"The police are almost certain the Zeppelins were guided by a motor car. Wish they'd find it," said one of the men.
Jane got up; she could not stand any more of this; she blamed herself for connecting this motor car with Carl. Why did he tell her he had the car repaired at —— and the landlord that he did it himself? She walked back to the hotel very uneasy and found Carl standing at the door with the landlord; they were laughing—this relieved her. Carl turned to her and said:
"Have you packed? We leave after lunch."
She said she had, and asked if he had read about the Zeppelin raid.
"We were just talking about it," he replied.
Spatts went inside, leaving them together.
"The man's a fool," said Carl, jerking his head in the direction of the landlord.
"Is he? What were you laughing at?" asked Jane.
"He said he thought it probable somebody in a motor car guided the airships," said Carl.
"And you think that is not correct?"
"Of course it isn't; how could they do it? I soon proved to him it was not possible, and it was then he laughed at the absurdity of the idea."
"You told me you had the car repaired at ——," she said.
"Well?"
"You told him you did the repairs yourself, in a lonely part of the country."
"Don't be a fool, Jane. I don't wish everybody to know where I have been."
"You were at ——?"
"Yes."
"Did you see the airship over there?"
"I saw something hovering in the air but of course I never dreamed it was one of those things."
"And you heard no bombs explode?"
He laughed as he replied:
"Not likely. I should hardly wait for that."
She was not satisfied. When they started on their journey the landlord said:
"I hope you will not have another breakdown, Mr. Meason."
"No fear of that. I've patched it up well; it will carry us to our destination."
"Where's that?"
"Beyond York," said Carl.
"Inquisitive beggar," he said to Jane when the car was away.
"We are not going to York?" she asked.
"No, you asked to go to London; we'll get there to-night," he said.
"Then why did you tell him we were going to York?"
"Because it suited my purpose," he replied.
The journey to London was accomplished without mishap. Carl was a good driver; the car sped along at a rapid pace. Jane enjoyed the ride; the scenery was new to her, and she was observant.
Arriving at the city he drove to the Fairfax Hotel, a quiet place mostly used by families. There was no garage. Leaving Jane there, he went to put up the car.
She waited for him. He seemed a long time coming. She did not care to leave the room in his absence.
At last he came. He made no apology for being away so long; he seemed preoccupied and said little.
They dined together, and then he took her out. The streets were dull and dark, very few lights in the shops, hardly any in the streets. The noise and bustle confused her.
"There's not much to see at night," he said; "we'll have a look round to-morrow."
"What's that?" she asked in alarm.
"A searchlight," he replied laughing. "There's any amount of them but they don't appear to be of much service."
"What are they used for?"
"To discover the whereabouts of Zeppelins."
"It can't be very safe here?"
"It's safe enough; they won't drop bombs near where we are staying."
"How do you know?"
"Oh well, it's not likely; they'll go for something more important than the Fairfax Hotel," he replied.
Jane was tired. They went to bed early. She awoke in the middle of the night and found Carl missing. She thought this strange. There was a dim light burning. She sat up; perhaps he had only gone out of the room, then she noticed his clothes were not there; he had evidently dressed.
She tried to sleep but could not. She was afraid and shivered under the bed-clothes. He had no right to leave her in the hotel at this hour. His actions were mysterious; he always appeared to have something to do in the night. She had no watch and wondered what time it was; then she heard a clock strike one. He must have gone out when she fell asleep.
Soon after she heard an explosion. It sounded some distance away. Then she heard movements in the house, people hurrying about, voices calling. It was strange and disquieting.
Some one paused outside her door; then she heard the handle turn and Carl came into the room, swiftly, silently, closing the door after him and locking it.
She pretended to be asleep, heard him come to the bedside and breathed heavily. He seemed satisfied she did not hear him. He moved away. She opened her eyes and saw him unlocking his suitcase; his back was toward her. He took out some papers, sorted them, put a couple on the dressing-table, then placed the others in the case.
He lit a candle but first turned round and looked at her. She breathed heavily.
She was cautious but she watched him over the top of the clothes, which were drawn up to her face. She was surprised to see him carefully burn the papers. He placed the candle on a newspaper so that the ashes would fall on it. He pressed the pieces with his hand as they fell. When they were consumed he wrapped the remains in a piece of the paper, screwed it tightly, then put the small package in the case. He then undressed and came to the bed.
There was a knock at the door but he made no response. It was repeated, this time louder, sharper.
Carl said in a half-sleepy voice:
"Who's there?"
"It's me, the hall porter; I want to see you for a moment."
Carl got out of bed grumbling. Jane thought he was a long time unlocking the door. She moved restlessly but still pretended to be asleep.
"What is it? Why the deuce do you rouse me at this hour of the night?" asked Carl angrily.
"Mr. Hurd, the manager, said he thought he saw you come into the house a few minutes ago; I said you had not, that you were in your room; I did not see you and I was in the hall."
"Confound him! I shan't stay here if I'm roused up at this unearthly hour. It's abominable! You are disturbing my wife's rest. What are the people tearing about the place for?" asked Carl as he heard footsteps.
"Didn't you hear the explosion? They are at it again."
"Hush!" said Carl. "You'll wake my wife; it will frighten her. You've all gone mad. I heard nothing."
"I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Hurd was so certain he saw you come in I thought I'd see for myself."
"And what the devil does it matter to him whether I was out or in?" asked Carl sharply.
"That's not my business, sir. Please excuse me. I'll tell him you are in your room," said the man, shuffling away. "Queer smell of burning," he muttered as he went along the landing; "seemed to be in his room."
