IN THE HANDS OF THE SCOUTS
For a few minutes Danny could do nothing but stand on the edge of the
pool, in the glorious sunlight, beneath the great blue sky, and realise
that he was _free_. It was like waking up from a ghastly nightmare.
After shaking himself like a dog and squeezing some of the water out of
his clothes, he turned up the little path leading to the road.
Where should he go? To whom should he report? He had such a wonderful
story to tell, such a network of clues to unravel, such important
information to report--it was difficult to know where to start. And
would they ever take him seriously? he wondered.
Feeling in his pocket, he drew forth a flat cigarette-tin. It contained
his precious notebook. For, with the forethought of a true Scout, he
had realised that at any time a swim in the pool might be necessary,
and that it was important to keep his book dry. It contained his
report, carefully written out, with dates and diagrams, up till the
night of his capture. The events since then were not entered, of
course, but they were imprinted forever on his brain. Can any one ever
forget moments when death seems very near, or when an unseen hand seems
to protect one marvellously and set one free?
Glancing at his entries, Danny decided that his little book would not
be much use in helping to explain the immediate dangers that must be
dealt with. It was useless to try and tell the whole story from the
beginning. To get the Germans caught was all that mattered. His book
would be useful as evidence later, so he replaced it in his pocket and
set out along the road in search of the Scouts.
It was not long before he came on two of them marching briskly along
their piece of road.
“Hullo!” they said. “What on earth are you doing out at this time of
the morning? And you’re soaking wet, and in no end of a mess. Your
uniform’s all torn, and--what’s up with your wrists? They’re all
bleeding! My word, you _will_ get in a row!”
“Can’t help that,” said Danny. “There’s something jolly important up.
Who’s the P. L. in charge? I’ve got to report it at once.”
“Michael Byrne’s just come on with us--but Dick is only just going off
with the night chaps. If you buck up you’ll catch him,” said the Scouts.
“Thanks,” said Danny, and set off down the road at the double. Old Mike
was a good chap and a friend of Danny’s, but somehow he didn’t seem the
best chap to whom to report. The Senior P. L. was the very person Danny
wanted.
Rounding the corner, he saw a party of Scouts ahead, walking slowly
towards the village. It must be those who had been on duty all night,
just going back to bed. Danny slowed down into a walk again to get his
breath, but before long he had caught them up. Stepping up to Dick’s
side, he saluted smartly.
“Hullo, Danny!” said Dick, surprised. The other fellows all opened
their mouths to make the same kind of remarks that the first two Scouts
had made, but Danny spoke at once without waiting for them.
“Dick,” he said, “I’ve got something jolly important to report to you
at once. Can I speak to you, alone? We mustn’t lose a sec.”
“Right-o!” said Dick Church, and Danny noted with relief that he spoke
perfectly seriously.
Some of the Scouts began to laugh and make jokes about “Danny the
Detective,” but Dick rounded on them.
“Shut up, you chaps!” he said. “Can’t you see the kid’s as white as a
sheet, and all over blood, and his clothes torn and soaked? He wouldn’t
get in that state for fun. Go on--don’t wait for me.” He turned to
Danny, and suddenly took his arm, for the boy was swaying, his head was
turning dizzily.
“Jim,” he called, after the retreating Scouts, “have you got some tea
left in your billy?”
Jim came back.
“Here you are, kid--have a drink!” said Dick, giving him the cup. “Sit
down! You’ll be all right in a minute!”
The tea bucked Danny up no end. His knees stopped knocking together.
“Thank you,” he said. “Don’t know why I felt so funny; I’m all right
now.”
“Then what is it you have to report?” said Dick, sitting down on the
bank.
“Well,” said Danny, “first I think you may want those chaps when you
hear.” He pointed after the Scouts.
Dick blew his whistle. “I say,” he shouted as they turned round, “sit
down and wait for me. I shan’t be long.” The Scouts obeyed.
“Now,” said Dick, “fire away!”
Danny took a big breath. “There is a party of German spies,” he said,
“quite near here. One is tapping this very cable. Others are watching
and signalling from the Abbey Tower. They have a store of guns and
ammunition.”
“Are you kidding?” said Dick, searching Danny’s face with keen eyes.
The boy shook his head. “I’m not,” he said, “on my honour.”
“Have you seen these spies?” said Dick quietly, watching the Cub
intently.
“Yes!”
“When?”
“I’ve been their prisoner all night, and have only just escaped.” He
held out his hands. “I hurt them,” he said, “getting free.”
Dick nodded. “Where are they hiding?” he asked.
“In an underground passage, and in the tower.”
“Are they there now?”
“Yes.”
