CHAPTER VI
THE INTERRUPTED VIGIL
"What's wrong?" enquired both lads anxiously, for the worried expression on the usually calm features of the inventor told its own tale.
In his agitation Blake failed to make reply. He dashed into the shed, followed by his two assistants. Everywhere there were signs of disorder as if some intruder had hastily overhauled the secrets of the jealously guarded spot. The high tension wire that had previously baulked a nefarious attempt had been severed by means of a pair of insulated wire-cutters. The lens of the tell-tale camera had been smashed and the dark slide removed and exposed to the light.
A safe, cunningly built into a concrete pier of the shed, had been forced open and its contents removed.
"The spy has secured the plans; that's pretty evident," he declared. "We can do no good here at present. What I want to find out is how the fellow forced his way into the grounds."
Accompanied by Athol and Dick, the inventor left the shed and hurried across the snow-covered ground. Already the footprints of the intruder had been obliterated by the falling flakes. He could not have chosen a better time for his successful attempt.
Along the path through the shrubbery the crew of the battleplane hurried. At the inner gate the first sight that met their eyes was the body of one of the bull-terriers half buried in the snow. The other animal was discovered dead in the bushes, whither it had crawled before expiring. Both animals had been poisoned.
In the little lodge was the unconscious form of the aged porter. Evidently he had put up a stiff fight, for there was blood upon the floor, and a revolver with two chambers discharged was still grasped in his right hand.
Blake bent over his devoted servant.
"He's alive," he announced. "I can find no trace of an injury. He must have been tackled by two men. He's been chloroformed."
The inventor's first task was to restore the unconscious man. His anxiety on the porter's behalf seemed to banish all other thoughts from his mind. The loss of the almost invaluable plans were as naught compared with the state of his faithful retainer.
"Shall I go for a doctor?" asked Athol.
Blake shook his head.
"I'm used to a land where doctors are few and far between," he replied. "That makes every man there more or less of a medico. You might start that fire again, Athol, and get a kettle on."
Having waited until the patient had recovered consciousness, Desmond Blake and Dick left the lodge, Athol having volunteered to remain with the victim of the outrage.
Letting himself in by means of a sidedoor the inventor soon found that the house had not been an object of the spies' investigations. The old butler was still asleep, ignorant of the attempt upon his brother the porter.
"This little business has upset my plans, Luck," remarked Blake. "Or, rather, it will force my hand. It's no use trying to track the thieves. For one thing we have no clues; for another we simply haven't the time to waste. In the likely event of those plans reaching Germany, another month will result in the appearance of hostile battleplanes built to my specifications. So our task is to convince the War Office of the outstanding nature of my invention, and get the Royal Aircraft Factory people to set to work as hard as they can."
"You will have to make another set of working plans, I suppose?" remarked Dick.
"No, fortunately. As it happens I have both duplicate and triplicate tracings deposited at a London bank. However, that is not our immediate concern. What I propose doing is this. I'll motor into Church Stretton this morning and take old Harvey to the cottage hospital. Athol and you might make up arrears of sleep. This afternoon we'll tackle that little job you mentioned in connection with the dual drive. There are also a few adjustments necessary, which I noticed during our trial trip—not important, but certainly desirable. While I am in Church Stretton I'll engage a man and his wife as caretakers of the house while we're away. One never knows when we may be back. To-morrow at nine o'clock I intend starting on our flight to London."
Desmond Blake's plans worked smoothly. During the afternoon the suggested alterations to the driving transmission gear were satisfactorily carried out, and everything made ready for the momentous flight.
"I'm sending something of the nature of an ultimatum to the War Office," he remarked during the course of the evening. "You see we have to announce our arrival, otherwise the anti-aircraft guns might favour us with their unwelcome attentions. On the other hand it's worse than useless asking formal permission from the authorities to fly over the Metropolis. The application would drift to and fro between a dozen or more departments. Every little tinpot in office would have some remarks to make—I know them of old. The chances are that I would get an evasive reply in about a fortnight. Good heavens! If we had an Admiralty and a War Office purged of the somnolent civil element the war would be over by this time. So I've just cut in with a bald announcement. I've left a telegram to be dispatched at nine to-morrow—the time we start—stating that the Desmond Blake battleplane will manoeuvre over the Horse Guards Parade at 10 a.m. But we'll turn in now. It's getting late, and we've a full programme in front of us tomorrow."
"Do you mind if we sleep on board the battleplane?" asked Athol.
"Mind? No, of course not. But what's the object?"
