SUSPICIONS
Next day fresh regiments were moved up, and the Rutlands, who had twice
borne the brunt of the struggle for the hill, were sent into reserve and
promised a long rest. They went back to their old quarters, now a good
deal farther behind the firing line.
One night, when Kenneth was returning alone to his billet, he heard the
thin squeak of a bat, and glanced up, though it was so dark that he
could scarcely expect to see the animal. To his surprise, he caught a
momentary glimpse of it as it flew across the lane. It was as though a
moonbeam had flashed upon the wings for the fraction of a second. But
the moon was not up. The sky was clouded; only one or two stars were
visible; and the rays of a star were too feeble to light up the
flittering wings.
Kenneth was puzzled. He stood still, looking up, waiting for the bat to
reappear. It was circling somewhere above him; he could still hear it
faintly squeaking; but it did not again come within view, and after a
while the sound ceased.
"Extraordinary!" thought Kenneth.
He was about to move on when he heard the grating of a key in a lock, so
slight that it might have passed unnoticed had he not been listening
intently for the bat. In this quiet lane, with trees on one side and a
garden wall on the other, the sound challenged curiosity. The villagers
were forbidden to leave their cottages after dark; Kenneth himself had
only chosen this route as a short cut to his billet; he could not help
suspecting that one of the inhabitants was breaking rules and entering
his house by a back way to avoid detection.
It was no part of his duty to play the policeman, and he would have gone
on his way if he had not at this moment heard a light, hasty footfall,
as of one walking quickly but cautiously. Instinctively he remained
still, keeping close to a tree trunk. A man passed him, moving very
quietly, almost touching him. He appeared to be in uniform. A second
later he heard the key again. Then all was silent.
He was now interested, suspicious. The man was going in the direction
from which he had come. Who was he? What was he doing at this late
hour? For a moment he thought of following him; but he was averse to
getting a man into trouble for what was perhaps a harmless escapade, and
he decided to proceed.
A few steps brought him to a door in the wall. The man must have been
silently let out, and must have left without a word, the door being then
as quietly closed and locked behind him. The wall, as Kenneth knew,
bounded the gardens of two or three of the larger houses. It might
perhaps be worth while to find out from which house this nocturnal
visitor had departed so stealthily. It was too dark to see; Last Post
would be sounded in a few minutes; all that he could do was to put a
mark upon the door which he could identify next day. He scratched a
cross with his pocket-knife on the right side of the door, on a level
with the keyhole, which was on the left, and went on, treading lightly
by instinct.
So soon as he could get off next day, he returned to the lane. The door
he had scratched was one of three. Two were close together. The wall
was too high for him to look over; he could only discover the house to
which his door belonged by going to the end of the lane, and round to
the front of the houses. The gardens were large; it meant a walk of
some considerable distance. His most certain course was to number his
paces along the lane, and take an equal number along the street which
the houses faced. He went along with even stride, and in the lane
counted 239 steps. In the street the 237th pace brought him to the front
gate of Monsieur Obernai. This must be the house. His paces had
probably differed a little, or the street and the lane were not quite
parallel.
"It's all right," he thought. "The man was one of the officers'
servants, perhaps, sent out on some late errand."
But as he went away, this explanation did not appear quite convincing.
A servant sent on an errand by one of the officers quartered in Monsieur
Obernai's house would not have been let out stealthily, and locked out.
Furtiveness implied an uneasy conscience. Upon this thought came a
sudden recollection of Madame Bonnard's dislike of the Alsatian. He had
seldom himself come into contact with the village philanthropist; it
seemed to him now that he had even avoided him. "It never struck me
before," he thought, "but I haven't felt the least inclination to meet
him. Yet some of the men are quite keen on him."
On the previous night he had not mentioned the incident to his comrades.
It was not in Kenneth's nature to be expansive. He had told them about
the sudden appearance and disappearance of the bat, which, however,
they, not having seen it, had not regarded as extraordinary. But now, a
little uneasy, he decided to tell them everything. He felt the need of
talking it over.
"Capting wants you," said Ginger, meeting him at the door of Bonnard's
cottage.
"What's it about?" he asked.
"That uniform I borrowed; they found some papers in the pockets, in
German, seemingly, and Capting wants you to read 'em."
Kenneth went back to Monsieur Obernai's house, was admitted, and found
Captain Adams with other officers in the mess-room.
"Ah, Amory, we want you," said the captain. "You know German. What do
you make of that?"
He handed him a scrap of paper, straightened out after having been
crumpled, on which were written two lines in German.
"Tell our friend it is now due east," Kenneth translated.
"That's what I told you, Adams," said one of the lieutenants. "There's
nothing in it."
"Well, look at these, Amory."
He handed to him the contents of Lieutenant Axel von Schwank's
pocket-book. Kenneth looked them over: a copy of the Hymn of Hate, a
cutting from the _Cologne Gazette_ announcing the blowing up of Woolwich
Arsenal, some letters from members of the Schwank family, one or two
memoranda of no importance. He translated them aloud one by one.
"Nothing of any value to us," said the captain. "I think we might give
the letters back to the prisoner. His people idolise him, evidently.
Well, the only thing left is this." He took up a crumpled piece of
music paper. "Schwank seems to write music in his spare time--a setting
of the Hymn of Hate perhaps. Our find is no use. Very good, Amory,
that's all."
But Kenneth, rendered suspicious of everything by his recent
discoveries, remembered that he had found a similar piece of music paper
in the trench some weeks before.
"Before you tear that up, sir," he said, "I think I'd let Randall have a
look at it. We found a paper like it in our trench."
