THE FRONTIER
NIGHT had fallen when Athol emerged from the dense wood. Overhead the
stars were shining brightly, although occasionally obscured by drifts
of pungent smoke from the still burning Zeppelin sheds. In front lay
an expanse of open fields, dotted here and there by isolated farm
buildings, while in the distance, and thrown into strong relief by
the flames, were the spires and roofs of a fairly large town.
"The Dutch frontier: that's my objective," decided Athol. "It's not
more than ten miles away. North-west is the bearing, and I have about
seven hours of darkness before me. None too much time, if I have to
go cautiously."
Fixing his direction by means of the North Star the lad set out,
treading softly and straining his ears to catch the faintest
suspicious sound. As he proceeded other problems confronted him. He
knew from report that the frontier was guarded and that a barbed wire
fence formed a formidable barrier. More, the fence had a live wire of
high voltage running through it, contact with which meant death to
the human being or animal that incautiously attempted to pass from
one frontier to another.
Also, in the event of success in the matter of gaining Dutch
territory there was the almost certainty of being interned unless he
could discard his uniform and procure civilian clothes. Much, then,
had to be done before dawn.
Although by order of the German authorities the Belgians in the
occupied territory were obliged to be within doors at sunset, the
roads were far from being unfrequented. Motor-cars, bearing excited
and furious German staff officers, rushed to and fro, for the
destruction of the Zeppelin sheds was a severe blow to the Teutonic
organisation. There was no rest that night for the Huns at Limburg.
It was unsafe for Athol to keep to the highway. For hours he pressed
on, stopping frequently to take shelter while parties of Germans
hurried along the tree-lined roads. It was not half so dark as the
lad would have liked, and now that his eyes were accustomed to the
starlit night he found he could see with tolerable clearness for a
distance of several hundred yards. Conversely it was equally possible
for a German sentry to spot him from a like distance. Vainly he hoped
that it would rain, or that heavy clouds would obscure the
star-spangled sky.
He was becoming very hungry. His latest meal was but a reminiscence.
Water, of which he found plenty, assuaged his thirst, but it was a
sorry substitute for the wholesome fare to which he was accustomed.
Three times he had to make a detour to avoid various compact hamlets.
Once a dog began barking, rousing all the other canines in the
neighbourhood, with the result that the lad had to retrace his steps,
throw himself down and lie perfectly still until the clamour had
subsided--a loss of half an hour's precious time.
"I can't be so very far off the frontier now," thought Athol. "Now
comes the crucial test."
He found himself on the point of crossing a fairly broad highway,
unfenced but lined with gaunt trees. Almost before he was aware of
the fact he nearly collided with two German officers.
Fortunately for Athol their backs were turned to him. They were
standing on the edge of the road close to a large tree that had
effectually prevented the lad from noticing their presence. They were
muffled in long cloaks through which the hilts of their swords
protruded. Their spurs shone dully in the starlight as they
impatiently shuffled their feet. In silence they stood, their gaze
fixed intently down the highway.
With his heart in his mouth Athol backed with the utmost caution. As
he did so his foot broke a dry twig. He dropped lying face downwards
in the dewy grass, not daring to stir hand or foot until the Huns
moved away. They were officers, he knew, and not sentries.
Consequently there was no reason why they should stop there
indefinitely. At the same time Athol felt curious to know why a
couple of cloaked cavalry officers should be standing mutely on the
highway at the hour of midnight.
Athol's fingers closed on the butt of his Webley. For the first time
he realised the companionship of his Service revolver. Without it
his whole attention would have been getting away unperceived; thanks
to the knowledge that he had a reliable weapon at his command he
could run the risk with comparative equanimity of tackling the pair
of Huns. But only should occasion arise. For the present he was
content to keep watch upon the mysterious inaction of the silent
twain.
"Wish they'd get a move on," muttered Athol, after keeping in a prone
position for nearly twenty minutes. The night was bitterly cold. His
limbs were beginning to feel stiff and cramped in contact with the
damp ground.
A sharp tug at his leather leggings almost caused the lad to utter an
exclamation of alarm. For the minute he imagined that he was again in
the grip of the Hun, until, turning his head, he saw a huge rat
scampering off. The officers heard the sound, too, for they both
looked intently in the direction of the startled rodent. Then one
moved a few paces towards the centre of the road.
"They are coming, von Bohmer," he remarked.
"And about time," grumbled the other. "And, even now, we do not know
whether von Secker will venture. If ever a man blunders through
excessive caution it is friend Karl."
Von Secker--Karl. The names seemed familiar to the listening British
subaltern. Yes, by Jove he had it: Karl von Secker, the spy and
employer of the luckless Sigismund Selighoffer, and the fellow who
had made off with Desmond Blake's plans of the secret battleplane.
Athol, with his ear almost in contact with the ground, could now
distinctly hear the rumble of cart wheels and the sharp clatter of a
horse's hoofs. A little later the vehicle pulled up, and a man
dressed as a Dutch peasant threw the reins across the animal's neck
and got down.
