by Mark Hodder
“There must have been ammunition in one or two of the trucks at the back,” Tinker replied. “That would account for the explosion. It’s a jolly good thing for us that it wasn’t at the front, else we should have been blown to bits.”
As he spoke he reversed the throttle, and when the speed had decreased to something like twelve miles an hour he and his companion swung down from the footplate. They hurried up an embankment at the side of the line, and stood there while the charred and blazing trucks rattled by them, and then, none the worse for their thrilling adventure, they dived into a plantation, and were shrouded in the black shadow of the foliage.
“Good business, sir, wasn’t it?” said the lad, when they had threaded the timber for three or four minutes. “We must have destroyed a big lot of supplies and ammunition. It may be a serious matter for the Germans.”
“I imagine that it will be,” Lieutenant Drake replied. “And what’s more, the runaway train may cause a disaster before the steam is exhausted. I wish we had thought of heaping the furnace with coal.”
He had barely spoken when there was heard, at a distance of several miles, a heavy, thunderous crash. The young officer’s prediction had already been verified. The train had come to grief in its mad dash, and it could hardly be doubted that it had collided with and wrecked another train, perhaps one filled with fresh soldiers for the front.
“There’s been a smash!” exclaimed Tinker. “Another whack at the enemy. My word, if they catch us after all we’ve done! I can imagine what the Berlin newspapers will say. Panic and destruction caused by two desperate villains from General French’s contemptible little army! The Kaiser tears up another British uniform! More reserves to be mobilised at once!
The bath-chair brigade to be called to the colours, and a kindergarten battalion to be formed!”
Thus he rattled on, in jesting vein, while his companion walked silently by his side. Lieutenant Drake had fallen into low spirits, and the lad presently shared his despondency. It was not a cheerful prospect for them. They had not the remotest idea in which direction they were going. That they were well within the German lines was a certainty, and there was little or no likelihood of their being able to elude capture and get back to their own lines.
“There isn’t so much risk by night,” the young subaltern said at length, “but it will be different in the morning. We’ll be caught then.”
“Not if we hide through the day,” Tinker answered. “That’s what we shall have to do.”
It took them an hour to traverse the woods, and when they emerged from them it was at the edge of a wide, straight road. Bearing aimlessly to the left, they soon came to an open gateway and saw beyond it the vague shape of a large building that was obviously a chateau from its towers. Hunger, and the need of rest, bade them venture up the winding drive to the dwelling, which was dark and silent. They found the door lying flat, battered from lock and hinges, and when they had stepped over it Lieutenant Drake struck a match and led the way into a reception-room, where he perceived a candle on a table and set it alight. The luxurious apartment was in a state of disorder—and worse. No little damage had been wantonly done. Couches had been ripped open with swords, antique cabinets had been smashed, and paintings had been torn from the walls and trampled under heel.
“The Huns have been here,” said the lad, in a tone of disgust.
“Rather!” his companion assented. “They must have been looking for hidden valuables.”
“I don’t suppose any more of them will come—at least, not to-night. Shall we have a rest, sir?”
“Yes, we may as well. We will be as safe here as anywhere for an hour or so. But what about something to eat, Rokeby?”
“That’s what I’ve been thinking of. Perhaps we can find something.”
“We’ll see. Come along!”
The search was fruitless. What food had been left behind by the occupants of the chateau had been devoured by the Germans, as was shown by a table in the kitchen that was littered with dishes and bottles. Having scoured the lower part of the premises, without finding even a crust of bread, Tinker and the young officer mounted to the next floor, and here discovered a bed-chamber that had been scarcely molested by the vandals. The big, four-poster bed, with its clean, white coverlet, invited to repose.
“I can’t resist that,” said Lieutenant Drake. “It reminds me of home.”
Tinker grinningly agreed, and a few moments later Drake was sleeping soundly, with the lad snoring by his side.
THE EIGHTH CHAPTER
The Escape from the Chateau.
THE DRUMMING PATTER of rain against the windows, and the gurgle of water pouring from a spout, awoke Tinker in the early dawn of the morning. For a little time he lay in drowsy contentment, and he was on the point of dropping off to sleep again when he heard a crackling noise and a sound of voices. The young officer was also awake now, and listening.
“I believe there are Germans below,” he whispered, as he raised his head from the pillow.
“There must be,” the lad replied. “Only hope they don’t come up here.”
“They are pretty sure to come, Rokeby. We had better clear out at once.”
“If we can, sir. It will have to be by the back of the house.”
From the sounds, the invaders were in the reception-room, which was at the front of the chateau, and directly under the bed chamber. Tinker and his companion noiselessly rose from the bed, in which they had slept fully dressed, and as quietly they stole from the room. They took it for granted that there was a rear staircase, and, doubtless, there was one. But their efforts to find it were of no avail, probably because they encountered one or two locked doors which they dared not try to break open. They wandered from room to room, from corridor to corridor; and in the end, fearing that they were in a tight trap, they retraced their steps to the front-stairs. They stood here in hesitation for a minute, listening to confused voices below.
“Come, here goes for it,” bade Lieutenant Drake, in a low tone. “If they get a glimpse of us we will make a dash.”
