A WHITE FACE IN THE MOONLIGHT
And meanwhile, what of Danny! Was he sharing in the pride and joy
of the Pack, in its important work? No; Danny was not feeling very
cheerful, for he was conscious that for the first time since he had
been a Cub he was failing to do his duty. Why? Because he was _giving
in to himself_, to his own pride and ambition, and thinking of his own
glory before the safety of his country.
Here he was, knowing a large number of important particulars about a
dangerous gang of spies. He knew their hiding-places; their footprints;
the faces and appearance of several of them. He knew mysterious things
about them that he did not understand. His country was in great peril;
the Scouts were called out to try and catch these very Germans--while
he kept his secret to himself. A voice inside him said:
“Danny, it’s your duty to go and report all you know to the police, at
once.”
But Danny frowned, and answered: “I won’t. If I do that, the police
and the soldiers and the Scouts will take all my clues that I’ve spent
months in finding, and they will catch the spies, and have all the fun
and get all the honour and glory. They are _my spies_--I will catch
them myself. And all the beastly people who laughed at me and said I
was telling lies will see I really am a detective. And p’raps the King
will hear about me.”
But still the voice inside him said: “A Cub does not give in to
himself. England is in danger--what does it matter if you get the glory
or not, as long as her enemies are caught?” But Danny would not listen.
He felt sure his great chance had come. To-night he would solve the
mystery, and catch the spies red-handed. Once he had found them at
it--_then_ he would not mind calling the Scouts or police to his help.
But he felt very unhappy inside, as people always do who do wrong with
their eyes open, and on purpose.
Danny had meant to stay out all night looking for the spies. But, as
luck would have it, his mother caught him as he was creeping out, at
nine o’clock, and packed him off to bed, locking his bedroom door. He
decided at once to get out of the window. But, oh, bother!--there was
his mother talking over the garden gate to Mrs. Jones from next door.
He waited and waited, but they would not go away. Tired out, he decided
to lie down on his bed for a little while, and get out as soon as he
heard their voices stop and knew the coast was clear. But when you are
very sleepy, and lie down on your bed, the chances are that you fall
fast asleep. And this is exactly what Danny did.
The church clock was striking twelve when he awoke with a start and sat
up. Why was he lying on his bed in uniform? Then he remembered. “Slack
little beast,” he called himself. He had slept instead of going out
spy-hunting! He jumped off his bed, feeling about for his cap.
Hark! What was that? A deep, distant humming. Was it a motor car on the
road? No, it seemed to come from above! It must be an aeroplane. Softly
Danny crept to the window. Yes, the whirring, humming sound certainly
came down faintly from high, high up in the starry, purple sky. Perhaps
it was a German aeroplane!
Danny’s eyes were fixed on that part of the sky whence the sound seemed
to come. This happened to be exactly over the tower of the ruined
Abbey, whose black outline stood out distinctly against the stars.
Suddenly, like a faint flicker of summer lightning, a white glow
appeared for a moment over the tower, as if a bright light had been
flashed further down, inside, only visible from above. And between the
cracks of the half-ruined walls Danny saw a gleam shine for a moment,
and then go out. The detective had had his suspicions about that tower
ever since the day he had decided that the artist-spy must have been up
there. And yet he had not been able to discover anything about it. Now
he was certain something was wrong.
The German spies were there, up in the tower!
They had flashed a light in signal to the aeroplane. Even as he
listened breathless, the aeroplane buzzed, as if putting on a higher
speed, and then sped off in a southerly direction.
“I’ve got you,” hissed Danny, between his clenched teeth, as he climbed
out of the window, and down the rose-covered porch.
He meant to try and find out something more from the ruined Abbey,
and then make his report to the Scouts on the night patrol. He, the
detective, would lead them to the tower, where his prisoners would be
caught like rats in a trap. He would show them the secret passage in
the pond. He would explain the drain-pipe telephone. He would identify
the prisoners. There would be the bicycle man, and the other in the
motor car, and the tramp, and the artist. He, Danny, would be the hero
of this adventure.
With beating heart, he crept down the kitchen garden and between the
gooseberry bushes. Through the hedge he crawled, and out on to the
mossy turf. It was soaking wet with dew. The pale moonlight shone
down on the Abbey, giving it a mysterious air, and casting very black
shadows. Suddenly Danny remembered his dream. So it was coming true!
