THE FIRST BLOW
To Harry, as he was taken off to the police station, it seemed the hardest
sort of hard luck that his chase of Graves should be interrupted at such a
critical time and just because he had been over-speeding. But he realized
that he was helpless, and that he would only waste his breath if he tried
to explain matters until he was brought before someone who was really in
authority. Then, if he had any luck, he might be able to clear things up.
But the men who arrested him were only doing their duty as they saw it, and
they had no discretionary power at all.
When he reached the station he was disappointed to find that no one was on
duty except a sleepy inspector, who was even less inclined to listen to
reason than the constables.
"Everyone who breaks the law has a good excuse, my lad," he said. "If we
listened to all of them we might as well close up this place. You can tell
your story to the magistrate in the morning. You'll be well treated
to-night, and you're better off with us than running around the country--a
lad of your age! If I were your father, I should see to it that you were in
bed and asleep before this."
There was no arguing with such a man, especially when he was sleepy. So
Harry submitted, very quietly, to being put into a cell. He was not treated
like a common prisoner; that much he was grateful for. His cell was really
a room, with windows that were not even barred. And he saw that he could be
very comfortable indeed.
"You'll be all right here," said one of the constables. "Don't worry, my
lad. You'll be let off with a caution in the morning. Get to sleep
now--it's late, and you'll be roused bright and early in the morning."
Harry smiled pleasantly, and thanked the man for his good advice. But he
had no intention whatever of taking it. He did not even take off his
clothes, though he did seize the welcome chance to use the washstand that
was in the room. He had been through a good deal since his last chance to
wash and clean up, and he was grimy and dirty. He discovered, too, that he
was ravenously hungry. Until that moment he had been too active, too busy
with brain and body, to notice his hunger.
However, there was nothing to be done for that now. He and Dick had not
stopped for meals that day since breakfast, and they had eaten their
emergency rations in the early afternoon. In the tool case on his impounded
motorcycle Harry knew there were condensed food tablets--each the
equivalent of certain things like eggs, and steaks and chops. And there
were cakes of chocolate, too, the most nourishing of foods that are small
in bulk. But the knowledge did him little good now. He didn't even know
where the motorcycle had been stored for the night. It had been
confiscated, of course; in the morning it would be returned to him.
But he didn't allow his thoughts to dwell long on the matter of food. It
was vastly more important that he should get away. He had to get his news
to Colonel Throckmorton. Perhaps Dick had done that. But he couldn't trust
that chance. Aside from that, he wanted to know what had become of Dick.
And, for the life of him, he didn't see how he was to get away.
"If they weren't awfully sure of me, they'd have locked me up a lot more
carefully than this," he reflected. "And of course it would be hard. I
could get out of here easily enough."
He had seen a drain pipe down which, he felt sure, he could climb.
"But suppose I did," he went on, talking to himself. "I've got an idea it
would land me where I could be seen from the door--and I suppose that's
open all night. And, then if I got away from here, every policeman in this
town would know me. They'd pick me up if I tried to get out, even if I
walked."
He looked out of the window. Not so far away he could see a faint glare in
the sky. That was London. He was already in the suburban chain that ringed
the great city. This place--he did not know its name, certainly--was quite
a town in itself. And he was so close to London that there was no real open
country. One town or borough ran right into the next. The houses would grow
fewer, thinning out, but before the gap became real, the outskirts of the
next borough would be reached.
Straight in front of him, looking over the housetops, he could see the
gleam of water. It was a reservoir, he decided. Probably it constituted the
water supply for a considerable section. And then, as he looked, he saw a
flash--saw a great column of water rise in the air, and descend, like
pictures of a cloudburst. A moment after the explosion, he heard a dull
roar. And after the roar another sound. He saw the water fade out and
disappear, and it was a moment before he realized what was happening. The
reservoir had been blown up. And that meant more than the danger and the
discomfort of an interrupted water supply. It meant an immediate
catastrophe--the flooding of all the streets nearby.
In England, as he knew, such reservoirs were higher than the surrounding
country, as a rule. They were contained within high walls, and, after a
rainy summer, such as this had been, would be full to overflowing. He was
hammering at his door in a moment, and a sleepy policeman, aroused by the
sudden alarm, flung it open as he passed on his way to the floor below.
Harry rushed down, and mingled, unnoticed, with the policemen who had been
off duty, but summoned now to deal with this disaster. The inspector who
had received him paid no attention to him at all.
"Out with you, men!" he cried. "There'll be trouble over this--no telling
but what people may be drowned. Double quick, now!"
They rushed out, under command of a sergeant. The inspector stayed behind,
and now he looked at Harry.
"Hullo!" he said. "How did you get out?"
"I want to help!" said Harry, inspired. "I haven't done anything really
wrong, have I? Oughtn't I be allowed to do whatever I can, now that
something like this has happened?"
"Go along with you!" said the inspector. "All right! But you'd better come
back--because we've got your motorcycle, and we'll keep that until you come
back for it."
But it made little difference to Harry that he was, so to speak, out on
bail. The great thing was that he was free. He rushed out, but he didn't
make for the scene of the disaster to the reservoir, caused, as he had
guessed, by some spy. All the town was pouring out now, and the streets
were full of people making for the place where the explosion had occurred.
It was quite easy for Harry to slip through them and make for London. He
did not try to get his cycle. But before he had gone very far he overtook a
motor lorry that had broken down. He pitched in and helped with the slight
repairs it needed, and the driver invited him to ride along with him.
"Taking in provisions for the troops, I am," he said. "If you're going to
Lunnon, you might as well ride along with me. Eh, Tommy?"
His question was addressed to a sleepy private, who was nodding on the
seat beside the driver. He started now, and looked at Harry.
"All aboard!" he said, with a sleepy chuckle. "More the merrier, say I! Up
all night--that's what I've been! Fine sort of war this is! Do I see any
fightin'? I do not! I'm a bloomin' chaperone for cabbages and cauliflowers
and turnips, bless their little hearts!"
Harry laughed. It was impossible not to do that. But he knew that if the
soldier wanted fighting, fighting he would get before long. Harry could
guess that regular troops--and this man was a regular--would not be kept in
England as soon as territorials and volunteers in sufficient number; had
joined the colors. But meanwhile guards were necessary at home.
He told them, in exchange for the ride, of the explosion and the flood that
had probably followed it.
"Bli'me!" said the soldier, surprised. "Think of that, now! What will they
be up to next--those Germans? That's what I'd like to know! Coming over
here to England and doing things like that! I'd have the law on
'em--that's what I'd do!"
Harry laughed. So blind to the real side of war were men who, at any
moment, might find themselves face to face with the enemy!