The bullet that sang over their heads effectually broke up the
threatened trouble between Dick Mercer and Jack Young on one side, and
the telephone linemen on the other. With one accord they obeyed that
guttural order, "Hands oop!"
They had been so interested in one another and in the cut wire that none
of them had noticed the practically noiseless approach of a great grey
motor car, with all lights out, that had stolen up on them. But now,
with a groan, Dick and Jack both knew it for one of the Bray Park cars.
So, after all, Dick's flight had been in vain. He had escaped the
guards of Bray Park once, only to walk straight into this new trap.
And, worst of all, there would be no Jack Young outside to help this
time, for Jack was a captive, too. Only-he was not!
At the thought Dick had turned, to discover that Jack was not beside
him. It was very dark, but in a moment he caught the tiniest movement
over by the hedge, and saw a spot a little darker than the rest of the
ground about it. Jack, he saw at once, had taken the one faint chance
there was, dropped down, and crawled away, trusting that their captors
had not counted their party, and might not miss one boy.
Just in time he slipped through a hole in the hedge. The next moment
one of the headlights of the grey motor flashed out, almost blinding the
three of them, as they held up their hands. In its light four men, well
armed with revolvers, were revealed. "Donnerwetter!" said one. "I made
sure there were four of them! So! Vell, it is enough. Into the car
with them!"
No pretence about this chap! He was German, and didn't care who knew
it. He was unlike the man who had disguised himself as an English
officer, at the house of the heliograph, but had betrayed himself and
set this whole train of adventure going by his single slip and fall from
idiomatic English that Harry Fleming's sharp ears had caught. Dick, was
thrilled, somehow, even while he was being roughly bundled toward the
motor. If these fellows were as bold as this, cutting telephone wires,
running about without lights, giving up all secrecy and pretence, it
must mean that the occasion for which they had come was nearly over. It
must mean that their task, whatever it might be, was nearly
accomplished-the blow they had come to strike was about ready to be
driven home.
"'Ere, who are you a shovin' off?" complained one of the linemen, as he
was pushed toward the motor. He made some effort to resist but the next
moment he pitched forward. One of the Germans had struck him on the
head with the butt of his revolver. It was a stunning blow, and the man
was certainly silenced. Dick recoiled angrily from the sight, but he
kept quiet. He knew he could do no good by interfering. But the sheer,
unnecessary brutality of it shocked and angered him. He felt that
Englishmen, or Americans, would not treat a prisoner so-especially one
who had not been fighting. These men were not even soldiers; they were
spies, which made the act the more outrageous. They were serving their
country, however, for all that, and that softened Dick's feeling toward
them a little. True, they were performing their service in a sneaky,
underhanded way that went against his grain. But it was service, and he
knew that England, too, probably used spies, forced to do so for
self-defence. He realized the value of the spy's work, and the courage
that work required. If these men were captured they would not share the
fate of those surrendering in battle but would be shot, or hung, without
ceremony.
A minute later he was forced into the tonneau of the car, where he lay
curled up on the floor. Two of the Germans sat in the cushioned seat
while the two linemen, the one who had been hit still unconscious, were
pitched in beside him. The other two Germans were in front, and the car
began to move at a snail's pace. The man beside the driver began
speaking in German; his companion replied. But one of the two behind
interrupted, sharply.
"Speak English, dummer kerl!" he exclaimed, angrily. "These English
people have not much sense, but if a passerby should hear us speaking
German, he would be suspicious. Our words he cannot hear and if they
are in English he will think all is well."
"This is one of those we heard of this afternoon," said the driver.
"This Boy Scout. The other is riding to London-but he will not go so
far."
He laughed at that, and Dick, knowing he was speaking of Harry,
shuddered.
"Ja, that is all arranged," said the leader, with a chuckle. "Not for
long-that could not be. But we need only a few hours more. By this
time tomorrow morning all will be done. He comes, Von Wedel?"
"We got the word to-night-yes," said the other man. "All is arranged
for him. Ealing-Houndsditch, first. There are the soldiers. Then
Buckingham Palace. Ah, what a lesson we shall teach these English!
