KIDNAPPED
IT will now be necessary to set back the hands of the clock to the
hour of ten on the evening of the Zeppelin's visit to Barborough.
At that hour Mr. Andrew Norton was knocking on the door of Ladybird
Fold, and vainly endeavouring to restrain the boisterous attentions
of Ponto and Nan.
"Good evening, Mrs. Carter," he said as the door was opened
revealing the domestic stopgap with her head covered by a shawl--the
recognised head-dress of the working-class women of industrial
Lancashire. "Any one at home?"
"Only mysen, master," was the reply. "An' in another minute you
would be findin' me gone. Mr. Barcroft he's out, but he'll not be
long, I'm thinkin'. An' young Mr. Barcroft--'im as is in the
Navy--is expected home to-night. But come in, you're kindly
welcome."
"And at what time is young Mr. Barcroft expected?" he asked in a
tone that implied mild curiosity, as he stepped over the threshold.
"I'm not for sayin' for certain. Master had a telegram. You'll not
be wantin' anythin', sir?"
Norton shook his head. Accompanied by the two dogs he entered the
study and switched on the lights. As he did so he heard the door
slam and Mrs. Carter's retreating footsteps on the hard path.
He knew how to make himself at home during his friend's absence. He
was one of those men who have the happy knack of forming quick
friendships, and the somewhat easy-going Peter was a good subject in
that respect.
Andrew Norton was a man of forty-five, although he looked
considerably younger. He was of medium height, full-featured and
inclined to stoutness. A keen motorist, he had attracted Barcroft's
attention on the very first day of his taking possession of "The
Croft," when he was endeavouring to take a large car up the
difficult lane beyond Ladybird Fold. Since there was plenty of
accommodation in the outbuilding utilised as a garage at Barcroft's
house Peter's suggestion that it would be easier for the newcomer to
The Croft to keep his car there and thus save a steep and loose
ascent was accepted with profuse gratitude.
From that moment the friendship ripened. Almost every evening after
the literary man's strenuous labours were completed for the day
Andrew Norton would drop in for a smoke and a yarn.
"Rotten nuisance!" mused the hostless guest as he settled himself in
an easy chair. "If only I knew what time he was returning. The
uncertainty will probably make a regular mess of present
arrangements."
It might have been idle curiosity that prompted him to cross over to
the desk and examine Peter's uncompleted work; sheer anxiety that
led him to the open window to listen intently for the sound of his
absent friend's footsteps.
Through the uncurtained window three shafts of brilliant light were
flung upon the closely-cropped lawn, the limit of the rays being
defined by a thick hedge dividing the lawn from the rose-garden.
"No signs yet," he muttered, as he glanced at the clock for the
twentieth time. "Friend Barcroft's regrettable absence is spoiling
my evening. I'll get back to The Croft."
He drew the curtains with deliberate care, so that no stray ray of
light should escape. Lighting restrictions were lax in that part of
Lancashire, as the twinkling glimmers from the houses in the valley
testified; for in the district where he had previously lived for two
years there were drastic observances on that score, and now the
habit of conforming to the requirements of the authorities was not
lightly to be dropped.
"I'll give him five minutes more," he soliloquised as he drew a pipe
from his pocket and charged it with great deliberation. This he
proceeded to light, making use of a paper spill. Here he showed a
marked contrast to the easygoing methods of the occupier of Ladybird
Fold. In spite of their high price, Peter invariably used
matches--and plenty of them. Usually the hearth was littered with
the burnt-out stumps, for Barcroft always had a pipe in his mouth
when he was writing. It might go out twenty times before the tobacco
was expended, but every time a fresh match was struck and flung away
to augment the already numerous accumulation in the fireplace.
Just then the two dogs sat up and barked. Norton started nervously.
He was only just beginning to get used to the sturdy, shaggy
animals.
"Quiet!" he shouted.
A peremptory knock sounded on the door. The still burning spill fell
from the man's fingers. He made his way into the hall, shutting the
study door upon the dogs. Vainly he groped for the switch operating
the front door light.
"Who's there?" he demanded.
"Telegram for Mr. Barcroft," replied a deep voice.
Had Norton paused to consider the likelihood of a telegram being
delivered at a very late hour in a remote country district he might
have saved himself from a great deal of personal inconvenience. But
he did not.
He threw open the door. His eyes, still dazzled by the quick
transition from the brilliant light within to the intense darkness
without, stared vacantly into the night, while his right hand groped
furtively for the expected orange coloured envelope.
As he did so a pair of powerful hands grasped his ankles. His
involuntary exclamation of mingled astonishment and indignation was
stifled by a thick cloth twisted over his mouth and round his head,
while simultaneously his arms were pinioned to his sides.
Unable to move a limb, much less to struggle, he found himself
lifted from the ground and borne away as helpless as an infant.
"Fools!" he spluttered. "Fools! You'll be sorry for this."
Whether his captors heard his muffled protests or not they paid no
heed save to give the cloth that encircled his head an extra twist.
The pressure upon his nose was painful. He had difficulty in
breathing, so, realising that his stifled exclamations were futile,
he wisely held his peace from a vocal point of view, although
inwardly he was raging furiously.
He could hear the boots of his captors clattering on the cobbles
until the crisp-sounding footfalls told him that the men had gained
the cinder path on the east side of the house. Then, with
considerable effort on the part of his bearers, he was lifted up a
flight of four stone steps, beyond which, he knew, was an extensive
grassfield that rose gradually for the next half mile.
