HOHENLINDEN TRENCH
A man broke quickly away from the throng of people pressing into the
room. It was Francis. The Chief and Mr. Marigold were close at his
heels.
“Des,” cried Francis, “ah! thank God! you are all right!”
Desmond looked in a dazed fashion from one to the other. The rapid
transition from the hush of the room to the scene of confusion going on
around him had left him bewildered. His glance traveled from the faces
of the men gathered round his chair to the floor. The sight of
Bellward, very still, hunched up with his face immersed in the thick
black carpet, seemed to recall something to his mind.
“Barbara!” he murmured in a strained voice.
“She’s all right!” replied his brother, “we found her on the bed in a
room on the floor below sleeping the sleep of the just. The woman’s
vanished, though. I’m afraid she got away! But who’s this?”
He pointed to “Buzzer” Barling who stood stiffly at attention beside
Desmond’s chair.
“Ay, who are you, young fellow” repeated Mr. Marigold coming up close
to the soldier. “Ask him!” said Desmond, raising his arm, “he knows!”
The group around the door had broken up. Strangwise, his wrists
handcuffed together, his hair dishevelled and his collar torn, stood
there between two plain clothes men. And at him Desmond pointed.
Strangwise was staring at the straight, square figure of the gunner,
awkwardly attired in one of Desmond’s old suits. Berling’s frank,
honest eyes returned the other’s gaze unflinchingly. But Strangwise was
obviously taken aback, though only for the moment. The flush that
mounted to his cheek quickly died down, leaving him as cool and
impassive as ever.
“Do you know this man!” the Chief, asked sternly, addressing
Strangwise.
“Certainly,” retorted Strangwise, “it’s Gunner Barling, one of the
Brigade signallers!”
Mr. Marigold gave a keen glance at the soldier.
“So you’re Barling, eh?” he muttered as though talking to himself, “ah!
this is getting interesting!”
“Yes,” said Desmond, “this is Gunner Barling. Have a good look at him,
Strangwise. It is he who summoned these gentlemen to my assistance. It
is he who’s going to tell them who and what you are!”
Turning to the Chief he added with a touch of formality: “May Gunner
Barling tell his story, sir?”
“By all means,” replied the Chief. “I am all attention. But first let
this fellow be removed.”
And beckoning to two of his men; he pointed to the body of Bellward.
“Is he dead” asked Desmond.
The Chief shook his head.
“He drew a bead on one of my men as we came in,” he answered, “and got
a bullet through the chest for his pains. We’ll have to cure him of
this gunshot wound so as to get him ready to receive another!”
He laughed a grim dry laugh at his little joke.
“Now, Barling,” said Desmond, when Bellward had been borne away, “I
want you to tell these gentlemen the story of the raid on the
Hohenlinden trench.”
Barling glanced rather self-consciously about him. But the look of
intense, almost nervous watchfulness on the face of Maurice Strangwise
seemed to reassure him. And when he spoke, he spoke straight at
Strangwise.
“Well,” he said, “Major Okewood here, what I used to know along of my
brother being his servant, says as how you gentlemen’ll make it all
right about my stoppin’ absent if I tells you what I know about this
orficer. Tell it I will and gladly; for it was all along of him that I
spoiled a clean sheet of eighteen years’ service, gentlemen.
“When we was down Arras way a few months ago the infantry was a-goin’
to do a raid, see? And the Captain here was sent along of the infantry
party to jine up a line back to the ’tillery brigade headquarters.
Well, he took me and another chap, name o’ Macdonald—Bombardier he
was—along with him as signallers.
“This was a daylight raid, d’ye see, gentlemen? Our chaps went over at
four o’clock in the afternoon. They was to enter a sort o’ bulge in the
German front line wot they called Hohenlinden Trench, bomb the Gers.
out o’ that, push on to the support line and clear out that and then
come back. The rocket to fetch ’em home was to go up forty minutes
after they started.
“Well, me and Mac—that’s the Bombardier—went over with th’ officer here
just behind the raiding party. O’ course Fritz knew we was comin’ for
it was broad daylight, and that clear you could see for miles over the
flats. First thing we knew Fritz had put down a roarin’, tearin’
barrage, and we hadn’t gone not twenty yards before ole Mac. cops one
right on the nut; about took his head off, it did. So me and the
captain we goes on alone and drops all nice and comfortable in the
trench, and I starts getting my line jined up.
“It was a longish job but I got the brigade line goin’ at last. Our
chaps had cleared out the front line and was off down the communication
trenches to the support. What with machine-guns rattlin’ and bombs
a-goin’ off down the trench and Fritz’s barrage all over the shop the
row was that awful we had to buzz every single word.
“There was a bit of a house like, a goodish way in front, X farm, they
called it, and presently the Brigade tells the Captain, who was buzzin’
to them, to register B battery on to the farm.
