the west barbican's stay at cape town was of short duration. she landed about a score of her passengers and a small quantity of cargo, coaled, and proceeded, giving peter little opportunity of a closer acquaintance with the oldest city of south africa.
he was fairly busy during the run round to durban, since the ship was within wireless range both of cape town and the seaport of natal. consequently he spent most of his waking hours in the wireless-cabin, rather than have to be continually called by partridge and plover.
the west barbican, having spent a night at anchor under the bluffs at durban, proceeded alongside the quay to disembark the bulk of her passengers and a considerable amount of cargo.
it was here that "mr. porter" severed his personal acquaintance with the ship, although his interest in the west barbican did not in the least degree wane. on the contrary it was rapidly increasing.
with a kaffir porter carrying his portmanteau and suit-case von schoeffer passed along the gangway and gained terra firma. he had found no suitable place in which he could secrete his explosives, nor had he an opportunity for so doing; so the only course that remained open, short of dumping the stuff into the sea, was to take it ashore with him.
he anticipated no difficulty in passing the customs. none of the officials would detect in the harmless-looking slab that resembled sheet-glue one of the strongest explosives possible to obtain. they were "traveller's samples" and as such were allowed duty free.
so within ten minutes of leaving the west barbican ludwig schoeffer was bowling along in a rickshaw, drawn by a huge, muscular zulu "boy", en route for a small hotel that overlooked the harbour.
on the following day schoeffer's explosive, with the detonator timed for its maximum limit, was stored in no. 3 hold of the s.s. west barbican, as one of the twenty odd cases of hardware consigned by the well-known firm of van der veld to senhor perez bombardo of beira.
simply but effectively disguised, schoeffer saw the crate whipped on board and lowered into the hold. so far so good. it looked as if he were certain of success. he chuckled as he conjured up a mental picture of the head director of the pfieldorf company handing over a substantial cheque.
during the rest of the west barbican's stay at durban, ludwig schoeffer lay low. for the present he had done all that was necessary. his deep-laid scheme was progressing favourably.
his idea was to signal the ship by means of wireless and, by spurious authority, order her to rangoon. it was not unusual for ships of the blue crescent line to receive unexpected orders when on the high seas, since they held roving commissions once they were round the cape and had landed their mails.
and, since it would take longer than the seven days to make rangoon, the west barbican would end her career mysteriously in mid-indian ocean.
at ten one morning the west barbican stood out to sea bound for beira and pangawani, at which latter place she was to land the consignment of steelwork for the kilba protectorate.
at four the same afternoon schoeffer walked into the offices of the wireless company at durban.
"i want this message sent to the west barbican," he announced, handing in a form written in code—the private code of the blue crescent line.
the clerk accepted the form without demur. he had no idea of its meaning, nor had he any way of finding out. not that he wanted to. messages in code were the rule rather than the exception.
the message as received and ultimately sent off by the shore operator was as follows:
"sw. tlb. few. cni. tlxq. vp aelb tni pu. aemq".
ludwig schoeffer paid the eighteen shillings demanded and obtained a receipt. then, having got an assurance that the message would be dispatched within an hour, he wished the clerk good afternoon and walked briskly to the waiting rickshaw.
the bogus message read, when decoded:
"i have received telegraphic instructions from your owners for you to proceed straight to rangoon, where you will unload steelwork, proceeding thence to port sudan".