“I don’t suggest anything of the kind,” said G. B. quietly. “You said that nobody except myself touched them: I am merely pointing out that you are inaccurate—as usual.”
“And Melford put them in the dispatch-box,” I added.
“How do you know?” Groucher turned on me like a bull.
“Told me so himself,” I said.
“And you must have handled them yourself, Groucher, or you wouldn’t know they were short,” chimed in Pagan.
“You suggest, then, that Melford or myself may have stolen them?” flashed Groucher with a scarlet face.
“Quite possibly,” agreed Pagan cheerfully. “Or Corporal Catchside or G. B. You are all rather of the criminal type. I arrest you all in the name of King George—and may the Lord have mercy on your miserable souls.”
“On the other hand,” I put in, “there are eighty-five francs missing, but that does not necessarily mean that they have been stolen.”
“On the other foot, Bold Baron—since you’ve used both hands,” said Pagan—“it looks extraordinarily like it. G. B. says he brought two thousand five hundred francs to the orderly-room, and in spite of his admittedly revolting exterior I am inclined to believe him. By the way, has Melford found his map?”
“No,” said Groucher, turning sharply.
“Then we may assume that the philanthropist who took the map took the francs also.”
Groucher laughed contemptuously. “I can understand a man winning eighty-five francs, but not a map,” he said.
“It was a very nice map,” murmured Pagan. “Lots of pretty little battery positions marked on it—cute little headquarters and names of sweet little units. I am sure Brother Bosche would appreciate it.”
“But good lord, Pagan,” I exclaimed, “that would mean a spy!”
“Well, I have heard of such oddities in war-time,” he said sweetly.
Groucher said “Bosh!” and left the mess. G. B. put out an ace and glanced up from his game. “The only thing is,” he said, “wouldn’t it be an error in tactics for a spy to steal a map when he might copy it?”
“O wise G. B.! O excellent young man! How I do honour thee! Yes—and let us hope that he will put it back when he has finished copying it. Meanwhile, I am going to see if there is any tinned crab in the canteen.” Pagan kissed his fingers to us and went out.
Later that evening when I went into the company office I found Private Christmas with a mound of letters on either side of him carrying out his sentence of the morning. Hubbard was sitting on a table swinging his legs and cursing softly to himself. But he got some amusement out of it eventually, for one of the letters, which he judged by the handwriting and style to be from a young and sporting female, he answered himself. And he carried on a correspondence with her for some time, I believe, and went to see her when he was on leave.
CHAPTER VI
I
On the following morning the whole company paraded in fighting order, and together with the other mounted troops rode out of the village to take part in one of our periodical tactical schemes. These were always enjoyable, for the men were keen and the friendly rivalry between platoons and units added zest to what was really a very interesting field game. Melford, Killick, and Adams often acted as umpires and left the control of the two opposing forces in the hands of two subalterns; and so one sometimes had the additional interest of handling a mixed force of cavalry, cyclists, and machine guns and putting into practice one’s pet theories of the co-operation of mounted troops.
On this occasion Groucher commanded the “enemy” and G. B. led our rearguard. Groucher’s tactics were fairly sound and strictly orthodox; but G. B. was an exhilarating man to serve under, for often he brought off really brilliant strokes and he could always be counted upon to do the unexpected.
He began operations with a dashing attack on the opposing vanguard which caused them to deploy their main forces, and then he took us well back to a position on the narrow ridge between the Ancre and the Somme, leaving Groucher methodically developing an orthodox attack upon an evacuated position. Altogether it was a neat little action, broken off at the right moment, and the retirement had gone like clockwork.
We arranged the men in the new position, pushed out patrols, and waited. Below us on the left meandered the little stream of the Ancre; on the right lay the broad, steep-cliffed valley of the Somme with its glittering lakes and the tree-bordered river zigzagging through it; and behind and below were the clustered roots of Corbie surrounding the grey towers of the old abbey church.