The manager was in the hall. With him were an inspector of police and a detective.
"Well?" asked Hurd.
"He's in his room, undressed and in bed. I knew he didn't come in."
"You're mistaken," said the Inspector. "He did. I saw him."
"He gave me an accurate description of Mr. Meason," said Hurd, "and I am certain I saw him come in."
The hall porter shook his head.
"I was here when you came downstairs and I didn't see him."
"It's very strange," said the Inspector, looking at the detective."Are you sure he's the man you followed, that he came in here?"
"We both saw him," said the detective dryly.
"If it is the man, he's been precious quick undressing and getting into bed," said the Inspector doubtfully.
Several people were in the hall. The explosion roused them. They made anxious inquiries; the manager assured them.
Carl Meason listening upstairs little knew what a narrow escape he had. He was not aware he was followed as he hurried back to the hotel nor was he aware that an accurate description of him was in the hands of the police.
It was Valentine Braund, the American millionaire, who had given information to the authorities. He had been to Little Trent the day after Meason left the Sherwood Inn, and a piece of paper found in Carl's room by Abel Head confirmed his suspicions that the man was Karl Shultz who he was convinced was the organizer of the explosion at the Valentine Steel Works. He had asked Head to give him the paper. It did not appear to be of much importance but the name Mannie Kerrnon was written on it. Braund knew this was the woman who worked with Shultz, and his interest became active. He was a determined man and had made up his mind never to forget Shultz. He had already spent money freely trying to find him. He left Head very much mystified and proceeded to interview Tom Thrush.
Thrush recognized him and as usual scented money. Braund proceeded cautiously, asking all sorts of questions about the country, Mr. Chesney, and the stud, also speaking of the two matches at Newmarket which he saw decided.
Tom was completely off his guard and replied with a laugh to his question as to Jane's marriage:
"I don't think she's done amiss. He seems a good sort of man and he has money."
"Well, I hope it will turn out all right," said Braund. "Where did they spend the honeymoon?"
Tom explained. He had heard from Jane. They were at H——.
Braund had some difficulty in restraining his impatience.
"Nice place, isn't it?" he said.
"Quiet, she found it a bit dull; expect they've left by this."
Braund remained with him some little time and then drove away in his motor. He did not return to the Sherwood Inn but told his chauffeur to go the nearest way to H——, "and get there as fast as you can without running into danger."
He soon discovered where Meason and his wife stayed, made inquiries,Frank Spatts gave him every information.
"He was out till nearly three in the morning," said Spatts.
"The night the Zeppelins were over?"
"Yes; he left the next afternoon," said Spatts.
Valentine Braund also discovered that Meason's car had not taken the York road but had traveled London way. He followed quickly and arrived in town not long after Meason. It was Braund who set the police on his track. He was with them when he found they had allowed him to leave the Fairfax Hotel. The Inspector told him they had not sufficient evidence to go upon and were not justified in arresting him.
"You might have stretched a point," grumbled Braund.
"That's all very well. I don't say you're not right, but we have to be very careful in such cases," said the Inspector.
"You are so careful that you allow fellows in motor cars to scour the country and pilot these raiders," snapped Braund.
Carl Meason was alarmed. The police had been informed as to his movements; he had very little doubt about that. He told Jane he must leave London at once, it was very important; he was going to Margate, but she must not tell anybody.
She was disappointed. He had promised to take her about London; she had seen nothing of it.
He answered her sharply. His business was more important than tramping about London.
What was his business, she asked again, and her constant repetition irritated him. He gave no satisfactory replies and she resented this. Jane was sharp, her faculties developed. She was not so simple as he imagined. He was surprised at her persistence. Was she beginning to suspect him? If so what did she think?
The journey to Margate by road was interesting. There was not much conversation. When she spoke he answered in monosyllables. He drove to the White Hart Hotel facing the harbor and engaged a front room.
"You'll be able to pass the time watching the people," he said, "and the harbor is always interesting."
"What shall you be doing?" she asked.
"Don't keep cross-examining me," he replied. "It puts me in a bad temper."
"You are generally in a bad temper," she said.
"Look here, Jane, my girl, we'd better understand each other," he replied. "I have work to do and I mean to carry it out whether you like it or not."
"Are you tired of me already?" she asked.
"Not exactly, but you are going the right way to bring it about," he answered.
"I have a right to know what you are doing."
"Some day if you are very good I may tell you," he said.
Jane became suspicious. The more she was left to herself, the more time she had to think matters over. It seemed strange that Carl was always about where there were Zeppelin raids. She began to connect him with them. Abel Head had called him a spy, perhaps he was, at any rate his movements were suspicious.
The conversations she had heard were disquieting. It was evident several people had doubts about him. She was his wife and she was determined if he did not treat her well not to put up with his conduct. She had money—she took care of that—and she could always go home.
Eve Berkeley was anxious, having not heard from Alan for several weeks.She eagerly scanned the papers but found no mention of his name. EllaHallam was with her. Eve was glad of company, it cheered her, andDuncan Fraser came frequently to The Forest, generally looking in atTrent Park on the way.
Eve surmised that Ella was the attraction and hoped that her friend would recognize his many good qualities. She liked Fraser. He did so much for Alan, and the business prospered under his management. He had not heard from him and, like Eve, was growing anxious.
"Perhaps he has been sent on an important mission," he said, "and is unable to write. When he left he hinted at something of the kind."
"The suspense is more than I can bear," she replied.
"I am sure he is safe," said Ella. "Mr. Chesney is capable of taking care of himself."
