LIEUTENANT DONALDSON BECOMES SUSPICIOUS
Some days later, Lieutenant Donaldson was sitting in "C" Company
officers' billet, when the battalion intelligence officer entered.
"Hallo," said Donaldson. "You look worried. What's up?"
"I am worried. I wish you'd point out to your company what a nuisance
they make themselves to their superiors when they go capturing Boche
officers in the rest area. Ask 'em to think twice in future. It'd save
trouble if they'd kill the next one they find and bury him on the spot."
"Why, what's up?"
"Well, the Staff's very anxious to know what this particular chap was
doing and how he got there. I do see their point, you know. They take
the highly reasonable view that as prisoners are not usually captured
miles behind the lines in full uniform, this chap must have been up to
some extra special form of devilry. The presumption is that he'd been
spying, but they can't get a word of sense out of the man himself. He
pretends not to know how he got into our lines. And the queer thing is
that we found papers on him dated the same day as his capture--routine
orders and so on--which tally with papers of the same date on other
prisoners taken in the usual way. The thing's uncanny, because it's so
senseless."
"Have you noticed," said Lieutenant Donaldson reflectively, "that
there've been one or two things out of the ordinary that have happened
in this battalion lately?"
"I know. And the colonel wants it stopped. Says it'll give the
battalion a bad name."
"Perhaps we've a family ghost," suggested Donaldson. "Anyway, I don't
see how it hurts _you_."
"Me? The Staff seem to think I'm entirely responsible for the whole
thing. They want to know--in writing--why I didn't get a full biography
of the blighter when he was brought in--as if he was any more likely
to unbosom himself to me than to the people who caught him. And now,
to give me a chance of recovery of my prestige, I suppose, I've to see
Higgins and Grant and find out anything I can from them. Could you have
'em sent for?"
"Of course."
"The officer's compliments to 'is conquerin' 'eroes," said Sergeant
Lees when the message arrived, "an' would they favor 'im with their
company for a quiet chat?"
Ever since Alf and Bill's exploit had shed brilliant if unexpected
luster on their platoon, Sergeant Lees had unbent with them and assumed
a heavy jocularity. This was his method of indicating that he was
pleased with them, but it filled Alf with grave forebodings. Bill,
on the other hand, took what the gods gave and basked in the brief
sunshine of the sergeant's smile. On this occasion, however, he basked
too openly and the sun went in.
"Well," he answered in languid, aristocratic tones. "If Don feels 'e'd
like to see us, I s'pose we might as well drop round for a minute or
two, eh, Alfred?"
"'Ere," said the sergeant, who held that a joke was only a joke so long
as the right person made it, "none o' that. Clean yourselves up an'
report to the officers' billet immediate."
"Come in," called Lieutenant Donaldson, as Bill knocked on the door.
"Stand easy. Now, Grant and Higgins. I haven't had a chance of
congratulating you on what you did the other day."
"That wasn't nothing, sir--on'y luck, that was," murmured Bill, and Alf
shuffled his feet sympathetically. Each had an uncomfortable feeling
that he was obtaining credit on false pretenses.
"However," continued the company commander, "what I want you to do
now is to tell the intelligence officer just how it all happened, and
answer his questions."
He was looking at Higgins as he spoke, and could not help being struck
with the expression of horrified apprehension that flitted across
those ingenuous features. He said nothing, however, but while the
intelligence officer was catechizing them he kept his sleepy-looking
but most observant eyes more than ordinarily wide open.
"And that's all you can tell me?" asked the I.O., after he had asked
a dozen questions and received nothing but the most unsatisfactory of
replies.
"Yes, sir. The Boche, 'e didn't tell us nothing. 'E comes down the
road, an' we jumps out on 'im. 'Iggins 'ere grabs 'is pistol, an' we
marches 'im 'ome. That's all."
"Did you question him at all?"
"No, sir."
"Why not? You didn't expect to see a Boche officer there, did you?"
"No, sir."
"Then why didn't you question him?"
Bill looked about him for inspiration, and got it.
"I thought, sir, as 'ow we ought to leave all that to you."
Lieutenant Donaldson watched the relief overflow Alf's countenance, and
wondered what all this could mean.
