Danny the detective

by Vera C. Barclay

By its light Danny saw that they were in a small, vaulted cellar, damp earth beneath their feet. There seemed no way out of this narrow place, except up the stairs they had just descended. But even as Danny noted this the man turned his light on to the stone wall and revealed to view a low, rusty door.

Taking a large key from his pocket, he inserted this in the lock and turned it with a grating sound. Slowly the heavy door swung inwards, its hinges giving forth a weird groan that brought to Danny’s mind all the horrors he had ever read of or imagined concerning dungeons and subterranean prisons. Gripping his arm, the spy dragged him through the low archway, and, turning, shut the door and locked it. Glancing quickly about him, Danny recognised the place at once. It was the passage he had discovered leading from the mill pool. This iron-studded door was the one that had baffled all his efforts when he had tried to open it from the inside.

Once in the underground passage the man seemed to lose all fear, and dropped his cautious manner. Turning on Danny he poured forth a torrent of abuse, half in German, half in English. Then, with a savage kick, he flung him on to the ground. After standing for a moment as if considering what to do next, he drew from his pocket a piece of stout cord. Cutting this into two, he knelt down and tied Danny’s feet securely together. Forcing the boy’s hands behind his back, he knotted the cord about his wrists. Then he stood over Danny, a sardonic grin on his face.

“There,” he said, with a snarling laugh, “there, young Scout, or what you call yourself, no more harm will you be able now to do.” Turning on his heel, he walked a few paces down the passage and then came back, as if a thought had struck him. Taking a large, silk handkerchief from his pocket, he gagged his young prisoner.

“There, little English pig!” he said. “Now you will disturb no one.” And with a cruel laugh, he walked quickly away.

Turning his head, Danny watched the retreating figure from where he lay on the cold stone floor. He gazed at the dancing light of the torch until it grew fainter and fainter, and suddenly disappeared round a corner. Then in the lonely darkness a great sob rose in his throat—a sob of despair.

He was alone, quite alone, underground. His feet were tied so that he could not get up, his hands bound so that he could not move. There seemed no possible way of escape. Would he be left here to die of cold and starvation? Or would the spies come back and do something horrible to him? The silence seemed to throb and sing in his ears. His eyes ached with peering into the darkness. And, lying there, he realised the sad truth that he had brought it all on himself. Why had he been such a little fool and tried to catch these Germans single-handed? For the sake of his own glory he had risked the safety of England. Out of personal pride he had withheld important information. And now here he was lying helpless and useless, while from the tower the spies were signalling to the enemy, and this man was escaping—or setting out, perhaps, to tamper with the cables in some mysterious way, and so send England’s secrets to the Kaiser!

There was no one now to warn the police. He had been given the chance to serve his country, and he had not taken it; he had “given in to himself.” Laying his face on the cold floor, he gave up all hope, and a big, hot tear rolled down his cheek.

But there was still a spark of courage in his heart; a bit of pluck that always remains in a Scout when all the spirit of the ordinary boy has gone. He was a Cub; he would not give in. “O God,” he whispered in the damp darkness, “give me another chance. I will not fail this time. I will do my duty. I will not give in to myself.”

Rolling against the wall, his face struck on the sharp corner of a projecting stone. A brilliant idea came into his head! Wriggling himself round as best he could, he managed to get the cord that bound his wrists against the sharp stone. Then, scraping and sawing, he set to work to cut through the rope. It was a long job and a painful one. Soon he felt the warm blood trickling down his sleeves. The pain made him feel quite sick. At last he felt he must give up. But, remembering he was a Cub, he clenched his teeth and determined that no pain or fear should break his courage. Suddenly the cord gave, and Danny found his hands free!