CHAPTER XIII
THE FRONTIER
Night had fallen when Athol emerged from the dense wood. Overhead the stars were shining brightly, although occasionally obscured by drifts of pungent smoke from the still burning Zeppelin sheds. In front lay an expanse of open fields, dotted here and there by isolated farm buildings, while in the distance, and thrown into strong relief by the flames, were the spires and roofs of a fairly large town.
"The Dutch frontier: that's my objective," decided Athol. "It's not more than ten miles away. North-west is the bearing, and I have about seven hours of darkness before me. None too much time, if I have to go cautiously."
Fixing his direction by means of the North Star the lad set out, treading softly and straining his ears to catch the faintest suspicious sound. As he proceeded other problems confronted him. He knew from report that the frontier was guarded and that a barbed wire fence formed a formidable barrier. More, the fence had a live wire of high voltage running through it, contact with which meant death to the human being or animal that incautiously attempted to pass from one frontier to another.
Also, in the event of success in the matter of gaining Dutch territory there was the almost certainty of being interned unless he could discard his uniform and procure civilian clothes. Much, then, had to be done before dawn.
Although by order of the German authorities the Belgians in the occupied territory were obliged to be within doors at sunset, the roads were far from being unfrequented. Motor-cars, bearing excited and furious German staff officers, rushed to and fro, for the destruction of the Zeppelin sheds was a severe blow to the Teutonic organisation. There was no rest that night for the Huns at Limburg.
It was unsafe for Athol to keep to the highway. For hours he pressed on, stopping frequently to take shelter while parties of Germans hurried along the tree-lined roads. It was not half so dark as the lad would have liked, and now that his eyes were accustomed to the starlit night he found he could see with tolerable clearness for a distance of several hundred yards. Conversely it was equally possible for a German sentry to spot him from a like distance. Vainly he hoped that it would rain, or that heavy clouds would obscure the star-spangled sky.
He was becoming very hungry. His latest meal was but a reminiscence. Water, of which he found plenty, assuaged his thirst, but it was a sorry substitute for the wholesome fare to which he was accustomed.
Three times he had to make a detour to avoid various compact hamlets. Once a dog began barking, rousing all the other canines in the neighbourhood, with the result that the lad had to retrace his steps, throw himself down and lie perfectly still until the clamour had subsided—a loss of half an hour's precious time.
"I can't be so very far off the frontier now," thought Athol. "Now comes the crucial test."
He found himself on the point of crossing a fairly broad highway, unfenced but lined with gaunt trees. Almost before he was aware of the fact he nearly collided with two German officers.
Fortunately for Athol their backs were turned to him. They were standing on the edge of the road close to a large tree that had effectually prevented the lad from noticing their presence. They were muffled in long cloaks through which the hilts of their swords protruded. Their spurs shone dully in the starlight as they impatiently shuffled their feet. In silence they stood, their gaze fixed intently down the highway.
With his heart in his mouth Athol backed with the utmost caution. As he did so his foot broke a dry twig. He dropped lying face downwards in the dewy grass, not daring to stir hand or foot until the Huns moved away. They were officers, he knew, and not sentries. Consequently there was no reason why they should stop there indefinitely. At the same time Athol felt curious to know why a couple of cloaked cavalry officers should be standing mutely on the highway at the hour of midnight.
Athol's fingers closed on the butt of his Webley. For the first time he realised the companionship of his Service revolver. Without it his whole attention would have been getting away unperceived; thanks to the knowledge that he had a reliable weapon at his command he could run the risk with comparative equanimity of tackling the pair of Huns. But only should occasion arise. For the present he was content to keep watch upon the mysterious inaction of the silent twain.
"Wish they'd get a move on," muttered Athol, after keeping in a prone position for nearly twenty minutes. The night was bitterly cold. His limbs were beginning to feel stiff and cramped in contact with the damp ground.
A sharp tug at his leather leggings almost caused the lad to utter an exclamation of alarm. For the minute he imagined that he was again in the grip of the Hun, until, turning his head, he saw a huge rat scampering off. The officers heard the sound, too, for they both looked intently in the direction of the startled rodent. Then one moved a few paces towards the centre of the road.
"They are coming, von Bohmer," he remarked.
"And about time," grumbled the other. "And, even now, we do not know whether von Secker will venture. If ever a man blunders through excessive caution it is friend Karl."
Von Secker—Karl. The names seemed familiar to the listening British subaltern. Yes, by Jove he had it: Karl von Secker, the spy and employer of the luckless Sigismund Selighoffer, and the fellow who had made off with Desmond Blake's plans of the secret battleplane.
Athol, with his ear almost in contact with the ground, could now distinctly hear the rumble of cart wheels and the sharp clatter of a horse's hoofs. A little later the vehicle pulled up, and a man dressed as a Dutch peasant threw the reins across the animal's neck and got down.
