"Yes," said Colonel Blount to Major Blundell, "there's treachery
around; we may as well face it."
"A man must be as blind as a bat not to see that," was the Major's
reply, "but where is it?"
"That's the question. But we cannot close our eyes to facts. Time
after time our plans have been discovered, and not only discovered, but
evidently revealed to the enemy. I've talked the matter over with
General Withers, and while he agrees with me that these constant
mishaps are strange, he cannot see where the treachery can come in.
Why, man, he has even guarded himself against his own staff officers!
He keeps his plans to himself, and only makes them known to those who
have to carry them out; he's taken every precaution a man can take, and
you know what a keen fellow Withers is! Yet before we can strike our
blow, the Huns get wind of our intentions!"
The Colonel sighed as he spoke. The constant mishaps were getting on
his nerves; he felt that his brother officers regarded him as
incapable. He wondered sometimes whether he would be relieved of his
command, so unsuccessful had he been.
And yet he had been known as a capable, far-seeing officer, and earlier
in the war his name had been mentioned in the dispatches. He had been
spoken of in the General Headquarters, too, as an officer of more than
ordinary ability, and yet for the last few weeks everything he had
touched seemed to miscarry. There had been no great set-back, but
there had been no advance worth speaking of. A spirit of restlessness
and suspicion was felt in the whole regiment. It seemed to them as
though there was an Achan in the camp, yet no one knew who the traitor
might be.
Of course all these misadventures might have been owing to unfortunate
accidents, or because the plans of the British officers were not well
thought out. All the same Colonel Blount could not understand it. He
was an old soldier, he had served in India, had been through the Boer
War, and he felt sure that the plans he had submitted to the Divisional
Headquarters had been sound and good. He had been complimented upon
them too, and yet they had ended in failure, and he had narrowly
escaped disaster.
"If I could see a glimmer of light anywhere," said Colonel Blount to
his senior major, "I wouldn't mind. But I can't. Only General Withers
at the Divisional Headquarters, the Brigadier, you, and myself knew the
details of our last scheme, and yet the Bosches got wind of them. It's
maddening, maddening!"
"Whoever the blighter is he's got brains," said the Major.
"Ah, here are two staff officers coming now!"
For some time after this Colonel Blount was more than ordinarily
active. He was constantly in communication with the commanding
officers of other battalions, and there were frequent journeys to
Headquarters; but no one knew what was on foot. The presence of staff
officers was constantly noted, and all felt that some big action was to
take place, but when or in what way no one knew. Even the Tommies in
the trenches felt that something of more than ordinary importance was
in the air, and they discussed it one with another. They, too, could
not help realising that things had been going bad with them, and that,
to say the least of it, the Germans were not getting the worst of it.
Tom Pollard felt this more keenly than any one. He had been the man
who had been questioned by the Colonel, and he had more than once
fancied that he had been specially watched. Indeed Tom had determined
to keep both ears and eyes well open, and if possible to do a little
detective work on his own account. He entertained suspicions too,
which he dared not breathe to any one. They seemed so wild and
unfounded that they would not bear the test of a minute's careful
thought, and yet they constantly haunted him.
Of course he knew nothing of what was being settled between the
officers; he had not the slightest idea of the nature of the plans
which had miscarried, he like the others only had a vague feeling that
something was wrong.
One day, while near the canal which runs round the foot of the old
ramparts of the city, he noticed that the Brigadier and Colonel Blount
were talking with two staff officers; one of the latter was a general,
while the other was a captain. Tom felt sure that the captain was
Waterman, whom he had known in Brunford.
Tom was reclining near a dangerous corner, close by the Potijze Road
which runs straight to the beginning of the British communication
trench. German shells were constantly screeching their way through the
air, and falling in various parts of the old town; but by this time he
had become so accustomed to these ominous sounds that he had almost
ceased to take notice of them. There was only one chance in a hundred
that one of them might fall near him, and as he had been so far
fortunate, he, like hundreds of others in a similar condition, thought
he might escape altogether. Besides, although he stood near the
dangerous crossing he was in a sheltered position, and as the day was
hot he sat under the shade of a wall and looked out on the ruins of the
old city.