"Under ordinary circumstances," said Eve; "but there is danger everywhere in France."
Captain Morby was home on leave. He came to see Eve. She welcomed him cordially. Had he any news of Alan?
He looked grave and her heart sank.
"You will keep it secret?" he said.
"Anything you will tell me I will not repeat," she replied.
"He was sent to Brussels," said Harry.
"Brussels!" exclaimed Eve. "Right into the enemy's quarters!"
"Yes, a dangerous mission, but no one so competent to perform it successfully as Alan."
"But Brussels! He will never come out alive!"
Harry smiled as he replied:
"It is part of a great danger, but even if he were discovered I do not suppose his life would be forfeited, although he might be detained."
"Why did he go, who sent him?" she asked.
"A highly placed member of the Belgian Government. I was told on best authority he was specially requested to go," said Harry.
"Then I am not surprised he placed his services at their disposal," said Eve.
"No more am I."
It was quite true. Alan had accepted this dangerous mission which, if successfully accomplished, would render great service. He had full permission to go and did not underestimate the risk.
Discarding his uniform he put on civilian clothes and posed as a Belgian. He spoke French fairly well and this helped him. After many narrow escapes he succeeded in reaching Brussels, where he was in danger of discovery every hour. He walked about the streets openly, sat in several cafés, and talked with the people. There were hundreds of German officers and soldiers, but there was nothing particularly suspicious about Alan's appearance. He was well disguised and did not look at all like an Englishman.
Despite this some officers looked at him curiously and in the course of a few days he fancied he was followed.
He succeeded in his mission and learned by heart what he had to say on his return. There were many willing Belgians ready to help him at the risk of their lives. In a fortnight he was ready to leave the city; but this was more difficult than entering it. On every side were Germans, and nobody was allowed to leave Brussels without a special permit, and these were hard to get. He had to wait as patiently as possible for a favorable opportunity. Every day he remained the situation became more dangerous.
So far he had avoided speaking to any of the Englishwomen who were still in the city. He knew he was watched, that the first false step might be fatal.
He did not think there would be much risk in calling at the English nursing home. Many Belgians went there, and he had so far passed as such.
He called, Nurse Ranger received him in her private room. She heard who he was and why he was there. She volunteered to assist him in getting away.
She offered to procure him a permit to leave Brussels, but was afraid it would take some time. When it was secured it would only take him to Bruges or somewhere within the German occupied territory.
Alan said his chief difficulty was to get out of Brussels. Once free from the city he would have a chance of returning to the English lines.
Nurse Ranger was a courageous, a fearless woman, who had rendered valuable assistance to Belgians desirous of joining their comrades in arms.
After some difficulty she procured Alan a permit to leave the city under the name of Armand Roche. This she obtained through a German officer she had nursed back to life and who, for once in a way, proved grateful. Alan did not immediately make use of it.
The permit was countersigned by the Governor and therefore he considered it would frank him anywhere. It expressly stated, however, the limits in which it was available. At last he put it to the test, and arrived as far as Bruges. He had been in the quaint old city before and knew it well. What a contrast to the last time he was there! He recalled it vividly. Now the old market-place was filled with German troops and the hotel where he had formerly stayed tenanted by German officers. It was lucky for him his permit was signed by the Governor of Brussels; he soon found nothing less would have franked him.
The risk would come when he tried to return to his own lines and he prepared for it. All went well. He had a horse provided for him, a fast one that had once been a racer, and he must trust to luck once he got clear of the German lines. How to get clear was, however, a puzzle and he tried to solve it as best he could.
He met one or two German officers who spoke French, and seemed to get on well with them. They were suspicious—he saw that—and of course he did not trust them, but they proved useful as he went about with them. They bragged about their conquests, and Alan urged them on until in their boastfulness they gave him an account of the vast power of the German Army on the Western front and he got valuable information as to the best way to reach the scene of the fighting and the nearest trenches.
He made his attempt to leave Bruges one dark night and had not much trouble in getting out of the town. The danger began when he came to the outskirts and had to pass the cordon drawn round the town to prevent people from leaving in certain directions.
He made the attempt in several quarters and found it too risky; but on this particular night fortune favored him.
It was dark. He rode up to the guard and was challenged. He handed his permit, and when it was being examined he made a bolt into the more open country. For a few precious moments the Germans were surprised and Alan was away in the dark at top speed. The horse was a flyer and no mistake. His heart beat high with hope as he felt it bound under him. Shots were fired but fell short. Then he heard a noise behind him but it was too dark to see anything.
He rode straight ahead, judging this would take him out of the Germans' country. For several hours he went on at a great pace. Occasionally his horse stumbled, but that gave him no anxiety, for he was used to all kinds of situations when riding.
When light began to steal over the landscape he took in the lay of the land. He was in the middle of a wide flat country; the ground was wet and marshy. He had no idea where he was but he seemed safe from pursuit. Not a soul was to be seen. He slowed the horse down to a walk, it was time the animal had a rest.
Where was he?
He went slowly on; then he saw in the distance what looked like a white farm-house. It was a dwelling of some kind and he made for it. As he came within hail an old man stepped out, a Belgian peasant, so Alan judged him by his appearance. He spoke to him in French. The old man regarded him curiously. As Alan looked at him he thought:
"He's a better man than I imagined. Perhaps he's disguised."
In answer to Alan's question he said in excellent French:
"Who are you? You don't look like a civilian."
Alan determined to be straight with him; it would probably be best.
"I am a soldier. I wish to find the English lines."
"Ah!" exclaimed the man. "Get down, come inside. Where are you from?"
