WITHOUT a second's hesitation Barcroft turned the rudder-bar. Almost on the verge of sideslipping the seaplane swung round and headed straight for the enemy aircraft.
"Something wrong with friend John," muttered the flight-sub, "or he wouldn't turn tail to half a dozen strafed Fritzes."
Everything pointed to Barcroft's surmise being correct. Fuller's seaplane was in flight in a double sense. He had lost the superiority of altitude. His observer was replying to the machine-gun fire converging upon the fugitive craft from three different points. A hundred feet higher and about three hundred yards astern of the British seaplane was a large, double-fuselaged biplane. To the right and left but practically on the same horizontal plane were two Fokkers—a tough set to be up against, but in ordinary circumstances the dauntless flight-lieutenant would not have hesitated to engage.
Presently the British seaplane's Lewis gun barked. It was evident that the machine was running uncontrolled, as she was wobbling considerably. Barcroft was now near enough to see what had happened. There was just time for a brief glance, for his plane was approaching the on-coming Huns at an aggregate speed of nearly 180 miles an hour.
There was no sign of Gregory, but Fuller, abandoning the joy-stick, had climbed into the observer's seat in order to work the automatic gun. This he did so successfully that within five seconds of the weapon opening fire one of the Fokkers crashed earthwards, completely out of action. Then the British gun was silent.
This was all that Barcroft could see as far as Fuller was concerned. He had devoted all his attention to the double-fuselaged craft.
While Kirkwood was letting loose a drum of ammunition from the Lewis gun Barcroft employed his usual tactics. He steered straight for his antagonist. If the gun failed to do its work in time, and if the Hun pilot's nerves did not desert him, the result would be a rending crash in mid-air as the two swift-moving craft collided. The interlocked wreckage, a mass of flame, would drop like a firebrand to earth—a swift yet terrible death for friend and foe alike. But Billy knew how the odds were against such a mutual catastrophe. The Hun, if he managed to avoid the stream of bullets, was not likely to "stand up" to the resistless onrush of the British seaplane.
Suddenly the double-fuselaged biplane nosedived. Only just in time did Barcroft tilt the ailerons, for the seaplane literally scraped the tail of his vertically-descending foe. For nearly a thousand feet the machine "plumbed," then like a silvery dart it flattened out.
"Old trick, Fritz," muttered Barcroft. "Well, you've lost your altitude advantage. I'll renew your acquaintance later."
The flight-sub knew that some minutes must elapse before the double-fuselaged machine could climb to renew the encounter. During that interval he had time to devote his attention to the remaining Fokker that, following Fuller with deadly persistence, was firing the while but receiving no reply from the British craft.
Already Fuller was a couple of miles away. His antagonist was gaining slightly. It seemed remarkable that with such a prodigious outlay of ammunition the Huns had not succeeded in strafing their quarry.
Suddenly Fuller's seaplane dipped. Barcroft gave vent to an involuntary groan, but the next instant he wanted to cheer, for his chum had looped the loop two or three times and was now heading in the opposite direction.
"I see the move," thought Barcroft. "He's luring Fritz towards us."
The two seaplanes passed one another at less than a hundred yards. Fuller raised his arm by way of greeting as they swept by. As he did so shreds of canvas flew from the lower plane, and dipping abruptly the crippled machine dropped, lurching hideously as it did so.
Almost simultaneously the Hun pilot of the Fokker collapsed across the decking of the fuselage. The machine, no longer under control, swayed through a distance of nearly a quarter of a mile, and then, tilting obliquely, began a terrific tail spin that ended in a jumble of wreckage on the unsympathetic soil of Belgium.
"Now for the double bus," muttered Billy. "The Huns will pay dearly for strafing poor old John."
But the remaining aeroplane of the two had had enough, for, seeing the British seaplane swooping down to engage upon round two, she promptly sought safety in flight.
Pursuit, Barcroft knew, was futile. Not only was the fugitive going in an easterly direction, which meant that had Billy held on in chase he would be lured further and further away from his floating base, but the Hun machine was more powerfully engined and possessed an undoubted superiority of speed.
"By Jove!" shouted the A.P. "Fuller's planing down. He's got the old bus under control of sorts."
The flight-sub looked downwards. A small rectangular patch of grey eighteen hundred feet down confirmed the truth of Kirkwood's statement. The injured seaplane was volplaning in wide circles. Her pilot was about to make an involuntary landing. This, in itself, was a highly dangerous performance, as the floats were very unsatisfactory landingskids. It was a hundred chances to one that the seaplane would bump hard and collapse, pinning the pilot under the wreckage. Even if Fuller escaped with his life or without broken limbs, he was confronted with the additional danger of being made a prisoner.
Without a moment's delay Barcroft switched off the ignition and commenced a volplane. At least he would be able to discover whether his chum was able to make a safe landing. Beyond that—
"Good old Fuller!" almost yelled the A.P. "He's spotted a canal. I see his move—artful bounder!"
Running in a direction approximately east and west was a long stretch of artificial water. The straightness of its course showed that it was not a river. It was bordered on either side by a broad tow-path, which in turn was fringed by a line of poplars. With the exception of a string of barges being towed down by a small tug (and they were nearly two miles away) the canal looked deserted.
It was for this expanse of water that Fuller was making. Provided there was sufficient width for the extreme breadth of his wing spread and a margin to boot, there was little doubt of the experienced flight-lieutenant's ability to make a safe descent.
"He's done it!" announced Kirkwood.
"If he has managed it there is no reason why we shouldn't," thought Barcroft grimly. "Stand by, old man; we'll shove down and pick him up."
The canal appeared to expand in size in order to meet the descending seaplane. It required all the skill and nerve at the youthful pilot's command to carry out his desperate plan. An error of a few feet to right or left meant irreparable damage to the frail craft and failure of his devoted efforts on behalf of his stranded friend.
With admirable judgment Billy brought his "bus" down, making a fine "landing" on the surface of the canal at a distance of less than a hundred yards from the crippled aircraft, Then, drifting gently, the seaplane brought up alongside the bank, with one of her floats rubbing against the edge of the tow-path.
"Nip out and hold her on, old man!" exclaimed Billy.
The A.P. obeyed promptly. Fortunately this required little or no effort, for the thick-set though leafless trees broke the force of what wind there was.
Barcroft quickly followed Kirkwood to the bank. Already Fuller had got ashore, and was preparing to destroy his machine when, to his utter astonishment, he had seen another seaplane skim over his head and alight at a short distance off.
Running by the path Billy approached the lieutenant.
"Come along, old man!" he said hurriedly. "There's no time to be lost. We'll give you a lift in our bus back to the old 'Hippo.'"
"Thanks," replied Fuller coolly. "What's the hurry? No Huns in sight. I'll do this job properly."
The odour of petrol vapour wafted to Barcroft's nostrils. Fuller had allowed the spirit to escape from the tank, and was engaged in wrapping a piece of oil-soaked paper round a stone.
"No explosives left, I hope?" asked Billy. "None except the petrol," replied Fuller. "That's explosive enough, I reckon, for this job. No, I dropped all my plums over Aerschot. Gregory's gone (s'pose you can see that for yourself?); shot through the head; he gave a sort of leap—he wasn't strapped in, you'll understand—and flopped right over the fuselage."
