Sexton Blake and the Great War

by Mark Hodder

  With a vague hope that Jean, knowing the country as he did, might yet escape in the general confusion, Blake leant down and plucked Tinker up by the arm.

  “Your foot on mine, quick!” he cried. “Up you come! Hold me round the waist! That’s it! We must ride for it!” And off they went clattering down the road, the trooper’s sword dangling by a cord from his wrist.

  Clatter, clatter, clatter! The hoof-beats rattled over the hard road. A watery moonlight was just sufficient to prevent them leaving the track and blundering into the deep ditch on either hand, which would have spelt disaster.

  They crossed the steep rise of a narrow bridge, and dropped down on the far side. Then Blake drew rein and listened intently.

  Far away behind them came the sound of pursuit. Some of the troopers had recovered their horses, and were in full chase.

  Blake’s mare, double burdened as she was, could scarcely hope to outpace them, though she was game enough to try, but she was badly handicapped, and the pursuit was gaining fast.

  Blake, bending low, saw a gap in the hedge on his left, showing plain against a leaden sky, and eased the mare down preparatory to turning, for the light was very deceptive.

  He took the ditch and the gap at a canter, with a warning cry to Tinker to hold tight. They cleared both easily, and then came a surprise.

  The mare, on landing, took three strides, and dropped over an invisible bank into ice-cold water.

  It wasn’t deep—there wasn’t more than four feet of water in the dark—but the bottom wall was slippery mud. She lost her footing, and decanted them neatly into the stream.

  Blake, as he came up, remembered Jean’s warning words about cross-country journeys. Still, there had been no help for it; and even as he emerged, spluttering and shivering, he heard the thunder of pursuit across the bridge.

  He made a grab for the mare’s bridle, and got her on to her feet. After which, with some coaxing, got her into the shadow of the steep bank down which they had fallen. He himself, and Tinker also, stood flat up against the bank with their backs to it. They were up to their waists in icy-cold water, but they scarcely dared breathe.

  The thunder of pursuit was growing louder and louder; it rose to a clattering roar as the horses swept over the bridge, and Blake mentally calculated their chances.

  There was one factor in the position which gave him a gleam of hope.

  The Uhlan’s horses for the most part were loaded up with all sorts of odds and ends—loot of all sorts, and pots and pans and kettles for cooking—which banged about and made a tremendous din as they rode. This row, combined with the clatter of the horses’ hoofs on the paved way and the jingle of accoutrements, made a deafening row, which must effectually have prevented the riders from hearing whether there was anyone galloping ahead of them or not. The road was straight, so they took it for granted that the fugitives were still flying along it, and they swept past in pursuit, intent on capturing their quarry—all but two of them, that is, who seemed to have been delayed, and came riding along at a more sober pace some distance behind the others.

  Blake could hear them talking as they rode; and then he suddenly caught his breath with a jerk. The pair had spotted the gap in the hedge, and they reined up opposite to it.

  “They may have this way gone,” said one. “If it was not as black as the pit we could see. This accursed country is such a mass of traps and pitfalls, one can’t go anywhere at night, except along the roads.”

  One of the horses snorted, and Blake gripped the mare’s nostrils, lest she should make a sound in answer.

  “No,” said the other, “not so. They cannot that way have gone, for I have seen the place in daylight. I even remember noticing the gap in the hedge.

  “All along there, just over the bank, lies a canal thirty feet broad and more, and goodness knows how deep! It is for the barges, and on the far side is a towing-path for the horses. They could not have that way gone unless they had wings. Come on, we must catch the others up, or we shall get into trouble.”

  There was a sound of gurgling, as one of them took a long draught from a bottle, and smacked his lips; and then the pair reined their horses back on the road and cantered on again.

  Blake heaved a sigh of relief.

  “That was a narrow shave!” he whispered to Tinker. “But it was worth it to get that bit of news about the towing-path. If once we can gain that, we shall be able to go for miles without a break, along a fairly decent road, too. I know those towing-paths, with their interminable lines of poplars and bridges over smaller branch canals and streams at intervals. It will be safer than the road, and probably quite as direct.”