A few seconds later the group of officers passed close by him, and Tom
immediately rose and saluted.
"Oh, this is the man," said Colonel Blount as he caught sight of Tom.
"Come here, Pollard."
Tom did as he was commanded, not without some fluttering around the
region of his heart.
"Now, Private Pollard," said Colonel Blount, "repeat what you told me
some time ago."
Again Tom found himself submitted to a keen cross-examination after he
had told his story, and he noticed that all the officers, including
Waterman, listened very attentively.
"There's something wrong," said Tom to himself; "they tried to shake
me, but they failed; I know what I heard well enough." And then he
watched them as they quickly crossed the dangerous corner, and hurried
into a sheltered position.
That same night, after the staff officers had returned to their
Headquarters, Tom, who was passing the Water Tower, saw, much to his
surprise, the retreating form of a staff officer. Of course this might
mean nothing--he was utterly ignorant of the movements of those above
him; all the same he felt as though hammers were beating against his
forehead, so excited was he.
The next night Tom's company was ordered to relieve a number of men who
had been a good many hours in the trenches, and just as the shadows of
evening were falling they crept along the Potijze Road towards the
communication trench. An hour later Tom had taken up his post in the
zig-zag cutting with a feeling that something of importance was going
to happen.
Hour after hour passed away, and still Tom wondered at what he had seen
and heard. He had no definite data upon which to go, no tangible
reason for his suspicions, and yet with that bulldog tenacity
characteristic of the sharp Lancashire boy he kept thinking of what he
ought to do. Presently he heard a voice which he recognised; it was
that of Major Blundell, in reply to something that had been said to him.
"Yes, yes," said the Major, "I quite understand."
"You are sure you have the instructions plain?"
"Perfectly sure."
"Then I will get along here and speak to Captain Winfield."
"Let me come with you," said Major Blundell.
"Oh no, certainly not. I know the way perfectly well. Good night,
Blundell."
"Good night, Waterman."
It was a fairly bright night, although a few clouds hung in the sky.
Tom heard approaching footsteps, and then hid himself in a sharp corner
of the trench while Waterman passed him. Tom followed noiselessly, all
the time keeping out of sight of the man he watched. This he was able
to do with comparative ease, owing to the zig-zag nature of the trench.
Tom knew that at this particular point they were only a little more
than a hundred yards from the German lines, and that the German snipers
were constantly on the watch for any one who might happen to show
himself above the sand-bags. He had not gone more than twenty yards
when he saw Waterman stop and look around.
Tom stopped almost instinctively, still hidden by a sharp turn in the
trench. The light was fairly good, and Tom's eyes were keen. He saw
that the man had adopted a listening attitude. That particular part of
the trench was for the moment deserted, although any moment a patrol
might appear. Evidently Waterman was keenly watchful; he looked each
way with evident care, and listened attentively. Then he took a piece
of white paper from his pocket which seemed to be attached to something
heavy. Even in the dim light Tom saw the white gleam of the paper
which Waterman had taken from his pocket. Quick as a thought Waterman
stepped on to the ledge of the trench, and then, leaning over the
sand-bags, threw the paper towards the German lines. This done he
stepped back and hurried quickly away.
For a second the lad was almost paralysed; then the meaning of it came
to him like a flash of light, and before Waterman had proceeded half a
dozen yards Tom had sprung upon him.
"What do you mean, fellow? Get away from me!" and Waterman struggled
to free himself.
But Tom held on like grim death. "You are a German spy, that's what
you are!" he said hoarsely. "A mean, skulking German spy!"
"This will mean death for you, my man," said Waterman, still
struggling. "You are enough of a soldier to know that for a private to
strike an officer in war time means court martial and death."
"It will not be I who will be court martialled," panted Tom. "Ah, you
swine!" for at that moment Waterman had pulled out his pistol, and had
not Tom struck his arm a bullet would have gone through his brain.
