by Mark Hodder
“If we don’t have an accident,” replied the lad, “or run into a patrol of Germans.”
The country was quiet and lonely. The red arm of Mars had swept over it, leaving blackened, shell-riddled ruins where had been farmhouses and cottages.
For a couple of hours the big car rushed steadily on, at a rate of speed that would have been dangerous had there been any traffic. A village was passed, but it was not the one that had been mentioned. There had been fighting here, and the inhabitants had all fled.
“We can’t have much farther to go,” said the detective, when he had glanced at the map again. “A mile or so, I should judge.”
“Perhaps that is Malmon yonder,” suggested Tinker, pointing to a cluster of roofs that had just appeared, rising from foliage, on the farther side of a wide valley. “Do you think so?”
“I am pretty sure that it is, my boy.”
“Well, we’ll be there in another five minutes.”
The car had topped the brow of a hill, and was running down a long slope. It reached the bottom, and when it had glided on for half a mile, with deep woods to the right and left, the lad half-started from his seat, and almost lost his grip of the steering-wheel.
“Look, guv’nor, look!” he gasped.
“Uhlans, by Jove!” exclaimed Sexton Blake.
THE SECOND CHAPTER
The Bomb on the Line.
EIGHT OR NINE grey-cloaked figures, wearing spiked helmets, emerged from the leafy cover to one side, within a distance of twenty yards. Several of them were carrying a thick log, which they threw down directly across the road, and the others promptly levelled revolvers at the travellers, who had no alternative but to stop and surrender. Tinker checked the car close to the obstruction, and he and the detective got out, and were surrounded by the Germans, who were highly pleased by their capture. The officer in command, a brutal-looking fellow, could not speak or read English. He searched Blake, and took his papers from him, but returned them after a brief scrutiny.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, in his own tongue.
“I am in France on private business, which has no connection with the war,” Sexton Blake answered. “I am a civilian and non-combatant, and I claim the right to pass on unmolested.”
“But you are with a soldier.”
“Yes, he is my guide. I am on my way to Rouen, herr-captain.”
“You are probably a spy, my fine fellow. I am inclined to doubt your tale.”
“I am nothing of the sort. I have told you the truth, as my papers will prove.”
“I can’t read them,” the officer replied. “I shall have to detain you on suspicion, and if you have lied to me you will be shot.”
Blake’s protests were of no avail. He was not much alarmed, as far as his safety was concerned; but it was exasperating to him to be caught at such a time, when he was so near to accomplishing the task that had brought him from England to the front. And he was terribly afraid, moreover, that the lad might encounter somebody who would identify him as one of the two daring soldiers who had destroyed the supply-train, and outwitted the Germans at the chateau. And the same fear was in Tinker’s mind. He knew that if he were to be discovered summary death would be his fate.
“Yes, I shall have to detain you,” the officer repeated. “Don’t argue with me.”
The day had now drawn to a close, and the rim of the sun was touching the horizon. The log was removed, and the motor-car was pushed in amongst the trees and thickets, presumably so that they should not attract the attention of any French or British soldiers who might come by. The Uhlans then penetrated the woods, taking their reluctant prisoners with them; and when they had gone for two or three hundred yards they reached an open glade where more troopers were waiting for them, to the number of a score.
Apparently they had been lurking here for a considerable time, and keeping a watch on the road. The horses were tethered in a group, cropping the short grass, and scattered about on the ground were the remains of a meal, and a dozen empty champagne bottles that had doubtless been looted from some dwelling.
The captives were greeted with jeers and laughter, to which they paid no heed. The detective fortunately had no fire-arms, else he might have been shot at once. He was searched again, but was not robbed of his papers. As he was gazing around him he was surprised to see a familiar face, and he was himself recognised at the same moment. A plump little Uhlan, with flaxen hair and moustache, stepped up to him. He clapped him on the arm, and grinned.
“Ah, it is Herr Blake!” he cried, “and the boy Tinker too!”
“So this is how we meet again, Mittleback!” the detective said quietly. “Do you like soldiering better than waiting?”
“Much better. I kill the English now, not feed them.”
“But you miss the tips, don’t you?”
Hans Mittleback, formerly a waiter at the Corona Restaurant in London, showed his teeth in appreciation of the joke.
“I want to get to Rouen on important business,” Sexton Blake continued. “Can’t you have me set free? You can vouch for it that I am not a spy.”
“No, no, herr,” the German replied, shaking his head. “I will do nothing. You gave me good tips at the Corona, and I bear you no ill-will; but it is well that you should remain a prisoner until the war is over. And the boy, too.”
“Where will we be sent to?”
“I don’t know. Our colonel will decide. We are on patrol duty, and we are waiting here for the arrival of a train. We have learnt that it is coming, and we have laid a trap for it.”
“A trap?” exclaimed the detective. “What do you mean? From what direction is this train coming?”
“It is running from your lines to Rouen,” Mittleback said. “The railway line is over yonder. We have put a bomb on it, and as the train is passing it will be blown up.”
“By heavens, how dastardly!”
“All is fair in war, Herr Blake.”
“Have you any idea how near the train is?”