"Bruges."
The man held up his hands, tears came into his eyes. He lamented the fall of the city, its occupation by the Germans. He had a daughter in Bruges when the enemy entered the city. He wrung his hands; his grief was painful. He said no more, but Alan guessed and grasped his hands in sympathy—and hate.
Alan put the horse in the tumble-down stable, the roof was half off, the rafters hanging down, the walls crumbling—an old place. It had been in the family of Jean Baptistine for many years. He was a lone man, no wife, three sons fighting, and his daughter—ah well, she was where no harm could come to her. She had saved her honor and sacrificed her life. He was glad of that, very glad, honor was more than life.
He gave Alan food, coarse but clean, which he enjoyed, for he was hungry.
Jean talked freely. He supposed he and his farmhouse were left alone because they were out of the fire zone, or perhaps the barbarians did not think it worth while to meddle with him. There was no wine in the house. He procured a little brandy which he gave to Alan and sipped a small quantity himself.
Alan learned that he was in the enemies' country, that it would be difficult for him to get to the Allied lines. He might be taken at any moment and shot on the spot. He had left his permit in the hands of the guard when he galloped away.
Jean Baptistine said there was no immediate danger. Soldiers did not often come his way. His guest had better lie concealed for a few days. He would be glad of his company, something might happen, the Boches might be driven back defeated.
Alan being tired went upstairs to lie down. The bed was clean, the room smelt fresh. Jean told him to rest comfortably. He threw himself on the bed; before Jean left the room he was asleep.
The sun streaming through the small windows woke him. He sat up, wondering at first where he was.
On the old-fashioned table he saw a pair of gloves and a cigar-case.How came they there?
He got off the bed, took the cigar-case in his hands, and stared in amazement. The monogram V.N. was engraved on it, he recognized it, he had given it to Vincent Newport when he resigned his commission; and Captain Newport was posted among the missing. How came the case here, and the glove?
He was examining them when Jean came up the crazy stairs into the room.
To Alan's rapid question he said:
"He was an officer, he escaped from the escort, they tracked him down.I hid him, but it was no use—they found him."
"What became of him?" asked Alan.
"They took him away," he said. "They would have shot me but he pleaded for me, said I did not hide him, knew nothing about it, that he crept into the house and took the clothes he was wearing himself."
"Then he is alive?" said Alan.
"I believe so. Look," said Jean. He pulled open a drawer and Alan saw in it an officer's uniform.
It was Vincent Newport's uniform. Alan did not hesitate to use it, he felt he would be safer, as nobody would imagine him to be the man who escaped through the line from Bruges.
Jean raised no objections and Alan gave him the clothes he wore. He offered to guide him to a spot where he might get through the enemy and reach his friends. It would be difficult but there was risk everywhere. Alan protested, if Jean were caught he would be shot, he was sure he could find the way from directions.
"I care little whether they shoot me," said Jean, "my life is ruined."
"It will all come right again after the war," said Alan.
Jean held up his hands, shaking his head despairingly.
"After the war—God knows when that will be," he said sadly.
They started at night. Alan was for leaving the horse behind but Jean said a good steed might save his life.
"It is not fair that you should walk," said Alan. "How far is it?"
"Some thirty miles," said Jean. "That is nothing to me."
They took flasks of brandy and a parcel of eatables. Alan walked with him, leading the horse.
It was a lonely, desolate country, treeless, a barren waste; but Jean loved it. He said the land was better than it looked.
They walked all night. In the early morning they came to an old barn and walked inside with the horse. They were hungry and ate well, a few drops of brandy revived them, some loose hay was given to the horse. A low booming sound was heard, an artillery duel, it continued the greater part of the day. At nightfall Alan mounted his horse and bade good-bye to Jean Baptistine.
"I will hunt you out when we have beaten the Huns," said Alan cheerfully.
"You will beat them," said Jean, "but they are strong, their sins will hang heavy on them when the judgment comes, they are murderers." He cursed them and Alan shivered as he heard what deadly hate there was in the old man's breast. Was it to be wondered at?
Alan rode in the direction of the booming. Jean told him to bear to the right and that would give him more chance of passing the German trenches. He carried his life in his hands but he was cheerful, the sense of danger roused him, the true sporting spirit manifested itself, he was against great odds and meant to succeed. As he went on at a slow pace the heavy firing ceased for a time, then broke out in the occasional boom of a gun. Alan thought they were knocking off for the night; he might have a chance to get through.
As the horse walked along he thought of home and wondered how things were going on at Trent Park and The Forest. It was nearly two months since he had been away from headquarters, and he was not able to write. Eve would be anxious, he must let her know he was safe as soon as possible. He was glad they were not married, it would not have been fair to her; but he vowed she should be his wife if he came safely out of the struggle.
Just before he left for Brussels he had received a letter from Fred Skane in which he said he was preparing Bandmaster for the big steeplechase to be run in Trent Park over a course of four miles. This would be a great event, a sort of Grand National on a small scale. He hoped Alan would be able to come over and ride his horse; he must not forget the date. With the owner up he thought Bandmaster had a chance second to none.
During the excitement and suspense of his journey and stay in Brussels he had forgotten all this but it came to mind now as he rode quietly on toward danger. He remembered the date and began to reckon up, he had lost count during the past few days but he knew there was very little time to spare.
His message delivered, he would have no difficulty in obtaining leave. He hoped to be home in time to ride Bandmaster a few gallops over the course before the race took place.
He gave himself up to pleasant ruminations over his chance of winning until he was rudely roused by a bullet whistling past his ear.