"I say, what's this?"
"A German spy!" cried Tom hoarsely, "he tried to shoot me, sir!"
"A German spy!" said the new-comer. "You must be mad."
"I am not mad, sir. I saw him."
"He _is_ mad!" said Waterman. "I'm here on duty and the fellow
attacked me. Pull him off, Lieutenant Penrose, he's strangling me!"
Tom recognised the new-comer although he had not seen him for months.
It was Penrose who had been with him in Lancashire, and who had
received his commission immediately after his arrival in Surrey.
"You know me, sir!" cried Tom, still holding on to the other; "you know
I would not do a thing without reason, sir! Make him a prisoner, he's
been giving information to the enemy!"
"Prove it!" said Waterman.
"Yes, I will prove it!" panted Tom. "Make him a prisoner, sir; I tell
you he's been communicating with the enemy. I saw him not a minute
ago!"
"What has he done?" asked Penrose.
"I saw him take a piece of paper from his pocket which was fastened to
something heavy; then he threw it over the sand-bags towards the German
lines. I tell you, sir, I saw him do it! Make him a prisoner."
By this time others had come up, and Waterman, whom Tom had released
somewhat, laughed uneasily. "He's either a fool or a madman," he said;
"he attacked me without a moment's warning, and without the slightest
reason."
"Hold him fast, sir," cried Tom. "I'll soon prove to you whether it's
without the slightest reason. Promise me you won't let him go, sir?"
Penrose, who had grasped the situation, replied quickly: "Of course I
shall not let him go, but you must prove your accusation, Pollard.
Where are you going?"
"I am going to get the paper he threw towards the German trenches,"
cried Tom. "That's it, sir, hold him fast!"
Tom was so excited that he had forgotten all about military rules and
regulations. He acted just as he would have acted had he caught any
one doing an outrageous deed before the war.
Waterman began to shout aloud, but Penrose was too quick for him. He
placed his hand on the other's mouth, and said quietly, "No you don't,
sir."
"Do you know what you are doing, Lieutenant?" said Waterman. "You are
attacking your superior officer. Take away your men and let me go at
once."
"Not until I get at the bottom of this," said Penrose quietly.
"I tell you the man is either a madman or a fool." Waterman was
stammering painfully now.
"That will have to be proved," and Penrose gripped his arm tightly.
"That's it, Jackson; take his revolver. As it happens," he went on to
Waterman, "I know Pollard; he's a level-headed lad, and he would not
have done this without reason. Ah, Major Blundell, will you come here
a minute, sir," for by this time the Major, having heard the sound of
voices, had rushed up.
"What's the matter?"
Penrose quickly told him what had taken place, and the young officer's
words came like a bombshell upon this steady-going and rather dull
officer. If it were true, all the mystery of the last few weeks was
cleared up. But he could not believe it. Waterman was regarded as one
of the most capable and trustworthy of the staff officers. He had
shown zeal beyond the ordinary, and his intelligence and quickness of
perception had more than once been remarked upon; indeed he had been
mentioned in the dispatches as one who had rendered valuable service to
the British Army; and now for an accusation like this to come fairly
staggered the well-meaning faithful officer.
The whole affair had been so sudden too. Only a couple of minutes
before, he had been discussing plans with Waterman, who had urged him
to be more than ordinarily careful in carrying out the instructions
from Headquarters, and yet here he was accused of communicating with
the enemy, and seen by a trustworthy soldier to throw a missile towards
the enemy's lines.
"Where is Pollard?" asked Major Blundell, for Tom had disappeared.
"He's gone to secure the paper he saw Captain Waterman throw," was
Penrose's reply.
A second later Major Blundell was leaning over the sand-bags, looking
across the "No-man's-Land" towards the enemy's trenches.
By this time a number of other men had gathered; as if by magic the
news had flown, and for a moment even discipline was in abeyance.