  He listened intently. There was no sound but the gurgling of the water about them. The pursuit had swept far ahead.

  “We shall have to wade or swim for it,” said Blake. “Come on, and look out for this infernal mud!”

  They crossed, leading the mare with them. They lost bottom at one place and had to swim for it, but only for a few strokes, and then they were wading again, and could see the far bank loom up against the night sky ahead of them. This, however, presented a new difficulty.

  It was a well-built bank, sloping sharply upwards, but the lower part, to well above high-water mark, was lined with big, smooth-dressed stones. They could have scrambled up themselves by using their fingers and toes in the crevices between the blocks, but to have attempted to get the mare up would have been hopeless; and they couldn’t bring themselves to desert her in that helpless plight, so they waded along until they came to a little cross-cutting, where an ascent was possible by a muddy cattle-track, and so gained the path.

  They were shivering with cold and half-frozen. Blake remembered having found a flask in the officer’s saddle-bags, and from this they each took a long sip.

  Then they had to decide on which way to take—whether to turn back or to go on in their original direction, for the towing-path ran parallel to the road.

  “If we go back,” said Blake, “we are just as likely to run into another patrol, and we shall be losing valuable time. I am for going forward. Ten to one those fellows will give up the pursuit before long, and will return this way along the road. We shall hear them if they do, and can slip by under cover of the bank, knowing that we have a clear path ahead of us.”

  “Right!” said Tinker. “Anything for a quiet life. I feel like a perambulating icicle!”

  Blake nodded, and they strode along briskly, leading the mare, and keeping their ears open for any suspicious sounds.

  They had gone, as nearly as they could guess, about three miles when Blake caught sight of a light ahead of them round a bend. It evidently came from a house of some sort, for it was stationary, and there was another faint light above the first—too high for any canal barge lying at her moorings.

  They approached cautiously, and then Blake took a sudden resolve.

  “The mare might give us away,” he said. “We must turn her loose; she’ll be all right now. But we don’t want to leave any tell-tale evidence behind.”

  He loosened the trooper’s sword from his wrist and flung it far out into the stream.

  Then they went through the saddle-bags.

  The flask—a common affair, of glass—they kept. It was just like a hundred others of its kind. There was a prismatic compass, and a large-scale map of the district, which they would dearly like to have kept. But if they were stopped and searched such things, found on two ostensible peasants, would have been their death-warrant, so they went into the water after the sword. In the end the only thing they retained was the big revolver and a box of cartridges. Blake emptied the cartridges loose into his pocket, and flung away the box. Then he undid the girths, and sent the saddle after the other things with a splash. The last thing he did was to turn the mare round and pull the bridle over her head, so that it hung dangling loosely in front of her, in such a way that she couldn’t move at any pace without tripping over it with her forefeet.

  Then he gave her a farewell pa
t on the flank, and he and Tinker advanced cautiously towards the house.

  As they came near they heard a creaking sound overhead, and, looking up, saw that it was caused by a signboard swinging dolefully on its rusty iron hinges. They had stumbled on one of the canal-side inns, which rely for their trade on the barge-skippers who are constantly coming and going.

  The thought of an inn was more than welcome, but they dare not enter until they had explored the ground thoroughly. Tinker remained in the shadow, whilst Blake crept forward to the lower of the two lighted windows. It was latched partly open, and the curtains were undrawn.

  Two men were seated at a table in front of a roaring fire.

  There was a plentiful meal spread before them, and a third man, a typical Belgian innkeeper, waited on them. He evidently didn’t relish the job, for every time he handed them a dish, or poured out wine, he scowled at them savagely behind their backs.