"Snipers about," was his first thought as he set his horse to a gallop.
Another bullet whizzed above his head. He looked round, but saw nobody. It was dark; the sniper must have heard the sound of his horse's hoofs and fired in that direction.
There were only two shots but they roused him out of his reverie and put him on the alert.
Then he wondered how it came about that the sniper was behind theGerman trenches. Jean told him he would have to pass them somehow.Had he by some strange piece of luck got past the trenches? Was hebetween two fires? That was hardly possible, yet it might be so.
He pulled his horse up and listened. A strange, buzzing sound was heard—probably some aircraft, although it seemed too dark for aviators to see their whereabouts.
He heard voices and movements of men. A gust of wind carried them toward him. The men spoke German; he had only just stopped in time.
He had no idea where he was. To wait there until daylight would court danger but in which direction ought he to go?
Had he reached a strip of "no man's land," a space left unborrowed and unbroken, lying between two fires? If so he was "between the devil and the deep sea," for he might be fired on by friend and foe alike.
It was a thrilling position, a solitary man on horseback on a dark night on unknown ground and surrounded by enemies. Alan listened with the keen ears of a sportsman, all his faculties alert. A false movement and he was lost.
A scrambling sound close on his left startled him. He fancied it was the men quitting a trench and if so it could only be with one object in view—a night attack. If this were the case it was well planned, for there was very little noise. Alan, however, being near, heard that faint peculiar sound of many men silently on the move.
He would have given much to know where he was—the exact spot. He wondered if old Jean Baptistine had made a mistake and given him wrong directions. He was glad he wore uniform and had Newport's revolver on him—it might be useful.
A faint streak in the sky, a rosy tint wearing down the pale gray, warned him day was breaking and he must be prepared.
There were others waiting for daybreak as well as himself, for the heavy boom of a huge gun sounded quite close at hand. Alan looked in the direction, and saw a cloud of smoke. This was answered by a boom and a cloud from the opposite side and he knew an artillery duel had commenced. Suddenly four men sprang out of a hole formed by a bursting shell. They were Germans. What they were doing there it was impossible to say. They were as surprised to see Alan as he was to see them. In the growing light as he sat on his horse he looked like a phantom emerging out of the mist.
A few minutes passed and the situation was summed up on both sides. A dash was made at Alan, shots fired as he turned his horse to the right and headed right straight at them. His charge was the last thing they expected. He crashed into them, sending two to the ground; the others hung to the horse and saddle.
Alan drew his revolver and shot one man through the head. The horse plunged, reared, but he kept his seat. The two Germans who were knocked down were on him again, but he wrenched free and galloped away. Over this vacant space before him men seemed to spring up like mushrooms. It was impossible to get through and reach the English lines, which he could now see. He made the most of it. His horse faced the situation bravely, but he was pulled out of the saddle and made prisoner. He had narrowly escaped being killed, as sundry bullet tears in his uniform showed. He thanked Heaven he was not in mufti or it would have gone hard with him. He was dragged into the crater-hole from which the four men who had first attacked him emerged. He had killed a man, would they kill him?
A young officer ran up. He looked keenly at Alan, then, in excellent English, asked him his name and regiment. A fire of questions followed as to how he came there and what he was about, why he had left his lines? He was searched but no paper found.
The officer seemed rather a better class man. He ordered Alan to be kept in the hole, and put three men to guard him; then he went away in the direction his men were returning to their trench.
Alan judged there must have been a night attack on the English lines and these were the remnants returning scattered all over the place; if so they must have suffered severely, been almost annihilated.
His guards took very little notice of him. They knew he could not escape; moreover, they had orders to shoot if he attempted it.
It was a dull day and there was very little firing. He judged they were resting after the night attack. It was an awkward fix he was in but nothing daunted he puzzled his brains as to how to get out of it; they had tethered his horse close by—that was in his favor.
The officer did not return, and Alan had nothing to eat or drink—the soldiers did not offer him anything.
Night came on. He wondered whether he would be kept there or removed. At last the young officer came, and with him a soldier carrying a bag which contained food. Alan was handed some, also given a drink, and the officer said he must remain there until next day. If he tried to escape he would be shot. Alan wondered why they did not take him to a more secure spot; something must have happened to prevent this.
He settled himself down, after taking good stock of his position and where the horse was. He pretended to sleep. The three soldiers were left on guard.
They seemed tired, they must have been many hours without sleep. They spoke together in low voices. Presently one of them lay down—it was evident they were to keep guard in turns.
Alan was wide awake and alert now. If he could only make a dash for his horse and spring into the saddle there would be a chance of escaping.
The two men on guard seemed drowsy. The man on the ground breathed heavily. Alan moved and loosened some stones. The men were alert in a moment and growled at him savagely. Alan waited about an hour—it seemed much longer. He knew exactly where the men were: one on either side, the other still on the ground.
Without a moment's warning he sprang to his feet, let out right and left, and by sheer good luck hit his men hard. He scrambled out of the hole, reached his horse, broke the rope by which it was tied to a stake, cutting his hands as he did so, sprang into the saddle and was galloping away at a great pace before his guard recovered from the shock. They dare not fire for fear of being discovered in the act of letting the prisoner go. The two roused their sleeping comrade, explained the situation, then marched off toward the enemy's lines. They preferred surrender to the death awaiting them if they remained.
Alan was far from being out of the wood, there was danger on every side, and it was light. Fortune favored him, for the enemy had suffered terrible losses and were occupied in beating a hasty retreat, what was left of them. The ground was covered with dead, dying, and wounded. As he rode rapidly to the right he got clear of them; several shots were fired and missed him.
