A MAN-HUNT
Some time previously a certain projectile had left a certain gun situated a certain distance to the rear of the German trenches, and this shell, no doubt owing to the correct calculations of a certain artillery officer, had exploded so near the Château de Morancourt as to destroy the upper portion of the tower. Perhaps it was this very same shell which had caused the French to decide that the château could no longer be used as an observation post.
"Let Americans not rush in where French officers fear to tread!" chuckled the aviator's son, as they entered the doorway leading to the tower.
Yet, notwithstanding his levity, the boy felt a certain sense of awe—of solemnity. There they were, in a place which only recently the Germans had made a target for their shells, and he fully realized that should suspicion be aroused, even in the slightest degree, it would mean another bombardment.
Had the builders of the ancient tower designed it for the purpose of giving the beholder a vivid impression of a prison they had succeeded well. The solid masonry and the long, narrow windows, heavily barred, through which the light feebly sought admittance, were all calculated to produce that effect.
As a matter of precaution, Don shut off the light, then headed the advance up the circular flight of stone steps.
"Remember—eternal vigilance is the price of life," exclaimed Dunstan.
"Oh, cut out such theatrical stuff," broke in Chase, impatiently.
The ambulanciers ascended higher and higher until they reached the summit, which was broken and jagged.
"Thus far shalt thou go, and no further," chanted Chase, in sepulchral tones.
With the utmost caution, Don Hale peered over the wall.
How high up it seemed!—higher by far than he had ever imagined. From his lofty position he could look over the roof of the main building and wings and see the moonlight gleaming here and there. Then his eyes took in a portion of the rear walls, deep in shadow, their base and the porte-cochère, so far below, losing themselves in the darkness.
"Magnificent!" he exclaimed.
The far-reaching view embraced the ranges of rolling hills to the east. Between the Red Cross men and that wide sweep of ridges, patched with soft, indefinite masses of lights and shadows, wherein charm and mystery rested in equal degrees, lay that stretch of territory known as "No Man's Land"—the most dangerous spot on the globe. On one hand it was bounded by the French trenches; on the other by the German.
"And all along its tortuous course of hundreds of miles through Belgium and France there is but ruin and desolation!" exclaimed Dunstan Farrington, in thoughtful tones. "Farms, villages, towns and forests have paid the penalty for being in its sinister path. Sometimes it sweeps forward, then moves back again, as surprise assaults and counter-attacks are made by one side or the other. Every day, perhaps every hour, its position is responsible for some new horror and tragedy."
"Yes," said Don, slowly.
"Then, just think of all the devices for causing destruction and sudden death which lie concealed everywhere on its narrow width," put in Chase. His morose manner returned in full force. "Nothing that the ingenuity of man can conceive of has been neglected."
"But even that isn't enough to prevent patrols of French and German infantrymen from crawling beyond their own wire entanglements during the night on reconnoitering expeditions," interjected Don. "Whew!" he shivered slightly. "What courage—what sang-froid it must require!"
"Excuse me from trying it," said Chase.
The guns had never ceased rumbling, and occasionally the sharp cracking of rifles or the staccato reports of machine guns, astonishingly clear, jarred over the air.
"Dunstan—your field-glass, if you please!"
It was the aviator's son who spoke.
Silently Dunstan drew the instrument from its case and passed it to his companion.
The boy immediately raised the glass to his eyes and gave a little gasp of pleasure.
Beyond the park, in fact, far beyond the point where its limitations were marked by a row of tall poplars, which, like grim and forbidding sentinels stood by the boundary walls, he could see a field of wheat, waving and rippling in the breeze.
Why did a sort of thrill run through him?
Because the aviator's son felt reasonably sure that he looked upon a portion of that famous area between the lines. The proof was this: On the slopes of the hill which hemmed it in the powerful glass brought into view a faint, irregular row of whitish objects, a wall of sand-bags crowning the German trenches.
In rapt silence, Don gazed upon the distant landscape. How strangely serene and beautiful it appeared in the silvery light of the moon! And just as he was about to utter some of the thoughts which the poetic scene evoked in his mind, he gave a slight start, lowered the glass and faced Dunstan Farrington.
"What was that?" Don exclaimed.
"What was what?" demanded the other.
"Didn't you hear a noise?"
"No."
"Where?" asked Chase, interestedly.
"Down below—in the château itself."
"In the château itself!" repeated Manning. A suspicious note crept into his voice. "You're joking, son!"
"No sir, I'm not," asserted Don, emphatically. "It was very faint, but distinct, and sounded exactly like something falling."
"It's a case of nerves," declared Chase, a little disagreeably. "Forget it."
Don Hale, however, couldn't be convinced that he was mistaken, though perceiving how skeptical the others were he wisely made no attempt to argue about the matter.
Chase took an observation through the field-glass, so did Dunstan, and each was as interested as Don Hale in seeing "No Man's Land" seemingly brought so close to their eyes.
"Now I'm through with the Château de Morancourt," declared Chase, finally. "What's the use of tempting fate any longer? There wouldn't be very much glory in letting a marmite get us while we're engaged in sightseeing, eh?"
"I've decided objections to it," chuckled Don.
"There has been a wonderful change in the splendor of warfare," said Dunstan, who appeared not to have heard these observations. "No longer the dashing cavalry charges led by officers with waving swords; no longer troops, victorious and triumphant, surging in irresistible masses across the smoke-filled battle-field in hot pursuit of their routed enemy, but foes invisible to one another plugging away, using scientific calculations to attain their ends!"