"That's what the Staff seem to think, too," sighed the I.O., getting
sadly to his feet. "Well, if that's all you can tell me, I'll be off. I
hope it'll pacify the blighters. I can see myself getting shot at dawn
over this business. So long, Donaldson."
He went out. Higgins and Grant saluted and were about to follow, when
Donaldson, taking a letter from his pocket, stopped them.
"I've had a most curious letter," he said slowly, "from the Reserve
Battalion." He looked up sharply as he spoke, and saw sheer panic
terror gazing at him from Alf's eyes. "Captain Sandeman writes to ask
if you two men are here or whether by any chance you have deserted. He
gives your names and numbers correctly, and a description of you both,
and says that these two men reported to his battalion and then broke
out of the guard-room and mysteriously disappeared."
He looked sharply from one to the other. Alf was trembling visibly;
Bill was trying to look unconcerned, but with little success.
"Now, listen to me," said Lieutenant Donaldson, in the most impressive
voice he could summon. "Understand this. I've had my eye on you two men
for some time, and this little game of yours has got to stop. I shall
say no more now, but the next time...."
He glanced once more at Alf, and saw that the effects of his remarks
were good.
"Now go," he said, "and remember, be very careful in future. You're
both due for your month's leave in a short time, and it would be a pity
to spoil it. That's all."
As the two saluted and shambled out their officer gave a rueful laugh.
"Now, I'd give a good deal," he said to himself, "to know just exactly
what I was talking about just now, and what they thought I meant."
* * * * * * *
"What are we goin' to do now, Bill?" asked Alf miserably, as soon as
they had left the company commander's presence.
"Do?" said Bill, who had recovered his balance to some extent. "Why,
nothin'. What d'you want to do?"
"Well, it's all up, ain't it, now 'e knows all about it?"
"Rats!" said Bill contemptuously. "'Ow can 'e know all about it? I told
you before that Don's no fool, but 'e ain't such a bloomin' conjurer as
all that. 'E's just noticed that there's something funny about me an'
you, that's all; an' 'e's got both eyes wide open now waitin' for next
time. Well, there ain't got to be no next time, that's all."
"You mean I'll 'ave to throw the Button away?"
"_What!_ Throw it away? You're barmy." Bill glared at his pal.
"Well, what do I do?"
"I tell yer. Do nothing."
"Nothing at all? Keep the Button, an' ..."
"O' course you keep the Button, you blinkin' idjit. Does Don know
anything about yer blinkin' Button? It's my belief Don don't know a
thing--'e's just bluffin' us. But all you 'ave to do is to leave the
Button alone till we get our leave. No more Eustace till we're safe
'ome; but if you chuck the Button away, Alf 'Iggins, I'll 'arf kill
you. But I'd give a good bit, I would, to know 'ow much Donaldson
really knows."
Next day the news came through that the brigade was not after all to be
sent to another part of the front; instead, it moved up once more for
a tour of duty in the well-known sector. The attention of both sides
at this time was concentrated on the great battle going on at Arras,
and the remainder of the front was quiet but watchful. On the brigade's
frontage nothing more strenuous happened than a continuous but not
very intense bombardment, and though the division on their right made
a trench-raid, the Middlesex Fusiliers were not called upon for any
exciting work.
During all this period Alf and Bill were as conspicuous by their
presence among their mates as they had formerly been by their absence.
Whenever wiring-parties and similar delights were required, their names
were usually the first on Sergeant Lees' list, while fatigues of every
kind became to them a hobby.
"It's a queer thing," the sergeant observed caustically to the company
sergeant-major one day, after he had fallen in a working-party for
Lieutenant Donaldson's inspection, and had heard the officer comment
favorably on the appearance of Privates Higgins and Grant, "what good
soldiers all our scally-wags seem to 'ave become, now that there's a
chance of gettin' a leave. They'll eat out o' me 'and now, but you see
what'll 'appen as soon as they've 'ad their leave. More trouble they'll
be 'n a bagful o' monkeys."
The two were feeling the monotony of their return to the ordinary
existence of the front very bitterly.
"Takes all the spice out o' life, not bein' able to do things with
Eustace," said Bill, quite forgetting that he had managed to infuse
quite a considerable amount of spice into his life in the days before
the coming of the djinn. "If our leave don't come through soon I shall
go clean barmy, I b'lieve."
