Book: Facing the German Foe

C >> Colonel James Fiske >> Facing the German Foe




"That's what he was doing when I saw him first!" cried Harry, with a flash
of inspiration. "I thought it was Dick, trying to start his motor--but it
was Graves trying to keep us from starting it! But he can't have done very
much--I don't believe he had the time. We ought to be able to fix it pretty
soon."

"It's two miles to the repair place!" said Jack, blankly.

"Not to this repair shop," said Harry, with a laugh. The need of prompt and
efficient action pulled him together. He forgot his wonder at finding
Graves, the pain of his ankle, everything but the instant need of being
busy. He had to get that cycle going and be off in pursuit; that was all
there was to it.

"Give me a steady light," he directed. "I think he's probably disconnected
the wires of the magneto--that's what I'd do if I wanted to put a motor out
of business in a hurry. And if that's all, there's no great harm done."

"I don't see how you know all that!" wondered Jack. "I can ride one of
those things, but the best I can do is mend a puncture, if I should have
one."

"Oh, it's easy enough," said Harry, working while he talked. "You see, the
motor itself can't be hurt unless you take an axe to it, and break it all
up! But to start you've got to have a spark--and you get that from
electricity. So there are these little wires that make the connection. He
didn't cut them, thank Heaven! He just disconnected them. If he'd cut them
I might really have been up a tree because that's the sort of accident you
wouldn't provide for in a repair kit."

"It isn't an accident at all," said Jack, literally.

"That's right," said Harry. "That's what I meant, too. Now let's see. I
think that's all. Good thing we came up when we did or he'd have cut the
tires to ribbons. And there are a lot of things I'd rather do than ride one
of these machines on its rims--to say nothing of how long the wheels would
last if one tried to go fast at all."

He tried the engine; it answered beautifully.

"Now is there a telephone in your father's house, Jack?"

"Yes. Why?" for Jack was plainly puzzled.

"So that I can call you up, of course! I'm going after Graves. Later I'll
tell you who he is. I'm in luck, really. He took Dick's machine--and mine
is a good ten miles an hour faster. I can race him and beat him but, of
course, he couldn't know which was the fastest. Dick's is the best looking.
I suppose that's why he picked it."

"But where is Dick?"

"That's what I'm coming to. They may have caught him but I hope not. I
don't think they did, either. I think he'll come along here pretty soon.
And, if he does, he'll have an awful surprise."

"I'll stay here and tell him--"

"You're a brick, Jack! It's just what I was going to ask you to do. I can't
leave word for him any other way, and I don't know what he'd think if he
came here and found the cycles and all gone. Then take him home with you,
will you? And I'll ring you up just as soon as I can. Good-bye!"

And everything being settled as far as he could foresee it then, Harry went
scooting off into the night on his machine. As he rode, with the wind
whipping into his face and eyes, and the incessant roar of the engine in
his ears, he knew he was starting what was likely to prove a wild-goose
chase. Even if he caught Graves, he didn't know what he could do, except
that he meant to get back the papers.

More and more, as he rode on, the mystery of Graves' behavior puzzled him,
worried him. He knew that Graves had been sore and angry when he had not
been chosen for the special duty detail. But that did not seem a sufficient
reason for him to have acted as he had. He remembered, too, the one glimpse
of Graves they had caught before, in a place where he did not seem to
belong.

And then, making the mystery still deeper, and defying explanation, as it
seemed to him, was the question of how Graves had known, first of all,
where they were, and of how he had reached the place.

He had no motorcycle of his own or he would not have ridden away on Dick's
machine. He could not have come by train. Harry's head swam with the
problem that presented itself. And then, to make it worse, there was that
remark Graves had made. He had said Harry would find it hard to explain
where he had been. How did he know where they had been? Why should he think
it would be hard for them to explain their actions?

"There isn't any answer," he said to himself. "And, if there was, I'm a
juggins to be trying to find it now. I'd better keep my mind on this old
machine, or it will ditch me! I know what I've got to do, anyhow, even if I
don't know why."

Mile after mile he rode, getting the very best speed he could out of the
machine. Somewhere ahead of him, he was sure, riding back toward London,
was Graves. In this wild pursuit he was taking chances, of course. Graves
might have turned off the road almost anywhere. But if he had done that,
there was nothing to be done about it; that much was certain. He could only
keep on with the pursuit, hoping that his quarry was following the straight
road toward London. And, to be sure, there was every reason for him to
hope just that.

