CHAPTER XIV
ATHOL TACKLES VON SECKER
Making a long detour Athol eventually rejoined the road leading to Weert, this time quite two miles from the frontier custom-house. By his watch, which fortunately had escaped the unwelcome attentions of his former captors, it was now half past three. Already the stars were beginning to pale before the first blush of dawn. Ahead he could discern the quaint gabled roofs of the little town where the spy Secker had taken up his temporary abode.
Crawling into a dry ditch, the now drowsy lad propped his back against the sloping side and dosed fitfully. Once he was awakened by the measured tread of armed men. It was now broad daylight. The soldiers were Dutch troops going to relieve the frontier guards.
Lying at full length in the ditch he was unnoticed by the soldiers. Discovery at that early stage of the proceedings, although his personal liberty was not likely to be interfered with except for a short duration of investigation, was most undesirable. He had before him a fixed purpose, far more important to the welfare of his country than was his own freedom.
"Enough sleep for the present," he exclaimed. "Why, it's close on six o'clock, and, by Jove, I do feel peckish! Wonder what friend Stein has in his voluminous pockets."
A search provided nothing in the victualling department. There were a bundle of papers, including a Dutch passport and a permit for Jan van Wyck to cross the frontier; a purse containing fifteen gulden, some German marks and a few copper and iron coins—the latter having been issued in Germany to replace the withdrawn copper currency; and, what was particularly handy, a large scale map of the district.
Practically unnoticed by the throng of country-folk, for it happened to be market day, Athol entered the town. A cup of coffee and two hot rolls, purchased from a very deaf old Dutchwoman at a stall, served to stave off the pangs of hunger, and the lad felt fit for the furtherance of his daring venture.
It was as yet too early to pay a call at the Golden Key. On the other hand it was not advisable to defer the visit until the hour mentioned by Herr Stein, for by that time the spy might have been warned of the fate that had overtaken his intermediary. Waiting, Athol found, was the most tedious part of the whole business. Thanks to his disguise he attracted hardly any attention in the crowded market-place; nor did his ignorance of the Dutch language cause him any inconvenience, for the town was full of Germans, intent upon buying market produce at fabulously high prices.
Paper money, the lad noticed, passed freely, although at a low rate of exchange. The astute Dutchmen had learnt to profit by the fall of the mark, receiving payment in paper money and afterwards returning the notes to Germany, where they were, by Imperial decree, to be accepted at their face value. Judging by the conversation of the German customers, whose tongues wagged with a freedom unknown across the frontier, the civilian element was chafing under the shortage of food and abnormal prices, and one and all seemed sick of the war, which showed no signs of ending, and certainly not with the dazzling success which the Kaiser had promised.
Half-past seven was chiming as Athol ascended the flight of stone steps leading to the door of the Golden Key. In answer to his knock a short and very fat elderly woman appeared, and curtly demanded the lad's business. Although the question was put in Dutch Athol guessed its purport, and, replying in German, asked if Mynheer Jan van Wyck lodged there?
"Didn't you call upon him last night?" demanded the Dutchwoman sharply.
Athol was temporarily taken aback. He was priding himself upon his diplomacy in asking for the spy under his Dutch nom-de-guerre, when the woman's question "shook the wind out of his sails."
Producing a couple of gulden Athol slipped the coins into the woman's hand, and solemnly winked his left eye. The result surpassed his wildest expectations, for standing aside, the vrouw motioned for him to enter.
"Second door to the right on the first floor," she announced as she pocketed the money, and without paying further attention to Jan van Wyck's visitor she disappeared towards the back of the house.
Ascending the worn oak stairs Athol, making certain that his revolver was ready to hand, tapped very softly upon the door. Receiving no answer he rapped again. Then he heard a key turn in the lock and the door was opened for a space of about four inches.
The spy had only just got out of bed. He looked but half awake. That was, possibly, why he failed to distinguish between the genuine Herr Stein and his impersonator, the appropriated clothes being a sufficient disguise.
"Come in," he growled. "You are much too early. Why didn't you give the sign, or did you think I would not open if you did?"
Still grumbling, and with his face averted, von Secker shuffled across the room to a table on which were spread several sheets of drawing paper and tracing cloth.
"You are still too early," he continued. "I suppose you are here again concerning the plans?"
"I am, Karl von Secker," said Athol sternly, at the same time covering the spy with his revolver.
The effect of the words, spoken in English, was electrical. In an instant the German's lassitude dropped from him like a shedded garment. Seizing a lead paper-weight from the table he poised it to hurl at the lad's head.