"What, alone, Herr Stein!" exclaimed von Bohmer. "Von Secker, then, has failed us. Has he sent any papers?"
"He says it is not safe to leave Dutch territory," replied the new-comer, "or, rather it is unsafe to enter it again from this side He is nervous—just imagine our von Secker being nervous."
The man addressed as Stein laughed uproariously. It was obvious that he was a German officer in disguise, otherwise he would not have dared to express his mirth in the presence of the haughty von Bohmer and his companion.
"But the documents, man!" exclaimed the latter impatiently.
"He says they are too bulky to send without risk of detection by the customs at the frontier. He assured me that the search is strict on the part of the Dutchmen; far more so than by the Englanders at Harwich."
"Then in Thor's name, how are we to get them?" asked von Bohmer. "Here they are, within five miles of German territory, and von Secker is frightened."
"I think that it is a question of payment," suggested Herr Stein. "However, the plans are at his lodgings at the Sign of the Golden Key in Weert. He says that early to-morrow morning he will photograph them, so that should they be seized we will still have something to work upon. And, I believe in consideration of a sum of gold in advance, he will then hand the plans over to me."
"Where can we get gold at this hour?" grumbled von Bohmer's companion. "I can understand von Secker's anxiety to secure photographs of the plans, since he is to be paid by actual results. It would be well to call upon him to-morrow, and let him know distinctly that it is the will of the General Staff that the plans should be delivered to them forthwith. Is not that so, von Bohmer?"
The officer addressed grunted in assent.
"We must be off," he said. "To-morrow, Herr Stein, we hope to offer you hospitality at the mess."
The officers turned and walked rapidly down the road in the direction of Hasselt, but before they had gone very far two orderlies leading their horses slipped from under the cover of a tree. Although they were less than a hundred yards from the spot where Athol lay, neither he nor they had the faintest suspicion of their respective presence.
As for the disguised German von Stein, he clambered into the cart, and, setting the horse at a leisurely pace, drove off in the direction of Weert, a town lying a few miles within the Dutch frontier.
Athol waited until von Bohmer and his companion had disappeared, then, keeping close to the line of trees, broke into a steady run, his boots making hardly any noise on the soft ground by the side of the pavé. It was not long before he came in sight of the lumbering vehicle, which, although proceeding slowly, made a loud clatter as the ironshod wheels rolled over the rough stones.
Unheard the lad overtook the cart and clambered softly on the tail-board. Stein was sitting on a board resting on the side of the cart, with his head on his hands and his elbows supported by his knees. In this hunched-up position he looked half asleep, while the horse, left to its own devices, walked stolidly along the centre of the highway.
Presently the road ascended a slight rise, which for this part of the country might be considered as a hill. Athol could discern the formidable line of barbed wire marking, the frontier boundary. Apparently there were no troops guarding this particular section, Already the majority of the Landsturm soldiers had been withdrawn from the policing of the frontier and had been sent to fill up appalling gaps in the German first-line trenches.
"Sorry, my man," soliloquised the lad, "but needs must."
He brought the butt end of his revolver smartly down upon Herr Stein's head. Without a sound the Hun dropped senseless to the floor of the cart.
Leaping to the ground Athol stopped the horse. Then he listened intently. Everything seemed quiet, although he knew it was quite possible that a sentry, his suspicions aroused by the stopping of the rattling vehicle, might appear upon the scene.
Still keeping his ears and eyes keenly on the alert, Athol quickly stripped the unconscious German of his coat, blouse, trousers and wooden shoes, slipping the garments over his uniform. His boots he was obliged to discard in favour of the ungainly "klompen."
His next step was to release the horse from the shafts and to set the animal adrift, after having removed the bit. This done Athol pushed the cart to the edge of the road and on the grass. From this point the ground shelved with comparative steepness to the barbed wire fencing.
"Wonder if it's heavy enough for the job?" thought the lad.
He caught sight of a pile of large stones, the remains of a demolished building. Working desperately he quickly transferred a number of stones to the floor of the cart. Then he paused for a well-earned breather.
Giving a final glance at the luckless Herr Stein, who was now breathing stertorously, Athol lifted the shafts and backed the cart down the incline. Gathering way the now heavily laden vehicle dashed towards the fence. Not until the back of the cart was within a yard of the barrier did Athol relinquish his grasp of the shafts.
Charging the wire fence fairly and squarely the novel battering ram bore all before it, sweeping an expanse of nearly ten yards of obstruction from its supports. The live wire, short-circuiting and emitting a series of vivid blue sparks, was writhing like a snake.
Using the wreckage of the overturned cart as a bridge Athol crossed the once formidable barrier and gained Dutch territory.
"So well, so good," he exclaimed thankfully. Then seized with an inspiration, he added, "And why shouldn't I pay von Secker a visit at the Sign of the Golden Key?"