"You've been strafed!" exclaimed Barcroft, for Fuller's quick sentences, coupled with the fact that he winced frequently, pointed to that.
"The child is correct," agreed the flight-lieutenant. "Machine-gun bullet clean through the left arm. It stings a bit, but nothing much. No, don't trouble about it now. It'll keep. Now for a blaze."
Striking a match he set light to the oiled paper and tossed the flaming missile into the fuselage of the doomed seaplane. With a rush of air and a lurid flare the petrol vapour caught. In an instant the machine was enveloped in fire.
"Good enough," declared Fuller, with an air of satisfaction. "Hard lines on the old bus, though. She was a beauty. I was just getting used to her, too."
"Come along, old man," urged Barcroft again.
Giving a farewell glance at the burning wreckage, Fuller turned reluctantly away and accompanied his chum to the waiting seaplane.
"We're going to pitch you out of your perch, my festive," announced the flight-sub addressing the observer. "Fuller's tried to stop a bullet. He didn't succeed, and as a result the nickel's left a hole through his arm. Now, all aboard. We're lucky not to have a swarm of Huns about our ears."
Having assisted the wounded flight-lieutenant on to the float and thence into Kirkwood's seat in the fuselage Barcroft swarmed up and took his place at the joy-stick.
Standing on the float and steadying himself by holding on to a strut, the A.P. gave a vigorous push with his foot against the canal bank. As the seaplane drifted towards the centre of the artificial waterway he clambered nimbly to the deck of the fuselage and, lying at full length, steadied himself by grasping the coaming surrounding his surrendered place.
"All right?" asked Barcroft.
The motor fired smoothly. With the engine throttled down the pilot taxied cautiously for a short distance, then increasing speed and tilting the ailerons he started to climb.
At barely twenty feet from the ground a sudden and furious gust of wind caught the seaplane fairly abeam. Quickly Billy actuated the rudder-bar in order to turn the machine sufficiently to counteract the side-drop.
It was too late. Swept bodily sideways the seaplane failed to clear the line of poplars. The left-hand planes struck a tree-trunk and crumpled like brown paper. The next instant the whole fabric crashed to the ground across the tow-path.
BOBBY KIRKWOOD was the first of the trio to recover his scattered senses. The impact had hurled him violently forward, and cannoning off Barcroft's back he had slid more or less gently to the ground. The shock had forced Billy against the for'ard side of the coaming, well-nigh winding him, while at the same time his head came into contact with the framework, thus causing him to see a most gorgeous galaxy of stars.
Well it was that the observer's body glanced off that of the pilot; otherwise the A.P. would have been instantly killed by the swiftly-revolving propeller. As it was he escaped by a hairbreadth.
Fuller was not so fortunate. The sudden change of momentum had the result of crushing his already wounded arm, besides giving him a nasty blow on the forehead. He, too, began to wonder dimly whether he was witnessing a superb display of Brock's fireworks.
As Kirkwood regained his feet the wreckage subsided still more. The propeller blades striking the ground were shattered to fragments, while the motor, released of its "load," began to race with terrific speed.
It was this nerve-racking sound that recalled Barcroft to a sense of action. Switching off the ignition he slid from the chassis and surveyed the scene of desolation.
"Come along, Fuller. Let's give you a hand!" he exclaimed.
Awkwardly the flight-lieutenant descended from his precarious perch. The two stood in silent contemplation for some seconds. Verily they realised that they were very much "in the cart." Stranded in a country overrun by hostile troops, far from the coast—always the preliminary goal of a seaman who is making a bid for freedom—their chance of seeing the inside of a German prison loomed large upon their mental horizon.
"Let's get rid of the old bus while she's warm," suggested Barcroft. "There's no possible chance of getting her repaired sufficiently for even a short flight, and it won't do to let the Huns patch her up."
"Shoulders to the wheel, lads," exclaimed Fuller. "One of mine's a bit groggy, but I feel like shifting a steam-roller with the other."
By their united efforts the wrecked seaplane was toppled over into the canal. The sudden contact of the cold water with the hot cylinders would, they knew, fracture the castings and make the motor useless until complicated and costly repairs had been executed—even if the Germans succeeded in fishing the debris out of the mud at the bottom of the canal.
"Now we'll make tracks," decided Fuller. "Wonder there aren't soldiers on the spot already."
"Yes, we'll make tracks," agreed Barcroft, "but not the ones you are keen on leaving behind."
He pointed to the muddy tow-path and to the comparatively dry ground on the other side of the row of poplars.
"We'll walk backwards as far as the field," he continued. "The Boches are bound to examine the footprints. If they see that they lead in the direction of the canal it may baffle 'em a bit. We must look sharp. I see the water falling an inch or so."
"But the canal isn't tidal," remarked Kirkwood.
"I agree," assented Billy. "The slight fall tells me that the nearest lock has been opened. That means a barge is on its way, and, much as I regret missing the sight of a Hun cargo boat bumping on the wreckage of the old bus, prudence demands that we sheer off."
Having walked backwards until they reached hard ground the trio set off cautiously. The country consisted of tilled fields—the work of impressed Belgians, forced by their taskmasters to cultivate the ground to provide foodstuffs for the Huns. The absence of hedges gave the land an unfamiliar appearance as far as the three British officers were concerned. What was of more pressing significance there was a lack of efficient cover, the only means of securing shelter being by keeping close to the trees that bounded the fields.
"There's a spinny of sorts in there," said Kirkwood, pointing to a circular cluster of bushes. "I vote we make for that and repair damages."
"And find ourselves surrounded by dozens of Boches," added Fuller. "Naturally, once they found the wreckage of our machine they would search the nearest cover. We must make for those woods What say you, old bird?"
"Yes, and remain till nightfall," added Barcroft.
The wood was nearly a mile away, and presented an expanse of leafless trees extending nearly twice that distance. The depth of the wood the fugitives had no means of discovering.
For the last four hundred yards the three officers crawled and crouched, for the ground was as flat and unbroken as a table-top. Away on the right could be discerned a red-tiled farmhouse, close to it a roofless barn, with the two charred gables standing up clearly against the sky. Further away was a village of considerable size, but in all directions there were no signs of human beings or of cattle.
"Thank goodness we are here at last," exclaimed Fuller, throwing himself upon the ground. "I don't want you fellows to think that I'm piling it on, but my rotten ankle's played old Harry with me. Fractured it on a ringbolt on the 'Cursus' at Harwich," he explained. "Had six weeks in hospital, and thought it got fixed up all right, but it isn't."
"And your wound?" asked the A.P.
"Pooh! Nothing," replied Fuller unconcernedly. "That's a simple matter. If this ankle crocks properly, I'll make you fellows carry on without me. I can hang out a couple of days until you're clear and then give myself up."
"I'm jolly well sure you don't," said Barcroft firmly. "We three sink or swim together. Think you'll be able to swarm up that tree if we give you a hand?"
The flight-lieutenant eyed the gnarled trunk somewhat dubiously.
