ATHOL TACKLES VON SECKER
MAKING a long detour Athol eventually rejoined the road leading to
Weert, this time quite two miles from the frontier custom-house. By
his watch, which fortunately had escaped the unwelcome attentions of
his former captors, it was now half past three. Already the stars
were beginning to pale before the first blush of dawn. Ahead he could
discern the quaint gabled roofs of the little town where the spy
Secker had taken up his temporary abode.
Crawling into a dry ditch, the now drowsy lad propped his back
against the sloping side and dosed fitfully. Once he was awakened by
the measured tread of armed men. It was now broad daylight. The
soldiers were Dutch troops going to relieve the frontier guards.
Lying at full length in the ditch he was unnoticed by the soldiers.
Discovery at that early stage of the proceedings, although his
personal liberty was not likely to be interfered with except for a
short duration of investigation, was most undesirable. He had before
him a fixed purpose, far more important to the welfare of his country
than was his own freedom.
"Enough sleep for the present," he exclaimed. "Why, it's close on six
o'clock, and, by Jove, I do feel peckish! Wonder what friend Stein
has in his voluminous pockets."
A search provided nothing in the victualling department. There were a
bundle of papers, including a Dutch passport and a permit for Jan van
Wyck to cross the frontier; a purse containing fifteen gulden, some
German marks and a few copper and iron coins--the latter having been
issued in Germany to replace the withdrawn copper currency; and, what
was particularly handy, a large scale map of the district.
Practically unnoticed by the throng of country-folk, for it happened
to be market day, Athol entered the town. A cup of coffee and two hot
rolls, purchased from a very deaf old Dutchwoman at a stall, served
to stave off the pangs of hunger, and the lad felt fit for the
furtherance of his daring venture.
It was as yet too early to pay a call at the Golden Key. On the other
hand it was not advisable to defer the visit until the hour mentioned
by Herr Stein, for by that time the spy might have been warned of the
fate that had overtaken his intermediary. Waiting, Athol found, was
the most tedious part of the whole business. Thanks to his disguise
he attracted hardly any attention in the crowded market-place; nor
did his ignorance of the Dutch language cause him any inconvenience,
for the town was full of Germans, intent upon buying market produce
at fabulously high prices.
Paper money, the lad noticed, passed freely, although at a low rate
of exchange. The astute Dutchmen had learnt to profit by the fall of
the mark, receiving payment in paper money and afterwards returning
the notes to Germany, where they were, by Imperial decree, to be
accepted at their face value. Judging by the conversation of the
German customers, whose tongues wagged with a freedom unknown across
the frontier, the civilian element was chafing under the shortage of
food and abnormal prices, and one and all seemed sick of the war,
which showed no signs of ending, and certainly not with the dazzling
success which the Kaiser had promised.
Half-past seven was chiming as Athol ascended the flight of stone
steps leading to the door of the Golden Key. In answer to his knock a
short and very fat elderly woman appeared, and curtly demanded the
lad's business. Although the question was put in Dutch Athol guessed
its purport, and, replying in German, asked if Mynheer Jan van Wyck
lodged there?
"Didn't you call upon him last night?" demanded the Dutchwoman
sharply.
Athol was temporarily taken aback. He was priding himself upon his
diplomacy in asking for the spy under his Dutch _nom-de-guerre_, when
the woman's question "shook the wind out of his sails."
Producing a couple of gulden Athol slipped the coins into the woman's
hand, and solemnly winked his left eye. The result surpassed his
wildest expectations, for standing aside, the _vrouw_ motioned for
him to enter.
"Second door to the right on the first floor," she announced as she
pocketed the money, and without paying further attention to Jan van
Wyck's visitor she disappeared towards the back of the house.
Ascending the worn oak stairs Athol, making certain that his revolver
was ready to hand, tapped very softly upon the door. Receiving no
answer he rapped again. Then he heard a key turn in the lock and the
door was opened for a space of about four inches.
The spy had only just got out of bed. He looked but half awake. That
was, possibly, why he failed to distinguish between the genuine Herr
Stein and his impersonator, the appropriated clothes being a
sufficient disguise.
"Come in," he growled. "You are much too early. Why didn't you give
the sign, or did you think I would not open if you did?"
Still grumbling, and with his face averted, von Secker shuffled
across the room to a table on which were spread several sheets of
drawing paper and tracing cloth.
"You are still too early," he continued. "I suppose you are here
again concerning the plans?"
"I am, Karl von Secker," said Athol sternly, at the same time
covering the spy with his revolver.
The effect of the words, spoken in English, was electrical. In an
instant the German's lassitude dropped from him like a shedded
garment. Seizing a lead paper-weight from the table he poised it to
hurl at the lad's head.