There was a “traitor” in the Abbey ruin. And he must prove himself
to be the gallant crusader of his dream. He gripped the stick he was
holding, and it seemed to him to be a long, bright sword. He glanced
down at himself, half expecting to see the red Cross of St. George on
his breast, the shining armour. But there was only a green jersey and
bare, brown knees.
“Yet, I _am_ a knight of St. George--all Scouts and Wolf Cubs are,”
he told himself. “Oh, help me to be brave!” he whispered as he stole
forward into the shadows. And truly he had need of help--more need than
he knew.
Stepping softly into the dark cloisters, Danny held his breath and
listened. There was no sound. Slowly he advanced to the door of the
tower. Here he flashed on his electric light. The door was fast shut.
Then, on the stone floor of the cloister something caught his eye,--wet
footprints, as if someone had walked from the dewy grass, on to the
smooth grey flags! Kneeling on the ground Danny examined them. They
led to the door. Where did they lead _from_? Here was a chance of
discovering how the spies had entered the ruin.
Looking about him warily, Danny crept forward into the darkness,
flashing on his light for a moment now and then to see that he was
still on the track. About twelve yards on, the footprints suddenly
ceased. Glancing around to discover the cause of this, Danny saw that
there was a large, jagged hole in the wall, at about the height of his
shoulder. The man must have dropped through this into the cloister. In
a moment he had clambered through, and found himself standing in the
moonlight in that part of the ruin known as the Abbot’s Garden. Beneath
his feet was long, dew-soaked grass. How could he discover from what
direction the spy had come? Tracking was impossible. He was stumped.
After all, delay might be causing serious danger. He had better retrace
his steps quickly, get out of the Abbey, and go to make his report that
the spies were in the tower. Turning round to climb back through the
hole in the wall, Danny came face to face with something that nearly
made his hair stand on end!
Exactly behind him, peering through the hole in the wall, was an evil
face, the two small pale eyes gleaming in the moonlight; the barrel of
a revolver, like a round, black, hollow eye fixed on him in a deathlike
stare.
“Hands up!” hissed the man. Standing quite still Danny met the small,
blue eyes so intent upon him, and slowly his hands went up. It all felt
like a dream; it was, again, the face of the “traitor”--the face of the
stranger with the bicycle.
It seemed hours before the man spoke again, and all the time the black,
vacant eye of the revolver seemed to be staring at a spot in the middle
of Danny’s forehead.
“Stand still and speak not one word!” whispered the man, and began to
climb through the hole, keeping the revolver pointed at Danny, the
while. Then, without a word, he took him firmly by the collar, tapping
the back of his head with the pistol.
“It’s loaded,” he whispered. “If you call out or try and run away, I
shoot. Now, walk with me, quietly!”
With the cold barrel against the back of his neck, there was nothing
for it but to obey. Cold sweat broke out on Danny’s forehead, as
together the strange pair walked silently over the grass, in the shadow
of the ruined walls.
Their feet made no sound on the long, wet grass as they walked across
the Abbot’s Garden, keeping in the black shadow cast by the half-ruined
walls of the church. Danny seemed almost stunned. He could not fully
realise the horror of his position. He found himself vaguely admiring
the delicate shadows cast on the grass as the moonlight poured down
through the Gothic traceries of the windows. In his ear he heard the
quick breathing of the spy. The cold barrel of the revolver touched his
neck. The man’s fingers gripped the collar of his jersey and forced
him to walk on. Was it a horrible dream, or was he really alone,
defenceless, and in the power of a dangerous enemy?
They had stepped quickly across the brilliant “moonlit space,” and
stood now in the shadow of the Abbot’s House--a low, square building
standing away from the rest of the ruin. The arch over the doorway had
fallen in, blocking it up completely. Ivy grew thick on the walls. On a
level with Danny’s head was the sill of a Gothic window. Slipping the
revolver into his coat pocket, the German lifted Danny by the back of
his belt, and, swinging him up, dropped him through the dark aperture
of the window. He fell on his hands and knees on the stone floor, rough
with pieces of broken stone. Though bruised and cut, he jumped up
quickly. Was there a chance of escape before that cruel hand was on his
shoulder again, the revolver threatening certain death?
He glanced up at the window. But even at that moment the grey patch of
sky was blocked out by the form of a man climbing through. A moment
later the spy dropped on to the ground, and his groping hands touched
Danny’s face as he crouched, trembling, in a corner. Grasping his
wrist in a grip like steel, the spy dragged him across the dark room,
muttering an oath in German as he tripped on a large stone. Stopping
suddenly, he seemed to be feeling his way. Then Danny found himself
being led down some steps and through a doorway.