"Might," he replied. "I'll try, anyway. What's the idea?"
"To lie close until it gets dark."
"But why that tree? It's on the edge of the wood. Why not go further in, where it's ever so much thicker?"
"Because if the Huns track us this far they'll naturally conclude that we've bolted for cover. They'll doubtless beat the interior of the wood and not pay much attention to the part nearest the canal. Besides, from this particular tree we can command a wide outlook without running much risk of detection."
By the aid of their belts Barcroft and Kirkwood succeeded in assisting the wounded officer to gain the lowermost branch. Thence it was a comparatively simple matter to climb another thirty feet. Here two huge limbs gave a tolerably secure perch, wide enough to hide the fugitives from the sight of any persons passing underneath, and yet able to afford an outlook over a wide expanse of open country.
"Now let's look at that injured arm," said Barcroft, producing his "first aid" outfit. "Slip his coat off, Bobby; we don't want to cut that away. H'm! clean hole, by Jove! Iodine and gauze, old man. That's capital. I've morphia tablets here; if you feel in much pain I'll give you half a one and no more. Can't afford to have your brain dulled by morphia at this stage of the proceedings, John.',
"That's easier," said Fuller with a sigh of relief. "Now if you'll be so good as to unlace my boot I'll massage this low-down ankle."
"You'll keep still," ordered Barcroft firmly, "We'll do the rubbing business—if only to keep our blood circulating."
"Did you save your map?" inquired Fuller.
"I burnt mine."
"Yes, I have mine," replied the flight-sub. "I make it about sixty miles from the Dutch frontier—not much use making a shot for the coast, I take it?"
"Phew! Sixty miles—I did that distance once on a walking tour. For pleasure, mark you," said Fuller. "Plenty to eat, a decent show to put up at every night, and quite fine weather and I had galled heels by the end of the second day."
"If we could sneak a captive balloon like you did at Sylt," remarked the A.P. "That would be top-hole."
"A bit of sheer good luck," said Fuller reminiscently. "That sort of dose isn't often repeated. Tressidar and I broke into a house and collared suits of mufti. That won't do here, though. We were on Danish soil then; now we are in occupied Belgium. Caught and we are shot as spies, while the unfortunate civilians to whom the clothes belong would be strung up for assisting us to escape, whether they did it knowingly or otherwise. Time for more amateur burglar work when we're on Dutch soil. That's my opinion. You see, if we cross the frontier in uniform we'll be interned. I remember——"
"Look!" ejaculated the A.P., pointing in the direction of the farmhouse.
Making their way across the fields were about a hundred people, men and women, herded together in rough military formation and escorted by grey-coated German infantry. The civilians were on their way to forced labour in the fields. Woe betide the luckless Belgian, male or female, who showed the faintest resentment, or lagged behind. Blows and kicks were administered with impartial severity by the brutal guards, while some did not hesitate to prod the helpless human cattle with the butt-ends of their rifles.
"And yet there are worms in England who cry out about the dilution of labour and the encroachment of the rights of the working man," remarked Barcroft. "This is the sort of rights they'd get if the Huns once occupied even a portion of the Homeland."
"Poor bounders!" exclaimed the A.P. as he fondled the holster of his revolver. "I'd like to put a shot through that red-faced swine's head."
"You'd only make it worse for us and for them," said Fuller.
"True," assented Kirkwood, "but a fellow cannot disguise his feelings in such circumstances. One thing seems certain: the Boches haven't got wind of our presence."
"Don't know so much about that," said Billy. "Unless I'm much mistaken there's a patrol coming this way—and dogs, too, by Jove!"
In less than ten minutes (it had taken the trio an hour to cover the same distance) the patrol gained the field in which the Belgians were literally slaving. Apparently the crowd of workers disturbed the trail, for the bloodhounds, three massive-limbed, heavy-jowled creatures, no longer kept their noses close to the ground and followed the fugitives' track without the slightest deviation. Instead they wandered round in circles, growling rather than baying, and showing every indication of having lost the scent.
Followed a heated controversy between the Huns with the dogs and the Germans guarding the field labourers, until the latter, ordering their charges to assemble, marched them into the field next adjoining and nearer to the canal. Four Belgians, however, remained. These, after what was evidently a homily as to their behaviour, followed the patrol with the bloodhounds.
The scent once lost took some time to pick up again, but eventually one of the animals stopped at the foot of the tree in which the fugitives were hiding and set up a succession of low, deep cries. The other dogs, apparently on a different trail, disappeared in the wood, their keepers having all their work cut out to hold them in leash.
"One at least of the English swine is up this tree, Max," said a corporal, addressing one of the two privates with him. "That is certain. The others have gone elsewhere. I wonder that they had the sense to separate."
"We'll make sure of this one," said Max grimly.
"Ach! That is so," agreed the corporal. "Here, Karl, you speak this outlandish language. Tell this fellow to climb and see if the Englishman is there."
Turning to the Belgian who had been compelled to remain with them, Karl spoke to him in Flemish. Being ignorant of the Walloon language Barcroft was unable to understand his reply.
"The fool says he is hungry and has not enough strength to climb," said Karl, translating for the primary benefit of the corporal and for the secondary information of Billy Barcroft.
"Tell him," replied the Hun, "that he must go—and be quick about it. If he succeeds in finding the Englishman, then I will inform the commandant and see that the fellow gets a double ration to-night. That ought to satisfy his hunger."
Lying at full length upon the sturdy branches the three airmen could distinctly hear the rasping of the Belgian's boots against the bark and the short sharp gasps that betokened a man obviously out of condition.
The A.P. glanced at Barcroft and pointed to his revolver. The look indicated clearly enough what he meant. There were but three Germans. There were also three determined Britons all armed with revolvers. It would be an easy matter to settle the hash of the Huns and trust to flight before the rest of the patrol, alarmed by the shots, could arrive upon the scene.
But the flight-sub shook his head. The risk was too great. Reprisals would automatically follow upon the luckless peasants, who were bound to be regarded as accomplices in the attack upon the three soldiers.
Presently a pair of hands gripped the rough bark of the bough on which Barcroft was lying—long, lean, gnarled fingers almost claw-like in appearance. The next instant the Belgian's head and shoulders appeared above the rounded edge of the bough.
For a brief second Billy's eyes met those of the climber. The fugitives were discovered.
AT the sight of the lean, cadaverous features of the Belgian Barcroft had to exercise a tremendous lot of restraint to control his desire to utter some sort of exclamation. He had no wish to harm the fellow, who, as he knew, was acting under compulsion, with overt bribery thrown in. In fact he felt sorry for the man, whose pathetic eyes and drawn features portrayed both hunger and misery.
Yet in an instant the climber turned his face aside and resolutely hauled himself upon the branch on which Billy was lying. He was now in full view of the other officers. Fortunately neither of them spoke nor moved, yet the mental tension was acute.
Standing upright upon the bough and carefully preserving his balance the Belgian outstretched his arm to grasp the branch above.
"The bounder doesn't want to take unnecessary chances," thought Barcroft. "He wouldn't shout while he was only holding on by his fingers. Now he's able to get a firm grip in case he thinks we'll heave him out of it."