As stealthily as cats, with their nerves on edge, they descended the staircase to the hall, and stopped there. To their left, within a couple of yards, was the open doorway of the reception-room; and almost immediately opposite to them on the other side was a deep alcove, partially screened by a drapery, in which was a figure in armour.
“It is all right, sir,” Tinker murmured. “We won’t have to to go by them. I don’t think there is anybody at the back. We can escape that way, and—”
He paused abruptly. A sentinel, with a rifle on his shoulder, had just strolled into view at the open front of the hall, on the terrace beyond the shattered door. At once, on the impulse of the moment, the young subaltern grasped the lad by the arm, and whipped him quickly over to the alcove and into it.
“By Jove, that was a narrow squeak!” he said under his breath, as he stretched the drapery to its full length. “I thought it was all up with us, Rokeby.”
They had not been perceived by the sentry. They were now in a safe shelter, hidden from observation; and when they had recovered from their brief fright they peered from a crevice of the curtain, and found that they could see distinctly into the reception-room across from them. It was a pathetic and interesting sight that they beheld. At the rear of the large apartment, huddled in a group, were nearly a score of wretched-looking prisoners, in wet and muddy uniforms. All were French soldiers with one exception, and that was an elderly officer in khaki, with an iron-grey moustache, who was clearly a Britisher. His bearing was haughty and defiant, but there was an expression of melancholy on his bronzed features. Five Germans, wearing cloaks and helmets, were in charge of the captives. One of them was blowing at a fire that had been started in the grate, and another was breaking a chair for fuel. The other three were standing together, talking and joking as they leaned on their rifles, and puffed at porcelain pipes with long, curved stems.
“Poor fellows!” breathed Tinker.
“How sad they look!”
“I don’t wonder,” Lieutenant Drake whispered, “since they are going to be kept in confinement somewhere in Germany until the end of the war.”
“That British officer is a colonel, isn’t he?”
“Yes, and I know his name. He is Colonel Chumleigh of the Guards.”
“Chumleigh? Is—is he really?”
“That’s right. He was reported missing the other day.”
“It was supposed that he had been killed,” said the lad.
“He couldn’t have been,” Lieutenant Drake replied. “I know him right enough, Rokeby. He has been wounded, though,” he added, as the officer pushed his cap back from his brow with a weary gesture, and disclosed a bandage that was tied around his head.
A humming, throbbing noise was now heard. A motor-vehicle of some kind had turned in at the gate of the chateau, and presently a handsome car slid up the drive and stopped. From the alcove Tinker and the young subaltern could see it clearly. It contained two German officers, one of whom remained in the car, while the other sprang from it and entered the house. He paused on the threshold of the reception-room, and took in the scene at a glance.
“Ah, Keller, you here?” he said in surprise, addressing a sergeant who was in charge of the soldiers within. “I thought your battalion was at Antwerp.”
“We were detached from it, some of us,” the man answered, lifting his hand in salute. “We have been guarding prisoners, and we are taking this lot south. It was raining so hard that we stopped here for breakfast.”
“Have you seen or heard anything of those two British ruffians who are at large in this part of the country?”
“I have not, Captain Roth. What have they done?”
“They have been raising the very devil, and if they should be caught they are to be shot at once. They were brought down in an aeroplane last evening, but they made their escape unhurt; and subsequently they set fire to a train loaded with ammunition and supplies, and started it on a dash to destruction. Part of it was blown up by the explosion of the ammunition, and the engine and the other trucks ran into a troop-train and caused much loss of life. Major Vierke and I are searching for these mad Britishers, whose footprints were traced in this direction from the railway-line.”
“We have seen nothing of them,” said the sergeant.
“I thought they might have taken shelter here,” Captain Roth replied. “They can’t be far off, at all events.”
“They are not in the chateau. I had a look about.”
“Well, you must assist me. Leave two of your men with the prisoners, and bring the other two along. The major and I will accompany you, and we will scour the woods for the ruffians, who are probably lying asleep somewhere in the thickets.”
“Very good, herr-captain.”
The order was promptly obeyed. Sergeant Keller and two of his four men departed from the dwelling with Captain Roth. The officer who had been waiting in the car joined them, and they all set off towards the plantation that was at the rear of the chateau.
Lieutenant Drake and the lad had overheard the conversation, and while listening to it Tinker had been thinking of the interesting fact that he had learned. He was very anxious to rescue the captive colonel, and yet he was loth to confide in his companion, lest by some slip of the tongue he should draw suspicion on himself, and perhaps be forced to admit the imposture of which he had been guilty. A daring idea occurred to him now, however, when the little party of Germans had disappeared around the corner of the house. And he also felt that he could offer a truthful explanation which would satisfy the young subaltern.
“Do you remember speaking to me of Sexton Blake, the detective?” he enquired.
“Yes,” Lieutenant Drake answered. “What of it?”
“I mentioned him,” said the lad, “because he came to the front for the purpose of finding Colonel Chumleigh. He wants him to sign an important paper of some kind about money.”
“That’s rather curious. How do you know?”
