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 tonight, 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 us 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 grimmy 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 tables--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
were 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 house tops, 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 over took 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 the 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 mow! Coming
over here to England and doing things like that! I'd have the law on
'em--that's what I'd do!"
Harry laughed. So blind to the real side of war were men who, at any
moment, might find themselves face to face with the enemy!