But no. The flight-sub was totally wrong in his surmise. The man, deliberately ignoring the presence of the three fugitives, climbed still higher, until he gained the topmost branch capable of supporting his weight.
Then, having leisurely scanned the surrounding tree-tops, he shouted something to the Germans standing at the foot of the British officers' hiding-place.
For a moment Barcroft and his companions were again plunged into the throes of suspense. "The pig says that there are no signs of the Englishmen," interpreted Karl.
"Donnerwetter!" grunted the corporal. "So much for the bloodhound, and Herr Major is ever boasting of what the brute can do. He's wrong for once at least, only I dare not tell him so. Tell the Belgian to come down. I'll soon send him up another tree a little further on."
"That's right," agreed Max. "Make the fellow work till he drops. If he breaks his neck there's one of the rabble the less."
At the order the climber descended, as before paying no heed to the three officers. Upon regaining the ground he was marched off to make another ascent on a useless search. An hour later, having, as they thought, thoroughly searched the wood, the patrol withdrew, cursing and grumbling at their ill-luck, since, it appeared, a reward of two hundred and fifty marks for the arrest of the fugitives had been offered.
"A proper sport, that Belgian," said Fuller in a whisper, realising the wisdom of speaking in a low tone lest the Huns had left men to guard the woods. "He could have given us away as easy as winking."
"Perhaps he'll inform the Boches now he's out of sight," hazarded the cautious A.P.
"Great Scott! I hope not," ejaculated Fuller. "In fact I'm willing to lay long odds that he won't. I'd like to meet that chap on the quiet again. I'd make it worth his while."
"So would I," added Barcroft. "Well, this affair has done us a good turn. The Huns have evidently satisfied themselves that we are not anywhere in this wood. The coast will be clear for to-night. How's that arm, old bird?"
"Feeling a bit stiff," replied Fuller. "The air's so confoundedly cold."
"It is a bit fresh," agreed Kirkwood. "And probably it will freeze hard to-night. And your ankle?"
"Can't feel any sensation in it," replied the flight-lieutenant. "The damage, if any, will assert itself when I place foot to ground. What an ass I was not to have brought my Thermos. Full of good old hot tea, too. I left it on the bank, after the smash."
"You deserve a vote of censure for importing food stuffs into German-occupied territory, old man," said Barcroft. "Can't you imagine a thirsty Hun mopping that stuff?"
"You speak for yourself, my festive," retorted the flight-lieutenant. "What did you do withyourflasks?"
"They went down with the wreckage," replied Billy.
"Yours, perhaps," said Kirkwood. "My Thermos got smashed when we crashed. I heard the glass go, and I remember the hot liquid escaping and running over my gloves."
"Then you are all right for a feast," retorted Fuller. "Goatskin soaked in tea, eh? Sort of cannibalistic feast."
"Don't insinuate that I'm a giddy goat," protested the A.P. "It is like a case of—oh, dash it all!"
Kirkwood's exclamation was occasioned by the binoculars slipping from his benumbed fingers and falling to the ground. Rolling a few feet they lay in clear view silent evidence to the hiding place of their owner.
"Then you are a goat—that proves it," said Fuller. "Hullo! What's the move?"
Kirkwood slipping out of his leather coat, was already about to descend to retrieve his lost property. So far the coast seemed clear, for the Belgian labourers and their guards had moved to a field beyond range of vision. Since it was safe to conjecture that they would return to the farm buildings for the night the danger lay in the fact that they would almost assuredly spot the conspicuous binoculars as they repassed.
The A.P. dropped after swarming down about twenty feet of trunk and alighted softly. His first care was to obliterate his footprints in the bare earth, for the ground surrounding the tree trunk was absolutely devoid of grass, and although sufficiently hard to withstand the impression of a person walking it was not proof against the impact of a man wearing a pair of heavy boots and dropping from a height of seven or eight feet.
Then, crouching, he made his way towards his cherished binoculars. Just as he picked them up and placed them in his pocket, for he had left the sling case with his comrades, there was a rustling in the undergrowth. The next instant a huge dog, growling savagely, leapt upon him.
The animal was of the lurcher breed—a type encouraged in the German army for various duties, including field ambulance work, guarding and tracking prisoners and drawing machine-guns. Although smaller than the bloodhound it possessed greater swiftness, while its strength and ferocity were only slightly inferior.
Luckily Kirkwood did not lose his presence of mind. Used to dogs, the experience he had had with playful canines would be turned to good account.
Clenching his leather-gloved hand the A.P. let out with his left. His fist, taking the lurcher fairly on the point of the nose, sent the animal reeling. The respite was but momentary. Like a dart the dog flew straight for the young officer's throat.
Kirkwood met the animal as it leapt in midair. His right hand, with its protection of the undressed leather gripped the lurcher round the muzzle, his fingers and thumb meeting inside the brute's wide-open jaws. Instantly the A.P.'s left hand grasped the dog's lower jaw.
So far so good. The animal, unable to bite, attempted to shake himself clear. Foiled in this direction he planted his hind legs firmly in the ground and, giving his body a series of jerks, sought to pull the A.P. off his balance.
"Shoot the brute!" exclaimed Barcroft from above. "Risk it! It can't be helped. Clap the muzzle close to the brute's hide."
But Bobby thought otherwise. Even if he could afford the risk of letting go the dog's jaws with one hand and draw his revolver the muffled report would still be sufficiently audible to alarm the Huns.
For perhaps half a minute he stood his ground, contenting himself by prising the lurcher's jaws apart. Then, slowly at first, he began to bend the animal's head backwards. It was a horrible yet necessary task—one that taxed the A.P.'s strength and endurance to the uttermost. Already he could feel the dog's teeth penetrating the gloves, and those saliva-streaming fangs meant trouble once they pierced the flesh.
Yet the man was winning through. Back and back he levered the animal's head. The brute's breath was coming in short, irregular pants; its blood-flecked eyes were almost bursting from their sockets. Still it struggled furiously, striving in vain to break away from the A.P.'s vice-like grip.
"By Jove! He'll never do it," thought Barcroft. "The brute's tiring him out."
At the risk of barked shins and elbows the flight-sub descended from his perch. Gaining the ground he drew his revolver, wrapped his scarf several times round the weapon to muffle the sound of the explosion, and cautiously approached the combatants.
Extreme care was necessary, for the lurcher, driven to desperation, was turning his antagonist round and round. Kirkwood, his whole energies devoted to twisting the animal's neck, was unable to counteract the dog's movements, nor did the animal remain sufficiently still to enable Barcroft to plant the muzzle of his weapon firmly against its ribs.
The end came with unexpected suddenness.
With a distinctly audible crash the lurcher's vertebra snapped. Its body seemed instantly to grow limp. The sudden cessation of resistance caused Kirkwood to fall forward across the still quivering body of his enemy.
Barcroft lifted his chum and set him on his feet. The A.P., now the duel with death was done, was as pale as a sheet and trembling in every limb.
"I'll be all right in a minute," he gasped. "Feel as ill as a seasick cat."