“Mr. Blake told me, when he was in hospital. And there’s the colonel within a few yards of us.”
“He might be in Berlin for all the chance the detective will have of getting his signature to the paper.”
“But we may be able to set him free, sir, and the others as well.”
“What the deuce is in your head now, Rokeby?”
“I’ll tell you, sir. Why not tackle those two guards and polish them off? It will be quite easy. The Frenchies can look after themselves then, and you and I will bolt in the motor-car with Colonel Chumleigh.”
“By Jove, that’s fine. I’m with you.”
“And if we put on their cloaks and helmets we can pass for Germans, which will help us to get through to our lines.”
“Better still, Rokeby. We’ll do it, risk or no risk. You ought to be a detective yourself, with the clever brain you’ve got.”
This chance remark brought a smile to Tinker’s lips. He and the young officer held a brief discussion, and then, steeling their hearts for the ruthless deed that was justified by the grim necessities of war, they whipped out from the alcove with drawn revolvers, and dashed across the hall and into the reception-room.
“Mein himmel, the mad Britishers!” gasped one of the German soldiers. “They are armed, Fritz! Be quick, or they will—”
The lad’s weapon cracked at him, and the ball struck him in the throat, silencing him forever. He pitched to the floor gurgling horribly; and, as the other German threw his rifle to his shoulder, and aimed at Lieutenant Drake, the latter shot him through the heart, and he fell dead on the body of his comrade. It had to be done. A soldier’s trade is to kill.
“You are free, my good fellows,” the young subaltern said to the startled French prisoners. “See to yourselves. I wish you luck. You will come with us, sir,” he added, turning to Colonel Chumleigh. “We are going to escape in the car.”
The French soldiers, exulting in their liberty, hastened from the room and fled to the rear. Tinker and Lieutenant Drake snatched the cloaks and helmets from the dead Germans and put them on; then ran out of the chateau at the front, followed by the colonel. He sprang into the big car with the young subaltern, and, when Tinker had started the engine he leapt to the driving-seat, and clutched the wheel.
“Hurrah, we’re off!” he exclaimed.
The vehicle swung round and rattled down the gravelled drive to the open gateway, where, at random, the lad swerved it to the left. A straight, smooth road stretched ahead, entirely deserted as far as the eye could reach. From the woods behind the dwelling, at a considerable distance, floated the faint, shouting voices of Captain Roth and his companions, who had heard the pistol-shots. The rain had ceased, but the sky was overcast with heavy clouds. Though the sun was probably above the horizon by now there was no visible glimmer of it that might have served to guide the fugitives.
“We want to go towards our lines, sir,” Tinker said to the colonel. “Do you know the direction?”
“No, I don’t,” the elderly officer replied. “I have no idea of my bearings.”
“Neither have I,” observed Lieutenant Drake. “We’ll have to trust to luck.”
The lad remained silent. He did not intend to speak one word to the rescued prisoner, as yet, concerning the errand that had brought Sexton Blake to the front. He sent the car swiftly on, while the young subaltern related to Colonel Chumleigh, in simple and modest language, the whole story of what he and Private Rokeby had done since their descent in the aeroplane. It amazed the colonel, and caused him some anxiety.
“It will go hard with both of you if you are caught,” he said when the narrative had been finished.
THE NINTH CHAPTER
The End of the Car.
THE WOUND THAT Colonel Chumleigh had received was of a trifling nature, and it had nearly healed. As he had expected to be imprisoned in Germany until the end of the war, the first sensations of freedom were as stimulating to him as a draught of champagne. B
ut his elation did not last long. His spirits soon sank again, and the apprehensions that he felt were shared by his companions. With Lieutenant Drake and the lad disguised as Germans, and the colonel in the role of their prisoner, they mighty elude suspicion for an indefinite period, no matter whom they might meet. But it was remotely possible that they would be allowed to pass out of the German lines under such circumstances. Moreover, there was the practical certainty that the field-telegraph would flash messages far and wide giving a description of them, and bidding a watch be kept.
Presently, however, they had one difficulty the less to contend with. Colonel Chumleigh had made a careful study of a map of the area of war, and when several miles had been covered he got his bearings accurately from a signpost, and bade Tinker turn into a road to the right, stating that it would lead through the enemy’s lines at a point no great distance from the front of the Allies.
“A bold dash may carry us out,” he continued. “I would face any risk rather than be caught.”
“It will have to be soon, sir, or not at all,” the young subaltern replied. “That German officer will know that we have stolen his car, and he will see that the dead soldiers have been robbed of their cloaks and helmets.”
The next couple of hours were fraught with thrills and excitement. The faint roar of artillery could be heard in different directions, and bodies of troops were in motion. The fugitives met a force of Uhlans, who spurred right and left to let them go by. They saluted a convoy of wounded crawling to the rear, and passed a regiment of Bavarians and one of Westphalians. But no attention was paid to them. They held to their course unmolested, clinging to the hope of ultimate freedom, until the middle of the morning; and then, swinging round a curve, they found themselves within a hundred yards or so of a railway station that was occupied by a detachment of Wurtemburg infantry.