At last the longed-for moment arrived. They were both officially
informed that their reëngagement leave of twenty-eight days was duly
sanctioned and that, barring accidents, they would depart in one week's
time.
"A week?" sighed Alf dolefully. "We may both be pushin' up the daisies
in a week from now."
"That's what I like about you, Higgins, you're so cheerful," said
Corporal Greenstock, who overheard this remark. "Anyhow, if you want
to start daisypushing this journey you'll have to hurry. We're being
relieved to-night." He passed on.
"A week is little enough, too," said Bill suddenly, "for all we got to
do."
"What d'you mean?"
"We got to settle up about this 'ere marriage o' yours, to begin with.
Why, we don't even know the bloomin' girl's name, yet."
Alf grinned sheepishly.
"I do," he said. He extracted from his pocket a bulky and dilapidated
pocket-book, from the dusky recesses of which he produced a wad of
paper. He unfolded this and smoothed out its many creases, when it
disclosed itself as a page torn from the last number of _The Sketch_
which had reached the battalion. It was headed "A Paradise for Wounded
Heroes." The first photograph showed Alf's wonderful visitor in nurse's
uniform, and beneath it was written, "Miss Isobel FitzPeter, the famous
society beauty. She has now left Town altogether and is devoting
herself entirely to the Convalescent Home for Officers which she has
established at her father's beautiful place, Dunwater Park, of which
we give pictures below. Miss FitzPeter has taken entire charge of the
administrative work of the Home. We congratulate the fortunate few
whose lucky stars will lead them into the care of so fair a pair of
hands."
"Umph!" said Bill, when he had inwardly digested this. "So that's 'oo
she is! Well, I must say I thought she might 'ave been Lady Something.
Why, she ain't even a 'honorable.' You'd better change your mind, Alf,
before you get too far. Sure you wouldn't like a princess? Eustace'll
get one for you as easy as wink."
But Alf shook his head; he had been thankful to find that the lady of
his dreams moved in no more rarefied an atmosphere. It had made her a
little more accessible.
Bill continued his study of the page in his hand.
"'Dunwater Park, from the South,'" he read. "Nice little villa
enough--'bout the size o' Buckingham Palace. You won't 'ave to turn
the kids out of their bedroom when I come week-endin' with you an' the
missus there, will you?"
Alf gave a nervous snigger.
"'Dunwater Park, from the North-West,'" pursued Bill. "Yes, it's a
big place, but we'll make Eustace put one up for us as'll beat this
all to nothing. What's this? 'Group of officers at present under Miss
FitzPeter's care.' Look 'appy enough, don't they? Why ain't she in it?
If I'd been 'er, I'd 'ave planked meself down in the middle of that
photo, I would. 'Ullo, 'ere's one 'oo looks like our Mr. Allen."
"P'raps it is 'im."
"They don't put names, so we can't tell. Ever 'ad yer photo in the
papers, Alf?"
"No. 'Ow could I?"
"Well, they 'ave lots o' silly things in sometimes. Any'ow, once you've
married this girl and got a big 'ouse you'll 'ave yer photo in once a
day, an' twice on Sundays. 'Oo's this ole cock at the bottom o' the
page? 'Sir Edward FitzPeter.' That's 'er pa. If I'd been you I'd 'ave
'ad a lord, but you never was proud, was you, Alf?"
"Bill," answered Higgins seriously, "it ain't no good."
"What ain't no good?"
"My marryin' 'er. It--it ain't right. She's too 'igh up for me.
She--she ought to 'ave a gentleman."
"Lumme," said Bill scornfully, "you ain't goin' to get cold feet now,
are you? 'Ere you are, the richest man in the 'ole world once you get
'ome, an' you go an' get the wind up because some bloomin' girl without
even a Hon before 'er name is too 'igh for you."
"'Oo's the richest man in the world?"
"You are, o' course. Don't you ever sit down an' think out what you can
do with that Button o' yours? Lumme, if _I_ 'ad it.... 'Ere, just as a
test like, tell Eustace to bring you a thousand quid!"
"Not me. We said we wouldn't...."
"Right you are--my mistake," conceded Bill. "Well, you can take it from
me it'll be all right."
"Eustace generally mucks it some'ow."