A feeling of exultation possessed him as he neared his lines a couple of miles away. Once there he was safe, his perilous mission accomplished.
His horse shied. Looking ahead he saw half a dozen forms hidden behind some stunted bushes. The enemy again. Rifles were pointed at him. It meant death if he went on.
He halted and faced his enemies, but showed no signs of giving in. The men crept forward, still covering him with their rifles. He was angry at the thought of being taken prisoner again. If recognized he would be shot off-hand. This was not at all likely although he was not aware of it.
Providence intervened in the shape of a shell which hurtled into the midst of the creeping men. There was a terrific explosion. Alan reeled in the saddle, recovered by a great effort, and managed to control his frightened horse. He was struck on the forehead but fortunately the peak of his cap saved him. Still the effect was stunning, stupefying. A whistling in the air and another shell burst, throwing up a cloud of mud and dirt round him, thus lessening the danger of being badly hit.
His enemies were cut up, shattered; but he had to ride for his life to avoid the shells. He was in danger from his friends.
The horse was equal to the emergency and sped across the open space at a great pace.
The solitary horseman seemed to puzzle the gunners, for they ceased firing. Probably he had been recognized as an officer escaping from the enemy.
He waved his cap and, taking all risks, galloped toward the Allies' lines. He knew where he was now. These trenches were the nearest to headquarters and in a few minutes he would be in safety.
Something trickled down his face. He brushed it aside with his hand—blood—his wound was more serious than he thought.
His left arm pained—blood on the sleeve. His left thigh twinged sharply—there was blood here also.
"Must have had a narrow squeak," he thought. He felt faint, inclined to swoon, but held on to his horse firmly.
His head swam, his sight grew dim, he heard a roar from the front trench and then—oblivion.
When he came to he was being attended behind the firing line. He wondered where he was, and tried to sit up, but fell back exhausted. The doctor told him to keep still.
He slept several hours. When he awoke he was in the ambulance, jolting farther away from the line.
It was twenty-four hours or more before he was able to stand. Once on his legs he quickly recovered and, asking for his horse, which was near at hand, declared his intention of riding to headquarters.
The doctor protested; but when Alan explained who he was and the nature of his mission no further objections were raised.
"You have had a marvelous escape," said the doctor, looking at him admiringly. "You are a brave man."
Alan smiled as he thanked him, saying there would have been many officers who would have been glad of the chance to take his place and run the risks.
He rode to headquarters and was heartily welcomed. In a few moments he stood before his chief, who held out his hand, shook his heartily, and congratulated him.
It was then Alan learned it had been reported that he was shot in Bruges as a spy. No doubt this report had been made in order to save the men responsible for his escape through the lines.
"Shot as a spy," thought Alan. "I wonder if it has been made public inEngland. If so, what a terrible shock to Eve and all my friends."
He suppressed his feelings and gave an account of how he fulfilled his mission.
"You must see King Albert at once," said the chief. "It was a blow to him when he heard you were shot."
The news of Captain Chesney's return was soon noised abroad, and on all sides he was congratulated.
He hunted up Skane's letter and found the date of the Trent Park Grand Steeplechase would give him ample time to get home and ride Bandmaster over the course two or three times. He must see about his leave at once.
He supposed his safe arrival would be at once reported at home and thatEve would see it and others.
There was a budget of letters for him some six weeks old. One of the last he opened came from his trainer. The date of the Steeplechase had been altered because the troops camped in the Park had left earlier than was expected.
Alan was uncertain about the date. He asked, and found he had just a couple of days to spare to get there in time.
Then came another thought which made him gasp. Had Bandmaster been struck out when he was reported shot?
Every minute was precious.
He wired to Skane at once, imposing secrecy, and asking it Bandmaster was still in the race. If so he would be home to ride.
"Not a word about this."
Fred Skane had not scratched Bandmaster. He would not believe Alan Chesney had been shot, and this firm conviction cheered Eve Berkeley wonderfully. Then came the news that Captain Chesney had returned to headquarters after many hairbreadth escapes and that he was severely wounded.
The reaction set in at Trent Park, The Forest, and Little Trent. Gloom turned to joy; everybody was gay and festive. Captain Chesney was safe, he would soon recover from a few wounds, these were trifles to a brave strong man.
"There you are," said Fred Skane. "What did I tell you, Miss Berkeley. I knew he was not shot—not likely. Supposing I'd scratched Bandmaster—there'd have been a row and no mistake. 'Scratch the horse out of respect,' says Abel Head. 'Memory,' says I, 'what memory? He's alive. There's no memory about Captain Chesney yet, I'll bet, or I'm a Dutchman.'"
Eve laughed.
"Splendid, Fred, splendid! You were right; we were all wrong. But he was reported shot."
"Reported be——" said Fred, checking himself. "Who believes reports? Not me! We get too much or too little, and it came from a German source; not good enough, says I, not half good enough for this child."
When the trainer received Alan's telegram he chuckled, then laughed heartily.
"By Jove, this is grand! Won't there be a double distilled surprise for 'em all. If he can get home—if? He must!—and ride, wounds or no wounds—and he'll win, I can see him doing it—what a day it will be! Not a word, not me; I wouldn't miss the shock of his appearance on the course, in an unexpected way, not for a thousand."
"Fred's a bit above himself," said Abel Head. "He's confounded cheeky because his opinion has turned out correct. I never thought Captain Chesney was shot, did you?"
"No," said Tom Thrush, "not likely."
