sheltered bay of Simulur—Lingani Harbor, it was called—was a delicious refuge. The narrow entrance and oval bay were fringed with rustling palms, and the hills around were just high enough to hide the tips of their masts. Even as they eased down their anchors, cautiously so as not to make too much noise, the Hampshire was talking, just over the hill to northward, with both Singapore and the Minotaur, which was ranging well to the east.
In response to von Mueller's warning Emden kept discreetly quiet, though both von Muecke and von Guerard looked worried.
Von Mueller reassured them. "Let them flock to Sunda," he said. "It's a natural place for us to go, and I, for one, would certainly search there if I were in their shoes. But you see, gentlemen, that is exactly what I thought they would do. They are all going there. We are here—nearly a thousand miles behind their lines. Now once we have coaled in peace, it will take them a little while to guess where we may have gone. While they are scratching their heads over the problem, we should have time to reach the Colombo lanes, from Ceylon to Kuta Raja and Singapore, Rangoon and even Calcutta. There, where they least expect us, we should have our turn!"
"Do you think we can do it?" von Muecke asked.
Von Mueller turned on him sharply. "It is not a question of 'Can we do it?' Kapitanleutnant! It is not a question at all. We will do it!"
At Simalur they coaled again. It was hot—steamy, breathlessly hot, and accordingly, the wardroom doors were propped open so that whatever small breeze should find its way through the coal dust could also sift through the cabin. It was on that one, lone night at Simalur, September 4-5, that Herman's "kitty," prowling restlessly, searching diligently for just the perfect spot, found her way there. And behold! There was exactly what she had been looking for all evening. It was the most comfortable, the most dignified, the most uncluttered place on board for what she had in mind.
Franz von Hohenzollern had been off duty two hours and was snoring in his hammock. Just beneath him Eric Schall, who had come off duty at the same time, sprawled on his mattress, flat on his back, too tired even to snore. He had not even had the energy to strip off his fatigue uniform before turning in. His sleep was that of a man who had earned it and would not be easily aroused. One leg was stretched down straight from his hip. The other he had at first raised, crooked up at the knee. But as he had sunk to slumber, his muscles had relaxed and the crooked leg had slowly slipped over sidewise until it lay on the mattress with the flat of his bare foot resting against the knee of the opposite leg. The position formed a rough triangle, a sort of sheltered pocket on the mattress, and beyond doubt that was why "kitty" singled it out.