"Ah, but that's because we been giving 'im things to do as 'e's not
used to. But this weddin' business an' the 'ouse an' so on'll be easy
to 'im; he's done it all before for Aladdin. If only that ole lady'd
send me that book what I asked 'er for, we'd know better what Eustace
can do. But if she don't get a move on it'll be too late."
But next day, when the company reached its billet, a mail arrived, in
which was a bulky package addressed to Mr. William Grant, Pte. The old
lady had not failed her protégé. The parcel contained an aged copy of
the _Arabian Nights_, leather bound and smelling faintly of camphor.
Between two pages of the book had been slipped a letter.
"DEAR WILLIAM GRANT," it ran.
"I can so well imagine how the hearts of our dear boys in the
trenches must yearn for the simple stories of their childhood. I
have been unable to obtain for you a separate edition of the story
you desire, so I send you a complete edition which belonged to
my poor brother. It was one of his most cherished treasures, and
I have always preserved it in memory of him; but I am sure that
he could have wished nothing better than that his book should be
instrumental in adding to the happiness of our brave soldiers.
That it may bring you some cheer in the midst of your terrible
troubles is the earnest wish of
"Yours most truly,
"SOPHIA BROWNE."
"I call that pathetic, I do," said Alf.
"Pore ole girl," said Bill. "Seems a shame, don't it?"
"Tell you what," Alf suggested, "we'll keep it nice an' clean an' send
it 'er back when we've done with it. Don't seem fair, do it, not to?"
"Well, you ain't started very well, 'ave you?"
"What d'yer mean?"
Bill leant forward and laid his finger on the open page, whose slightly
yellowed surface was now adorned with a smudgy impress of Alf Higgins'
unwashed thumb.
For the rest of that day Bill devoted himself sternly to study. He
found the story of Aladdin very long and full of irrelevant detail, but
by night his task was ended.
"Nice people they was in them times," he said, as he shut the book.
"Kill you as soon as look at you. Alf, 'ere's a bit of advice for you.
Whatever you do, mind you never send Eustace birds-nestin' for you."
"Birds-nestin'?"
"Yes. Seems it's the one thing 'e can't stick. Aladdin nearly upset
the apple-cart that way. 'E asked for a rook's egg and Eustace turned
nasty. Read for yourself."
Alf plodded painfully through the passage.
"Do R-O-C spell 'rook'?" he asked finally.
"'Course it do," said Bill. "So now we'll 'ave to be careful. 'Tain't
the kind o' thing a sensible bloke would ask for any'ow, but people do
get silly fancies."
"What else do the book say?"
"Just what I told you. There's on'y one thing in this world you can't
'ave, my lad, an' that's this bloomin' rook's egg. Eustace'll rig you
up a 'ouse in 'arf a tick as'll make Windsor Castle look like workmen's
dwellin's. You've on'y got to say the word, an' there it is. So what we
'ave to do is to 'ave a real tip-top palace stuck down somewhere near
this Ditchwater Park."
"But 'ow can we?"
"'Ow d'yer mean? Eustace'll do it."
"Yes, but if we go plantin' palaces on other people's ground we'll get
sent to clink, or something. Then we'd look silly."
"Good for you, Alf. That's true. In the book Aladdin got a bit o' land
from 'is girl's father, an' built 'is 'appy 'ome on that. We can't do
that. That ole boy in your picture don't look that sort. No, I'll tell
you what--we'll 'ave to take a 'ouse--one of these 'ere big 'ouses in
the country like the one your girl lives in, an' we'll let Eustace do
it all up. Arter all, if we went an' told Eustace to build us a palace
all in a night we'd 'ave the police an' the newspapers an' I don't know
what else on our tracks."
"There mayn't be no big 'ouse goin' in 'er neighbor'ood."
"Well, we'll 'ave to send Eustace over an' find out."
"Send Eustace?" inquired Alf vaguely.
"We'll 'ave to. We got no time to waste."
"But the officer said...."
"I know what 'e said as well as you do; an' I'm no more wishful to get
my leave stopped than what you are. But after all, where's the 'arm? We
never been found out yet, an' it won't take 'arf a tick, an' I know a
place where we'll never get spotted."