  One of the men was tall—about Blake’s own height and build. The other was shorter. Both were clean-shaven, and dressed in civilian clothes of a certain smartness of cut, and they ate and drank ravenously; but the most interesting point about them to Blake was, that so long as the innkeeper was in the room they spoke only in American, with an occasional mispronounced word in Flemish, when they gave an order to the innkeeper. Whenever he left the room, however, on some errand, they relapsed at once into fluent German, which was evidently their native tongue, and they discussed matters in rapid undertones, constantly referring to a map propped up against a wine-bottle in front of them.

  Blake guessed their game at once, and made his plans quickly. A low whistle brought Tinker up to join him, and together they made their way round to the back of the house where the kitchens were. They knocked gently at the door, and the innkeeper flung it open. His wife was making an omelette over the stove.

  He glanced at them, and, taking them for genuine peasants, he placed his fingers to his lips and jerked his thumb in the direction of the other room.

  “Hist! Bosches!” he whispered. “Two of them!”

  “They speak English with an accent when I am in the room, so that I may not understand; but the moment I go out and place my ear to the keyhole on the other side, they speak German, the swine, and I do not understand. They are spies, and their talk is all of supplies, and shipping large quantities of things from America, for the Bosches. I do not understand all, but that much I understand. Bah! I would put rat poison in their food if I dared!”[6]

  Blake held out ten gold coins.

  “We are British. I have been listening at the window, yonder, and I have heard. Take these coins, and leave the rest to us. There is a light in the upper room. Who is there—the room over the sitting-room?”

  “It is theirs, and they waste my candles by leaving them to burn; but I dare say nothing.”

  “Good! Well, take the money, let us in, and keep out of the way till I call; then come quickly, and bring some stout rope with you.”

  “It shall be as the Herr Britisher orders,” said the man. “Down that passage—the sitting-room door lies straight ahead.”

  Blake nodded, and he and Tinker crept down the passage in their stockinged feet. Blake had the heavy revolver in his hand, Tinker his automatic.

  It must be confessed that they looked as bedraggled a pair of scarecrows as could well be imagined.

  Blake opened the door, and they stepped into the room.

  The two men poring over their map silently took no notice, thinking that it was the landlord returning. Blake moved behind one man, Tinker behind the other.

  “Put ‘em up!” said Blake cheerfully.

  The two men startled, half-sprang from their chairs.

  “Sit down!” ordered Blake sharply. “Or these will go off! That’s better! Now you, Skeystein—or whatever your name is—pass me your coat! No, don’t touch anything in your pockets. Now throw your waistcoat down there—never mind about your watch. Shirt next. Now, off with your trousers, socks, and boots—quick! Chuck ‘em all down there! Now stand over there with your face to the wall! Mosey, it’s your turn now. Do as the other beauty did!”

  In three minutes the men, barefooted and stripped to their underwear, stood facing the wall side by side, cursing, but helpless. Blake went to the passage door and whistled, and the innkeeper came in with a coil of rope. He grinned broadly when he saw his late guests. Blake drew the curtains tightly across the window and set to work roping the two up hand and foot, then he blindfolded them with napkins, and stuffed a gag into each of their mouths.

  “Where?” he asked the innkeeper. “Help us carry ‘em!”

  The man grinned more broadly than ever.

  “This way!” he said, and without more ado swung the taller man over his shoulders as though he were a dead sheep. Blake and Tinker carried the other.

  He led the way down the passage, opened another door, and raised a heavy trap.

  “The old store-room,” he said, with a jerk of his thumb. “It is not used now, except by the rats in flood times.”

  “Down with them then!” said Blake cheerfully.

  The man clambered down the ladder with his burden, relieved Blake and Tinker of theirs, and then came up again, dragging the ladder after him. He closed the trap, bolted it, and upset a litter of old rubbish and sacks and potatoes on top.

  “Good!” said Blake, and held out another gold coin. “Now we want hot water to wash in, plenty of it, five minutes to change our clothes, and after that one of those omelettes, such as madame was making just now, and a bottle of your best wine.”

  “Good, monsieur!” said the man, and hurried away.