"But the picturesque is now more extraordinary than ever, mon ami," put in Chase. "Think of the firework displays! See!—there is a trifling manifestation of their possibilities before us!"
A red signal rocket had suddenly shot up, illuminating the surroundings with a strange, lurid glow. Then a white and a blue flare followed it into the sky.
"You are quite right, Chase," assented the art student. "Ah, how that transforms the appearance of the landscape! Now it suggests a wonderfully imaginative picture. Hello!—going?"
Chase was already on the way. His two companions followed him, and as the three descended the stone steps every sound of voice or movement was weirdly increased in volume by the confining walls.
Don Hale's thoughts were still on the noise which had reached his ears. It vaguely conveyed to his mind an impression that others besides themselves were in the ancient château—an unpleasant reflection, conjuring up visions of unseen eyes watching them from the gloomy shadows.
By this time the somberness and depressing air which everywhere lurked within the walls of the Château de Morancourt had affected all three alike—each was longing to get out in the open air.
Therefore, after stepping from the tower, the Red Cross men made only a brief inspection of the rooms on the upper floor, and these they found comported well with the general elegance of the rest of the structure.
At length the three started down the grand stairway, with Don Hale's flash-light guiding the way. Reaching the foot they crossed the hall and pushed aside the heavy curtains hanging at the entrance to the next apartment.
And at the very instant Don Hale passed the portal he gave utterance to a loud exclamation of surprise.
"Look, look!" he cried.
The others at once grasped the significance of his words. The rays of light were streaming over the chair with which Chase had collided, but the piece of furniture was not in the place they had seen it last.
"Great Julius Cæsar!" blurted out Chase.
"Strange—strange!" murmured Dunstan.
"Now maybe you won't think I was right!" exclaimed the aviator's son. "Somebody must have bumped into that chair, Monsieur Manning, and knocked it over."
"What other explanation could there be?" agreed Dunstan.
"Which means to say that we haven't been the only prowlers in the De Morancourt palace to-night," muttered Chase, his voice betraying a most uncomfortable state of mind.
"No."
The proof was conclusive—there could be no question about it: some person or persons had been in that very room while the ambulanciers were up in the tower. Now there was, indeed, something quite startling in this thought. Who could the other, or others, have been? What was their object in entering? And did they still linger in the château?
For a perceptible interval of time the boys stood in silence. The weirdness and loneliness of the situation, with only a narrow band of light between them and the deepest gloom, intensified a curious tingling sensation which the discovery had produced in the nerves of each.
"What can it mean?" exclaimed Dunstan.
Don's light was swiftly flashing and criss-crossing in every direction, and not a single portion of the great apartment had escaped its glare when he declared:
"Fellows, there's certainly no one besides ourselves in this room."
"Can there be no hiding places?"
"It seems not."
"If there is any one within the sound of my voice let him step forward!" exclaimed Chase.
His voice, raised so as to penetrate far beyond, rang out with startling distinctness.
A moment of great expectancy followed.
No answer was received.
"Come on, fellows! Let's get busy," burst out Don, impatiently.
This proposition did not at all appeal to Chase Manning, but he made no protest, his fear of ridicule being greater than his fear of the unseen and the unknown.
So, instead of leaving the Château de Morancourt at once, as they had intended, the three ambulanciers began a tramp from one great hall to another, searching—searching. And though the "man-hunt," as Don Hale dubbed it, proved both interesting and exciting it brought forth no result.
After the lapse of three-quarters of an hour they were back in the apartment which they had first entered, and Dunstan thereupon straightened himself up, exclaiming:
"No use, boys—the other visitors have probably gone."
"I'm not so certain about that," declared Don.
"The only thing I'm certain about is that I intend to go," cried Chase, "and any one who tries to prevent it will have the privilege of bringing an assault and battery charge against me."
"The Château de Morancourt has been the center of too many stormy times for us to start another," chuckled the aviator's son.
Dunstan, standing by the big oak table, tapped upon its surface.
"Chase has stood it better than I thought," he rapped in the Morse code.
The answer he received was this:
"Yes, after a while he may surprise us all with his courage."
"You chaps are incorrigible," jerked out Chase. "I never knew before that woodpeckers kept at it both day and night."
So speaking, he made a break for the window.
Don and Dunstan trailed after him, and all lost no time in climbing outside.
"A jolly interesting experience, I call it!" exclaimed Don.
"Altogether too much so," grunted Chase, laconically.
"Suppose we return by a different route," said the art student.
They started along a wide carriage road which led between broad, level lawns dotted here and there with groups of statuary.
Before descending the slope on the opposite side of the hill, the three, with a common impulse, halted to take a last look at the ancestral home of the De Morancourts looming up against the moonlit sky.
"Maybe I wouldn't give a whole lot to know who was the second bumper into that chair!" declared Don.
"Not any more than the rest of us," said Dunstan dryly. "But there's no earthly chance of our ever knowing."
"Of course not," snapped Chase. "Just add it to the list of things one might as well forget."
It was very delightful out there in the midst of the big park, with the moon and stars shining so brightly overhead and beautiful vistas here and there opening out before their eyes, and even the desultory reports of the guns and the occasional sight of star-shells rising heavenward contributed a peculiar sort of charm to the situation. The ambulanciers, busily conversing, lingered longer than they had intended.
Suddenly, Don Hale, breaking off in the middle of a sentence, blurted out loudly:
"I say, fellows, I say—just gaze at that!"