His eyes ached with trying to pierce the darkness, he longed to see
where he was. But it startled him considerably when a bright ray
of light shot through the gloom. The spy had turned on a brilliant
electric torch.
By its light Danny saw that they were in a small, vaulted cellar, damp
earth beneath their feet. There seemed no way out of this narrow place,
except up the stairs they had just descended. But even as Danny noted
this the man turned his light on to the stone wall and revealed to view
a low, rusty door.
Taking a large key from his pocket, he inserted this in the lock and
turned it with a grating sound. Slowly the heavy door swung inwards,
its hinges giving forth a weird groan that brought to Danny’s mind all
the horrors he had ever read of or imagined concerning dungeons and
subterranean prisons. Gripping his arm, the spy dragged him through
the low archway, and, turning, shut the door and locked it. Glancing
quickly about him, Danny recognised the place at once. It was the
passage he had discovered leading from the mill pool. This iron-studded
door was the one that had baffled all his efforts when he had tried to
open it from the inside.
Once in the underground passage the man seemed to lose all fear,
and dropped his cautious manner. Turning on Danny he poured forth a
torrent of abuse, half in German, half in English. Then, with a savage
kick, he flung him on to the ground. After standing for a moment as
if considering what to do next, he drew from his pocket a piece of
stout cord. Cutting this into two, he knelt down and tied Danny’s feet
securely together. Forcing the boy’s hands behind his back, he knotted
the cord about his wrists. Then he stood over Danny, a sardonic grin on
his face.
“There,” he said, with a snarling laugh, “there, young Scout, or what
you call yourself, no more harm will you be able now to do.” Turning
on his heel, he walked a few paces down the passage and then came back,
as if a thought had struck him. Taking a large, silk handkerchief from
his pocket, he gagged his young prisoner.
“There, little English pig!” he said. “Now you will disturb no one.”
And with a cruel laugh, he walked quickly away.
Turning his head, Danny watched the retreating figure from where he lay
on the cold stone floor. He gazed at the dancing light of the torch
until it grew fainter and fainter, and suddenly disappeared round a
corner. Then in the lonely darkness a great sob rose in his throat--a
sob of despair.
He was alone, quite alone, underground. His feet were tied so that he
could not get up, his hands bound so that he could not move. There
seemed no possible way of escape. Would he be left here to die of cold
and starvation? Or would the spies come back and do something horrible
to him? The silence seemed to throb and sing in his ears. His eyes
ached with peering into the darkness. And, lying there, he realised
the sad truth that he had brought it all on himself. Why had he been
such a little fool and tried to catch these Germans single-handed? For
the sake of his own glory he had risked the safety of England. Out of
personal pride he had withheld important information. And now here he
was lying helpless and useless, while from the tower the spies were
signalling to the enemy, and this man was escaping--or setting out,
perhaps, to tamper with the cables in some mysterious way, and so send
England’s secrets to the Kaiser!
There was no one now to warn the police. He had been given the chance
to serve his country, and he had not taken it; he had “given in to
himself.” Laying his face on the cold floor, he gave up all hope, and a
big, hot tear rolled down his cheek.
But there was still a spark of courage in his heart; a bit of pluck
that always remains in _a Scout_ when all the spirit of the ordinary
boy has gone. He was a _Cub_; he _would_ not give in. “O God,” he
whispered in the damp darkness, “give me another chance. I will not
fail this time. I will do my duty. I will not give in to myself.”
Rolling against the wall, his face struck on the sharp corner of a
projecting stone. A brilliant idea came into his head! Wriggling
himself round as best he could, he managed to get the cord that bound
his wrists against the sharp stone. Then, scraping and sawing, he set
to work to cut through the rope. It was a long job and a painful one.
Soon he felt the warm blood trickling down his sleeves. The pain made
him feel quite sick. At last he felt he must give up. But, remembering
he was a Cub, he clenched his teeth and determined that no pain or fear
should break his courage. Suddenly the cord gave, and Danny found his
hands free!
It was the work of a moment to untie his feet. Feeling that the
battle was already half won, he jumped up, his heart full of joy and
gratitude. God was giving him another chance. He was to find a way of
escape. Taking his little torch from his pocket, he pressed the button,
and a ray of light pierced the darkness.