Boy Scout Aviators

by Richard Harding Davis

  CHAPTER XIII

  A TREACHEROUS DEED

  Harry Fleming had, of course, given up all hope of catching Graves by adirect pursuit by the time he accepted the offer of a ride in the motortruck that was carrying vegetables for the troops in quarters in London.His only hope now was to get his information to Colonel Throckmorton assoon as possible. At the first considerable town they reached, where hefound a telegraph office open, he wired to the colonel, using the codewhich he had memorized. The price of a couple of glasses of beer hadinduced the driver and the soldier to consent to a slight delay of thetruck, and he tried also to ring up Jack Young's house and find out whathad happened to Dick.

  When he found that the line was out of order he leaped at once to thesame conclusion that Jack and Dick had reached--that it had been cut onpurpose. He could not stay to see if it would be repaired soon.

  A stroke of luck came his way, however. In this place Boy Scouts wereguarding the gas works and an electric light and power plant, and hefound one squad just coming off duty. He explained something of hiserrand to the patrol leader, and got the assurance that the telephonepeople should be made to repair the break in the wire.

  "We'll see to it that they find out what is the trouble, Fleming," saidthe patrol leader, whose name was Burridge. "By the way, I know a scoutin your troop--Graves. He was on a scout with us a few weeks ago, whenhe was visiting down here. Seemed to be no end of a good fellow."

  Harry was surprised for he had heard nothing of this before. But thenthat was not strange. He and Graves were not on terms of intimacy, byany means. He decided quickly not to say anything against Graves. Itcould do no good and it might do harm.

  "Right," he said. "I know him--yes. I'll be going, then. You'll give mymessage to Mercer or Young if there's any way of getting the lineclear?"

  "Yes, if I sit up until my next turn of duty," said Burridge, with asmile. "Good luck, Fleming."

  Then Harry was off again. Dawn was very near now. The east, behind him,was already lighted up with streaks of glowing crimson. Dark clouds weremassed there, and there was a feeling in the air that carried aforeboding of rain, strengthening the threat of the red sky. Harry wasnot sorry for that. There would be work at Bray Park that might wellfare better were it done under leaden skies.

  As he rode he puzzled long and hard over what he had learned. It seemedto him that these German spies were taking desperate chances for whatpromised to be, at best, a small reward. What information concerning theBritish plans could they get that would be worth all they were risking?The wireless at Bray Park, the central station near Willesden, whencethe reports were heliographed--it was an amazingly complete chain. AndHarry knew enough of modern warfare to feel that the information couldbe important only to an enemy within striking distance.

  That was the point. It might be interesting to the German staff to knowthe locations of British troops in England, and, more especially, theirdestinations if they were going abroad as part of an expeditionary forceto France or Belgium. But the information would not be vital, it didn'tseem to Harry that it was worth all the risk implied. But if, on theother hand, there was some plan for a German invasion of England, thenhe would have no difficulty in understanding it. Then knowledge of whereto strike, of what points were guarded and what were not, would beinvaluable.

  "But what a juggins I am!" he said. "They can't invade England, even ifthey could spare the troops. Not while the British fleet controls thesea. They'd have to fly over."

  And with that half laughing expression he got the clue he was lookingfor. Fly over! Why not? Flight was no longer a theory, a possibility ofthe future. It war, something definite, that had arrived. Even as hethought of the possibility he looked up and saw, not more than a mileaway, two monoplanes of a well-known English army type flying low.

  "I never thought of that!" he said to himself.

  And now that the idea had come to him, he began to work out all sorts ofpossibilities. He thought of a hundred different things that mighthappen. He could see, all at once, the usefulness Bray Park might have.Why, the place was like a volcano! It might erupt at any minute,spreading ruin and destruction in all directions. It was a hostilefortress, set down in the midst of a country that, even though it was atwar, could not believe that war might come borne to it.

