Off to the Front
He stood quite still for fully five minutes to make sure that they had
really gone, and then he stole with catlike tread over the noiseless
carpet, and, opening the door, listened again.
The billiard-room was at the opposite end of the vestibule, and, closing
the door gently behind him, he switched on the electric light, which
revealed Mademoiselle Van Drissel evidently waiting for him.
"What have you learned, Anton?" she whispered in German.
"I have learned everything, my little wife," he replied. "We leave this
house to-morrow, as soon as those two fools have gone to catch their
boat-train."
"Zo!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands. "I, for one, shall be
delighted. I shall have but one regret."
"And what is that, Ottilie?" inquired her husband.
"That I shall not be able to twist the neck of that detestable little
pig-dog, Billy, before I go. Ach, Anton, you do not know how I hate the
little beast!"
"I do not love him myself," said the spy, seating himself beside her.
"Listen, this is a good opportunity for us to talk without interruption,
and there is much to be arranged. You will stay in London; I shall cross
over to-morrow night from the usual place, for my information must be
in the Kaiser's hands without delay. It is now June 20, and the great
attack is to take place on the first day of July."
As he spoke he drew out a pocket-book, and the girl leaning over his
shoulder read the words he wrote down rapidly while all he had overheard
was still fresh in his memory.
"Is it possible?" murmured his female confederate. "Our time has not
been wasted after all, then. Our people knew what they were doing when
they sent us to this house."
"Our people always know what they are doing," said the sham Belgian,
with a cunning leer. "What would you have? A family, the father of which
is a brigadier-general at the front; the eldest son also a captain at
the front; and the young boy on the point of joining the Army. They were
just the very people likely to talk, to say nothing of that greatest
fool of all, Uncle Staff Captain, who told me a great deal when he dined
here on Wednesday. Ottilie, these English are lunatics, and it is not
for nothing that we have opened their letters for the last six months
without their discovering it. Still, I must confess I had never expected
a piece of luck so complete and so timely as this," and he tapped the
notebook in which he had recorded everything.
He stooped towards her and kissed with as much affection as lies in the
German nature to bestow upon anyone outside itself, and when he spoke
again his whisper was very earnest.
"You had a headache to-night--good. You can make the excuse in the
morning to visit the pharmacy in Shaftesbury Avenue. I need not tell you
where you will really go. But tell them that word must be sent to Fritz
Hoffer to take me off at the old spot at seven o'clock to-morrow night."
"Are you certain of a train that will get you there in time?"
"I shall not bother about trains," he replied. "The Kilburn Rifles are
doing coast duty there, and I will borrow Dennis Dashwood's motor-bike
ten minutes after their car has left for Charing Cross. I shall be in
the vicinity of Folkestone before their train arrives, and may possibly
pass them in the Channel."
* * * * *
"Sure everything's in?" said Captain Bob with a keen glance round the
hall, which looked so pathetically empty now that the little pile of
brown cases had been carried to the car. "Well, time's up. Au revoir,
mon lieutenant. I must air my bad French, you know," and he shook hands
warmly with the "Belgian officer," who stood bareheaded on the step to
see them off. "Hope to meet you over there one of these days. Buck up
and get all right, you know."
"We shall meet, never fear; perhaps sooner than you think," said Van
Drissel with a quiet smile. "Good-bye and good luck to you both."
Then the skunk saluted, and the car drove off, Mademoiselle Ottilie
waving her handkerchief. Now they were gone, and as the three little
girls filed back into the hall wiping their eyes, the Van Drissels
exchanged a look.
"You have nothing that matters if you leave it behind?" said the man.
"Nothing at all--a refugee is not supposed to have belongings," replied
his wife.
"Very well, do not go yet until you have heard me start the engine. Then
when I have gone, walk quietly out of the house just as you are. They
might trace a taxi."
* * * * *
The motor-car came to a stand outside Charing Cross Station, and Mrs.
Dashwood's heart seemed to come to a stand with it. In less than half an
hour she knew she would have parted with her boys, perhaps for the last
time, but she kept a brave face as Bob helped her out, and they found
themselves on the fringe of the busy throng that every day marks the
departure of the boat-train.
There were not quite so many people as usual, for nearly all leave had
been stopped.
A porter, well over military age, followed them through the barrier on
to No. 2 platform, where the long train was waiting. Three men of the
Lincolns, loaded with packs and rifles and bulging haversacks, were
looking for three seats in the same compartment.
A family of eight, of assorted sizes, were gathered round a short
private of the A.S.C., all talking at once. Farther along, a very pale
officer of the Northamptons, going out for the first time, stood with
three ladies, keeping his end up very well. Three lieutenants going back
from short leave, and lucky to get it, stood chattering, with red V's on
the back of their tunics, and as he passed them Dennis saw that they
belonged to the Northumberland Fusiliers.
