CHAPTER VIII
In British Uniforms
Shells were intermittently dropping upon the houses and in the streetsas Kenneth and Rollo entered the apparently deserted city of Liege.The majority of the inhabitants, their numbers augmented by hundreds ofterrified refugees from the surrounding villages, had taken refuge incellars, while crowds, under the mistaken belief in the immunity of thechurches from shell-fire, had sought doubtful shelter in the sacrededifices. Others, again, fearful at the threat of von Emmich to begina general bombardment upon the city unless the forts surrendered--athreat that the gallant General Leman treated with contempt--wereboarding the last trains to leave Liege.
The day was excessively hot and close. The wind that had blownstrongly during the preceding night had dropped. Several of the houseshad taken fire, and the pungent smell of smoke filled the air.Frequently, before the dispatch-riders reached their destination, theywere compelled to slacken pace, owing to the clouds of smoke thatdrifted slowly across the almost deserted streets.
They found the commandant, with several of his staff, calmly engaged inhis work, and heedless of the fact that several shells had alreadyburst in front of the Palace of Justice in which he had taken up hisquarters.
Commandant Fleurus was a short, stocky man of about fifty, and ratherinclined to corpulence. His head was as bald as an egg, with theexception of a ring of jet-black hair like a monkish tonsure. His eyeswere small, resembling black beads, and rapid in their movements.
He was writing when Kenneth was shown in. Without moving his head,which was slightly inclined, he fixed the dispatch-rider with hispiercing stare.
"Message, sir, from Major le Tourneur."
The commandant took the letter and, with a swift movement, tore openthe flap of the envelope.
"This is marked 7.15 a.m.!" he exclaimed. "It's now a quarter to nine.Why this delay?"
"We--that is, my comrade--crippled a Taube, sir."
"Crippled a Taube? What, pray, has a dispatch-rider to do withTaubes?" demanded Commandante Fleurus sternly. "Do you know that it isyour duty to deliver messages at all costs, and in the least possibletime, regardless of Taubes, Zeppelins, and the German Emperor himself?"
Kenneth did not reply. The fiery nature of the little Belgianliterally consumed him. He had, however, the good sense to see thatthe rebuke was merited.
"Well, sir, what have you to say?"
"It was an error of judgment, sir, which I regret," said Kenneth. "Wecrippled the Taube as it was on the point of rising. Otherwise----"
"Were there no troops available?"
"Some lancers arrived while the Taube was burning."
The commandant turned and took hold of a telephone that stood on thetable at his side.
"Send Captain Planchenoit to me," he ordered; then, leaning back in hischair, he again fixed the British lad with his beady eyes.
It was quite two minutes before the captain appeared, and the timeseemed like two hours to the crestfallen Kenneth. He had yet to learnthe lesson that cast-iron discipline demands, and it seemed gallingthat his part in crippling one of the aerial spies should bepractically ignored by the man who ought to have gone into ecstasiesover the news.
Presently Captain Planchenoit entered, clicked his heels and saluted,then waited his superior officer's pleasure. The captain was asmart-looking man of more than average height, with a pleasant, opencountenance. He was on the intelligence staff, attached to the brigadethat had been hurriedly brought up from Diest.
"Any information respecting the destruction of one of the enemy'saeroplanes?" demanded the commandant.
"Yes, mon commandant. It descended near the village of Jupille.Before our lancers could approach it took fire. Our men found bothpilot and observer wounded and brought them back. The captain of thetroop reported that the Taube was set on fire by the pistol-shots oftwo dispatch-riders."
"At any risk to themselves?"
"I know not, sir."
"At any risk?" repeated Commandant Fleurus, shifting his glance fromCaptain Planchenoit to Kenneth.
In reply the lad removed his Belgian military cap and pointed to thedouble hole made by the German observer's bullet.
To Kenneth's surprise the commandant leant back in his chair and gavevent to a hearty laugh. Then he stood up and grasped the hand of theastonished youth.
"Go, bring in your compatriot," he exclaimed.
"What's the game, old man?" asked Rollo, who was cooling his heels inthe corridor.
"Goodness knows! I can't make the little commandant out. He's anenigma. I've had a gruelling. Come along."
Kenneth jerked out his sentences awkwardly, then, catching hold of hischum's arm, led him into the commandant's presence.
"Captain Planchenoit," said the latter, after returning Rollo's salute."You applied for two additional dispatch-riders, I believe?"
"That is so, mon commandant," replied the captain.
"Good! Now listen to this, you brave Englishmen. This is the dispatchyou brought. It is from Major Resimont: 'In reply to your request fordispatch-riders I send you two English motor-cyclists, MM. KennethEverest and Rollo Barrington. From what I already know of them theyare courageous and resolute, and their services are likely to be ofmore use in the operations before Brussels than within the fortress ofBarchon. More so in view of the possible early appearance of theEnglish forces who are to co-operate with the Belgian armies in thefield.'"
"It is very good of Major Resimont to speak so well of us," saidKenneth. "Of course we must go where we are ordered, and thatwillingly; but we should be sorry to part from Major Resimont and the9th Regiment of the Line."