  He visualized, as the truck kept in its plodding way, the manner inwhich warfare might be directed from a center like Bray Park. Thenceaeroplanes, skillfully fashioned to represent the British planes, and soescape quick detection, might set forth. They could carry a man or two,elude guards who thought the air lanes safe, and drop bombs here, thereeverywhere and anywhere. Perhaps some such aerial raid was responsiblefor the explosion that had freed him only a very few hours before.Warfare in England, carried on thus by a few men, would be none the lessdeadly because it would not involve fighting. There would be no pitchedbattles, that much he knew. Instead, there would be swift, stabbingraids. Water works, gas works, would be blown up. Attempts would be madeto drop bombs in barracks, perhaps. Certainly every effort would be madeto destroy the great warehouses in which food was stored. It was new,this sort of warfare, it defied the imagination. And yet it was thewarfare that, once he thought of it, it seemed certain that the Germanswould wage.

  He gritted his teeth at the thought of it. Perhaps all was fair in loveand war, as the old proverb said. But this seemed like sneaky, unfairfighting to him. There was nothing about it of the glory of warfare. Hewas learning for himself that modern warfare is an ugly thing. He was tolearn, later, that it still held its possibilities of glory, and ofheroism. Indeed, for that matter, he was willing to grant the heroism ofthe men who dared these things that seemed to him so horrible. They tooktheir lives in their hands, knowing that if they were caught they wouldbe hung as spies.

  The truck was well into London now, and the dawn was full. A faintdrizzle was beginning to fall and the streets were covered with a finefilm of mud. People were about, and London was arousing itself to meetthe new day. Harry knew that he was near his journey's end. Tired as hewas, he was determined to make his report before he thought of sleep.And then, suddenly, around a bend, came a sight that brought Harry tohis feet, scarcely able to believe his eyes. It was Graves, on abicycle. At the sight of Harry on the truck he stopped. Then he turned.

  "Here he is!" he cried. "That's the one!"

  A squad of men on cycles, headed by a young officer, came after Graves.

  "Stop!" called the officer to the driver.

  Harry stared down, wondering.

  "You there--you Boy Scout come down!" said the officer.

  Harry obeyed, wondering still more. He saw the gleam of malignanttriumph on the face of Graves. But not even the presence of the officerrestrained him.

  "Where are those papers you stole from me, you sneak?" he cried.

  "You keep away from me!" said Graves. "You Yankee!"

  "Here, no quarreling!" said the officer. "Take him, men!"

  Two of the soldiers closed in on Harry. He stared at them and then atthe officer, stupefied.

  "What--what's this?" he stammered.

  "You're under arrest, my lad, on a charge of espionage!" said theofficer. "Espionage, and conspiracy to give aid and comfort to thepublic enemy. Anything you say may be used against you."

  For a moment such a rush of words came to Harry, that he was silent bythe sheer inability to decide which to utter first. But then he gotcontrol of himself.

  "Who makes this charge against me!" he asked, thickly, his face flushingscarlet in anger.

  "You'll find that out in due time, my lad. Forward march!"

  "But I've got important information! I must be allowed to see ColonelThrockmorton at once! Oh, you've got no idea how important it may be!"

  "My orders are to place you under arrest. You can make application tosee anyone later. But now I have no discretion. Come! If you really wantto see Colonel Throckmorton, you had better move on."

  Harry knew as well as anyone the uselessness of appea
ling from such anorder, but he was frantic. Realizing the importance of the news hecarried, and beginning to glimpse vaguely the meaning of Graves and hisactivity, he was almost beside himself.

  "Make Graves there give back the papers he took from me!" he cried.

  "I did take some papers, lieutenant," said Graves, with engagingfrankness. "But they were required to prove what I had suspected almostfrom the first--that he was a spy. He was leading an English scout fromhis own patrol into trouble, too. I suppose he thought he was morelikely to escape suspicion if he was with an Englishman."

  "It's not my affair," said the lieutenant, shrugging his shoulders. Heturned to Harry. "Come along, my lad. I hope you can clear yourself. ButI've only one thing to do--and that is to obey my orders."

  Harry gave up, then, for the moment. He turned and began walking along,a soldier on each side. But as he did so Graves turned to thelieutenant.

  "I'll go and get my breakfast, then, sir," he said. "I'll come on toEaling later. Though, of course, they know all I can tell them already."

  "All right," said the officer, indifferently.

  "You're never going to let him go!" exclaimed Harry, aghast. "Don't youknow he'll never come back?"

  "All the better for you, if he doesn't," said the officer. "That'senough of your lip, my lad. Keep a quiet tongue in your head. Rememberyou're a prisoner, and don't try giving orders to me."