“‘I can’t see the farm nohow from here,’ sez the Captain. I could see
it as plain as plain, and I pointed it out to him. But no! he couldn’t
see it.
“‘I’ll crawl out of the trench a bit, gunner,’ sez he to me, ‘you sit
tight,’ he sez, ‘I’ll let you know when to follow!”
“With that he up and out o’ the trench leavin’ me and the instruments
behind all among the dead Gers., and our lads had killed a tidy few. It
was pretty lonely round about w’ere I was; for our chaps had all gone
on and was bombin’ the Gers., like they was a lot o’ rabbits, up and
down the support line.
“I followed the Captain with me eye, gentlemen, and I’m blessed if he
didn’t walk straight across the open and over the support trench. Then
he drops into a bit of a shell-hole and I lost sight of him. Well, I
waited and waited and no sign of th’ orficer. The rocket goes up and
our lads begin to come back with half a dozen Huns runnin’ in front of
them with their hands up. Some of the chaps as they passed me wanted to
know if I was a-goin’ to stay there all night! And the Brigade buzzin’
like mad to talk to the Captain.
“I sat in that blessed trench till everybody had cleared out. Then,
seeing as how not even the docket had brought th’ orficer back, I sez
to myself as how he must ha’ stopped one. So I gets out of the trench
and starts crawling across the top towards the place where I see the
Captain disappear. As I got near the support line the ground went up a
little and then dropped, so I got a bit of a view on to the ground
ahead. And then I sees the Captain here!”
Buzzer Barling stopped. All had listened to his story with the deepest
interest, especially Strangwise, who never took his eyes off the
gunner’s brown face. Some men are born story-tellers and there was a
rugged picturesqueness about Barling’s simple narrative which conjured
up in the minds of his hearers the picture of the lonely signaller
cowering in the abandoned trench among the freshly slain, waiting for
the officer who never came back.
“It’s not a nice thing to have to say about an orficer,” the gunner
presently continued, “and so help me God, gentlemen, I kep’ my mouth
shut about it until... until...”
He broke off and looked quickly at Desmond.
“Keep that until the end, Barling,” said Desmond, “finish about the
raid now!”
“Well, as I was sayin’, gentlemen, I was up on a bit of hillock near
Fritz’s support line when I sees the Captain here. He was settin’ all
comfortable in a shell-hole, his glasses in his hand, chattin’ quite
friendly like with two of the Gers. orficers, I reckoned they was,
along o’ the silver lace on their collars. One was wearin’ one o’ them
coal-scuttle helmets, t’other a little flat cap with a shiny peak. And
the Captain here was a-pointin’ at our lines and a-wavin’ his hand
about like he was a-tellin’ the two Fritzes all about it, and the chap
in the coal-scuttle hat was a-writin’ it all down in a book.”
Barling paused. He was rather flushed and his eyes burned brightly in
his weather-beaten face.
“Eighteen year I done in the Royal Regiment,” he went on, and his voice
trembled a little, “and me father a battery sergeant-major before me,
and I never thought to see one of our orficers go over to the enemy.
Fritz was beginnin’ to come back to his front line: I could see their
coal-scuttle hats a-bobbin’ up and down the communication trenches, so
I crawled back the way I come and made a bolt for our lines.
“I meant to go straight to the B.C. post and report wot I seen to the
Major. But I hadn’t the heart to, gentlemen, when I was up against it.
It was an awful charge to bring against an orficer, d’you see? I told
myself I didn’t know but what the Captain hadn’t been taken prisoner
and was makin’ the best of it, w’en I see him, stuffin’ the Fritzes up
with a lot o’ lies. And so I jes’ reported as how th’ orficer ’ad
crawled out of the trench and never come back. And then this here
murder happened...”
Mr. Marigold turned to the Chief.
“If you remember, sir,” he said, “I found this man’s leave paper in the
front garden of the Mackwayte’s house at Laleham Villas, Seven Kings,
the day after the murder. There are one or two questions I should like
to put...”
“No need to arsk any questions,” said Barling. “I’ll tell you the whole
story meself, mister. I was on leave at the time, due to go back to
France the next afternoon. I’d been out spending the evenin’ at my
niece’s wot’s married and livin’ out Seven Kings way. Me and her man
wot works on the line kept it up a bit late what with yarnin’ about the
front an’ that and it must a’ been nigh on three o’clock w’en I left
him to walk back to the Union Jack Club where I had a bed.
“There’s a corfee-stall near their road and the night bein’ crool damp
I thought as how a nice cup o’ corfee’d warm me up afore I went back to
the Waterloo Bridge Road. I had me cup o’ corfee and was jes’ a-payin’
the chap what has the pitch w’en a fellow passes by right in the light
o’ the lamp on the stall. It was th’ orficer here, in plain
clothes—shabby-like he was dressed—but I knew him at once.