“It should come very soon. We are listening for the explosion.”
The colour had ebbed from Tinker’s cheeks, and there was a gleam of horror in Sexton Blake’s eyes as he turned to the Uhlan officer.
“I have some knowledge of this train,” he said hurriedly. “You are not aware, I imagine, that it is carrying a number of wounded soldiers to the hospital at Rouen?”
“It makes no difference,” the officer replied, in a sneering tone. “They are enemies, and that is enough.”
“But it will be cold-blooded murder if you kill them, and contrary to the rules of war. They are under the protection of the Red Cross.”
“It is no affair of yours, herr. Be careful how you talk.”
“By heavens, do you really intend to destroy those poor, wounded men? It will be infamous! You can’t be so cruel! Have the explosive removed at once, I implore you in the name of humanity! There may be still an opportunity of—”
“Hold your tongue, you British dog!” the German interrupted, with an oath. “I won’t warn you again. Another word, and I’ll shoot you!”
The appeal had failed. The officer was not to be moved from his ruthless resolve. Blake’s brain was in a whirl. What could he do? He was in a desperate mood, ready to face any risk, and it was the same with the lad. They exchanged meaning glances, and each read in the other’s half-veiled eyes a message that was as plain as words could have been.
The chances were favourable for a dash for freedom. Their wrists had not been bound, nor were they closely hemmed in by the Uhlans. For a few seconds they hesitated, their features betraying no sign of their purpose; and then, with one accord, they sprang across the glade, and dived into the woods in the direction that had been indicated to them by Hans Mittleback.
“Do your best, my boy, and stick to me,” urged Blake. “We must save the train if we can! There may yet be time. I pray Heaven there is!”
THE THIRD CHAPTER
The Will is Signed.
> THE GERMANS WERE taken completely by surprise. It was so sudden, so unexpected, that not a man of them stirred until Blake and Tinker had vanished in the leafy cover. They then gave chase, led by the officer, some snatching their lances, while others drew their revolvers. They could not have used their horses to advantage, so on foot they scurried through the dense, tangled plantation, with lusty hue and cry that rang in the ears of the fugitives, and spurred them to strenuous efforts.
Pistol-shots, fired blindly, cut twigs from the boughs over their heads. They ran as fast as they could, and when they had gone for half a mile the clamour was fading behind them. And soon it had ceased entirely. They were shrouded in silence.
“We’ve given them the slip,” panted the lad. “They must have abandoned the pursuit.”
“No; don’t deceive yourself,” Sexton Blake replied. “They have turned back to get their horses, and they will ride round by the road.”
“It may be a considerable distance, guv’nor.”
“It is not a question of that, my boy. I think we shall reach the line before we can be interrupted. But we may be too late to save the train.”
For another half-mile they traversed the sombre woods, now and again slackening speed to regain their breath. It was rough going. They floundered amongst thickets and boulders, and caught their feet in trailing vines. At length streaks of pale light shone ahead of them out of the purple shadow, and shortly afterwards they emerged from the cover, and stopped. They were on the verge of a low, grassy embankment, and at the bottom of it was the railway line, in a shallow cutting. In both directions it was visible, as straight as an arrow for some hundreds of yards. The sun had just dipped beneath the horizon, there was a golden glow in the sky. All was quiet.
“I don’t hear anything of the train,” said Tinker.
“No, thank Heaven,” Blake replied. “It can’t be very close.”
“And now to find the explosive. I wonder where it is?”
“It is somewhere about here, I should judge. We mustn’t waste a moment, my boy.”
“In which direction shall we look?” asked the lad, as they darted down the embankment. “That is the question.”
“We will separate,” said Blake. “You go one way, and I’ll go the other. That will be better than to—” He paused, as a shrill, shuddering whistle was heard to the left. “The train!” he added sharply. “It is approaching! Come, come, be quick!”
Was the instrument of death to the left or to the right? Would there be time to discover and remove it, or would the wounded soldiers meet with a terrible disaster? It may be imagined what harrowing suspense Tinker and the detective felt, what ghastly visions filled their minds as they took to their heels and ran in the direction from which the whistle had floated to their ears. They had forgotten the Uhlans. With increasing anxiety they hastened along the line, scanning the metals in quest of the bomb, while nearer and nearer, louder and louder, came the muffled grinding of wheels. They were still searching, straining their eyes ahead, when the engine appeared in view around a curve that was at a distance of a quarter of a mile.
“There it is!” exclaimed the lad.
“We must stop it if we can,” declared Blake. “Let us try to attract the driver’s attention.”
They dashed on, frantically waving their caps, and shouting in their excitement, though their voices could not be heard. The train continued to approach rapidly, until it was within a hundred yards of them, and close to a road that crossed the cutting on a level with it.
“The driver knows that there is something wrong,” cried Tinker. “He is pulling the throttle. It is all right.”
“Yes, thank Heaven!” replied Blake. “The disaster will be averted. The bomb must have been placed in the other direction, beyond the point where we started to—”
The sentence was stifled on his lips by a tremendous explosion. There was a lurid blaze, and a sulphurous cloud shot up, hurling fragments of metal high in the air. The engine, its wheels and stack blown off, was lifted from the metals and thrown on its side, followed by the tender. The foremost carriage also turned over, but the rest, after a succession of violent jolts, remained on the line.