Athol hesitated. Not that he was lost, but because he was confronted
with a tricky problem. Setting aside the compunction he felt at
shooting down a man, even though he were a dangerous spy, he realised
that the house would be alarmed at the report of the weapon. He was
out to regain possession of the battleplane's plans, not to get
himself arrested by the Dutch authorities on a charge of murder.
It was as if von Secker read his thoughts, for the spy, scowling and
grinding his teeth, made no further attempt to hurl the lump of
metal. He, too, did not wish to be embroiled with the officials of a
neutral government, although here was a good chance of making his
escape across the frontier.
Athol lowered his revolver. Von Secker replaced the paper weight,
although he still kept his fingers in contact with it.
"You have come on a fool's errand, young man," snarled the spy.
Athol, regretting that he had not discarded his clumsy wooden shoes,
looked his antagonist straight in the face.
"We shall see," he retorted, then dropping his revolver on the floor,
he leapt upon the Hun.
Too late von Secker grasped the paper weight. The next instant both
antagonists were locked in mortal combat, Athol endeavouring to pin
his opponent's arms to his sides, while von Secker did his level best
to free his hands and employ the truly Hunnish trick of twisting his
fingers in the other's hair and clawing at his eyes with his thumbs.
As if by tacit consent they struggled in comparative silence, rolling
over and over on the massive oaken floor. It was a test of British
brawn and endurance against German trickery and bodily weight, Athol
striving to deal the spy a stunning blow with his fist.
Once von Secker all but succeeded in blinding his antagonist. His
podgy fingers were entwined in the British lad's short hair, and his
long thumb nails were scratching their way over Athol's forehead when
the young subaltern butted violently. At the loss of a considerable
amount of hair Athol succeeded in dealing the German a terrific blow
at the chin with the top of his head.
Uttering a subdued yell of pain the spy relaxed his grip, then
clutched blindly at the lad's throat. Over and over they rolled
again, until in the course of the deadly struggle a charcoal stove
was overturned.
The glowing embers spreading across the floor emitted suffocating
fumes in the already ill-ventilated room, until it became evident
that the result of the combat would depend upon which of the twain
could longest withstand the asphyxiating smoke.
Momentarily labouring under increasing shortness of breath, Athol
perceived that the effects of the fumes upon the Hun were telling far
more than they did upon him. The German's furious efforts showed
signs of slackening. His yellow features grew livid. Great beads of
perspiration oozed from his receding forehead.
Wrenching himself clear Athol regained his feet.
"Do you give in?" he demanded.
Von Secker's reply was to draw up one leg and lash out as hard as he
could. Although barefooted he could kick with the force of an
experienced Continental boxer. Struck heavily in the side Athol
reeled half-way across the room, while his antagonist, quick to reap
the advantage, staggered to his feet. His strength was not equal to
his will power. His knees gave way under him as he lurched towards
the lad.
Well-nigh maddened with the pain, the English lad saw an opening.
Breaking through the German's guard he planted his left with terrific
violence on the point of the Hun's chin. The fight was over.
Far from showing elation over his victory Athol locked the door,
threw open the casement and sat down in a chair. The fact that none
of the rest of the household had appeared upon the scene puzzled him.
Perhaps, he argued, they were accustomed to brawls.
Recovering his breath he set to work to stamp out the still smoking
charcoal. This done he dragged the unconscious von Secker on to the
bed and covered him with the clothes. Only a close examination would
reveal the fact that he was not asleep.
The plans he folded into a small compass, applying pressure to make
them lie flat, and stowed them away under his uniform. The rest of
the documents, including the spy's code and maps he thrust into the
stove and set fire to them. Without the slightest compunction he
examined the contents of von Secker's pockets, taking his money,
hotel coupons, a ticket on the Dutch State railways and a return
between the Hook of Holland and Harwich.
Unlocking the door the lad listened. Everything seemed normal.
Somewhere from a remote part of the house came the sounds of pots and
kettles being vigorously scoured.
Passing out and locking the door on the senseless spy, the lad crept
downstairs as silently as his wooden shoes would permit. The outer
door was now ajar. Unseen he gained the open street, which
fortunately was in an unfrequented quarter. As he did so he heard the
old Dutch woman who kept the Golden Key shouting a farewell. In spite
of his precautions she had heard his footsteps.
"The worst of doing things by stealth," thought Athol. "She will be
suspicious." "What time does the public coach leave for the
frontier?" he asked, bestowing another tip. It was, he reminded
himself, some of von Secker's money.
"At half-past eight, from the Market Hall." she replied.
Athol set off in the opposite direction to the one he intended
taking. It heightened the deception that he was making for the
frontier. Not until he had mingled with the throng in the market
square did he set of by a circuitous route, striking the Eindhoven
road.
At that town, he found out by consulting the map, he could take train
to Bois-le-Duc, and thence through Utrecht to the Hook.
"It won't be my fault if I am not home again within thirty-six
hours," he soliloquised. "So here goes. I wonder what von Secker will
say when he wakes up?"