“Oh that this too, too solid flesh would melt!” yawned Pagan, when he had sat admiring the view for nearly an hour and there was still no sign of the “enemy.” He rolled over on to his back, blew out an imaginary candle, and closed his eyes. “How irksome is this slothful ease to a man of action such as I!” he murmured.
G. B. came up at that moment and said, “Melford has ordered the limber to wait in Corbie, and he wants you, Baron, to go in when this scheme is over and bring back a barrel of beer for the canteen. That battalion that came in last night polished off the lot.”
At the word “beer” Pagan sat up with theatrical suddenness. “Methought I heard a voice say, ‘Sleep no more,’” he cried and scrambled to his feet. “Is this a barrel that I see before me?”
“After the scheme, Charles,” I crooned soothingly. “After the scheme, Melford said.”
He gripped my arm. “Comrade, this suspense unmans me. Who’s for a game of hop-scotch?”
He produced some sous from his pocket, made some marks in the dust on the road, and showed us how to play. And thus it came about that three officers of the British armies in France, like Drake on Plymouth Hoe, were engrossed in the homely game of hop-scotch when a car with a little red flag fluttering above the radiator crested the slope and bore down upon them.
“Good Lord, the General!” exclaimed Pagan.
We stood to attention and saluted as the car stopped and the Divisional Commander got out. G. B. had managed to efface most of the marks on the road with his foot as he sprang to attention, and Pagan and I stood with our feet covering the sous. I thought that if only we were not required to move, all would be well.
G. B., as senior officer, acted as spokesman, and in response to the General’s inquiries explained the scheme, pointed out where the men were posted, the position of the machine guns and his headquarters, and lastly, and very wisely, for it was a thing that the General loved, showed some messages he had received from the patrols. In the course of the explanation we had to move round to face various points of the compass, and although I tried to shuffle the sous round with me, I failed, for presently Poole, the A.D.C., stooped and picked up a coin.
“Somebody has been throwing their wealth about,” he remarked. And Pagan took possession of the coin with a surreptitious wink at me.
Then the General queried whether one of my men who was posted in a hedge for communication purposes could see the section he was keeping in touch with. I was thrown off my guard by this aspersion on the efficiency of my platoon, and I took the General over to see for himself, thereby revealing three sous lying on the spot on which I had been standing. The ever-courteous A.D.C. picked them up and handed them to me.
“You must have a hole in your pocket, Baron,” suggested Pagan, with a face like wood.
“The fellow is raining sous,” commented the A.D.C.
“He saves ’em up for slot machines,” grinned Pagan.
Fortunately Groucher’s force chose this moment to make their long-delayed appearance, and the General hurried off to watch the coming engagement.
II
As soon as the “Stand Fast” was blown, I handed my platoon over to G. B., and Pagan and I set off for Corbie.
We found the limber by the bandstand in the little square. Pagan went off to buy some papers, and I went to the brasserie and superintended the loading of our barrel of beer. Then Harding turned up, and when Pagan rejoined me we all three went into
a café to have a drink.
“Groucher and G. B. were having one of their periodical differences when I left them,” remarked Harding, as he dropped on to the red plush seat.
I unhooked my map-case and sat down beside him. “Groucher is a loathsome creature,” I said. “Drinks his bath-water.”
“God made him; therefore let him pass a man,” quoted Pagan.
“True,” drawled Harding; “but I guess it must have been on one of the Almighty’s off-days.”
“What was the fracas about?” I asked, when the waiter had finished swabbing the table and brought our order.
“I can guess,” said Pagan. “Groucher didn’t like the drubbing G. B. gave him on the scheme this morning.”
“Top of the class, my son,” drawled Harding. “Yes, Groucher said that G. B. did not know the first principles of tactics.”
“Oh ho, that was rather good!” I exclaimed.
“And what did G. B. say to that?” asked Pagan.
“He said that the only use of first principles was that they enabled one to defeat an unimaginative enemy by disregarding them.”
“That was one up for G. B.,” grinned Pagan. “Good lad.”
“Only Groucher would talk such tripe,” I said. “G. B. has forgotten more about tactics than Groucher ever knew.”