"Sit down," ordered Billy, and grasping his comrade by the nape of the neck he bent his head until it rested on his knees.
"Keep like that a while," he continued. "I'll get rid of incriminating evidence. My word, what a lump!" he added, as he lifted the dead brute by its hind legs. "Half a hundredweight, I should imagine."
Keeping the carcass clear of the ground the flight-sub carried it quite fifty yards through the wood before depositing it under a bush.
This necessary task performed, he retraced his steps.
"Chirpy again?" he inquired.
"Quite," replied Kirkwood.
"You look jolly warm," continued Barcroft.
"I feel it."
"Then get a move on and swarm up here," interrupted Fuller's voice. "I'm as cold as charity and could do with a human warmingpan.
"All clear?" inquired Barcroft.
"By Jove, no!" was Fuller's hurried rejoinder. "Look sharp, you fellows. There are half a dozen of 'em coming this way."
Making sure that they had left behind them no evidence of their presence the two airmen re-ascended to their lofty perch.
"You're steaming like an overworked horse, old man," said Billy addressing the A.P. "I'll throw your coat over you. You can't sit up or the Fritzes will spot us."
Trudging across the tilled land were eight or nine greatcoated Huns, armed with rifles. Two of their number were drawing a light cart.
"What's that for, I wonder?" whispered Kirkwood, for the Germans were still a considerable distance off, yet making almost in a straight line for the tree in which the three chums were hidden.
"Can't say," replied Fuller. "I never saw Huns with a contraption like that before. Rations, possibly: they may mean to camp out here just to keep us company."
The fugitives were not left long in doubt, for on arriving at a spot twenty yards from the edge of the wood the party halted and proceeded to don flexible metallic masks with hideous-looking snouts. This done, the corporal in charge inspected each man's face-protection with deliberate thoroughness, while from a distance two Hun officers in the uniform of the Engineers watched the proceedings.
"By smoke!" muttered Barcroft under his breath. "They're going to have a shot at gassing us."
At a brisk order the lid of the cart was thrown back revealing a couple of cylinders to which were attached lengths of armoured metallic hosepipe terminating in elongated nozzles. First the cylinders were placed upon the ground and air pumped into them until the required pressure was obtained. Then each apparatus was strapped to a man's back, a soldier being in attendance to hold the nozzle.
It was fairly safe for the three British officers to watch the proceedings since the height of the branch enabled them to look down upon the heads of the gassing party, while the latter could not look up owing to the straps that secured the lower portion of their masks to their shoulders.
"Reminds me of goblins at a panto," thought Bobby. "Wonder when they're going to start?"
As a matter of precaution he tied his handkerchief over his nose and mouth, an example that his companions hastened to copy. They realised that it was but a sorry protection—useless against the full strength of the deadly chlorine, but sufficient, perhaps, to ward off the effects of a "tail-end" of the poison-cloud.
Weirdly fascinated the fugitives watched the proceedings. It seemed strange to witness the diabolical preparations for their intended execution. Dimly Barcroft wondered whether he would be conscious when he fell from the bough, or whether the gas would overcome him instantly.
"The first whiff and I'll shoot," he thought grimly. "I'd like to shatter the nozzles of those pretty masks and let the brutes have a good sniff at their vile mixture."
A faint hiss betokened the fact that the taps controlling the discharge tubes had been turned on. Clouds of black vapour, eddying and seething, issued from the nozzles and rose sullenly in the cold, damp air.
SOMETHING fluttered past the flight-sub's ear. It was a dead leaf. Whisked by a sudden gust it disappeared. Simultaneously the wind moaned dismally betwixt the gaunt branches.
Hitherto the air had been heavy and still. Now, almost miraculously, a stiff breeze had sprung up, blowing in the direction of the infernal gas cylinders, just as they liberated their poisonous contents.
The rolling columns of vapour, forced back by the wind, literally enveloped the hideously masked operators. More, the deadly cloud, keeping close to the ground, travelled at prodigious speed towards the two Hun officers, who hitherto had been thoroughly enjoying the proceedings.
Quickly their brutal hilarity changed to an attitude of terror, as the death-dealing gas, spreading from the right and left of them, bore down at a rate exceeding that of a trotting horse. For a brief moment Barcroft had a vision of two grey-coated forms, two pairs of heels in the air and two pairs of outstretched arms. Then the cloud hid them from sight.
Already the operators, finding that the gas had been misdirected, had shut off the controlling valves. But the mischief was already done. When the cloud had drifted away before the now steady breeze the German officers could be discerned lying on the ground and beating a frantic tattoo with their elbows and heels as the poisonous vapour tore their lungs.
Aghast the corporal watched his superiors' death agonies. While his men hastened to render aid—a useless task—the luckless non com., tearing away his mask and liberating the poisonous vapour, held his face close to the hissing nozzle. Then he, too, dropped, writhing on the ground in mortal pain.
Finding that the gas-masks impeded their action the men who gathered round the dying officers discarded their protection, since the fumes of the first discharge had passed far beyond the scene. But they had not reckoned on a repetition of the dose. Suddenly overwhelmed by the fumes that issued uncontrolled from one of the cylinders, five of the men were stricken down. The remaining few, who had not deprived themselves of their masks, made no attempt to check the outpouring cloud. They promptly fled.
"By Jove, if the wind lulls we are done for!" thought Barcroft. "A fellow wouldn't stand a ghost of a chance after a sniff of that stuff. Wonder how long the gas lasts?"
A back eddy sent a faint tinge of chlorine over the prostrate trio. It was as much as Billy could do to restrain himself from tearing his handkerchief from his mouth and gasping for breath. Fuller coughed heavily, while the A.P. rose to a kneeling position. Had not Barcroft grasped him by the arm he would have toppled off the bough. Then came another rush of pure air and the danger was past.
It was nearly twenty minutes before the apparatus exhausted itself. For nearly half a mile the track of the gas could be followed. The rich dark earth was turned a sickly yellow. Trees on the edge of the adjoining field were literally bleached by the corrosive vapour, while its effect upon the bodies of the victims of their own infernal contrivance was to make it difficult to distinguish between the colour of their uniform and that of their hideously drawn features.
"I vote we shift," suggested Barcroft. "The Boches evidently have a suspicion that we are somewhere in this wood. It's positively not healthy to remain."
"I think otherwise, with due deference to you," objected Fuller. "Granted the Huns imagine we are here. Those bloodhounds told them that; but after this delightful fiasco of the gas-business they'll take it for certain that if we are here we've been done in. So it would be well to sit tight till dark—much as I want to be on the move."
"What is the effect of chlorine gas upon food?" inquired the A.P.
"Rotten, I should imagine. Why?" asked Billy in surprise.
"Because there's food and drink down there," continued Kirkwood, pointing to the body of the corporal. "These fellows, for some reason, are in heavy marching order. There's almost certain to be grub in his pack and I can see his water bottle. We can't afford to be too squeamish, you know."
"Don't fancy German tack steeped in poison," remarked Fuller. "Although I feel as if I could eat almost anything. As for water—well, there's plenty of that about."
"And that's what makes me think that the fellow has something better than water in his canteen. At any rate, here goes."
