The Hero of Garside School

by J. Harwood Panting

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  THE "FOX-HOLE"

  "They really believe you're out of England. You're quite sure of that?"questioned Brockman, in his thick, guttural voice.

  "As sure of it as you're standing there," answered Zuker. "The searchfor me went on actively for a fortnight, and then dropped. How shouldthey suspect a hiding-place like this? How should they suspect that whenthe hounds were in full chase of the fox, he had a hole to retreat towhere they could never follow?"

  "Ha! ha!" chuckled Brockman; "we ought to call it the Fox-Hole. I onlywish we had the youngster in it who slipped through my fingers thatnight on the road to Redmead."

  "Do you really?" said Paul to himself. "Well, the youngster's obligedyou, and yet you don't seem to be grateful to him."

  "_Zut! zut!_ Don't worry about him. He's only a cipher--a pawn in thegreat game we have in hand. If we win, it'll be for a prize worthwinning--fame and fortune," went on Zuker, as he strode to and fro withrapid strides. "Yes, fame and fortune, and we shall have dealt astaggering blow at a country that we hate. The risk is great, but thestakes are greater still, and each day makes our position surer."

  "Surer? Do you think so? Sometimes it seems to me, master, that we'restanding on the very edge of a deep precipice, and that one day we shallmake a false step, and then----"

  Brockman did not finish the sentence, but gave a significant shrug ofthe shoulders which was much more eloquent than words.

  "Das ist recht--that is right; I have never hidden from you the danger.It is true that one false step might spoil all my plans, but that onlymakes the game more worth the winning. And listen, Brockman, we must notmake that false step. We made one on that night we let the boy getthrough with the cipher to Redmead. We must not make another."

  Paul's ears tingled as he listened. Notwithstanding the peril in whichhe stood, his heart beat with joy. The words of Mr. Moncrief came backto him: "You have not only done a great service for me and my brother,Paul, but for your country." He had almost forgotten those words in thewhirl of events that had since happened at Garside, but now they cameflashing back, shining out vividly as a beacon in the darkness aroundhim.

  "No; we must not make another," answered Brockman, sending his fistvigorously into the palm of his hand to emphasize his words. There wassilence between the two for a moment, then it was again broken by Zuker.

  "Those ancestors of yours were dull dogs, Brockman, but there must havebeen some grit in them to have got up to Chatham. See, they got to thispoint." Paul could see that a chart was spread out upon the table, andthat Zuker was pointing with his finger to a place on it. "Here is theRiver Medway, which, as you know, can be reached through this tunnel."

  The river through that tunnel! Was he awake or dreaming? Paul couldscarcely believe the evidence of his ears. His heart thumped so loudlyagainst his ribs that he feared the conspirators might hear him.

  "A chain had been drawn across the river, for all England was in a stateof alarm at the approach of the Dutchmen," went on Zuker."Fortifications had been added to Sheerness and Upnor Castle just here."

  Brockman bent over the chart and followed the finger of Zuker.

  "Just there. And the chain--what happened to the chain?"

  "Sheerness was first taken, and then, taking advantage of a spring tideand an easterly wind, the Dutch broke the chain."

  "Broke it? But wasn't it fortified?"

  "It was guarded by three ships, but the Dutch took them. They playedhavoc with several other vessels, and advanced with six men-o'-war andfive fireships as far as Upnor Castle, where they burned three more.That was good, wasn't it?"

  "Splendid! Real pluck! Dull dogs and slow, as you say, but real grit.I'm proud of my Dutch fore-fathers."

  It was clear that Brockman, if not himself a Dutchman, was of Dutchdescent.

  "The Dutch," continued Zuker, "then fell down the Medway--see, in thisdirection." His finger again went to work over the chart. "They sailednext to Portsmouth; they assaulted Harwich, and then sailed again up theThames as far as Tilbury--this point here--where they were repulsed.What has been done once can be done again. Why not?"

  Zuker, in his excitement, strode over in the direction of the curtain.Paul drew back and waited. Had he seen the curtain move? Did he suspectthere was a listener behind? For a moment Paul scarcely breathed. Thenhe heard Zuker pacing back to the table, and breathed freely again.

  "You forget the difference in the times," answered Brockman. "Then therewere no ironclads."

  "I'm forgetting nothing. Ironclads are useless without the brains behindthem. Battles nowadays are won not so much on the battlefield as by theIntelligence Department--the Secret Service"--his voice went almost to awhisper--"the service to which you and I belong."

  A cold feeling of horror and repulsion stole over Paul as he listened.He felt as he might have felt in listening to the rattle of a deadlysnake. These men were in the Secret Service of another country--spies,collecting material for the enemy--material which might be used at anytime with deadly effect against England, dear old England! And as helooked, a mist seemed to rise before him, and suddenly out of the misthe saw a strange picture--the cabin of a ship, a man bending over adispatch-box, and rapidly turning over the papers within. Then the doorof the cabin opened. An officer, with a bronzed, noble face swiftlyentered, and seized the spy at the dispatch-box. The spy threw himselfat the officer's feet and pleaded for mercy. Paul saw it all as clearlyas though it were on a screen before him. Looking at the spy's face, heknew it for Zuker. Looking at the officer's face, he knew it for hisfather's.