Athol hesitated. Not that he was lost, but because he was confronted with a tricky problem. Setting aside the compunction he felt at shooting down a man, even though he were a dangerous spy, he realised that the house would be alarmed at the report of the weapon. He was out to regain possession of the battleplane's plans, not to get himself arrested by the Dutch authorities on a charge of murder.
It was as if von Secker read his thoughts, for the spy, scowling and grinding his teeth, made no further attempt to hurl the lump of metal. He, too, did not wish to be embroiled with the officials of a neutral government, although here was a good chance of making his escape across the frontier.
Athol lowered his revolver. Von Secker replaced the paper weight, although he still kept his fingers in contact with it.
"You have come on a fool's errand, young man," snarled the spy.
Athol, regretting that he had not discarded his clumsy wooden shoes, looked his antagonist straight in the face.
"We shall see," he retorted, then dropping his revolver on the floor, he leapt upon the Hun.
Too late von Secker grasped the paper weight. The next instant both antagonists were locked in mortal combat, Athol endeavouring to pin his opponent's arms to his sides, while von Secker did his level best to free his hands and employ the truly Hunnish trick of twisting his fingers in the other's hair and clawing at his eyes with his thumbs.
As if by tacit consent they struggled in comparative silence, rolling over and over on the massive oaken floor. It was a test of British brawn and endurance against German trickery and bodily weight, Athol striving to deal the spy a stunning blow with his fist.
Once von Secker all but succeeded in blinding his antagonist. His podgy fingers were entwined in the British lad's short hair, and his long thumb nails were scratching their way over Athol's forehead when the young subaltern butted violently. At the loss of a considerable amount of hair Athol succeeded in dealing the German a terrific blow at the chin with the top of his head.
Uttering a subdued yell of pain the spy relaxed his grip, then clutched blindly at the lad's throat. Over and over they rolled again, until in the course of the deadly struggle a charcoal stove was overturned.
The glowing embers spreading across the floor emitted suffocating fumes in the already ill-ventilated room, until it became evident that the result of the combat would depend upon which of the twain could longest withstand the asphyxiating smoke.
Momentarily labouring under increasing shortness of breath, Athol perceived that the effects of the fumes upon the Hun were telling far more than they did upon him. The German's furious efforts showed signs of slackening. His yellow features grew livid. Great beads of perspiration oozed from his receding forehead.
Wrenching himself clear Athol regained his feet.
"Do you give in?" he demanded.
Von Secker's reply was to draw up one leg and lash out as hard as he could. Although barefooted he could kick with the force of an experienced Continental boxer. Struck heavily in the side Athol reeled half-way across the room, while his antagonist, quick to reap the advantage, staggered to his feet. His strength was not equal to his will power. His knees gave way under him as he lurched towards the lad.
Well-nigh maddened with the pain, the English lad saw an opening. Breaking through the German's guard he planted his left with terrific violence on the point of the Hun's chin. The fight was over.
Far from showing elation over his victory Athol locked the door, threw open the casement and sat down in a chair. The fact that none of the rest of the household had appeared upon the scene puzzled him. Perhaps, he argued, they were accustomed to brawls.
Recovering his breath he set to work to stamp out the still smoking charcoal. This done he dragged the unconscious von Secker on to the bed and covered him with the clothes. Only a close examination would reveal the fact that he was not asleep.
The plans he folded into a small compass, applying pressure to make them lie flat, and stowed them away under his uniform. The rest of the documents, including the spy's code and maps he thrust into the stove and set fire to them. Without the slightest compunction he examined the contents of von Secker's pockets, taking his money, hotel coupons, a ticket on the Dutch State railways and a return between the Hook of Holland and Harwich.
Unlocking the door the lad listened. Everything seemed normal. Somewhere from a remote part of the house came the sounds of pots and kettles being vigorously scoured.
Passing out and locking the door on the senseless spy, the lad crept downstairs as silently as his wooden shoes would permit. The outer door was now ajar. Unseen he gained the open street, which fortunately was in an unfrequented quarter. As he did so he heard the old Dutch woman who kept the Golden Key shouting a farewell. In spite of his precautions she had heard his footsteps.
"The worst of doing things by stealth," thought Athol. "She will be suspicious." "What time does the public coach leave for the frontier?" he asked, bestowing another tip. It was, he reminded himself, some of von Secker's money.
"At half-past eight, from the Market Hall." she replied.
Athol set off in the opposite direction to the one he intended taking. It heightened the deception that he was making for the frontier. Not until he had mingled with the throng in the market square did he set of by a circuitous route, striking the Eindhoven road.
At that town, he found out by consulting the map, he could take train to Bois-le-Duc, and thence through Utrecht to the Hook.
"It won't be my fault if I am not home again within thirty-six hours," he soliloquised. "So here goes. I wonder what von Secker will say when he wakes up?"