HOW THEY WORKED OUT.
Roy made a desperate clutch at the figure as it raced past, evidently
fleeing from an unseen peril. That that peril was Lieut. Bradbury, Roy did
not for an instant doubt, as he could hear the officer's shouts in his
undoubted voice close at hand.
The boy's hands grasped the unknown's collar, but at the same instant,
with an eel-like squirm, the figure dived and twisted. Suddenly it bent
down and scooped up a handful of sandy gravel and flung the stuff full in
Roy's face. Blinded, the boy staggered back and the other darted off like
a deer.
The next instant two heavy hands fell on Roy's shoulders and he felt
himself twisted violently about. And then a voice--Lieut. Bradbury's
voice--said:
"Now then, you young rascal, I've got you. What does all this mean?"
"That's just what I'd like to know," exclaimed Roy indignantly, brushing
the gravel out of his smarting eyes, "I've been made prisoner and--."
The officer's astonished voice interrupted him.
"What! Do you mean to try to lie out of it? Didn't you just hand the plans
of the aeroplane over to that representative of a foreign government whom
Mr. Mortlake is now chasing?"
Roy looked at the other as if he thought he had gone suddenly mad, as well
he might.
"I don't understand you," he gasped. "What is all this--a joke? It's a
very poor one if it is."
"I'll give you a chance to explain," said the officer grimly, tightening
his hold on Roy's collar, "as things stand at present, I believe you to be
as black a young traitor as ever wore shoe leather."
The world swam before Roy's eyes. He sensed, for the first time, an
inkling of the diabolical web that had been spun about him.
But it is time that we retraced our footsteps a little and return to
events which occurred after the lieutenant had been picked up by
appointment in Sandy Beach. In the automobile which called for him were
seated Mr. Harding, whom he already knew slightly from meeting him at the
aeroplane plant, and Mortlake himself.
"This is a very unfortunate business, hey?" croaked old Harding, as they
spun along the road to the place where Mortlake, who was driving, declared
Roy had made an appointment to meet the foreign spy.
"It is worse than that, sir. It is deplorable," the officer had said. And
he meant it, too. He had hardly been able to eat his dinner for thinking
over the extraordinary situation.
But the auto sped rapidly on. Now it had passed the last scattering houses
outside the village, and was racing along a lonely country road. Finally,
it turned off, and entered a branch thoroughfare which led from the main
track.
All this time but little had been said. Each occupant of the machine was
busied with his own thoughts, and in the lieutenant's case, at any rate,
they were not of the pleasantest.
The road into which they turned was little more than a track, with a high,
grass-grown ridge in the centre. It was a lonesome spot, and certainly
seemed retired enough to suit any plotters who might wish to transact
their business unobserved.
"Bother such sneaky bits of work," thought the young officer to himself,
as they rushed onward through the darkness. "I feel like a cheap
detective, or somebody equally low and degraded. It's unmanly, and--oh,
well! it's in the line of duty, I suppose, or hanged if I would have
anything to do with it. Mortlake showed up as more of a gentleman in the
matter than I'd have given him credit for. He seems to be genuinely cut
up over the whole nasty mess. Well he may be, too."
As described in another chapter, the sky was overcast with hurrying
clouds, which, from time to time, allowed a flood of moonlight to filter
through. By one of these temporary periods of light, Lieut. Bradbury was
able to perceive that they were in a sort of lane with high hedges on each
side.
Suddenly Mortlake ran the auto through a gap in the hedge at one side of
the road, and drove it in among a clump of alders, where there was no
danger of it being seen.
"This is the place," said he, as they came to a standstill.
"And a nice, lonely sort of place, too, hey?" chirped old Harding; "just
the place for a traitor to his country to----"
"Hush!" said the young officer seriously. "Let us wait and see if young
Prescott completes the case against himself before we condemn him, Mr.
Harding."
"Humph!" grunted the old money-bags. "In my opinion, he is condemned
already. Never did like that boy, something sneaky about him. Hey, hey,
hey?"
The officer's heart was too sick within him to answer. He drew out his
watch and looked at it in a fleeting glimpse of moonshine. It was almost
the time that Mortlake had declared had been agreed upon for the
consummation of the plot.