"What, alone, Herr Stein!" exclaimed von Bohmer. "Von Secker, then,
has failed us. Has he sent any papers?"
"He says it is not safe to leave Dutch territory," replied the
new-comer, "or, rather it is unsafe to enter it again from this side
He is nervous--just imagine our von Secker being nervous."
The man addressed as Stein laughed uproariously. It was obvious that
he was a German officer in disguise, otherwise he would not have
dared to express his mirth in the presence of the haughty von Bohmer
and his companion.
"But the documents, man!" exclaimed the latter impatiently.
"He says they are too bulky to send without risk of detection by the
customs at the frontier. He assured me that the search is strict on
the part of the Dutchmen; far more so than by the Englanders at
Harwich."
"Then in Thor's name, how are we to get them?" asked von Bohmer.
"Here they are, within five miles of German territory, and von Secker
is frightened."
"I think that it is a question of payment," suggested Herr Stein.
"However, the plans are at his lodgings at the Sign of the Golden Key
in Weert. He says that early to-morrow morning he will photograph
them, so that should they be seized we will still have something to
work upon. And, I believe in consideration of a sum of gold in
advance, he will then hand the plans over to me."
"Where can we get gold at this hour?" grumbled von Bohmer's
companion. "I can understand von Secker's anxiety to secure
photographs of the plans, since he is to be paid by actual results.
It would be well to call upon him to-morrow, and let him know
distinctly that it is the will of the General Staff that the plans
should be delivered to them forthwith. Is not that so, von Bohmer?"
The officer addressed grunted in assent.
"We must be off," he said. "To-morrow, Herr Stein, we hope to offer
you hospitality at the mess."
The officers turned and walked rapidly down the road in the direction
of Hasselt, but before they had gone very far two orderlies leading
their horses slipped from under the cover of a tree. Although they
were less than a hundred yards from the spot where Athol lay, neither
he nor they had the faintest suspicion of their respective presence.
As for the disguised German von Stein, he clambered into the cart,
and, setting the horse at a leisurely pace, drove off in the
direction of Weert, a town lying a few miles within the Dutch
frontier.
Athol waited until von Bohmer and his companion had disappeared,
then, keeping close to the line of trees, broke into a steady run,
his boots making hardly any noise on the soft ground by the side of
the _pavé_. It was not long before he came in sight of the lumbering
vehicle, which, although proceeding slowly, made a loud clatter as
the ironshod wheels rolled over the rough stones.
Unheard the lad overtook the cart and clambered softly on the
tail-board. Stein was sitting on a board resting on the side of the
cart, with his head on his hands and his elbows supported by his
knees. In this hunched-up position he looked half asleep, while the
horse, left to its own devices, walked stolidly along the centre of
the highway.
Presently the road ascended a slight rise, which for this part of the
country might be considered as a hill. Athol could discern the
formidable line of barbed wire marking, the frontier boundary.
Apparently there were no troops guarding this particular section,
Already the majority of the Landsturm soldiers had been withdrawn
from the policing of the frontier and had been sent to fill up
appalling gaps in the German first-line trenches.
"Sorry, my man," soliloquised the lad, "but needs must."
He brought the butt end of his revolver smartly down upon Herr
Stein's head. Without a sound the Hun dropped senseless to the floor
of the cart.
Leaping to the ground Athol stopped the horse. Then he listened
intently. Everything seemed quiet, although he knew it was quite
possible that a sentry, his suspicions aroused by the stopping of the
rattling vehicle, might appear upon the scene.
Still keeping his ears and eyes keenly on the alert, Athol quickly
stripped the unconscious German of his coat, blouse, trousers and
wooden shoes, slipping the garments over his uniform. His boots he
was obliged to discard in favour of the ungainly "_klompen._"
His next step was to release the horse from the shafts and to set the
animal adrift, after having removed the bit. This done Athol pushed
the cart to the edge of the road and on the grass. From this point
the ground shelved with comparative steepness to the barbed wire
fencing.
"Wonder if it's heavy enough for the job?" thought the lad.
He caught sight of a pile of large stones, the remains of a
demolished building. Working desperately he quickly transferred a
number of stones to the floor of the cart. Then he paused for a
well-earned breather.
Giving a final glance at the luckless Herr Stein, who was now
breathing stertorously, Athol lifted the shafts and backed the cart
down the incline. Gathering way the now heavily laden vehicle dashed
towards the fence. Not until the back of the cart was within a yard
of the barrier did Athol relinquish his grasp of the shafts.
Charging the wire fence fairly and squarely the novel battering ram
bore all before it, sweeping an expanse of nearly ten yards of
obstruction from its supports. The live wire, short-circuiting and
emitting a series of vivid blue sparks, was writhing like a snake.
Using the wreckage of the overturned cart as a bridge Athol crossed
the once formidable barrier and gained Dutch territory.
"So well, so good," he exclaimed thankfully. Then seized with an
inspiration, he added, "And why shouldn't I pay von Secker a visit at
the Sign of the Golden Key?"