“Too late!” gasped the detective, as the smoke lifted and revealed the tragic scene. “Too late, my boy!”
“What a shame!” Tinker said hoarsely. “And just when we were sure it wouldn’t happen!”
Fortunately, however, the bloodthirsty intentions of the Germans had fallen far short of what they had anticipated. The bomb may have been defective, for one thing, and probably its effects had been lessened by the fact that the brakes had been applied before the explosion occurred. At all events, no great harm had been done. The driver and stoker had lost their lives, having been crushed under the engine. But the occupants of the capsized carriage, and of the others as well, escaped with a severe shaking.
The disaster had taken place just where the road crossed the line. Sexton Blake and the lad hurried forward, and their anxiety was relieved soon after they had reached the spot, though they could not as yet be certain that there had not been more than the two deaths. They promptly lent assistance, working with those who had flocked from the train, doing their share with civilian passengers, and Red Cross nurses, and a young surgeon who had been in charge of the patients. There was a busy scene for a time and groans were heard, and piteous appeals for help, as the wounded soldiers were lifted tenderly from the overturned carriage and made as comfortable as possible.
“It might have been much worse,” said Sexton Blake. “These poor fellows have got off lightly. But I am afraid the shock will be bad for their wounds.”
“If only Colonel Chumleigh has not been hurt!” replied the lad. “He must be here somewhere, for I have looked in the other carriages.”
“He is in this one, then.”
“I will know him as soon I see him, guv’nor.”
“So shall I, my boy. I was introduced to him at his club several years ago. He may not remember me, however.”
He was the last to be brought out. There was no mistaking the colonel, with his handsome features and grey moustache. He was conscious, and very pale, suffering from the bullet-wound in his shoulder. But the bandages had not slipped from it, nor had he sustained any other injuries. Two nurses drew him through the door of one of the compartments, and put him in the care of Blake and the lad, who helped him to the side of the line, and seated him there on the grass. The detective got some brandy for him from the surgeon, and the stimulant eased his pain and steadied his shaken nerves. His face brightened, and he smiled as he recognised the young soldier.
“Ah, so we have met again!” he said. “You are one of the brave fellows who rescued me from the Germans at the chateau, and brought me to the field-hospital at Santenay. And surely I know you, too,” he added, glancing at the lad’s companion. “Yes, I recall you now. You are Sexton Blake. We met at my club.”
“That is quite right,” Blake assented. “And I have been searching for you, curiously enough. I came from London purposely to find you.”
“To find me?” Colonel Chumleigh exclaimed. “How is that?”
“At the instigation of your wife, and on behalf of your child.”
“I don’t understand, Mr. Blake.”
“The explanation is simple. You went to the front, leaving with your solicitor, unsigned, the recent will in favour of your infant son. And you also left in his possession the previous will, by which your brother would succeed to a large part of your estate. The solicitor had not the power to destroy it, so you can account for your wife’s anxiety when she learned what the situation was. She was naturally afraid that her child might be deprived of its inheritance.”
“I see,” said the colonel. “I have been very careless. It was stupid of me to leave matters in such a state. My wife has more business sense than I have, by far. I am heartily glad that my wife sent you to seek for me.”
“It was through the War Office,” Blake replied. “Th
ey gave me the necessary permission, and I reached the front on the very day when you were captured by the Germans.”
“You have brought the will with you, I suppose?”
“Yes; I have it in my pocket. I got it from your solicitor.”
“Then I will sign it at once. The sooner the better, for my wound is rather serious, and there is no telling what will happen.”
“You will be wise not to delay, sir, for there is a patrol of the enemy in the neighbourhood. We were captured by them, and we made our escape, after learning that they had planned to wreck the train by putting a bomb on the line.”
The will was produced, and a fountain-pen was handed to Colonel Chumleigh. He rested the document on his knee, and when he had attached his signature to it Sexton Blake and the lad wrote their names as witnesses. The inheritance had been secured for the child, whatever might betide. The mission that had brought the detective from England had been accomplished at last, and now, just as the signed will had been returned to him, a sound of clattering hoofs swelled on the air.
“My word, look!” cried Tinker. “This is bad for us!”
“Very bad, I am afraid,” said Blake.
A shadow crept into his eyes as he spoke. The patrol of Uhlans were approaching along the road, riding at a gallop straight towards the wrecked train, their helmets and lances glittering in the sunset glow that still lingered.
THE FOURTH CHAPTER
Tinker Loses his Uniform.
GENERAL ALARM WAS caused by the discovery. It was a threatening and complicated situation. There were no weapons amongst the wounded soldiers, nor had the nurses or the civilians any arms. They were not supposed to have any, under the circumstances; yet, despite the fact that the Red Cross flag was conspicuously shown on the carriages of the train, they had every reason to fear that brutal acts would be committed by these dreaded troopers, who bore a worse reputation than any branch of the Kaiser’s army.