Then the buildings at Whitehall. We shall strike at the heart of their
empire-the heart and the brains!"
Dick listened, appalled. Did they think, then, that he, a boy, could
not understand? Or were they so sure of success that it did not matter?
As a matter of fact, he did not fully understand. Who was Von Wedel?
What was he going to do when he came? And how was he coming?
However, it was not the time for speculation. There was the chance that
any moment they might say something he would understand, and, moreover,
if he got away, it was possible that he might repeat what he heard to
those who would be able to make more use of it.
Just then the leader's foot touched Dick, and he drew away. The German
looked down at him, and laughed.
"Frightened?" he said. "We won't hurt you! What a country! It sends
its children out against us!"
His manner was kindly enough, and Dick felt himself warming a little to
the big man in spite of himself.
"Listen, boy," said the leader. "You have seen things that were not for
your eyes. So you are to be put where knowledge of them will do no
harm-for a few hours. Then you can go. But until we have finished our
work, you must be kept. You shall not be hurt-I say it."
Dick did not answer. He was thinking hard. He wondered if Jack would
try to rescue him. They were getting very near Bray Park, he felt, and
he thought that, once inside, neither Jack nor anyone else could get him
out until these men who had captured him were willing. Then the car
stopped suddenly. Dick saw that they were outside a little house.
"Get out," said the leader.
Dick and the telephone man who had not been hurt obeyed; the other
lineman was lifted out, more considerately this time.
"Inside!" said the German with the thick, guttural voice. He pointed to
the open door, and they went inside. One of the Germans followed them,
and stood in the open door.
"Werner, you are responsible for the prisoners, especially the boy,"
said the leader. "See that none of them escape. You will be relieved
at the proper time. You understand?"
"Ja, Herr Ritter!" said the man. "Zu befehl!"
He saluted, and for the first time Dick had the feeling that this
strange procedure was, in some sense, military, even though there were
no uniforms. Then the door shut, and they were left in the house.
It was just outside of Bray Park-he remembered it now. A tiny box of a
place it was, too, but solidly built of stone. It might have been used
as a tool house. There was one window; that and the door were the only
means of egress. The German looked hard at the window and laughed.
Dick saw then that it was barred. To get out that way, even if he had
the chance, would be impossible. And the guard evidently decided that.
He lay down across the door.
"So!" he said. "I shall sleep-but with one ear open! You cannot get
out except across me. And I am a light sleeper!"
Dick sat there, pondering wretchedly. The man who had been struck on
the head was breathing stertorously. His companion soon dropped off to
sleep, like the German, so that Dick was the only one awake. Through
the window, presently, came the herald of the dawn, the slowly advancing
light. And suddenly Dick saw a shadow against the light, looked up
intently, and saw that it was Jack Young. Jack pointed. Dick, not quite
understanding, moved to the spot at which he pointed.
"Stay there!" said Jack, soundlessly. His lips formed the words but he
did not utter them. He nodded up and down vehemently, however, and Dick
understood him, and that he was to stay where he was. He nodded in
return, and settled down in his new position. And then Jack dropped out
of sight.
For a long time, while the dawn waxed and the light through the window
grew stronger, Dick sat there wondering. Only the breathing of the
three men disturbed the quiet of the little hut. But then, from behind
him, he grew conscious of a faint noise. Not quite a noise, either; it
was more a vibration. He felt the earthen floor of the hut trembling
beneath him. And then at last he understood.
He had nearly an hour still to wait. But at last the earth cracked and
yawned where he had been sitting. He heard a faint whisper.
"Dig it out a little-there's a big hole underneath. You can squirm your
way through. I'm going to back out now."
Dick obeyed, and a moment later he was working his way down, head first,
through the tunnel Jack had dug from the outside. He was small and
slight and he got through, somehow, though he was short of breath and
dirtier than he had ever been in his life when at last he was able to
straighten up-free.
"Come on!" cried Jack. "We've no time to lose. I've got a couple of
bicycles here. We'd better run for it."
Run for it they did, but there was no alarm. Behind them was the hut,
quiet and peaceful. And beyond the hut was the menace of Bray Park and
the mysteries of which the Germans had spoken in the great grey motor
car.