By this time it was very late. No one was abroad; the countryside was
asleep. Once or twice he did find someone in the streets of a village as he
swept through; then he stopped, and asked if a man on another motorcycle
had passed ahead of him. Two or three times the yokel he questioned didn't
know; twice, however, he did get a definite assurance that Graves was ahead
of him.

Somehow he never thought of the outrageously illegal speed he was making.
He knew the importance of his errand, and that, moreover, he was a menace
to nothing but the sleep of those he disturbed. No one was abroad to get in
his way, and he forgot utterly that there might be need for caution, until,
as he went through a fair sized town, he suddenly saw three policemen, two
of whom were also mounted on motorcycles, waiting for him.

They waved their arms, crying out to him to stop, and, seeing that he was
trapped, he did stop.

"Let me by," he cried, angrily. "I'm on government service!"

"Another of them?" One of the policemen looked doubtfully at the rest. "Too
many of you telling that tale to-night. And the last one said there was a
scorcher behind him. Have you got any papers? He had them!"

Harry groaned! So Graves had managed to strike at him, even when he was
miles away. Evidently he, too, had been held up; evidently, also, he had
used Harry's credentials to get out of the scrape speeding had put him in.

"No, I haven't any credentials," he said, angrily. "But you can see my
uniform, can't you? I'm a Boy Scout, and we're all under government orders
now, like soldiers or sailors."

"That's too thin, my lad," said the policeman who seemed to be recognized
as the leader. "Everyone we've caught for speeding too fast since the war
began has blamed it on the war. We'll have to take you along, my boy. They
telephoned to us from places you passed--they said you were going so fast
it was dangerous. And we saw you ourselves."

In vain Harry pleaded. Now that he knew that Graves had used his
credentials from Colonel Throckmorton, he decided that it would be foolish
to claim his own identity. Graves had assumed that, and he had had the
practically conclusive advantage of striking the first blow. So Harry
decided to submit to the inevitable with the best grace he could muster.

"All right," he said. "I'll go along with you, officer. But you'll be sorry
before it's over!"

"Maybe, sir," said the policeman. "But orders is orders, sir, and I've got
to obey them. Not that I likes running a young gentleman like yourself in.
But--"

"Oh, I know you're only doing your duty, as you see it, officer," he said.
"Can't be helped--but I'm sorry. It's likely to cause a lot of trouble."

So he surrendered. But, even while he was doing so, he was planning to
escape from custody.




CHAPTER X

A GOOD WITNESS


Dick's surprise and concern when he found the cache empty and deserted,
with papers and motorcycles alike gone, may be imagined. For a moment he
thought he must be mistaken; that, after all, he had come to the wrong
place. But a quick search of the ground with his flashlight showed him that
he had come to the right spot. He could see the tracks made by the wheels
of the machine; he could see, also, evidences of the brief struggle between
Harry and Graves. For a moment his mystification continued. But then, with
a low laugh, Jack Young emerged from the cover in which he had been hiding.

"Hello, there!" he said. "I say, are you Dick Mercer?"

"Yes!" gasped Dick. "But how ever do you know? I never saw you before!"

"Well, you see me now," said Jack. "Harry Fleming told me to look for you
here. He said you'd be along some time to-night, if you got away. And he
was sure you could get away, too."

"Harry!" said Dick, dazed. "You've seen him? Where is he? Did he get away?
And what happened to the cycles and the papers we hid there? Why--"

"Hold on! One question at a time," said Jack. "Keep your shirt on, and I'll
tell you all I know about it. Then we can decide what is to be done next. I
think I'll attach myself temporarily to your patrol."

"Oh, you're a scout, too, are you?" asked Dick. That seemed to explain a
good deal. He was used to having scouts turn up to help him out of trouble.
And so he listened as patiently as he could, while Jack explained what had
happened.

"And that's all I know," said Jack, finally, when he had carried the tale
to the point where Harry rode off on the repaired motorcycle in pursuit of
Ernest Graves. "I should think you might really know more about it now than
I do."

"Why, how could I? You saw it all!"

"Yes, that's true enough. But you know Harry and I were too busy to talk
much after we found that motor was out of order. All I know is that when we
got here we found someone I'd never seen before and never want to see again
messing about with the cycles. We thought it must be you, of course--at
least Harry did, and of course I supposed he ought to know."