As will be easily seen, Tom's work was not easy, and the space of
ground between the English and the German lines was dangerous in the
highest degree. Any one seen there was a target for both English and
German rifles. But Tom did not think of this, indeed the thought of
danger was at that time utterly absent from him. Just as at times the
mind has subconscious powers, so there are times when the body is so
much under the influence of excitement that ordinary laws do not seem
to operate. At that time Tom seemed to be living hours in seconds,
because he instinctively felt that great issues depended upon what he
wanted to do. If he were right in his conclusions, as he felt sure he
was, Waterman, who was naturally in the confidence of his superior
officers, would have valuable information to impart. It came upon him
too, like a flash of lightning, that Waterman had uttered a peculiar
cry as he threw the missile across the intervening space. That was
doubtless a prearranged signal between him and the Germans. If they
had heard it, as was more than probable, one of their men would
naturally be sent to find the paper. In that case the plans and
arrangements which the English officers had made would be in the hands
of the Germans.
Tom had noted the spot on which Waterman had stood when he threw his
missile, and had also noticed the direction in which it had flown, at
least he thought he had. But when he was in the open space he was not
so sure. As fortune would have it, this particular bit of ground was
not wired, and he moved without difficulty.
Tom looked around, bewildered; nowhere could he see the gleaming white
paper which Waterman had thrown--in fact, nothing was plainly visible
to him. He saw, dimly, the outline of the German trenches; saw the
mounds of earth with the sandbags on their summits, but nothing else.
A hundred yards or so is no great distance, but it is difficult to
locate a small object in such a space at night. He could not tell how
far Waterman had been able to throw the stone, or how near it might be
to the German trench. But his eyes were young and keen; every faculty
was more than ordinarily tense and active, and Tom was in deadly
earnest. He had started to do this thing, and he would do it.
Presently he saw a white spot on the ground, and he felt as though
hammers were beating against his temples. Crouching low, he made his
way towards it, but he had only gone a few steps when he discerned the
form of a man, apparently with the same object in view, creeping from a
German trench. Like lightning Tom made a dash for it, but the other
was nearer than he, and by the time he had reached it the German had
secured it. As far as he could judge they were about half-way between
the two lines, and he knew the danger of the task he had set himself.
In a vague way he wondered whether the Germans had seen him, he also
wondered whether the British were watching him. But this did not
trouble him much; the one thought which filled his mind was that he
must at all hazards secure the paper which Waterman had thrown.
Without hesitating a second, and without making a sound, he threw
himself upon the German and well-nigh bore him to the ground. Then
followed a hand-to-hand struggle, the details of which Tom was never
clear about. As a lad he had been a football player and had made good
muscle; he had played half-back for the Brunford football club for
several seasons, and although he was by no means a giant, he was well
built and strong. During the time he had been in the Army, too, every
muscle in his body had been developed to its fullest capacity: his
severe training told in his favour now, and Tom never dreamt of giving
in. On the other hand, however, the German was a big, heavy man, and
he also had undergone a severe training.
Tom felt his antagonist weakening; he knew it by his gurgling breath
and his weakening grasp. He himself was also well-nigh spent, although
he was not quite exhausted. Then, fearing lest the apparent weakness
of his opponent was only a ruse by which he might gain advantage, Tom
determined on an old football trick. A second later the German's
shoulder blade snapped like a match, and Tom, seizing the paper, rushed
back towards the English lines.
He had only fifty yards to cover, but such a fifty yards! His legs
seemed of lead, too, while his head was swimming. No sooner had he
commenced to stagger back, than the Germans opened fire on him; a
hundred bullets whistled by him, while he heard yells of rage coming
from the enemy's trenches.
He felt his strength leaving him, his head was swimming, his breath
came in short, difficult gasps, and he knew he was wounded. He
suffered no great pain, but by the burning sensations in his left arm
and in his right shoulder he knew that the German bullets must have
struck him. More than once he stumbled and fell.
He felt himself going blind; he heard cries from the English trenches
which seemed like cheers, but he could see nothing, and the cries
seemed to be a long, long way off. Still he struggled on. "I must get
in! I must get in!" was the thought which possessed his bewildered
brain. Then he fell heavily; after that all became dark.
