"Who knows," remarked the A.P., "but that we may have a chance of recovering our kit, when the Boches have been driven out of Belgium?

My word, Billy, you look absolutely IT! Tired Tim or Weary w.i.l.l.y must be your character."

"You speak for yourself, old sport," retorted Barcroft laughing.

"You're positively not respectable. We tolerate your presence only on sufferance. Matter of fact, Tired Tim does suit me," he added, stifling a yawn. "I'm as dog-tired as a fellow can possibly be. And what might you be supposed to represent, John--a Belgian hare?"

"That's about it," replied Fuller languidly. "The main thing is to keep warm, and trust to luck to get a hot bath later. Some fit, eh, what?"

The flight-lieutenant had appropriated a long cloth coat liberally trimmed with fur. In its prime the coat might have done credit to a wealthy bourgeois of Brussels, but now it would ill-become a city scavenger.

The rest of the clothes were returned to the sack, with the addition of a couple of heavy stones. Barcroft and the A.P. carried the "incriminating evidence" to the river and hurled it into the water.

"Don't suppose our boots will excite suspicion if we fall in with any one," remarked Kirkwood. "It is impossible to say whether they are black or brown."

"Or sabots," added Billy. "Without exaggeration we are carrying half an inch of mud about on them. Now, easy ahead."

Keeping clear of the highway, and following the river at a respectful distance the fugitives covered a distance of about three miles in less than a couple of hours. The rain was falling heavily again, blotting out everything beyond a distance of fifty yards, but by this time the dauntless trio regarded the discomfort with equanimity and as a blessing in disguise.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Puller, suddenly coming to a halt. "There's the frontier."

Before they were aware of the fact they had arrived within a few feet of the seemingly interminable barbed wire fence that separated occupied Belgium from coveted Holland. As far as could be seen the barrier was unguarded.

"How about it?" inquired Barcroft. "Shall we make a dash and risk it?"

"Steady," cautioned the flight-lieutenant. "Suppose, as is more than likely, there's a high tension wire running along that contraption?

We don't want to be pipped on the post, you know."

"I'll test it," declared Billy promptly.

"How?" asked his companions in one breath

"By this," replied the sub indicating the wristlet compa.s.s. "You hang on here. I won't be long."

"Be careful, then," said the A.P.

"Trust me for that," answered Barcroft cheerfully. "Lie low and keep a sharp look out."

On either side of the fence was a belt of reeds and coa.r.s.e gra.s.s. In ordinary circ.u.mstances its height would be five or six feet, but the wind and rain had beaten down the reeds considerably. In places the tangle of gra.s.s was almost flat, and, combined with the slippery soil, formed a trap for the unwary.

"H'm! a fair amount of traffic on either side of the fence,"

commented Barcroft as he arrived upon the scene of his investigations. "They've had sentries patrolling up and down, but evidently they don't like the weather."

Kneeling in the slime the flight-sub unbuckled the strap that secured the little spirit compa.s.s to his wrist, then cautiously he held the delicate instrument towards the lowermost wire.

The needle was unaffected, even though he brought the compa.s.s close enough to risk a short circuit should the wire be highly charged with electricity. Three parallel wires he tested with similar results. At the fourth, which was about three feet from the ground, the needle oscillated. Whether it was owing to the deviating effect of an electric current or that he had unintentionally jogged the compa.s.s Barcroft could not decide. Withdrawing the instrument he waited for the sensitive index to come to rest.

"Dash it all!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed as he resumed his investigations. "That wire is charged. It will mean a fine old job getting through this fence. Might squeeze through under the lowermost one if it could be prised up. But supposing the electrified wire isn't always the fourth from the ground: what then? I'll apply another test further along."

So intent was the flight-sub in his work that he failed to hear the faint sound of footsteps stealthily approaching through the squelching mud. Entirely at a disadvantage since he was crouching on his knees, Barcroft was most disgustedly surprised to hear a guttural exclamation, the form of which left no doubt as to the nationality of the speaker.

Turning his head Billy found himself at the mercy of a German sentry, whose levelled bayonet was within a foot of his shoulderblades.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

AN AVERTED CATASTROPHE

"MORNING, Norton; you are an early visitor," exclaimed Peter Barcroft. "Five minutes later and you would have found me out--to use a contradictory phrase. I'm just off for a morning with the rabbits. Care to come along?"