"And then you found it was Ernest Graves?"

"Harry did. He took one look at him--and then they started right in
fighting. Harry seemed to be sure that was the thing to do. If I'd been in
his place, I'd have tried to arbitrate, I think. This chap Graves was a lot
bigger than he. He was carrying weight for age. You see, I don't know yet
who Graves is, or why Harry wanted to start fighting him that way. I've
been waiting patiently for you to come along, so that you could tell me."

"He's a sneak!" declared Dick, vehemently. "I suppose you know that Harry's
an American, don't you?"

"Yes, but that's nothing against him."

"Of course it isn't! But this Graves is the biggest and oldest chap in our
troop--he isn't in our patrol. And he thought that if any of us were going
to be chosen for special service, he ought to have the first chance. So
when they picked Harry and me, he began talking about Harry's being an
American. He tried to act as if he thought it wasn't safe for anyone who
wasn't English to be picked out!"

"It looks as if he had acted on that idea, too, doesn't it, then? It seems
to me that he has followed you down here, just to get a chance to play some
trick on you. He got those papers, you see. And I fancy you'll be blamed
for losing them."

"How did he know we were here?" said Dick, suddenly. "That's what I'd like
to know!"

"Yes, it would be a good thing to find that out," said Jack, thoughtfully.
"Well, it will be hard to do. But we might find out how he got here. I know
this village and the country all around here pretty well. And Gaffer Hodge
will know, if anyone does. He's the most curious man in the world. Come
on--we'll see what he has to say."

"Who is he?" asked Dick, as they began to walk briskly toward the village.

"You went through the village this afternoon, didn't you? Didn't you see a
very old man with white hair and a stick beside him, sitting in a doorway
next to the little shop by the Red Dog?"

"Yes."

"That's Gaffer Hodge. He's the oldest man in these parts. He can remember
the Crimean War and--oh, everything! He must be over a hundred years old.
And he watches everyone who comes in. If a stranger is in the village he's
never happy until he knows all about him. He was awfully worried to-day
about you and Harry, I heard," explained Jack.

Dick laughed heartily.

"Well, I do hope he can tell us something about Graves. The sneak! I
certainly hope Harry catches up to him. Do you think he can?"

"Well, he might, if he was lucky. He said the cycle he was riding was
faster than the other one. But of course it would be very hard to tell just
which way to go. If Graves knew there was a chance that he might be
followed he ought to be able to give anyone who was even a mile behind the
slip."

"Of course it's at night and that makes it harder for Harry."

"Yes, I suppose it does. In the daytime Harry could find people to tell him
which way Graves was going, couldn't he?"

"Yes. That's just what I meant."

"Oh, I say, won't Gaffer Hodge be in bed and asleep?"

"I don't think so. He doesn't seem to like to go to bed. He sits up very
late, and talks to the men when they start to go home from the Red Dog. He
likes to talk, you see. We'll soon know--that's one thing. We'll be there
now in no time."

Sure enough, the old man was still up when they arrived. He was just saying
good-night, in a high, piping voice, to a little group of men who had
evidently been having a nightcap in the inn next to his house. When he saw
Jack he smiled. They were very good friends, and the old man had found the
boy one of his best listeners. The Gaffer liked to live in the past; he was
always delighted when anyone would let him tell his tales of the things he
remembered.

"Good-evening, Gaffer," said Jack, respectfully. "This is my friend, Dick
Mercer. He's a Boy Scout from London."

"Knew it! Knew it!" said Gaffer Hodge, with a senile chuckle. "I said they
was from Lunnon this afternoon when I seen them fust! Glad to meet you,
young maister."

Then Jack described Graves as well as he could from his brief sight of him,
and Dick helped by what he remembered.

"Did you see him come into town this afternoon, Gaffer?" asked Jack.

"Let me think," said the old man. "Yes--I seen 'um. Came sneaking in, he
did, this afternoon as ever was! Been up to the big house at Bray Park, he
had. Came in in an automobile, he did. Then he went back there. But he was
in the post office when you and t'other young lad from Lunnon went by,
maister!" nodding his head as if well pleased.

This was to Dick, and he and Jack stared at one another. Certainly their
visit to Gaffer Hodge had paid them well.

"Are you sure of that, Gaffer?" asked Jack, quietly. "Sure that it was an
automobile from Bray Park?"