“‘Our orficers don’t walk about these parts after midnight dressed like
tramps,’ I sez to meself, and rememberin’ what I seen at the
Hohenlinden Trench I follows him...”
“Just a minute!”
The Chief’s voice broke in upon the narrative.
“Didn’t you know, Barling, hadn’t you heard, about Captain Strangwise’s
escape from a German prisoners of war camp?”
“No, sir!” replied the gunner.
“There was a good deal about it in the papers.”
“I’ve not got much eddication, sir,” said Barling, “that’s w’y I never
took the stripe and I don’t take much account of the newspapers an’
that’s a fact!”
“Well, go on!” the Chief bade him.
“It was pretty dark in the streets and I follered him along without his
seeing me into the main-road and then down a turnin’...”
“Laleham Villas,” prompted Mr. Marigold.
“I wasn’t payin’ much attention to were he was leadin’ me,” said
Barling, “what I wanted to find out was what he was up to! Presently he
turned in at a gate. I was closer up than I meant to be, and he swung
in so sudden that I had to drop quick and crouch behind the masonry of
the front garden wall. My leave pass must a’ dropped out o’ my pocket
and through the railin’s into the garden.
“Well, the front door must a’ been on the jar for th’ orficer here just
pushes it open and walks in, goin’ very soft like. I crep’ in the front
gate and got as far as the door w’ich was a-standin’ half open. I could
’ear the stair creakin’ under ’im and I was just wonderin’ whether I
should go into the house w’en I hears a bang and wi’ that someone comes
aflyin’ down the stairs, dodges through the front hall and out at the
back. I see him come scramblin’ over the back gate and was a-goin’ to
stop him thinkin’ it was th’ orficer here w’en I sees it is a tubby
little chap, not big like the Captain. And then it come over me quite
sudden-like that burglary and murder had been done in the house and wot
would I say if a p’liceman come along? So I slipped off and went as
hard as I could go back to the old Union Jack Club.
“The next mornin’ I found I’d lost me leave paper. I was afraid to go
and report it in case it had been picked up, and they’d run me in for
this murder job. That’s how I come to desert, gentlemen, and spoilt a
eighteen years’ conduct sheet without a entry over this murderin’ spy
here!”
Gunner Barling broke off abruptly as though he had committed himself to
a stronger opinion than discipline would allow. It was the Chief who
broke the silence following the termination of the gunner’s story.
“Strangwise,” he said, “hadn’t you better tell us who you are?”
“He’s an officer of the Prussian Guard,” Desmond said, “and he was sent
over here by the German secret service organization in the United
States to get a commission in the British Army. When a good man was
wanted to recover the Star of Poland for the Crown Prince, the secret
service people in Berlin sent word to Strangwise (who was then serving
with the gunners in France) to get himself captured. The German
military authorities duly reported him a prisoner of war and then let
him ‘escape’ as’ the easiest and least suspicious means of getting him
back to London!”
The Chief smiled genially.
“That’s a dashed clever idea,” he observed shrewdly, “’pon my word,
that’s bright! That’s very bright! I should like to compliment the man
who thought of that!”
“Then you may address your compliments to me, Chief,” said Strangwise.
The Chief turned and looked at him.
“I’ve met many of your people in my time, Strangwise,” he said, “but I
don’t know you! Who are you?”
Strangwise laughed.
“Ask Nur-el-Din,” he said, “that is to say, if you haven’t shot her
yet!”
“And if we have?” asked the Chief.
Desmond sprang up.
“It isn’t possible!” he cried. “Why, the woman’s a victim, not a
principal! Chief...”
“What if we have?” asked the Chief again.
A curious change had come over the prisoner. His jaunty air had left
him and there was an apprehensive look in his eyes.
“I would have saved her if I could have,” Strangwise said, “but she
played me false over the jewel. She imperiled the success of my
mission. You English have no idea of discipline. To us Prussian
officers an order stands above everything else. There is nothing we
would not sacrifice to obey our orders. And my order was to recover the
Star of Poland for His Imperial Highness the Crown Prince, Lieutenant
Colonel in the Regiment to which I have the honor to belong, the First
Regiment of Prussian Foot Guards. But Nur-el-Din plotted with our
friend here and with that little fool upstairs to upset my plans, and I
had no mercy on her. I planted those documents in her dress—or rather
Bellward did—to draw suspicion away from me. I thought you English
would be too flabby to execute a woman; but I reckoned on you putting
the girl away for some years to come. I would have shot her as I shot
Rass if...” His voice trembled and he was silent.
“If what?” asked the Chief.
“If she hadn’t been my wife,” said Strangwise.