  As the scene faded, he felt that he, too, must spring out on Zuker anddenounce him. "Spy--traitor! You're the man who tried to betray myfather! You are the man who would betray Britain!" By some impulse overwhich he had no control he tried to shriek out the words. His lipsmoved, but fortunately no sound came from them.

  The next instant he was brought to his senses by the sound offootsteps--footsteps in the tunnel by which he had entered. Instantly herealized the position in which he stood. The new-comer, whoever he was,was probably a confederate of the two spies inside, and would be boundto pass into the cave through the curtain behind which he was hidden.Quick as thought he retreated a pace or two, well out of the light ofthe lamps, and drew himself close up to the wall.

  Nearer and nearer came the footsteps. Presently Paul could just see theshadowy outline of a man's figure. Then he passed him, coming so closethat his coat brushed against him. The figure paused. Paul held hisbreath, and for one brief instant thought that he had been discovered.The next, the curtain was lifted aside, and the new-comer passed insidethe cave.

  "Ah, Weevil! What news?" came the voice of Zuker.

  Weevil! Paul crept again to the curtain, and peered through the side. Itwas the master, sure enough. He wore a cape, with the collar turned upand buttoned tight round the chin.

  "Still the same," answered the master.

  "No change?"

  "No change to speak of. Sometimes he's a little better; then he goesback again, and is worse. Poor little chap! it makes my heart bleed tosee him."

  Then Paul knew they were speaking of Hibbert.

  "Your heart! What of mine?" exclaimed the man fiercely. "You alwaysspeak as though you were the only one who cared for the boy. And a lotof good you've done for him. It was through you I had him trained as anEnglish boy. His mother was English, said you. It was through you hewent to Garside, because you could take greater care of him, said you.What care? Himmel, himmel! You let those imps of Satan torture him;through you he has been brought to the door of death."

  "Cease, man--cease to torture me!" cried the master.

  Paul listened in wonder, not unmixed with awe. He had heard that note ofanguish in the master's voice before--on that night when he had seen himby Hibbert's bed; but the face, with the light of the lamp flickering onit, might have been hewn from the limestone. It was as stern and rigidas Fate itself.

  "I have no wish to torture you; but it sic
kens me to hear you speakabout that boy as though it were no concern of mine--as though you werethe only one who cared for him. I tell you again, I was a fool to lethim go to Garside."

  No answer came for a few moments. It seemed as though Mr. Weevil werestruggling with his feelings. When he at length spoke, his voice wascalm again. It had resumed that calm, deliberate tone with which Paulwas so familiar.

  "I would like to speak to you for a few minutes alone, Israel."

  Brockman took the hint, and retreating at the other entrance of thecave, left the two together.

  "I wished to speak with you alone, because I have discovered one or twomatters which will interest you. You were struck, you may remember, withthe name of the boy who saved Tim's life?"

  "Yes; what of it?"

  "You thought that he might be the son of that Captain Percival who yearsago saved your life at the risk of his own. I knew that the boy's fatherwas dead, and on examination of the school-books, I found that he was anaval officer. I was not aware of the circumstances under which he methis death, however. I have since discovered that he was drowned at sea'whilst trying to save the life of a spy'--pardon me the word, but sothe record runs."

  "_Ach!_ Is it possible?" came hoarsely from Zuker's lips. "I had mysuspicions when I first questioned him."

  Paul pressed his ear closer to the side of the curtain. He was anxiousnot to lose a word of what was spoken, for he knew that he was "the boy"to whom the master was referring; that "Tim" was, of course, Hibbert.

  "I have discovered, further, that it was this same boy--PaulPercival--who got through with that letter to Redmead."

  "The same? Ach Himmel! I caught but a glimpse of him in the darknessthat night."

  "The hand of a Higher than man is in it. You cannot escape it. Be warnedin time. Give up this scheme of yours; if not for your own sake, for thesake of your son."

  "Give up the scheme--the scheme for which I have worked so long. Thescheme which, day by day, brings me nearer to fame and fortune. You talklike a madman. It is more to me than life itself--more to me than thelife of fifty sons!"

  A cry of pain came from Mr. Weevil's lips.

  "I know you well enough--you have no love for my scheme. Your heart isin what you call science, and in the boy. You wish to frightenme--frighten me from the work which every day draws nearer to success.Shall I tell you what for? So as to drive me back to the Fatherland thatyou may keep all to yourself, my boy--the boy of your dead sister. Ach!I see through your scheming!"

  "Hush, man--hush! Is it to hear reproaches from your lips that I haverisked so much--that I have involved myself in these schemes of yourswhich may mean my ruin?" Mr. Weevil's voice was stern, fearless; but asquickly turned to a softer key. "Let us not quarrel, Israel. Heavenforbid that we should quarrel over the boy whom we both love in our ownpeculiar way. Remember that his life is still in jeopardy."

  They shook hands, and then Mr. Weevil turned towards the curtain behindwhich Paul was hidden.