Giving a glance round to see that no one was in sight the A.P. again descended to earth. Gingerly unbuckling the dead soldier's knapsack he produced half a loaf of black bread, a tin of meat and a hermetically-sealed box that afterwards proved to contain biscuits. One sniff at the bread was enough. Kirkwood promptly replaced it and carefully rebuckled the straps of the pack. The man's water-bottle he risked taking. Unscrewing the cork he found that the bottle contained neat Schnapps.
"One teaspoonful only for you, Fuller," he announced as he rejoined his comrades with the spoils. "Raw spirit will play the deuce with that wound of yours."
"You are quite right," agreed the flight-lieutenant as Barcroft proceeded to prise open the meat tin. Its contents consisted of tightly packed sausages. "For the same reason I suppose I must abstain from rich food. Give me a biscuit, you despoiler of the dead."
Late in the afternoon another party of Germans arrived upon the scene, this time merely to collect the victims of the gas and to remove the instruments of retribution.
"Double patrols at all cross-roads to-night, curse it!" said one of the soldiers. "Always more work. These Englishmen must be stiff by this time. Why send us out to arrest corpses?"
"We don't know that the gas has settled them," replied his companion. "Although it did the trick very neatly for Johannes Muller. I'm sorry for him. As for the ober-leutnant——"
He shrugged his shoulders expressively. Evidently the officer was a typical Prussian.
"These English airmen played the deuce at Aerschot and Lierre," continued the first speaker. "It will go badly with them if they're caught, but, as I said, it's my opinion that they are done for already. Double patrols on a night like this. It's as bad as the trenches at Ypres."
"Fortunately I am warned for the Golden Lion cross-roads," said his companion. "As soon as the leutnant has made the rounds our party will make tracks for the cabaret. I am an old campaigner, Fritz."
"Ach! Do not, then, get caught," cautioned the other as he slammed the lid of the box on the cart. "It will be safe enough between midnight and two o'clock. I've a mind to join you, only it's a goodish step from Quatre Vents."
"Where's the map?" inquired Fuller, after the fatigue party had disappeared. "The 'Golden Lion' he said? That's it—le Lion Doré—it's marked here. Luck, boys! It's on the way to the frontier. Roll on, eleven o'clock. Only six hours more. Why didn't we bring a gramophone, or even a pack of cards?"
Slowly the leaden-footed hours sped. Darkness fell upon the scene. To add to the cold and discomfort; a chilly rain followed the "piping down" of the wind. The gnarled bough, rendered slippery with the moisture, was hardly safe. Its condition presaged danger when the time came for the three fugitives to attempt to descend the tree trunk. What was more there was every indication of the wet turning into ice.
Even the airmen's thick leather coats and fleece-lined gloves afforded but scant protection against the rigours of the penetrating air. Again and again Billy consulted the luminous hand of his watch. Would the hour of eleven never come?
"Why wait any longer?" asked the A.P., his teeth chattering with the cold. "We can make our way cautiously through the wood. We'll be a mile nearer to the Golden Lion crossroads when we get to the other side. We'll be too benumbed if we stop here."
"All right," agreed Barcroft. "Belts together, lads. We'll lower you as far as we can, John. Mind that ankle of yours when you drop."
It was an eerie business lowering Fuller through the darkness, but without mishap he alighted on the soft ground. Then having thrown down the water bottle and the rest of the provisions his two comrades rejoined him.
"All right?" whispered Barcroft.
"Right as ninepence," replied the flight-lieutenant. "Lead on, Macduff."
Guided by a luminous spirit-compass Billy plunged into the wood, his companions following in single file. Already the rain had been sufficiently heavy to moisten the ground in spite of the protection afforded by the leafless branches. Here and there a dry twig cracked under their feet; again and again they had to make detours to avoid thick-set undergrowth; once their progress was impeded by a knee-deep but sluggish brook, but without mishap the fugitives gained the remote side of the wood.
Beyond all was dark as pitch. The sky being overcast even the starlight was denied them. Presently a lantern gleamed in the distance, its yellow glimmer lighting up the high-pitched roof and quaint chimneys of a tall building that had evidently escaped the ruin of war.
Barcroft nudged the A.P.
"The 'Golden Lion'," he announced. "And another hour and a half to wait."
THE distant light from the lantern glittered on the bayonets of the sentries, who, sheltering as best they might from the rain, paced stolidly to and fro at the bleak cross-roads. Presently the gleam increased in intensity, throwing distorted shadows upon the gaunt poplars of the road-side.
"The lieutenant going the rounds," whispered Fuller. "Fancy the fool taking a lantern with him. Wonder if he's afraid of the dark?"
The quivering bayonets stiffened into immobility as the Hun officer approached the now alert sentries. The fugitives could just distinguish the guttural 'Wer da?' of the challenge, then an unintelligible exchange of words.
The German officer and his escort moved on. The sentries, sloping arms, resumed their monotonous beat until the round had disappeared from sight and hearing.
Seemingly interminable minutes passed, until just as midnight was approaching there came a low whistle through the darkness.
"Hier!" replied one of the men.
"All safe," rejoined the new-comer. "Yes, both of you. What a night! It's not fit for a dog to be abroad."
"Now," whispered Barcroft at the expiration of another long ten minutes. "Ankle all right, old man?"
"Quite," replied Fuller mendaciously. It was far from right, but the flight-lieutenant, game to the core, had no intention of letting his chums know that every time he set foot to the ground excruciating pains racked him.
Across the clayey soil, now almost knee-deep in mud, the daring trio literally floundered, their immediate objective being the endmost of a line of tall trees at a distance of fifty yards from the cross-roads.
"Steady!" cautioned Billy as thepavé, glistening even in the gloom, became visible. "I'll push on and see that the coast is clear. Back in a brace of shakes."
The trees cast sombre shadows as the flight sub drew near; rain, closely approaching sleet, fell in a steady downpour; the wind had resumed its doleful whine. Altogether the climatic conditions were horrible.
"This is absolutely the limit," thought Billy, until his characteristic optimism reasserted itself. "Perhaps it's as well, though. The Huns don't like sticking it and have departed. A fine night and our risks would be greatly increased."
He pulled up with startling suddenness. Less than ten paces ahead of him was a German sentry. Sheltering under the lee of the outer most tree the fellow was actually looking straight in the flight-sub's direction.
For several seconds Barcroft stood stock still, debating whether to throw himself upon the man or seek safety in flight. The sentry, his coat-collar turned up and his hands resting upon the muzzle of his rifle, appeared as immobile as if fashioned of stone. He was an oldish man. The flight-sub was certain of that fact; more, he wore glasses.
"A Landsturmer, and as blind as a bat," thought the young officer. "There were three sentries, then; two have gone to the estaminet, the old boy is told to remain at his post. Now what's to be done? Something, or Fuller and Kirkwood will be forging ahead to find me and then there'll be damage done."
Very cautiously Barcroft began to back away from the unsuspecting Hun. The man coughed and hunched his shoulders still more. At the sound Billy again stood rigid, half expecting the sentry to slope arms and resume his beat. Nothing happening, the flight-sub withdrew as silently and stealthily as the slippery state of thepavépermitted.