"We've been talking it over," said Athol. "We thought that perhaps those spy Johnnies might pay us another visit."
"Hardly likely," replied Blake grimly. "They've collared the plans, and those will keep them quiet."
"I don't know so much about that," rejoined Dick. "They might think that that is our opinion, and consider it a favourable chance of returning and doing damage to the battleplane. That would give them a tremendous start."
"Perhaps you're right," declared the inventor. "Now I come to think of it there is a possibility that the rascals will attempt to culminate their efforts. We'll all sleep on board, and take turns at keeping watch. I haven't bothered to fix up that high tension wire again. 'Fraid they know too much. We'll arm ourselves and be ready to give them a warm reception."
"By the by," remarked Dick, "whilst we were repairing the side-car wheel I noticed a 'buzzer' in the workshop."
"Yes," replied Blake. "I bought it to practise Morse signalling. Found myself awfully testy, by the by. But why do you ask?"
"We could fix it up on board, muffle the sound and connect the battery with a push on the door of the shed," said Dick. "We could arrange it that as soon as the door opens wide enough to admit a man a circuit would be complete."
"Might try it," admitted Blake. "But you must remember these fellows are prepared for all sorts of dodges. Well, we'll adjourn at five minutes' intervals. The great thing is to get on board without being seen, for ten to one if these rascals intend paying us another visit they will be keeping a sharp look-out on the house."
With a loaded revolver reposing in the side pocket of his coat, Athol was the first to make for the shed where the battleplane was housed. Slipping quietly through an open window in the rear of the house he crept stealthily through the snow, keeping well under the cover of the pinetrees. As an additional precaution he walked backwards, so that should the spies subsequently examine the ground they would find that the footprints led away from the shed.
It seemed a long five minutes waiting for Dick to rejoin him. The eerie shape of the battleplane, looming faintly through the darkness, and the possibility that even now some miscreant might be hidden in the hangar, gave the lad an unpleasant sensation that he had not experienced since his first night on sentry in the first-line trenches of Flanders.
At length Dick arrived. Not a word was spoken. They stood motionless until Blake joined them. Still in silence they ascended the aluminium ladder and gained the interior of the fuselage. Already it had been arranged that Athol was to have the first watch—from nine to midnight. Blake had insisted upon keeping the next three hours. He knew what the mental strain of that watch meant, when a man's diurnal vitality is supposed to reach its lowest ebb. Out of consideration for his young and efficient helpers he knew that by taking the middle watch each lad would have six hours' continuous rest, unless something unforeseen occurred.
Lying at full length upon the floor of the fuselage Athol could command a considerable extent of the shed, for the aperture by which the crew had gained the interior of the battleplane had purposely been left wide open. The double doors of the building had been locked and the key removed, while Dick's contrivance had been fixed up, the "buzzer" lying within a foot of the watcher's ear.
The lad had no idea of the time. Already it seemed as though he had been for hours at his post. The silence, broken only by the moan of the wind in the pines, and the occasional thud of a heap of accumulated snow from the roof of the hangar, was oppressive.
"What's that, I wonder?" thought the lad as, after a seemingly interminable lapse of time, a faint hissing, bubbling noise caught his ear. For some seconds he listened intently. Then came the unmistakable odour of the fumes of a powerful acid, mingled with the spluttering of the drifting flakes as they came in contact with the hot metal.
The miscreant, whoever he might be, had fought shy of the task of picking the lock, and was employing either sulphuric or nitric acid.
Athol knelt up, gripping the coaming of the aperture and straining his ears. Then, just as he was about to steal softly to his companions, he felt a hand laid lightly upon his shoulder.
Desmond Blake had also detected the signs of the miscreant's attempt.
Without trusting himself even to whisper, Blake began to apply a series of light touches to his assistant's arm. Athol, quick to grasp the significance, understood. The inventor was employing the Morse system of communication.
"No action till I give the word," he tapped out. "Wake Dick."
Although his chum was sound asleep Athol succeeded in rousing him in silence, and the three airmen gathered round the aperture of the fuselage, awaiting developments.
Quite half an hour passed; then came the rending of the chemically-treated corrugated metal sheeting. A muffled exclamation of pain followed by a guttural oath plainly indicated that the fellow had burnt himself with the powerful corrosive.
Crawling through the opening the intruder hung a great coat over the hole, to trap any rays of light from passing without, and switched on an electric torch. For some seconds he stood gazing at the mechanical marvel he meant to destroy. His scientific curiosity made him temporarily set aside his purpose, for still holding the torch he began to swing himself up the girder-ladder communicating with the interior of the apparently untenanted battleplane.
