THE STRUGGLE IN THE LONELY COTTAGE
"YOU'RE a bright sort of friend, Entwistle," was Peter's greeting.
"Pushing off with young Farrar and leaving me in solitary
contemplation of our host's library. Well, did you get any very
important information?"
Entwistle groaned in mock dismay.
"Another of them!" he exclaimed dismally. "Bless my soul, Barcroft,
have I to let you into the know, too?"
"You came a cropper once when you didn't take me into your
confidence----"
"Don't rub it in," protested the Secret Service man. "I'll cry
_peccavi_. But to return to our original subject. To be brief, young
Farrar knocked over my bird. The fellow he shot is von Gobendorff.
I've arranged for the man to be moved to Trebalda to-night.
Meanwhile--and this is where you come in handy, Peter--Farrar and I
are off to complete the coup, and I want you to cover our tracks."
The promise given, Entwistle's spirits rose, when at length, at
about four in the afternoon, he bade his host farewell, Barcroft
casually suggested that perhaps Farrar would like to walk part of
the way with him.
"I'd go myself," added Peter, "only this confounded ankle of
mine--an old injury, you know. Besides, Greenwood, we've got a lot
to talk about old times."
Farrar and his companion kept along the Trebalda road until they
were quite half a mile from the village of Penkestle, then making a
considerable detour, they found themselves on the open moor, and
roughly three miles N.W. of Broad Tor.
"Here's the spot," said Entwistle, unfolding a large-scale Ordnance
map, during a halt made in order to charge and light pipes. "The
cottage is shown--about fifty yards from the shaft of a disused
copper mine. Whether the two suspects are deliberate traitors to
their country, or whether they are unwillingly the tools of the
unscrupulous von Gobendorff, remains to be proved; but they are
tough characters, so we must be prepared for strong action."
Keeping to the low-lying ground as far as possible, the two men
stealthily approached the stone cottage, until it lay revealed at a
distance of about a hundred yards. That it was not deserted was
evident by a wreath of pale-grey smoke rising into the still air,
while tethered to a ring in its stonework was a small,
sturdily-built Cornish pony, with a pair of panniers slung across
its back.
"Looks like a flit, Farrar," remarked his companion. "I'll go first.
You remain here. If I whistle, one blast will mean that things are
progressing favourably, and you can help me round them up. Two
blasts mean that there is trouble, so don't forget to keep your
pistol handy."
Entwistle deliberately knocked out the ashes from his pipe and
placed it in a stout leather case.
"Don't want to have an old pal broken in the scrap," he observed, as
he put the case into an inner breast-pocket. "Well, _au revoir_."
Concealed behind a suitably situated clump of gorse Farrar watched
the retreating form of his late companion until the latter gained
the blank wall of the cottage, and then edged towards the window.
For some moments Entwistle listened, crouching under the sill of the
window, then he boldly tried the door. It was locked. The sound of a
peremptory knock wafted to the sub's ears. A little interval and the
door was thrown open, and the Secret Service man disappeared from
Farrar's view.
Five long-drawn minutes passed, but neither by sight nor sound did
Entwistle give indication of the progress of his efforts. The sub
was becoming anxious when two shrill blasts rent the air. Entwistle
was in difficulty and called for aid.
Pistol in hand, Farrar cleared the intervening stretch of rough
ground and dashed through the open doorway to his companion's
assistance.
In his impetuosity the sub forgot to exercise due caution. A stick
was thrust betwixt his legs, and, tripping, Farrar measured his
length upon the ground. Slightly dazed by his fall, the sub was
hiked up in the clutches of two burly men--a prisoner--and his
automatic weapon taken from him.
Vainly he attempted to break away, but an excruciating pain warned
him that his captors were applying a most efficacious arm-lock. To
struggle more would mean a broken limb.
"Are you sure that there are no more of these prying Englanders,
Schranz?" inquired one of the men, speaking in German.
The person addressed--he was the man who had bungled with the
signals on the occasion of the attempt to blow up Poldene
Bridge--went out, to return presently with the information that
everything appeared quiet.
"It is well," rejoined the leader of the gang. "Now to settle with
these meddlesome interlopers."