"Well?" whispered the A.P.
"Hist!" was Barcroft's only reply, then grasping his companions by their arms he led them back until they were well out of the sentry's hearing—even supposing that he possessed the normal use of his ears.
"A Boche over there," reported Barcroft. "Nearly rammed him broadside on. Blind as a bat; a regular septuagenarian. We'll make a slight detour and have another shot at crossing the road. It's open country beyond."
This time the highway presented no difficulty, and with renewed vigour the trio struggled through the tenacious slime beyond.
It was Barcroft's plan to keep to the fields as much as possible and follow the road on a parallel course. It was infinitely harder going, but there was less risk of blundering upon a German outpost, while at intervals military motor-cars tore at break-neck speed over the slipperypavé, their iron-shod wheels slithering dangerously on the slimy stones.
In almost total silence the dreary trek was maintained throughout the night, with the exception of two brief halts. Gamely Fuller "stuck it," although his ankle was getting worse under the strain. His left arm, too, was throbbing in spite of careful bandaging, yet no word of complaint came from his lips.
At half past six in the morning Barcroft called a halt.
"By dead reckoning I estimate we have covered twenty-five miles," he announced. "That's not so dusty. It will be dawn in another hour. We'll have to find a place and lie doggo until to-night. How's the victualling department, purser?"
"I can spare a couple of biscuits apiece," declared the A.P. "And a small tot of Schnapps. You'll have to wait till lunch time for the sausage tack. I'm counting on a three days' basis, you know."
"Very good," replied Barcroft approvingly. "There is a hovel or barn ahead. We'll make for that."
The outbuilding consisted of stone walls and a tiled roof, the latter in a state of dilapidation. The massive oaken door had been partly wrenched from its hinges. Within, the floor was of trodden earth mixed with lime. The place was absolutely bare.
"Not even a bundle of straw," declared the A.P. "The roof leaks like a sieve. Still, it is better than nothing at all."
"The only place to hide in is under the rafters," said the flight-sub. "Those two planks lying over the beams will serve that purpose should necessity occur. I would suggest that we keep watch by turns—two-hour tricks. That will give each man four consecutive hours' rest. I'll take first trick; you, Bobby, will relieve me and John will follow on. Now to bed, you roysterers."
Fuller and the A.P. needed no second bidding. Rolling themselves in their leather coats that fortunately acted as waterproofs, and with their heads pillowed on their padded flying helmets, they were soon sound asleep.
Taking up his post by the open door—he made no attempt to close it lest the fact would be remarked by people living in the district—Barcroft commenced his dreary vigil. Although bodily and mentally tired he knew that his comrades were more in need of rest than he. It was merely a case of "sticking it"; happy in the knowledge that the guerdon, in the shape of precious liberty, was twenty-five miles nearer than it had been seven hours previously.
Gradually, as the sullen dawn overcame the blackness of the night, the dreary landscape unfolded itself to the watcher's eyes—an expanse of flat country broken here and there with isolated buildings. Within fifty yards of the barn where the fugitives sheltered was a fairly broad river, that described almost a complete semicircle around the building.
"It's running north," soliloquised Billy. "Wonder if it's the Aa? Hanged if I can fix our position with certainty! We've crossed five or six railway lines, and half a dozen small streams. Hang it all! We can't be more than five or six miles from the frontier. By Jove, we are close to the road, though! Wonder if that bridge is guarded?"
After a short interval a convoy of motor waggons thundered past. The A.P., roused out of his sleep, sat up.
"What's that—an air raid?" he asked drowsily.
"No, only traffic," replied Billy. "No cause for alarm. You've another forty minutes yet."
A little later on a barge, quite eighty feet in length, manned by a couple of Belgians and towed by a miserably gaunt horse, descended the river. As it rounded the bend the cumbersome craft ran aground. Its stern, being still afloat, was swung round by the force of the wind and jammed against the opposite bank.
At the impact, slight though it was, the hatch of the after cabin was thrown back and German soldiers scrambled on deck. One of them was smoking a long pipe with a bent stem. He evidently regarded the situation with philosophical stolidity, but not so his companion. The latter, cursing and reviling the luckless Belgians, danced like a madman on the sodden deck, till, losing his balance, he subsided heavily against the massive tiller.
"Bring the horse back, you swine!" he shouted to the man on the bank. "There'll be trouble in store for you if the barge doesn't reach Wuestwezel by noon. Himmel! What will Herr Kapitan say?"
Peering through a crack in the door Barcroft watched the proceedings. The German had mentioned Wuestwezel. Consulting the map the flight-sub found that it was a small Belgian village on the frontier, where in pre-war days a customs station was situated.
For the best part of an hour the men strove unavailingly to extricate the barge from the tenacious mud. Even the two Huns condescended to assist in the operation but without the desired result. So interested was Barcroft in their frantic efforts that he quite overlooked the fact that it was time for Kirkwood to relieve him.
"You'll have to go to Hulstweelde and get additional help, you lazy dogs!" bellowed the infuriated Fritz. Then he said something to his companion, but speaking in a lower tone the words were unintelligible to the young British officer. Apparently there was an argument in progress as to which of the two Germans should accompany the bargees, lest the latter took it into their heads to decamp. Finally all four trudged off, leaving the horse to nibble at the scanty pasture on the bank.
"You rotter!" exclaimed Kirkwood. "It's gone nine. Why didn't you turn me out? And what are you so interested in? Come, now, you were very keen on ordering me to turn in. Try this luxurioussalle-à-coucher."
"Before I do so," replied Barcroft pointing to the abandoned barge, "I'm going to do a bit of burgling if there's anything in the food line. Keep a sharp look-out, old man—towards that bridge especially. I won't be long."
It was a comparatively simple matter to board the deeply-laden craft. Almost the whole of the space amidships was covered by huge tarpaulins, leaving a narrow gangway on either side. Making his way aft Barcroft boldly descended the short ladder leading into the cabin—a somewhat spacious compartment with the small "cuddies" on barges working British canals.
"Black bread and cheese," said the flight-lieutenant to himself. "Well, that's better than nothing. Bacon, too: useless when one cannot light a fire."
He had no qualms about despoiling the Philistines. Before the food would be missed the barge would doubtless have resumed its voyage. When the theft was discovered the Germans would to a certainty blame the men who came to their assistance.
"Wonder what the cargo is?" continued Billy as he regained the deck.
Unfastening one corner of the tarpaulin he made the discovery that the contents of the hold consisted of bales of old clothes packed tightly and labelled in large lettering with typical German thoroughness. They were commandeered Belgian civilian articles of clothing, those of cotton being kept apart from those of wool. Their destination was Aachen (Aix-la-Chapelle) via Wuestwezel, Turnout and Tongres, and at Wuestwezel they were to be transferred to the railway.
"I think I see the move," thought Barcroft. "The stuff is to be converted into cloth for the Huns. The cotton gear, perhaps, will be utilised in the manufacture of explosives, since they cannot get the raw material. By Jove! The very thing. I'll collar a bale of this gear. We'll have to be in mufti of sorts when we cross the frontier, otherwise it means internment."