Bob had secured places in the Pullman, and they walked along the train
until they reached it, and read the name "Clementina, seats 1-19," and
when their clobber had been put inside they stood on the curving
platform, watching the scene.
A chaplain with three stars on his black shoulder-straps and a pipe in
his mouth was talking to a tall curate, and two French officers in the
new blue-grey uniform, with black belts and gaiters, gave a touch of
unusual colour as they passed backwards and forwards through the groups.
One of them had a long beard; the other, a merry little man talking very
good English to three friends, wore the red ribbon of the Military Cross
on his breast.
Quite a number of British staff officers came along, one with a very
purple face, and the three Lincolns, who had been turned out of a
second-class carriage, made their way back again in search of a third.
A collector came along and examined the tickets, and everyone drew a
little closer to his carriage door.
"Only five minutes now," said Bob, glancing at the clock.
The staff officer with the purple face sat in his corner in the
dining-car, but almost everybody else was still out on the platform.
Then the railway officials moved quietly among the little groups,
saying: "Time is up, gentlemen. Please take your seats," and the little
groups separated, the officers climbing into the carriages.
From the rear of the platform a low whistle sounded, and another
official pressed a button close to the clock at the other end and blew a
little note himself. That was all, and almost imperceptibly the
boat-train glided away, with here and there a wave of a khaki arm, and
from the third-class compartments at the end a heedless cheer from some
youngsters who were going back again and did not seem to mind.
* * * * *
"What is this, Smithson?" said Mrs. Dashwood, as the parlourmaid handed
her an envelope when she reached home.
"Mademoiselle asked me to give it to you as soon as you arrived, ma'am,"
said the maid, and she opened the letter.
"My husband and I are much obliged to you for your
hospitality," the German girl had written in scornful mood. "We
shall not trouble you any further, as we have learned all we
came to know. Gott strafe the English, and in particular your
detestable little boy.
"OTTILIE VAN DRISSEL."
"Good heavens! What vile ingratitude!" exclaimed Mrs. Dashwood. "I have
harboured spies!"
* * * * *
A drizzling rain blurred the Channel, and it was high tide.
The lap of the wavelets on the pebbles sounded in the ears of a sentry
who swung suddenly round and challenged, rather surprised to see by the
scarlet band that the man who had approached to within two paces of him
unheard was a staff officer.
"That's all right, my boy, you needn't look so flurried," said the
"brass hat." "Do you know if the boat has gone over yet?"
"I ain't seen her, sir, but, then, you can't see much in this drizzle.
But I'll tell you what happened last night, sir; them there lights
showed again up yonder."
"That is precisely what I have been sent down to investigate," said his
interrogator.
"We are all certain there's something going on," said the sentry,
"though they ain't been seen for ten days now."
They stood side by side looking inland, and the staff officer, with his
hands behind the back of his drab mackintosh, pressed the button of a
tiny electric torch rapidly three times.
The sentry was only a boy, and he talked volubly, not heeding the
melancholy call of a sea-bird from the water.
"Ah, well, I think we shall have them to-night," said the staff officer.
"I see you have still got the old Mark II.?"
"Yes, sir," smiled the unsuspecting lad. "They took the others away from
us when we came down on this job."
"Let me look at it," said the staff captain, holding out his hand, and
the moment his fingers closed round the rifle the boy dropped senseless
on to the stones, felled by a smashing blow from the heavy butt.
"You'll do!" said his assailant, and, laying the rifle down and
gathering up the skirts of his mackintosh, he walked deliberately into
the sea!
A collapsible boat, rowed by two men in German naval uniforms, was
rising and falling on the top of the tide, and in another moment the men
were pulling out into the rain blur with their mysterious passenger.
No one spoke, until the nose of the boat met the dark grey hull of the
submarine waiting less than a quarter of a mile out, and as the beam of
a searchlight suddenly flashed through the mist, the top of the
periscope sank noiselessly beneath the waves, and Captain Von Dussel,
alias Van Drissel, sank with it.
"Good luck again, Kamerad?" inquired the commander as they stood in the
conning-tower.
"The best of good luck this time, Heffer," laughed the spy. "How soon
can you put me ashore on the other side?"
"As soon as I have accomplished a little scheme of my own," replied the
commander of the U50, with a strange glitter in his eyes. "The boat is
coming out of Folkestone now."
"That is not my affair," said Von Dussel.
"No, it is mine," replied the commander haughtily. "In less than an hour
I shall send her to the bottom."
"You will do no such thing," said the spy in a low piercing voice,
producing a Browning pistol and clapping it to his head. "In an hour I
must be in France. The news I carry is worth the loss of forty Channel
steamers. Hesitate another moment, and I will shoot you like a dog!"