When he returned to consciousness it seemed to him as though he saw a
number of ghostly faces around him. He had a sort of feeling that he
was dead, and that those faces belonged to the spirit world; but in a
few seconds they became clearer.
"That's better, Tom, that's better! You are all right. You did it,
lad! You did it!"
"Stand back there, and give him air. Heavens! There hasn't been a
braver thing done by any man in the Army!"
He heard all this, but not clearly. They seemed to be stray sentences,
uttered by many voices. But it didn't matter; only one thing mattered.
Had he done what he had set out to do?
"Have you got it?" he gasped.
"Got it! I should think we have." It was Major Blundell who spoke.
"It's all right, Pollard, you've done the trick."
"Have I, sir?" said Tom. "I--I feel very strange."
"You will soon get over it, you are only pumped!"
"Ay," laughed another, and the voice was as sweet music to Tom, "I've
seen thee worse nor this i' the Brunford Cup Tie match."
"That thee, Nick?" he said, lapsing into the Brunford vernacular, which
he had been trying to correct lately.
"Ay, Tom, it's me; tha'st done a good neet's work to-neet."
Tom's brain was clearer now; he knew where he was; knew, too, that he
had succeeded. Something was still hammering at his temples, and his
head was aching terribly, but he didn't mind; his heart was light.
"You have done well, Pollard." It was Major Blundell who spoke.
"Was what I got any good, sir?"
"Good! I should think it was."
"And Captain Waterman, have you got him?"
"That's all right, Pollard, he's safe enough," replied the Major.
"Thank you, sir," said Tom, "I don't care now."
What happened after that Tom didn't remember. He had a confused idea
that he was carried down a long line of trenches, and that he heard
cheering words during his journey. But nothing was plain to him,
except a burning sensation in his left arm and in his right shoulder;
for the rest he was faint, sick, and weary.
"You are feeling better now, are you not, Pollard?" It was the doctor
who spoke.
"Yes, sir, I am feeling all right," replied Tom; "there is not much the
matter with me, is there?"
"You are simply a miracle," replied the doctor, "only a couple of flesh
wounds, that's all. You have lost a great deal of blood, of course,
but you will soon be as fit as a fiddle again. I wonder that a hundred
bullets did not go through you!"
"They came mighty near," was Tom's reply.
"You must be removed from here at once," said the doctor, "this
region's too unhealthy for you."
An hour later Tom found himself away from the screech of shells.
As he reflected afterwards, it seemed to him a miracle that he had not
been killed. No sooner had he mastered the German and seized the paper
than bullets showered upon him like rain, and yet beyond these two
slight flesh wounds he was wholly untouched. It was true he was very
stiff and sore, but he knew that he would soon be as well as ever.
On the evening of the same day Colonel Blount came to see him.
"Pollard, my lad," said the colonel, "I felt I must come to see you.
You have rendered the British Army and your country a great service,
and you will get your reward."
"Thank you, sir, but I never thought about reward," said Tom simply.
"I'm sure you didn't," replied the colonel, "but this job's not at an
end yet, my lad."
"No, sir," said Tom, mistaking his meaning, "we have got a stiff job
before we lick the Germans."
"I didn't mean that," replied the colonel. "I mean this Waterman
business is not at an end yet."
"No, sir," said Tom, "of course you will shoot him."
"He deserves a worse death than that," replied the Colonel grimly, "but
you will have to give evidence against him."
"Yes, sir," replied Tom.
"Will you be well enough to come to-morrow night?"
"Yes, sir."
The Colonel knew he was not acting according to strict regimental rules
and regulations in speaking to a private in this fashion, but it was no
ordinary case, and Colonel Blount was not a man to be tied down to
military etiquette. Private though Tom Pollard was, he had rendered,
as he had said, a signal service, not only to the Army, but to the
British Nation.
The next evening Tom found himself in a large room amongst a number of
officers, and standing at one corner, carefully guarded, was Waterman.