The reflected glare of the upturned torch made it easy for the lads to follow the inventor's unspoken directions. Cautiously they backed until they had placed the motor space between them and the aperture towards which the fellow was climbing.
The man seemed in no hurry, for some minutes elapsed before his head and shoulders appeared in view. Then came another pause as, sitting on the coaming with his feet resting on the topmost rung of the ladder, he flashed his light around the interior of the mechanical bird.
The miscreant had little of the accepted appearance of a spy. He was slight of build, although his head seemed out of all proportion to his body. His features were round and florid, his eyes—as far as the glare of the torch permitted them to be seen—large and exhibiting a docile expression like that of a well-cared-for household cat. Encountered under ordinary circumstances one would without hesitation set him down as an easy-going, babyish man devoid both of mental and bodily power.
Judging him from a physical point of view Athol formed a rapid conclusion that either he or Dick could tackle him with one hand.
Still Blake gave no sign. He was too old a campaigner to throw away his advantage by premature action. He resolved to wait until the fellow had moved sufficiently far from the aperture to be unable to make a quick dive for safety.
Presently the German crept forward, still flashing his torch. Evidently there was something that attracted his attention to a greater: extent than did the motors and wing-actuating mechanism.
"Hands up!" exclaimed Desmond Blake sternly, at the same time flooding the interior of the fuselage with the dazzling rays of his electric lamp.
"Sorry—my mistake," replied the fellow coolly. "Mistook this place for a barn, 'pon my word, I did. Beastly awkward mistake, don't you know. Then, seeing what I took to be a novel sort of agricultural implement I was curious——"
"Are you putting your hands up?" enquired the inventor briskly.
A pistol shot rang out. The spy, grasping the still-smoking weapon, threw himself flat upon the floor to await the result of his shot. Dazzled by the glare he had been unable to see his challenger; nor was he cognisant of the fact that the two lads were present. The result of previous investigations led him to believe that the inventor was the only able-bodied man about the place, and, now that the dogs had been disposed of, the odds were level.
Greatly to the consternation of Athol and his chum, Blake began to emit blood-curdling, hollow groans. They were on the point of replying to the rascal's shot when Blake signed to them to keep under cover, punctuating his groans by a series of winks that showed plainly that there was plenty of "kick" left in him yet.
The spy showed no immediate haste to follow up what he considered to be first blood. The powerful rays of the lamp irritated him. Until the brilliant light was put out movements would be too risky. He looked about for something bullet-proof and portable that might serve as a mantlet to cover his progress towards the lamp.
Close at hand was a small teak box containing sand. Blake had placed it on board in case of fire. It was certainly proof against a revolver bullet—perhaps even sufficient to stop a rifle-bullet.
Stretching out his arm the spy grasped the edge of the box and began to draw it towards him. The act was his undoing, for a keen knife whistled through the air with unerring aim, and the next instant the German's left hand was transfixed and securely pinned to the hard teak.
"Drop that pistol and put your right hand up," ordered Blake, when the fellow's cries for mercy had subsided sufficiently for the inventor to make himself heard.
The German obeyed. The excruciating pain had overcome all his cunning and spirit of resistance.
"That's reasonable," declared Blake, possessing himself of the surrendered weapon. "Now, lads, lash his ankles. Hang it all! What possessed the idiot to start blazing away? Goodness only knows what damage he's done to the intricate mechanism. And he expected I'd begin to pump nickel through my invention in the hope of plugging him."
"I thought you were hit," remarked Athol.
"Hit? No fear," replied the inventor. "I wanted that fellow to think he had given me a souvenir. It was a jolly good thing I learnt that South American trick of throwing a knife. Didn't think much of it at the time, but, by Jove! it served its purpose."
Having removed the knife and dressed the German's hand, the airmen moved their prisoner aft, securing him to a ring-bolt in the floor. Then bidding Dick mount guard over the captive, Blake, accompanied by Athol, searched the shed and its immediate surroundings.
"There is only one of them this time," declared Blake. "Here are his footprints. This looks cheerful, too."
He stooped and picked up a couple of detonators and a coil of fuse. The spy had set these on the ground at the foot of the tree, apparently with the intention of fixing them up when he had satisfied his curiosity concerning the battleplane.
"It's most fortunate that you fellows suggested spending the night on board," declared Blake fervently. "The battleplane would have been blown sky high before morning if I hadn't listened to your advice. Now I think I'll subject our Hun to a little cross-examination."