A low whistle from the barn warned the flight-sub to a sense of danger. It was too late. Riding at a steady trot along the river bank was a German officer.
RESISTING his first impulse to rejoin his companions Barcroft crouched upon the unsavoury bundles and drew the corner of the painted canvas cover over his head. In breathless suspense he waited.
The clatter of the horse's hoofs ceased. He heard the rider dismount as his boots struck the ground.
"You there, Corporal Pfeil?" he shouted. "Donnerwetter! what do you mean by getting your charge in this fix?"
Receiving no reply the German began cursing volubly, at the same time expressing his belief that Pfeil and Co. were dead drunk in the barge cabin and that those rascally Belgians had given them the slip.
The fellow came on board. It required considerable effort on his part, for by the time he gained the deck he was puffing and blowing. As he walked aft his spurs jangled on the metal deck. So close did he pass the hiding Barcroft that the latter could have grasped his ankles.
"Schweinhund!" exclaimed the major, for such was his rank. "I'll give Pfeil something to remember this business. Confound this rain! I'll wait for him in the cabin."
He went below. Presently Barcroft could hear the rasping of a match, and the tantalising odours of tobacco from the after-cabin.
"Now I'm done," soliloquised the flight-sub. "The penalty for inquisitiveness, I suppose. Properly dished unless——"
Seized by a sudden inspiration Billy softly threw back the corner of the tarpaulin, crept aft and closed the sliding hatch of the cabin. Before the astonished major could completely realise what was happening Barcroft had shut the massive metal hasp and had secured it by wedging a belaying pin through the staple.
"Shout as hard as you like, my festive!" chuckled the flight-sub; then he, too, realised that he had "put his foot into it." Not only that—he had jeopardised the chances of his companions.
Throwing a sack of clothing to the bank Billy leapt ashore, picked up the weighty bundle and made for the barn.
He found Fuller awake, for Kirkwood had informed him of the danger that threatened the explorer.
"We were just coming to your rescue," announced the A.P., "only we saw that you had boxed the Boche up. What's this bundle for, old bird?"
"For to-night's fancy dress ball," replied Barcroft. "A suit of mufti for each of us. We appear in the characters of the Continental knockabouts."
"What do you mean?" asked Fuller.
"Simply that we must make tracks at once, before Corporal Pfeil and Company return. Obviously we cannot hope to wander unmolested over the country if we stick to our flying kit, so with my characteristic regard for your welfare I have procured a stock of second-hand clothes for your inspection and choice. We'll push on for a couple of miles or so and then hide until it's dark. Then, with luck, over the frontier we jog, without running the risk of being interned by the Dutch authorities."
The contents of the bag were emptied upon the floor—a weird collection of musty and for the most part dirty and ragged clothes.
"Must we, or musty?" inquired Kirkwood sniffing disdainfully
"Both," replied Barcroft decidedly. "Look alive. Pity to have to sacrifice our coats, though. Mine cost me eighty-five shillings only a month ago. Keep your revolvers. They'll stow in the coat-pockets."
The change of raiment was speedily effected. The discarded gear, folded in as tight compass as possible, was stowed away on the beams of the barn.
"Who knows," remarked the A.P., "but that we may have a chance of recovering our kit, when the Boches have been driven out of Belgium? My word, Billy, you look absolutely IT! Tired Tim or Weary Willy must be your character."
"You speak for yourself, old sport," retorted Barcroft laughing. "You're positively not respectable. We tolerate your presence only on sufferance. Matter of fact, Tired Tim does suit me," he added, stifling a yawn. "I'm as dog-tired as a fellow can possibly be. And what might you be supposed to represent, John—a Belgian hare?"
"That's about it," replied Fuller languidly. "The main thing is to keep warm, and trust to luck to get a hot bath later. Some fit, eh, what?"
The flight-lieutenant had appropriated a long cloth coat liberally trimmed with fur. In its prime the coat might have done credit to a wealthy bourgeois of Brussels, but now it would ill-become a city scavenger.
The rest of the clothes were returned to the sack, with the addition of a couple of heavy stones. Barcroft and the A.P. carried the "incriminating evidence" to the river and hurled it into the water.
"Don't suppose our boots will excite suspicion if we fall in with any one," remarked Kirkwood. "It is impossible to say whether they are black or brown."
"Or sabots," added Billy. "Without exaggeration we are carrying half an inch of mud about on them. Now, easy ahead."
Keeping clear of the highway, and following the river at a respectful distance the fugitives covered a distance of about three miles in less than a couple of hours. The rain was falling heavily again, blotting out everything beyond a distance of fifty yards, but by this time the dauntless trio regarded the discomfort with equanimity and as a blessing in disguise.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Puller, suddenly coming to a halt. "There's the frontier."
Before they were aware of the fact they had arrived within a few feet of the seemingly interminable barbed wire fence that separated occupied Belgium from coveted Holland. As far as could be seen the barrier was unguarded.
"How about it?" inquired Barcroft. "Shall we make a dash and risk it?"
"Steady," cautioned the flight-lieutenant. "Suppose, as is more than likely, there's a high tension wire running along that contraption? We don't want to be pipped on the post, you know."
"I'll test it," declared Billy promptly.
"How?" asked his companions in one breath
"By this," replied the sub indicating the wristlet compass. "You hang on here. I won't be long."
"Be careful, then," said the A.P.
"Trust me for that," answered Barcroft cheerfully. "Lie low and keep a sharp look out."
On either side of the fence was a belt of reeds and coarse grass. In ordinary circumstances its height would be five or six feet, but the wind and rain had beaten down the reeds considerably. In places the tangle of grass was almost flat, and, combined with the slippery soil, formed a trap for the unwary.
"H'm! a fair amount of traffic on either side of the fence," commented Barcroft as he arrived upon the scene of his investigations. "They've had sentries patrolling up and down, but evidently they don't like the weather."
Kneeling in the slime the flight-sub unbuckled the strap that secured the little spirit compass to his wrist, then cautiously he held the delicate instrument towards the lowermost wire.
The needle was unaffected, even though he brought the compass close enough to risk a short circuit should the wire be highly charged with electricity. Three parallel wires he tested with similar results. At the fourth, which was about three feet from the ground, the needle oscillated. Whether it was owing to the deviating effect of an electric current or that he had unintentionally jogged the compass Barcroft could not decide. Withdrawing the instrument he waited for the sensitive index to come to rest.
"Dash it all!" he ejaculated as he resumed his investigations. "That wire is charged. It will mean a fine old job getting through this fence. Might squeeze through under the lowermost one if it could be prised up. But supposing the electrified wire isn't always the fourth from the ground: what then? I'll apply another test further along."
So intent was the flight-sub in his work that he failed to hear the faint sound of footsteps stealthily approaching through the squelching mud. Entirely at a disadvantage since he was crouching on his knees, Barcroft was most disgustedly surprised to hear a guttural exclamation, the form of which left no doubt as to the nationality of the speaker.
Turning his head Billy found himself at the mercy of a German sentry, whose levelled bayonet was within a foot of his shoulderblades.