"Sure as ever was!" said the old man, indignantly. Like all old people, he
hated anyone to question him, resenting the idea that anyone could think he
was mistaken. "Didn't I see the machine myself--a big grey one, with black
stripes as ever was, like all their automobiles?"

"That's true--that's the way their cars are painted, and they have five or
six of them," said Jack.

"Yes. And he come in the car from Lunnon before he went there--and then he
come out here. He saw you and t'other young lad from Lunnon go by, maister,
on your bicycles. He was watching you from the shop as ever was!"

"Thank you, Gaffer," said Jack, gravely. "You've told us just what we
wanted to know. I'll bring you some tobacco in the morning, if you like. My
father's just got a new lot down from London."

"Thanks, thank'ee kindly," said the Gaffer, overjoyed at the prospect.

Then they said good-night to the old man, who, plainly delighted at the
thought that he had been of some service to them, and at this proof of his
sharpness, of which he was always boasting, rose and hobbled into his
house.

"He's really a wonderful old man," said Dick.

"He certainly is," agreed Jack. "His memory seems to be as good as ever,
and he's awfully active, too. He's got rheumatism, but he can see and hear
as well as he ever could, my father says."

They walked on, each turning over in his mind what they had heard about
Graves.

"That's how he knew we were here," said Dick, finally. "I've been puzzling
about that. I remember now seeing that car as we went by. But of course I
didn't pay any particular attention to it, except that I saw a little
American flag on it."

"Yes, they're supposed to be Americans, you know," said Jack. "And I
suppose they carry the flag so that the car won't be taken for the army.
The government has requisitioned almost all the cars in the country, you
know."

"I'm almost afraid to think about this," said Dick, after a moment of
silence. "Graves must know those people in that house, if he's riding about
in their car. And they--"

He paused, and they looked at one another.

"I don't know what to do!" said Dick. "I wish there was some way to tell
Harry about what we've found out."

Jack started.

"I nearly forgot!" he said. "We'd better cut for my place. I told Harry
we'd be there if he telephoned, you know. Come on!"




CHAPTER XI

THE FIRST BLOW


To Harry, as he was taken off to the police station, it seemed the hardest
sort of hard luck that his chase of Graves should be interrupted at such a
critical time and just because he had been over-speeding. But he realized
that he was helpless, and that he would only waste his breath if he tried
to explain matters until he was brought before someone who was really in
authority. Then, if he had any luck, he might be able to clear things up.
But the men who arrested him were only doing their duty as they saw it, and
they had no discretionary power at all.

When he reached the station he was disappointed to find that no one was on
duty except a sleepy inspector, who was even less inclined to listen to
reason than the constables.

"Everyone who breaks the law has a good excuse, my lad," he said. "If we
listened to all of them we might as well close up this place. You can tell
your story to the magistrate in the morning. You'll be well treated
to-night, and you're better off with us than running around the country--a
lad of your age! If I were your father, I should see to it that you were in
bed and asleep before this."

There was no arguing with such a man, especially when he was sleepy. So
Harry submitted, very quietly, to being put into a cell. He was not treated
like a common prisoner; that much he was grateful for. His cell was really
a room, with windows that were not even barred. And he saw that he could be
very comfortable indeed.

"You'll be all right here," said one of the constables. "Don't worry, my
lad. You'll be let off with a caution in the morning. Get to sleep
now--it's late, and you'll be roused bright and early in the morning."

Harry smiled pleasantly, and thanked the man for his good advice. But he
had no intention whatever of taking it. He did not even take off his
clothes, though he did seize the welcome chance to use the washstand that
was in the room. He had been through a good deal since his last chance to
wash and clean up, and he was grimy and dirty. He discovered, too, that he
was ravenously hungry. Until that moment he had been too active, too busy
with brain and body, to notice his hunger.

However, there was nothing to be done for that now. He and Dick had not
stopped for meals that day since breakfast, and they had eaten their
emergency rations in the early afternoon. In the tool case on his impounded
motorcycle Harry knew there were condensed food tablets--each the
equivalent of certain things like eggs, and steaks and chops. And there
were cakes of chocolate, too, the most nourishing of foods that are small
in bulk. But the knowledge did him little good now. He didn't even know
where the motorcycle had been stored for the night. It had been
confiscated, of course; in the morning it would be returned to him.