"And Fred takes it all on himself. He goes about with his 'What did I tell you?' until I'm sick of hearing it," said Abel.
"The main thing is, the master's alive; nowt else matters," said Tom.
"Heard from Jane lately?" asked Abel.
"No; can't make it out," said Tom gloomily.
"I hope it's all right with her. You were a fool to let her marry him," said Abel.
"What's the sense in pitching that into me now?" growled Tom.
"I pitched it into you before it was too late, but you took no notice."
"Do you always follow good advice?" asked Tom.
"Maybe not, not always."
"Then dry up about me. I'm sorry, Abel, sorry for my lass; but he'd best behave well to her or he'll know about it," said Tom savagely.
"Where are they?"
"Don't know; haven't heard from her since they left Margate."
"I'll tell you another thing, Tom. It's what I've always said, CarlMeason's a German spy and it's my belief Jane's found him out."
"If that's so and she has you can lay she'll give him away, it's her duty to do it," said Tom.
"Probably she will if he gives her a chance," was Abel's reply.
"What chance? He can't interfere with her."
"There's no telling what a man like that will do," answered Abel.
To return to Alan Chesney, he was anxious in the extreme. His wounds troubled him but he endeavored to shake off the feeling. He had no wish to be invalided at home. He wanted the change on his own account and for a particular purpose, to ride Bandmaster in the Steeplechase. He applied for leave, which was readily granted, and was ordered not to return until quite well.
He told two or three of his brother officers why he was anxious to get home and of course they were determined to have "a bet on" Bandmaster. His servant heard the news and it quickly got about among the rank and file.
A vexatious delay occurred—one of those small but important matters to be attended to at the last minute which are forever turning up at important moments.
Alan motored to Calais; and here again there was delay, no steamer being available for several hours. He fretted and fumed about. If this sort of thing continued there would be little chance of being home in time to see the race, let alone ride.
He passed a restless time but at last the boat started and he was fairly on the way. All being well he would reach Little Trent in good time on the morning of the meeting.
None of his friends knew he was coming except Fred Skane, the trainer. His brief telegram to Eve said nothing about it. She was overwhelmed with joy to hear from him that he was really safe and well.
Being a sensible woman she determined to celebrate Alan's good news by taking a large party of friends to Trent Park to see Bandmaster win. Fred Skane said to her:
"I think he'll win, but I wish Captain Chesney was here to ride him.It would be 'a cert' then."
A splendid four-mile was planned out at Trent Park, a real test for chasers, almost up to the famous Aintree Grand National journey. There were stiff fences, two water jumps, some plough lane, and excellent going on grass. The horse that won would be a good 'un.
Bandmaster had done a great preparation. The trainer did not spare him; he had been over the course three or four times.
Sam Kerridge's son Will was to ride in the event of Captain Chesney's not being able to do so.
It was a clear, bright, sharp morning, and from an early hour motors and buses came by road. There was every promise of a big gathering even without the use of train service. Keen sportsmen were not to be denied the pleasure of such a meeting by any inconveniences they might have to put up with.
Eve Berkeley and her house party arrived in good time. Duncan Fraser was one, he attached himself to Ella Hallam. She could not fail to notice he was attracted. She liked him, his sterling worth appealed to her and Eve was always singing his praises.
Bernard Hallam was friendly with him. He was not at all displeased to notice Fraser and Ella were on excellent terms. He was partial to keen business men and such an one was Duncan Fraser.
There were three events before the Trent Grand Steeplechase, but the chief interest was centered in the big event, on which there was a lot of wagering.
Baron Childs was running Handy Man, a formidable steeplechaser who had missed the Grand National by an ace on two occasions. He was fully expected to make amends for two unlucky seconds at Aintree.
There was an interval of nearly an hour between the third event and the Steeplechase. The time was occupied in wagering and looking at the twenty-seven runners.
Bandmaster was favorite, the popularity of his owner had much to do with this. An official account of Alan's mission to Brussels had been made public, and he was the hero of the hour; much was given out but it was guessed more remained to be disclosed.
Apart from this, Bandmaster was regarded as a great horse. If half as good over a steeplechase course as on the flat he must possess a great chance. His speed was undeniable. If he proved a safe jumper nothing would be able to live with him on the flat at the finish. Fred Skane's opinion was known. The trainer had little fear of defeat. He said confidently that Bandmaster would carry the brown and blue to victory.
Eve Berkeley never looked better. Her cheeks glowed with health. She was happy—Alan was safe, what else mattered? She was radiant. Baron Childs did not conceal his admiration. She wore costly furs; they became her well. She walked proudly because of her hero, the man of the hour, the bravest of the brave.
There was only one thing lacking. If Alan could have ridden Bandmaster how glorious it would have been.
The party from The Forest caught her enthusiasm and exuberance of spirits. Their merry laughter rang clear and joyous.
Captain Morby was there, paying a flying visit from the front to see Bandmaster win. He had not met Alan since his return from his adventure.
It was half an hour before the race and a bustling scene took place as the twenty-seven horses were put to rights.
Riders hurried across the enclosure, stopping to speak to friends, colors just showing through the half-open coats, for the air was nipping. Most of them were gentlemen jockeys, five or six officers who had won their spurs over stiff courses and had capped this by brave actions at the front. Everybody recognized that racing, sport generally, had much to do with the wonderful heroism displayed in the war.
Will Kerridge was anxious. He hoped Bandmaster would win. He wanted the ride badly, but would have stood down gladly to let Alan Chesney have the mount. Fred Skane said nothing to him about Alan's intention to arrive home in time to have the ride on his horse. He was glad he had not mentioned it now; he thought Alan was detained, that he had not sufficiently recovered from his wounds to bear the journey.