"It is easier said than done," remarked another.
The sub was taking stock of his surroundings. In a corner, and
protected to a certain extent by an overthrown table, stood
Entwistle, seemingly unperturbed at the danger that confronted him.
Instead of two suspects there were four powerfully built men to be
reckoned with.
"We'll wait till it's quite dark," resumed the last speaker, "and
then these Englanders will be able to test the depth of the shaft.
It is better than having recourse to pistol shots; and if their
bodies are ever found, well, it will be concluded that they have met
with a regrettable accident."
"Why wait?" grumbled Schranz. "Everything is clear outside. Every
moment is precious, if we are to get away with whole skins."
"All right," assented the leader. "Two of us will be sufficient to
keep the old one in order; you others can remove the young one.
Don't be long about it."
With pistols in their hands the two Huns detailed to guard Entwistle
covered their prisoner, while the others, seizing Farrar, began to
haul him out of the cottage, despite a strenuous resistance on the
part of the sub.
So fierce was the struggle that Entwistle's guards turned their
heads to watch the fracas. It was exactly what the Secret Service
man was waiting for. Without removing his right hand from his hip
pocket he fired two shots in rapid succession.
With a yell one of his captors leapt a couple of feet into the air
and fell in a huddled mass upon the earth floor.
{Illustration: "SEIZING FARRAR, BEGAN TO HAUL HIM OUT OF THE
COTTAGE." [_p._ 172.}
The other spun round, made a futile attempt to raise his pistol and
subsided heavily across the body of his companion.
Intent upon their particular task, Schranz and the fourth man had
not realised the turn of events before Entwistle, watching his
opportunity, placed a bullet through the former's right arm. Without
a great risk of hitting the sub, Entwistle could not fire at the
remaining miscreant.
Farrar was now quite equal to the occasion. Finding, although
unaccountably to him, that he was engaged against only one man he
let drive with a powerful left-hander. His fist struck the Hun
fairly and squarely on the chin, and the man dropped like a log.
"Rather warm while it lasted," remarked Entwistle nonchalantly.
"'Fraid I've spoilt a good pair of trousers. Any damage?"
"Not to me," replied Farrar. "By Jove! I made a most unholy bungle."
"And so did I," admitted his companion. "So you've nothing to brag
about. I was quite under the impression that there were only two of
the fellows here, and it gave me a bit of a shock to find four. It's
a handy trick, Farrar, to know how to use a pistol without removing
it from your hip pocket."
"You might as well extinguish the embers," remarked Farrar.
Entwistle clapped his hand to his smouldering garment.
"Thought I could sniff something burning," he said. "There are
advantages and disadvantages to most things, and a pistol fired from
one's pocket is no exception. Sorry I landed you in a bit of a
mess."
"Not at all," protested the sub. "You saved me from--well--a long
and decidedly unpleasant fall. What's the depth of a mine shaft?"
"Anything from two hundred to four hundred feet," was the reply. "As
a matter of fact I had no doubts on that score. I knew that one
against four was long odds, and reckoned on a division of work when
you were collared. It was then an easy matter to dispose of a couple
of the bounders, and that equalised things.... No, you don't, Fritz;
hands up and behave yourself!"
This was to the man Schranz, who was furtively eyeing the open door,
the while nursing his bullet-punctured arm. The fellow whom Farrar
had floored was still in a dazed condition, muttering incoherently.
Of the others, the leader of the gang was stone dead, Entwistle's
shot having penetrated the brain; the other was fast shuffling off
this mortal coil.
Deftly the sub dressed the arm of his late antagonist, for the
small-calibre bullet had ripped an artery.
"Now what's to be done?" he inquired.
"Go without dinner, I'm afraid," replied Entwistle. He glanced at
his watch.
"In another thirty-five minutes," he announced, "we will hand over
our prisoners to the local police. I took the precaution this
afternoon of telephoning to the superintendent at Trebalda. The
cottage will be locked up and seals attached to the doors. To-morrow
I can investigate its contents at my leisure. Now, our immediate
business completed, I think we'll have a pipe--try this tobacco."