“Where is the entrance to the underground passage?”
“There are two. One is in the Abbey ruins, and one at the bottom of the
mill pond.”
“Where are they tapping the cable?”
“About three hundred yards down this road. Wires run down the telegraph
post. The man has a buzzer below, in the passage.”
Dick took his whistle from his pocket and blew three short blasts and a
long one. Two leaders and two seconds jumped up from the seated group
ahead, and came up at the double. “Allen,” said Dick, “take your patrol
down to the mill, set three boys to watch the pond, and you and the
others search the mill and outhouses. Don’t leave the pond unguarded
for an instant. It is being used by spies.”
“Great Scott!” said Allen.
“If you pass Michael,” said Dick, “tell him I’ve sent you back on duty,
for a special guard.”
“Right,” said Allen, and doubled off.
“Marchant, you and your chaps must come with me,” said Dick. “We are on
the scent of something hot this time. Lead ahead, Danny.”
The Kangaroos passed at the double, a grin of content on every face.
This really _was_ war. The Otters fell in behind Dick and their leader
with mystified expressions. Ten minutes later the party had arrived at
Danny’s house.
“You must come through my garden,” he said.
The Scouts followed him. Across the cabbage patch they crept, between
the gooseberry bushes, and through the little hole in the hedge. White
dew lay thick on the grass, and a whole colony of rabbits darted up,
surprised, and scuttled away.
“Here,” said Danny, as the party halted by the ruins of the Abbot’s
House, “here is entrance to the secret passage. You have to get
through the window.”
“Get through!” commanded Dick.
Following their guide, the patrol got through. It was pitch dark. Dick
switched on his electric torch. Down the steps they crept.
“This is the door to the passage,” said Danny, as the Scouts reached
the low archway.
“How many spies are in the passage?” asked Dick.
“One,” said Danny.
“Two of you chaps--Bill and Knobby--stay here on guard. Have you got
staves?”
“Yes.”
“_And axes_,” added Knobby, with a ferocious emphasis.
“If any one tries to open that door from the inside, keep it shut--see?”
“Right,” said Bill.
With Danny leading the way, the party, now minus two, crept out again
into the sunlight.
“This is the way they get from the passage to the tower,” said Danny,
as they walked across the open space of grass and climbed through the
hole in the wall into the cloisters. “I saw their wet footprints on the
flagstones, leading up to the door of the tower,” he added.
“How many are in the tower?” said Dick.
“I don’t know for certain,” replied Danny. “But I have seen four
belonging to the gang myself. One is in the passage. There are probably
three or more up there.”
Dick tried the door. It was locked.
“Four of you stand on guard outside this door,” he said. “Two get
further out in the ruin; one must keep his eyes on the top of the
tower, and the other just patrol around. Danny, come with me.”
Five minutes later Dick was pushing his motor-bike out of its shed.
Before long the boys were tearing down the road, Danny sitting on the
carrier, clinging to Dick’s belt.
“Stop me at the telegraph post, won’t you?” he called over his
shoulder.
[Illustration: Before long the boys were tearing down the road, Danny
sitting on the carrier, clinging to Dick’s belt.]
“Right,” panted Danny, through the wind. “Whoa!” he shouted presently.
“Here we are!”
Dick stopped and jumped off, leaning his bike against the bank.
“There--do you see?” whispered Danny, brushing aside a mass of nettles
and revealing the old drain pipe. “There goes the wire. Do you see?--it
runs up the post. They’ve cut a groove for it and tarred it over, so it
scarcely shows! The German chap is just down there. Put your ear to the
hole--you may hear the buzzer.”
Dick lay down in the ditch, his ear glued to the pipe.
“By Jove, so I can!” he whispered excitedly. “It’s quite
clear--yes--yes!...” He listened intently for some minutes. Then he got
up. “I can’t make any sense of it--it’s in code.” He ground his teeth.
“And to think that beast is taking it all down!” he whispered. Then a
sudden inspiration seized him.
“We’ll soon put a stop to his eavesdropping!” he exclaimed. “It may
give the show away, that he’s found out, but if he tries to escape, our
chaps will nab him all right.”
Taking his axe from its case, Dick dealt a blow to the post, severing
both wires.
“Now I must connect them again, up there,” he said, and proceeded to
swarm quickly up the post. Danny watched admiringly.
Clinging on with his legs, Dick worked with deft fingers. He had not
got his Telegraphist Badge for nothing.
“That’s done,” he said, sliding down. “Now for Captain Miles.”
As they flew past the mill, Danny waved his hand to Allen and the
Kangaroos on duty there. Then he began to think anxiously of the report
he was to make to Captain Miles.