But he didn't allow his thoughts to dwell long on the matter of food. It
was vastly more important that he should get away. He had to get his news
to Colonel Throckmorton. Perhaps Dick had done that. But he couldn't trust
that chance. Aside from that, he wanted to know what had become of Dick.
And, for the life of him, he didn't see how he was to get away.

"If they weren't awfully sure of me, they'd have locked me up a lot more
carefully than this," he reflected. "And of course it would be hard. I
could get out of here easily enough."

He had seen a drain pipe down which, he felt sure, he could climb.

"But suppose I did," he went on, talking to himself. "I've got an idea it
would land me where I could be seen from the door--and I suppose that's
open all night. And, then if I got away from here, every policeman in this
town would know me. They'd pick me up if I tried to get out, even if I
walked."

He looked out of the window. Not so far away he could see a faint glare in
the sky. That was London. He was already in the suburban chain that ringed
the great city. This place--he did not know its name, certainly--was quite
a town in itself. And he was so close to London that there was no real open
country. One town or borough ran right into the next. The houses would grow
fewer, thinning out, but before the gap became real, the outskirts of the
next borough would be reached.

Straight in front of him, looking over the housetops, he could see the
gleam of water. It was a reservoir, he decided. Probably it constituted the
water supply for a considerable section. And then, as he looked, he saw a
flash--saw a great column of water rise in the air, and descend, like
pictures of a cloudburst. A moment after the explosion, he heard a dull
roar. And after the roar another sound. He saw the water fade out and
disappear, and it was a moment before he realized what was happening. The
reservoir had been blown up. And that meant more than the danger and the
discomfort of an interrupted water supply. It meant an immediate
catastrophe--the flooding of all the streets nearby.

In England, as he knew, such reservoirs were higher than the surrounding
country, as a rule. They were contained within high walls, and, after a
rainy summer, such as this had been, would be full to overflowing. He was
hammering at his door in a moment, and a sleepy policeman, aroused by the
sudden alarm, flung it open as he passed on his way to the floor below.

Harry rushed down, and mingled, unnoticed, with the policemen who had been
off duty, but summoned now to deal with this disaster. The inspector who
had received him paid no attention to him at all.

"Out with you, men!" he cried. "There'll be trouble over this--no telling
but what people may be drowned. Double quick, now!"

They rushed out, under command of a sergeant. The inspector stayed behind,
and now he looked at Harry.

"Hullo!" he said. "How did you get out?"

"I want to help!" said Harry, inspired. "I haven't done anything really
wrong, have I? Oughtn't I be allowed to do whatever I can, now that
something like this has happened?"

"Go along with you!" said the inspector. "All right! But you'd better come
back--because we've got your motorcycle, and we'll keep that until you come
back for it."

But it made little difference to Harry that he was, so to speak, out on
bail. The great thing was that he was free. He rushed out, but he didn't
make for the scene of the disaster to the reservoir, caused, as he had
guessed, by some spy. All the town was pouring out now, and the streets
were full of people making for the place where the explosion had occurred.
It was quite easy for Harry to slip through them and make for London. He
did not try to get his cycle. But before he had gone very far he overtook a
motor lorry that had broken down. He pitched in and helped with the slight
repairs it needed, and the driver invited him to ride along with him.

"Taking in provisions for the troops, I am," he said. "If you're going to
Lunnon, you might as well ride along with me. Eh, Tommy?"

His question was addressed to a sleepy private, who was nodding on the
seat beside the driver. He started now, and looked at Harry.

"All aboard!" he said, with a sleepy chuckle. "More the merrier, say I! Up
all night--that's what I've been! Fine sort of war this is! Do I see any
fightin'? I do not! I'm a bloomin' chaperone for cabbages and cauliflowers
and turnips, bless their little hearts!"

Harry laughed. It was impossible not to do that. But he knew that if the
soldier wanted fighting, fighting he would get before long. Harry could
guess that regular troops--and this man was a regular--would not be kept in
England as soon as territorials and volunteers in sufficient number; had
joined the colors. But meanwhile guards were necessary at home.

He told them, in exchange for the ride, of the explosion and the flood that
had probably followed it.

"Bli'me!" said the soldier, surprised. "Think of that, now! What will they
be up to next--those Germans? That's what I'd like to know! Coming over
here to England and doing things like that! I'd have the law on
'em--that's what I'd do!"

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