"Delighted," replied the spy. "I suppose you won't mind my calling at The Croft to get a gun?"

A couple of weeks had pa.s.sed since Siegfried von Eitelwurmer's return to Tarleigh. During that time Peter had seen or heard nothing of Philip Entwistle. The _soi-disant_ Andrew Norton had resumed his former habit of dropping in at Ladybird Fold at all hours, somewhat to the detriment of "The Great Reckoning--and After," which was now approaching completion.

Von Eitelwurmer was trying to muster up courage to earn single-handed the reward offered by his Imperial Master for the obliterance of the man whose writings had so greatly offended the Potsdam Potentate who was seeking in vain for a place in the Sun.

The spy had a wholesome dread of British justice should he bungle in the attempt and find himself under arrest. He had been told by the authorities at Berlin that he must not expect further co-operation by means of a Zeppelin. Evidently the rough handling the German aerial squadron had met with on the return journey had upset the hitherto implicit faith of the Huns in this branch of frightfulness.

Since, then, von Eitelwurmer had no opportunity of getting Peter Barcroft conveyed to Germany, he set about a means to "remove" him.

After all, he decided, half the reward was better than nothing.

In his many conversations with Peter the spy never mentioned the subject of their meeting at Bigthorpe; and Barcroft, putting down his reticence to a fear of being rallied on his mental lapse, studiously avoided any reference to the event. Nor did von Eitelwurmer say a word on the subject of the raid. In fact, he had never discussed the war with the tenant of Ladybird Fold, and had shown such a casual disinterestedness whenever Peter had touched upon the matter that the omission to say a word about the Zeppelin's visit to Barborough occasioned no surprise.

"Haven't you a double-barrel?" inquired Peter as the spy brought out a twelve-bore single-barrelled sporting gun with a breech action resembling that of a Martini rifle. "If I had known I could have lent you one--a hard-hitting choke bore."

"Thanks all the same," replied von Eitelwurmer. "I'm used to this.

I've got in two shots at a running rabbit before to-day. Where are you making for?"

"Over the moors towards Windyhill," replied Barcroft, signing to the two dogs to come to heel. "We'll cut through the Dingle Dell. It's a bit rough going, but we'll save a mile or so."

The Dingle Dell was a narrow valley between two rugged cliffs of Millstone Grit. Through the defile rushed a foaming mountain stream fed by the recent rains and now possessing a tremendous volume of water. Centuries of erosion had worn the rocks that confine the torrent to its course to a remarkable smoothness, while the water as it leapt from one level to another had undermined the banks almost throughout the entire length of the Dingle Dell.

Tarleigh Moors had been experiencing a variety of weather during the last fortnight. Following the heavy rain came a hard frost that in turn gave place to the first of the winter snow. Although most of the white mantle had disappeared, patches of snow still remained in the sheltered sides of the valleys, while in the Dingle Dell the trees still retained their seared and yellow leaves.

Crossing a dilapidated wooden bridge the two men ascended a steep bank, on the top of which ran a narrow path, slippery with the exposed roots of the abundant trees. On the left the ground dropped steeply to the foaming stream; on the right was a "cut" or artificial waterway that supplied power to the neighbouring bleach-works, the smell of which, hanging about in the dank atmosphere, was the acknowledged drawback to the sylvan beauties of the Dingle Dell.

"I haven't been this way before," remarked von Eitelwurmer untruthfully. He knew the district far better than his companion, and perhaps his knowledge was equal to that of the majority of the inhabitants of Tarleigh. It was his business to acquaint himself with the locality of every place in which his secret service work had led him. "Shouldn't care to walk along this path on a dark night, especially after one of your 'night-caps,' Barcroft."

"Yes, it is a sort of 'twixt the devil and the deep sea business,"

rejoined Peter. "Steady!" he added as the spy stumbled over a protruding root. "Gun's not loaded, I hope?"

"Rather not," replied von Eitelwurmer, pulling down the breech-block lever and holding up the weapon for his companion's inspection. "I'm used to a gun, remember."

"You may be," retorted Barcroft grimly, "but these roots are not....

dash it all!"

He sat down heavily, a patch of slippery ground having been responsible for the mild catastrophe. His cap, falling from his head, rolled down the bank and finally stopped on the top of a rounded boulder on either side of which the water swirled furiously.

"The result of moralising," declared Peter. "And I've lost my cap.

Bang goes five and sixpence if I don't recover it."