Reluctantly Alf was persuaded to Bill's retreat--a disused dug-out--and
there, in much trepidation, he summoned Eustace. He produced _The
Sketch_ cutting once more from his pocket-book, and Bill explained to
the djinn what was wanted.
"Mr. 'Iggins wants to marry that young lady you introduced 'im to,
Eustace," Grant explained.
"Verily," replied the djinn, "the maid is of a fairness surpassing even
the Princess Badralbudour, the bride of the Prince Aladdin."
"Yes. Well, this is 'er 'ouse, see? 'E wants you to take a 'ouse for
'im near by, something after the same style."
"In truth," said Eustace disdainfully, "it is not meet that the Lord
of the Button should dwell in so mean a house. Command me that I build
thee a palace like unto that of Aladdin, or even more richly bedight
still, and it shall be done."
"Palaces ain't the fashion now," returned Bill imperturbably. "This
sort of thing is all the rage. The lady won't like anything else, an'
we 'ave to think of 'er, you know."
"See what you can do, Eustace," said Alf, "an' we'll wait 'ere for you."
"Lord, I hear and obey."
The djinn disappeared, and remained absent for half an hour, when he
materialized once more, wearing a complacent expression.
"Lord," he said, "it is done. When will it please my Lord to see his
dwelling place?"
"'Ave you took a 'ouse already?" asked Alf, aghast.
"Verily, the dwelling is unworthy that the Lord of the Button should
inhabit it; yet is it not less in appearance than the dwelling of thy
bride's father, and assuredly in the magnificence of its interior it
doth far outshine his."
Alf turned despairingly to Bill.
"There 'e goes again. Slapdash an' 'olesale. 'Ow do we know what 'arm
'e's done? 'E's probably mucked up the 'ole show now. I'm getting fed
up."
"Lord," said the djinn, "the dwelling is lacking in nothing that the
most extravagent of monarchs could desire."
"You read the book, Alf," advised Bill. "It'll be all right. If there's
one thing Eustace does know all about, it's 'ouse-furnishin' an'
decoratin'. You wait a week, an' you'll...."
He broke off in the middle of his sentence and listened intently.
Voices were heard above, and then the sound of feet descending the
stairs. Eustace vanished without waiting for orders--he was quickly
becoming accustomed to his new routine. The two men, pocketing their
pipes, retreated to the farthest depths of the dug-out. The footsteps
grew louder, till three figures, dimly silhouetted against the light
from the stairway, entered the dug-out.
"This is the place, sir," said Lieutenant Donaldson's voice. "I noticed
it the other day. It runs quite a long way back, and if Finlay cares to
put his stuff here I'll put a sentry over it."
"Seems all right," said another voice, at the sound of which Bill
clutched Alf's arm. "Let's have a look at it."
Colonel Enderby switched on his pocket torch and cast its faint beam
round, but without disclosing the cowering figures in the corner.
"Well, Finlay," he said at last, "I don't think you'll get a better
bomb-store than this."
"No, sir." The bombing officer switched on his own torch and walked to
the far end, examining the walls for signs of damp. "Seems quite dry,
too. I--Hallo!"
"What's the matter?"
Lieutenant Finlay had found the rays of his torch throwing up into
ghastly relief the open mouth and glassy terrified eyes of Private
Higgins.
"Who are you?" he said sharply. "Come out of that!"
"What's the matter?" repeated the Colonel.
"There's a man here, sir--two men, I mean. Who are you?"
"Privates Grant and Higgins, sir." The two came sheepishly into the
light.
"What?" said Lieutenant Donaldson in tones of thunder. "You two again?
What are you up to _now_?"
"Looking for another German officer, I expect," said the colonel
humorously. "Well, well, we mustn't be too hard on such a remarkable
pair, Mr. Donaldson. But they must understand that this straying from
their platoon must cease."
"Yes, sir." The company commander turned to his two scapegraces. "Clear
out of this," he said in a fierce tone, "and you can thank your lucky
stars that the colonel was here. I'm fed up with you."
The two, returning to their platoon at the double, sought out Sergeant
Lees and volunteered for a carrying party for which that N.C.O. was
just detailing a reluctant squad.
"Cert'nly," said he. "Always ready to oblige, I am. Sure you 'aven't
any little friends you'd like to bring? Very well, then, never say I
didn't do anything for you."