A quarter of an hour more it was hopeless to expect him and yet even now Fred did not quite give up hope.
He looked anxiously about, raised his glasses and fixed them on the road from Trent Park house. Nobody was coming. After all, Kerridge must ride—and win. He had given particular instructions how Bandmaster was to be handled. The riding of the horse had been discussed at the stud groom's house on several occasions. Sam was very anxious his son should win.
While the bustle and excitement was at its height at Trent Park a powerful motor car was speeding along the high-road at top pace. The driver was experienced and working under pressure, he had been promised a liberal tip if he arrived in time.
Behind sat Alan, endeavoring to restrain his feelings and keep quiet. From time to time he looked at his watch and replaced it in his pocket with an impatient movement.
The car stopped with a jerk. The driver was out in a moment. Alan followed. What was wrong?
The tool box was relied upon. The man knew his work. In a quarter of an hour the car moved on, but precious time had been lost.
"We'll do it all right," said the driver.
Alan doubted, but held his peace. It would be a terrible disappointment to arrive too late.
He must keep as calm as possible, excitement was bad for him, his nerve had been severely tried.
The landscape became more familiar with each mile passed. He was lucky to be home again. He gave a few thoughts to his recent adventures and was thankful he had pulled through.
The Park appeared in the distance. A glance at the watch showed it would be "neck or nothing," he might just do it.
Something went wrong with the steering gear, the car swerved and the front wheels stuck in the ditch. The driver was shot out and Alan flung against the back of the front seat. The man was unhurt and on his feet in a few seconds.
Alan swore; he could not help it.
"Lost by a few seconds," he said.
"I'll have her out," said the driver, who was in the car. By much display of skill and force he backed it out, fixed the steering gear, and said:
"Get in, sir, we'll do it yet. Is that the course?" and he pointed to where the flags waved.
"That's it," said Alan excitedly.
"Is the going on the grass good?"
"Yes."
"Then I'll steer straight for it."
The car bounded over the turf with occasional jumps. Alan held on to the seat, no chance, the race was timed for three-thirty. The horses must be going out. He hoped they would be late. Probably there were many runners, a big field, and the weighing facilities improvised for the occasion would not conduce to rapidity.
Fred Skane took a final sweep over the Park through his glasses. He saw the car, guessed who it was and, calling to Will Kerridge not to go out on to the course for a minute, made a bolt to the entrance gate.
The car pulled up quickly. Alan sprang out.
"You, Fred, am I in time?" he said.
"Just follow me," replied Fred as he ran toward the weighing room.
"Get into the scales. Eleven stone," he yelled, then bolted to find the stewards.
There was a hurried consultation. Major Daven consulted for a few minutes, then went to the weighing room.
"God bless me—Chesney! This is a surprise," he gasped.
"Can I ride Bandmaster?" asked Alan breathlessly.
"Yes, of course; I'll tell 'em. They're not all out yet. God bless my soul, this is a surprise! How do you feel?" said the Major, giving out orders between gasps, sending attendants flying in all directions.
"No time to change; I'll have to ride in khaki," said Alan.
"And there's no better color," said the Major.
"How about the weight?" said the trainer, stumbling and gasping.
"All right; two pounds over weight," said the clerk of the scales.
"Declare it," said Fred.
"Two pounds over," shouted the Major; "up with it on the board, owner up, don't stand there gaping. Bandmaster's the horse—fly! God bless my soul, what a surprise it will be!"
Alan pitched his cap in a corner.
"You've spurs on, don't use them."
"All right," said Alan.
"And I say, mind the water jumps—they're stiff."
"All right," said Alan as he was rushing out, the trainer on his heels shouting hints and instructions.
"Something's causing delay," said the Baron, noticing three or four horses still in the paddock.
Eve looked.
"Bandmaster is still there," she said, "and Kerridge has dismounted."
"There's a regular bustle round the weighing room," said Harry Morby.
They saw attendants running in and out and Fred Skane hurriedly appearing, making for Bandmaster.
A buzz of excitement rose; inquiries were made; a feeling of suspense was in the air.
A man climbed up to the number board. Eve saw him.
"A rider changed at the last minute," she said.
Then she noticed Will Kerridge's name taken out and her heart almost stopped beating. She trembled, became pale with excitement.
"Good Lord, what's up?" exclaimed Mr. Hallam. "Shall I go and find out?"
"No occasion," said Harry excitedly. "Look!"
A khaki-clad figure, a soldier in officer's uniform, much worn and travel-stained, with no cap, came tearing out of the weighing room and across the paddock to where Bandmaster stood.
"By all that's wonderful, it's Alan!" exclaimed Duncan Fraser.
"Yes, yes!" said Eve, and felt on the verge of fainting. She could hardly believe her eyes. It was Alan sure enough, marvelous. How had he got there? She quivered with the tumult of her feelings. The surprise was too much for her, the exquisite joy of seeing him again overcame her.
Alan shook hands hurriedly with Will Kerridge.
"Sorry to take the mount from you, Will," he said with a smile.
"You're welcome, Captain; I'm right glad you came in time," was the reply.
Alan mounted and rode Bandmaster on to the course.
"Who is the rider in khaki?" asked a well-known man.
"Blest if I know. He's riding Bandmaster too." He turned to look at the board.
"Well, of all the wonderful things!" he exclaimed. "It's CaptainChesney, the owner; he must have just arrived from the front in time."