"You think there may be something in it?"
"I'm rather suspicious, sir, but I'd rather say no more until Randall
has seen it."
The captain sent a man to find Harry. When he arrived, Kenneth asked him
whether he still had the piece of music paper he had found. After
rummaging in his pocket Harry drew the paper out. The two pieces were
laid side by side.
"Well?" said the captain, when Harry had examined them for a few
moments. The other officers crowded round in an interested group.
"They are not alike except in one particular," said Harry: "that neither
is a recognisable tune."
He whistled the notes.
"Very ugly, certainly," said the captain. "Any further suggestion,
Amory?"
"What do you call that note in music?" Kenneth asked Harry, pointing to
the first note on Stoneway's paper.
"B flat," said Harry.
"And the next?"
"E, then D, then E again; the next is A sharp above the stave."
"What are you driving at, Amory?" asked the captain.
"I was wondering if I could make a word out of it, but _bedea_ doesn't
begin any word either in English or German that I know of. Try the other
paper."
"F sharp, A, G, E," said Harry.
"It's the sharps and flats that bother me," said Kenneth. "Do they ever
call them anything else?"
"No ... Wait a bit. The Germans call B flat B, and B natural H. I
remember toiling away at a fugue on the name BACH years ago. I say,
give me a minute. I've got a notion."
He sat down at the table, took out pencil and began to write the names
of the notes on the lines and spaces, beginning with A on the second
leger line below the stave. Having written H on the third line, instead
of writing A on the second space he wrote I, and on the third space J.
Then he paused, looking reflectively at the notes originally written.
Except in the case of B flat, all the accidentals were sharps.
"We'll try this," he said.
On the third space he wrote C sharp, and called it K, and so proceeding,
completed the alphabet by writing two notes, the second sharpened, on
each line and space. Z fell on the third space above the stave.
"Now try again," he said to Kenneth.
Kenneth took up von Schwank's paper, and read off the names of the notes
in this new notation. The first four letters were _Sage_.
"That's good German," he said.
"Go on," said the captain. "This is very interesting."
Kenneth wrote down the letters as he read them.
"By George!" he cried. "In English it reads: 'Tell our friend it is now
due east.'"
"What's due east?" Captain Adams exclaimed. "Try the other paper."
"The first word is _bedeutend_, 'considerable,'" said Kenneth, writing.
"The English of it all is, 'Considerable movement in the rear.'"
The officers glanced at one another.
"We've had a spy among us, then," said the captain quietly. "Where did
you get this, Randall?"
Harry explained, without however naming the man whom, in common with
Kenneth, he now suspected. But his reticence was unnecessary.
"It's that fellow Stoneway, without a doubt," said one of the
lieutenants. "He makes the most weird sounds on his flute. You'll
arrest him, Adams?"
"Wait a little. There's a deep-laid scheme here. There's more than one
man involved. Who is 'our friend'?"
"I must tell you what I saw last night, sir," said Kenneth.
He described the stealthy exit from the gate in the lane, and the
discovery that it led from Monsieur Obernai's garden--behind the house
in which they were then assembled. Captain Adams whistled under his
breath.
"Rather serious for our polite Alsatian host," he said. "We must get to
the bottom of this. It won't do to act too hastily. We must catch the
fellow at it."
"But hang it all, we can't stop here under the roof of a spy," said a
lieutenant.
"If I may suggest, sir," said Kenneth, "do nothing yet. Nobody knows
about this except ourselves. If you leave the house or show any sign of
suspicion, those who are involved will smell a rat, and we shall perhaps
fail to learn all there is to be learnt. Wouldn't it be better if you
go on as usual, and let Randall and me, and perhaps Murgatroyd, keep a
watch on the lane?"
"But Obernai won't appear in the lane," said the captain.
"Very likely not, sir. I believe his work is done in the house. You
remember the lamp signalling we saw in the church tower."
"That's in our hands now."
"Yes, and the light now comes from due east."
"You think that's it? Have you seen a light?"
"No, sir; but last night I caught a sudden glimpse of a bat flying above
my head in the lane; it was for only the tenth of a second, just as if
the bat had crossed a pencil of light. But I was puzzled, because there
was no light visible. I can't help thinking that it has some connection
with this discovery, and if you'll give us leave to keep a look-out at
night, we may make sure of it and give you positive grounds for taking
action."
"What about Stoneway? Hadn't we better keep him under observation?"
"Leave him to us, sir. I'd give him plenty of rope."
"And keep enough to hang him afterwards," said the lieutenant of his
platoon.
"Very well, Amory," said the captain. "You'll of course say nothing to
any one else. We'll do our best to keep up appearances before Obernai,
though upon my word it will tax our histrionic powers. If you make any
discovery, don't come to the house; report to me elsewhere."
"If we can collar the men, sir?"
"Oh, in that case do so, and put them under lock and key. But don't
attempt too much: it's of great importance to get hold of the whole
gang, for I imagine that we've been unawares in a wasps' nest all this
time. We must scotch them all."
"One thing, sir, before we go: will you tell us the arrangement of the
house?"
"So far as I know it. Our billets are all in the front. Obernai and
his servants live at the back. On this floor there's a long passage
between us. Upstairs there's no communication between back and front:
the doors are blocked up, to secure our privacy, Obernai said."
"There's a back staircase, then?"
"No doubt."
"How many servants are there, sir?"
"Two men, whom Obernai brought with him from Alsace, he says. I've
caught a glimpse of an old woman, too, but she rarely leaves the back
premises."
With this information Kenneth and Harry left the house, and returned to
their billet to consult Ginger.