  Blake and Tinker seized their victims’ clothes, and went upstairs. In less than five minutes they were transformed. Clean clothes, of which they found abundance in the bag, scented soap, brilliantine, and a razor for Blake, worked wonders. It is true that Blake’s coat was uncomfortably tight across the chest, but that was easily remedied, by leaving it unbuttoned. They searched the bags to make sure that there was nothing incriminating, locked them again, and went downstairs, where they found their meal just ready for them, and the wine warming before the fire.

  The innkeeper stared at them, and burst into a guffaw of laughter. Blake looked round to see if there were any tell-tale cigars of the late occupants, and then drew the window curtains back as they had been before. So far as he knew, it might have been some prearranged signal.

  “Now, listen,” he said to their host, “and listen carefully, as you value your skin and property. Six hours—ten, perhaps would be safer—after we have gone, you will rescue your prisoners, with many expressions of regret and dismay. They never saw your face after we had collared them, their own were turned towards the wall. And they only heard you utter one short sentence—‘this way’—which, in their dazed condition, might have been spoken by either myself or my friend, or any one of half a dozen other people, and for their own credit’s sake they are sure to make out that they were overcome by at least twice that number.

  “This is your story in brief, and you must stick to it like grim death, and mind you make no blunders.

  “You were seized unexpectedly by some people—apparently peasants—who came in by the back way, begging. You had your suspicions that they were rogues, however, and tried to turn them out, upon which they promptly seized you, gagged you, and bound you to one of your own kitchen chairs. They did the same to madame, who was too terrified to cry out, and then, so far as you know, they proceeded to ransack the house whilst you were bound and helpless, and could give no warning to your guests.

  “After hours of struggling, however, you managed to free yourself enough to get at your pocket-knife, and so hack yourself loose. Then you freed madame, and went in search of your guests, fully expecting to find them bound also. They had, however, vanished. You continued to search everywhere, and at last you have found them in the disused store-room. You follow me clearly?

  “You at once release them, you take them to the kitchen
, show them to overturned chairs, hacked pieces of rope on the floor, and possibly a broken door-latch. Madam is upstairs in bed, ill from shock. You are in a rage, but weak from exhaustion, and you might even drop a hint that you heard the men speak a few words in a language which you don’t understand, but which you believe to have been English.

  “That’s clear enough, isn’t it?”

  The innkeeper grinned.

  “It will be a droll farce to play,” he said.

  Blake nodded.

  “Play it well, and it will not only save your skin, but you will probably get a reward as well. Now you’d better go and make all the arrangements whilst we finish our meal.”

  The innkeeper nodded and withdrew, and Blake and Tinker devoured their omelette, followed by bread and cheese.

  “It is done,” said the man, returning a few minutes later with some steaming coffee.

  “Good!” said Blake. “Now go and see that everything is put straight in the room upstairs, and take away those clothes we were wearing. You can either keep them or destroy them, but they mustn’t be seen by anyone until the affair has blown over. Put clean towels in the room, too. Off with you!”

  “It shall be done, m’sieur,” said the man, and hurried off again.

  “Now,” said Blake, lighting a cigarette, “the next step is to find out who we really are. They are sure to have all their papers in good order. Turn out your pockets—everything there is in ‘em—and I’ll do the same.

  “Ah, here we are—passports! Humph! I thought as much. Max B. Schmidt—that’s me. Otto Adler—that’s you. Both of New York, American citizens, and the passports have been viewed both at Berlin and by the German commander at Brussels. Hallo! What’s this? A cipher code! Humph! A fairly simple one—a telegraphic address to a New York agent rejoicing in the name of Eckstein, and some notes about the shipment of huge quantities of stores and provisions into German waters via the Cattgut and the Great Belt. Useful bit of information, that. A stock of money, some American notes as well, a cigar-case, two or three private letters, probably carried as an additional proof of identity in case of need, some keys and loose change, and that’s about all. Well, with these vised passports we ought to be able to get along all right. You can’t speak German, worse luck, but you can imitate an American twang to the life—remember that if we get pushed into a tight corner—and I can do the German end of the business for both of us.