Grunting and obviously short of breath the men trudged stolidly
onwards for perhaps nearly two hundred yards. Once Norton thought
fit to make a sudden effort and wriggle from his captors' grasp, but
the attempt ended disastrously to himself. Brutally they bumped him
upon the ground. The shock to the spinal system was excruciating,
but it had the desired effect. The prisoner's spirit of resistance
was broken; even the stern mandate, "Quiet, or you are a dead man,"
was unnecessary.
The scarf or cloth that enveloped his head had slipped during the
struggle. He could now see. Either his kidnappers had not noticed
the fact or else they regarded it as of no consequence.
He could discern the faces and upper portions of the bodies of the
two men. They were tall burly fellows dressed in black oilskins. In
spite of their powerful physique they were breathing stertorously;
they reeked of petrol.
Another fifty yards and they came to a halt. Norton turned his head
and saw what appeared at first sight to be the dark grey body of a
motorcar. It was quivering under the application of some unseen
influence, yet there was no purr of internal mechanism to justify
the belief that it possessed self-contained machinery.
"Lash that schweinhund's ankles, Pfeil," ordered one of the fellows
in German. "That is right; now do you enter first and I'll heave the
English fool up so that you can get him inside."
"Now is the dangerous time," commented his companion as he scrambled
through a narrow aperture.
"It is ever a dangerous time with us," rejoined the other gloomily.
"Ah, yes; but now? Supposing the wire is insufficient to take the
strain?"
"It will bear thrice our total weight," replied the first speaker,
"frail though it looks. No fear of that breaking. It is that
highly-charged electric cable that worries me. We must have landed
nearer to it than we should have done, yet it looks further away on
the map."
The fellow completed his difficult task of lifting Norton into the
interior of the covered-in car--the observation room of a Zeppelin
floating motionless five hundred feet or so overhead.
The commander of the giant aircraft had successfully carried out a
daring manoeuvre with the ultimate object of taking prisoner the man
on whom his imperial master the "All-Highest" had set a price for
his capture. Taking advantage of an almost imperceptible breeze and
knowing his position to an almost dead certainty by means of exact
cross-bearings afforded by three reservoirs, conspicuous even in the
darkness, he had caused to be lowered the aluminium observation car.
In flight this contrivance is slung close under the after part of
the Zeppelin, but when necessary it can be lowered by means of a
fine but enormously strong flexible steel wire to a maximum distance
of two thousand feet beneath the giant envelope. Thus it is possible
for a Zeppelin to remain hidden in a bank of clouds and lower the
observation car to within a few hundred feet of the ground. Its
comparatively small size and inconspicuous colour would render it
invisible even at that short distance, and give the observer an
uninterrupted view of the country. By means of a telephone he could
then communicate with the commander of the airship and indicate the
objects singled out for attack.
On this occasion the aluminium box was lowered till it touched the
ground. The two men purposely told off for the work in hand had
anchored the car, thereby keeping the Zeppelin stationary also. In
the event of a surprise the airship's crew would unhesitatingly
sever the wire and leave the car and their two comrades to their
fate.
And now most of this particular enterprise had been carried out. The
supposed object of their attentions lay gagged and bound within the
aluminium cage. All that remained to be done was to break out the
grapnel and signal to the men in the Zeppelin to wind in the steel
cable.
"All ready?" enquired Pfeil through the telephone. "Good! When I
give the signal will you forge ahead to the north-east? Why? Because
we are much too close to the high tension cable which Herr Leutnant
knows of."
He leant through an aperture in the side of the cradle and listened
intently. At the first sound of the airship's propellers he jerked a
tripping-line smartly. The fluke of the grapnel folded as he did so,
and the car, no longer held captive, slid jerkily over the grass.
"Up!" telephoned the German.
The next instant Norton felt himself being lifted through the air as
the car ascended swiftly at a rate of five feet a second. In less
than two minutes the cradle's supplementary movement ceased. It was
hauled hard up against the immense bulk of the Zeppelin and secured
with additional lashings.
The wind was now shrieking through the lattice work of the airship,
as gathering speed she flew through the still air at a rate of
nearly fifty miles an hour, or a little more than half her maximum
speed.
It was cold--horribly cold. Lightly clad and coming from a warm room
the prisoner felt the change acutely. He shivered in spite of his
efforts to the contrary.
Gripped by the ankles he found himself being dragged like a sack of
flour from the detachable car to the V-shaped gangway connecting two
of the fixed gondolas. The lashings securing his lower limbs were
cast off, and, thrust forward by the powerful Pfeil, he was made to
walk along the narrow corridor.
"Here is the Englishman, Herr Leutnant," announced the German
addressing a short, corpulent officer who stood by the bomb-dropping
apparatus in the centre of the gondola.
"Good!" was the appreciative reply. Ober-leutnant Julius von
Loringhoven squirmed in anticipation of winning more than a half of
the promised guerdon. A share--a considerable share
unfortunately--was owing to a certain individual who, acting as an
agent of the German Government, had given valuable aid in snaring
the proscribed Englishman. His assistance was necessary, of course,
but that meant a sensible reduction of the sum of paper money with
which von Loringhoven hoped to restore the fortunes of his
impoverished house.
"Good!" he repeated. "Remove that covering and let me look at the
pig."
Pfeil obeyed smartly. With a savage jerk he exposed the face of his
captive.
"Utter idiot!" shouted Andrew Norton in German. "Imbecile! You've
blundered and spoilt everything."