"At all events, I shall know within a few minutes if this story is to be
credited or condemned," thought Lieut. Bradbury.
Old Harding and Mortlake, the latter leading and beckoning to Lieut.
Bradbury, slipped cautiously through the alders, and took up a position in
the clump at the edge of the road behind a big bowlder, where they could
command a good view of the thoroughfare without being seen themselves. The
officer, with a keener sense than ever of doing something dishonorable,
joined them.
"Hark!" exclaimed Mortlake presently.
But, although they all strained their ears, they could hear no sound
except the cracking of a tree limb, as it rubbed against another branch in
the night wind.
"You are sure this was the place?" asked the officer.
"So my man told me," rejoined Mortlake. "You know, I relied absolutely on
his word for this thing, all the way through. I, myself, know nothing of
it."
He emphasized these last words, as if he wished them to stick in his
hearer's memory.
Suddenly, however, a new sound struck into the silence.
It was a heavy footstep, gradually drawing closer. Round the dark corner
of the road came a tall form in a long coat and with a slouch hat pulled
down well over its eyes.
Lieutenant Bradbury could have groaned. Mortlake nudged him triumphantly.
"Well," he said, "I guess part of it's true, anyhow."
"I'm afraid so," breathed the officer.
"I thought so. Hey, hey, I thought so," chuckled old Harding rustily.
The tall figure came on until it was almost opposite the bushes where the
three hidden onlookers were concealed. It looked about in some impatience,
tapping one of its feet querulously. Then it fell to pacing up and down.
"Evidently the boy is late," thought the lieutenant. And then a glad guess
shot through his mind. "Perhaps the boy has thought better of it."
But even as he felt a great sense of relief at this supposition, there
came a low whistle from farther down the road. It was answered by the
figure opposite the hidden party, which instantly stopped its pacing to
and fro.
"By the great north star, it's true!" gasped the officer, as, from round
the bend in the road below where they were stationed, a slight, boyish
figure, walking rapidly, came into view. It hesitated an instant, and
then, perceiving the tall man, it came on again.
"Have you got der plans?"
The question came in a thick, guttural, foreign tone, from the tall
figure.
The boy, who had just appeared, showed every trace of agitation.
"He's struggling with his better nature," thought Lieut. Bradbury. "I'll
help him."
He was starting forward with this intention, when Mortlake, prepared for
some such move, dragged him back.
"Don't interfere," he whispered, "if the lad is a traitor, as well know it
now as at some future time."
Lieut. Bradbury could not but feel that this was true. He sank back once
more, watching intently, breathlessly, every move of the drama going on
under his eyes.
With a quick gesture, the boy seemed to cast aside his doubts. He muttered
something in a low voice, and, as a ray of moonlight filtered through a
cloud, Lieut. Bradbury distinctly saw him pass something to the tall man.
"Goot. You haf done vell. Here is der money," said the man, in a low, but
distinct tone, that carried plainly to the listeners' ears.
He held out an envelope, which the boy took, with a muttered words of
thanks, seemingly.
Lieut. Bradbury could control himself no longer. Flinging Mortlake aside,
as if he had been a child, he flashed out of his place of concealment, mad
rage boiling over in his veins.
What he had just seen had swept every doubt aside. His whole being was
bent on getting hold of the young traitor and trouncing him within an inch
of his life. He felt he would be fulfilling a sacred duty in doing so.
But, as he sprang forward, as if impelled by an uncoiled steel spring, the
two conspirators caught the alarm. While the officer was still rushing
through the bushes, they dashed off, one in one direction, one in the
other.
"He's ruined everything," groaned Mortlake.
"No, no; you can save the day yet if you act quickly," cried old man
Harding in the same low, intense voice, "shout out that you are after the
spy."
"Right!" cried Mortlake, clutching at a straw.
He, too, dashed out of concealment, and took off after the tall man,
bellowing loudly:
"You chase the boy, Bradbury. I'll get the spy. Stop you villain! Stop!"
It was at that moment that Roy, just emerging from the woods, heard Lieut.
Bradbury's angry challenge:
"Prescott, you young scoundrel, I'll get you yet!"