"It does not necessarily mean severing your connection with your oldregiment--if old I might term it," declared the commandant. "In strictconfidence I may tell you--I know that English gentlemen are alwayshonourable--that perhaps before to-morrow we must abandon the city tothe invaders. Our numbers are insufficient to hold the trencheslinking the chain of forts. We must concentrate our armies to the westof Liege, leaving the forts to hold out until the English and Frencharmies arrive. It is a sad thing to have to abandon such a city asthis to the ruthless Germans, but sacrifices must be made for thehonour of our country. Captain Planchenoit will give you instructionwhere to proceed."
Just at that moment an orderly-sergeant entered the room, his facepurple with excitement.
"Sir," he announced, "four English officers are without. They havearrived from Ostend by motor-car and desire to see the General Leman."
Commandant Fleurus took the pieces of pasteboard the sergeant held inhis hand, and passed them on first to Kenneth and then to Rollo.
"See if you know any of these gentlemen," he said.
"Yes," replied Rollo. "I know Major Athol Duncan-Dean of the Duke ofCornwall's Light Infantry. Hello! What's the meaning of this?" headded in his native tongue.
"Jolly rummy, anyhow," commented Kenneth, for in the word "Cornwall's"the apostrophe was after the "s".
"And Major Duncan-Dean is too mighty particular to pass a mistake onhis visiting-card like that," added Rollo.
"Perhaps he lost his own and had them printed in Belgium, and didn'tnotice the mistake until it was too late."
"I'll mention it to the commandant. It's fishy."
"Since you know the officer, Monsieur Barrington," said the commandant,when Kenneth had explained the nature of the error, "perhaps you willgo with this sergeant. Present my compliments, and say that theGeneral Leman is at Fort de Loncin, and that I, Commandant Fleurus,will be pleased to receive the English officers in his absence. But,listen; if by any chance the Major Duncan-Dean is not the one you know,say that the General will receive presently, ask them to wait, andreturn immediately to me."
Escorted by the sergeant, Rollo was taken to a room where fourofficers, correctly dressed in British field-service uniform, wereseated. One glance was sufficient. None of them bore any resemblanceto the Major Duncan-Dean whom the lad knew well.
There was only onemajor of that name in the Duke of Cornwall's Light Infantry, and he wasa fairly frequent visitor at Colonel Barrington's house, especiallyduring the shooting season.
Rollo delivered the commandant's message in English, explaining that hewas British but attached to the Belgian army, and that he was a son ofColonel Barrington of Holmfrith, near Truro.
There was no sign of recognition on the part of the supposed MajorDuncan-Dean; instead, an awkward silence prevailed. None of the fourofficers seemed at all anxious to reply. They all looked disappointedand embarrassed.
"Our message is of great importance and for only the ears of GeneralLeman," said one of them at last. "We will not trouble the commandantexcept to give us permits to enter Fort Loncin and to telephone to theGeneral that we are about to arrive."
Suddenly a hand grasped Rollo's shoulder in a vice-like grip, and themuzzle of a revolver was clapped against his temple.
"One sound and you are dead!" exclaimed a stern voice.
The lad was already convinced that the so-called British army officerswere Germans in disguise. Not only was he sure that the pseudo MajorDuncan-Dean was an impostor; the peculiar phraseology of the man whohad replied to the commandant's message confirmed his conclusions. Tocrown everything, there was the conviction carried by the muzzle ofthat revolver.
Rollo spent a nasty minute. His mind was working furiously, weighingup the factors of the situation. To raise the alarm meant death tohimself; to fail to do so might result in the cold-blooded massacre ofCommandant Fleurus and several of the staff; while, with thehead-quarters telephone at their disposal, the four Germans might playhavoc with the plans of the Belgian Commander-in-Chief.
The Germans were talking rapidly in a low tone. The one who held Rolloprisoner still kept the revolver against the lad's temple; the rest hadeach drawn an automatic pistol, and were evidently about to force theirway into the presence of the commandant.
"I'll wait till those fellows go out into the corridor," thought thelad, "then I'll try the effect of a sudden blow in this gentleman'swind. It may do the trick; if not, my number's up. Anyway, it'sbetter than being snuffed out without making an attempt to fight forit."
Although he kept as quiet as he possibly could, Rollo could feel hisheart thumping violently, while his temples throbbed until the muzzleof the German's revolver seemed to be beating a tattoo.
"Keep steady!" hissed his captor. "This pistol has hair-trigger.Might go off if you shake."
It was on the tip of Rollo's tongue to reply that he was not shaking byreason of fear; but realizing that such a statement might put theGerman additionally upon his guard, the lad kept silent.
Presently one of the conspirators replaced his revolver, and with hisfree hand grasped the handle of the door. The other two stood behind,ready to sally forth on their murderous and treacherous work.
Rollo mentally pulled himself together. Another ten or twenty secondswould decide the fate of his plan--and of himself.
Suddenly the subdued daylight of the room was pierced by a dozensimultaneous flashes. The rattle of musketry sounded like thedischarge of a twenty-one-inch howitzer. The place was filled with thehaze of smokeless powder.
Instinctively the lad ducked. There was a tremendous crash above hishead. A thousand lights danced before his eyes, and he lostconsciousness.
The Dispatch-Riders: The Adventures of Two British Motor-cyclists in the Great War Page 8