“Yes, G. B. may be an unsociable old cuss, but he does know something about tactics,” agreed Pagan.
“Is that so!” Harding was puffing at one of those fat cigars we often chaffed him about.
“He is a wonder on a scheme,” I said. “If ever we get through the trench line and get going on the other side, you will hear of G. B., mark my words. When we were on the Plain the General gave him three days’ special leave for his part in a big four-days’ scheme. He tied a brigade up in knots—and him only a second-lieut. And do you remember that time, Charles, when he made a night dash with his platoon and captured old Gor Blimy’s operation orders?”
“Rather!” cried Pagan.
“Oh yes, G. B. was a rum cove,” I continued. “Everybody in the division knew him. He joined at Colchester soon after I did and was given the worst platoon in the company. We were all pretty bad in those days, and he got a most undisciplined lot of toughs. But look at them now! The best platoon in the company, I don’t mind admitting it, and I’m sure you will too, Charles; know their job from A to Z and first-class discipline. If ever we get a stiff job to do, Melford will send G. B. and his push to tackle it. It is always those tough, difficult chaps that turn out the best soldiers if they get somebody who can handle them—and they would follow G. B. anywhere.”
“I expect Groucher will make him stump up that missing eighty-five francs, anyway,” said Pagan.
“By the way, Charles,” I said, “Melford hasn’t found that map yet either.”
“Of course not,” answered Pagan serenely. “He never will.”
“You have read too many penny shockers,” I told him.
Harding cocked one large interrogative eye at me; the other was closed by reason of the smoke-screen from his cigar.
“Pagan’s got spy fever,” I explained.
“Well, I have a lot of nice maps,” retorted Pagan, holding his vin blanc up to the light. “I leave ’em about my billet; I drop ’em in the mess; but I never lose ’em for more than an hour or two. I couldn’t if I tried. They always turn up again. But Melford’s hasn’t. The only difference between my map and his is that his has more or less secret information on it and mine has not.”
Harding was impressed. “That’s real interesting,” he opined.
“That’s all very well,” I said, “but how could anyone have taken it? You were there yourself, Charles, and you know that it would have been impossible.”
“Suppose you two Solomons tell me something about it,” put in Harding. “Remember I wasn’t there. And I’m some sleuth when I strike a scent. Now, some bills and a map are missing, and Pagan assumes that they have been stolen. When was the map first missed?”
“Almost immediately after we went back into the office after gaping at those planes that bombed Sericourt,” replied Pagan.
“And when was it last seen?” Harding chewed his cigar with an air of judicial solemnity.
“Melford laid it on top of the pay when we all went out,” I answered.
“And when were the notes discovered to be missing?”
“When Groucher paid out in the afternoon,” I said.
“And when were they last known to be complete?”
“G. B. drew them correctly from the field cashier and brought them straight to the office,” answered Pagan. “So unless he stole them on the way we may assume…”
Harding raised a judicial hand. “The point is that since the map was seen after the notes arrived, and we are assuming that the same person stole both, we may also assume that he stole them both at the same time. Therefore no notes were missing when they arrived at the office.”
“Marvellous how this hundred-per-cent American grey matter works,” murmured Pagan.
“To pursue that point a little further,” went on Harding imperturbably, “the loss of the notes was discovered after the loss of the map. But we are assuming that they were both stolen at the same time, so we have narrowed down the time of the theft to the period between Melford’s placing of the map upon the notes and his discovery that it was missing when he returned to the office. Everybody happy?”
“Quite,” I agreed.
Harding shook his head to Pagan’s attempt to refill his glass. “Now then, what happened? You saw Melford place the map on the notes?”
I nodded.
“And so did I,” said Pagan.
“And then?”
“Corporal Catchside went out of the office, but came back to say that there were German planes overhead.”
“And then we all went out to have a look,” said Pagan.
“All of you?” asked Harding.
“All.”
“Sure?”
“Certain—don’t you agree, Baron?”
“Wouldn’t swear to it,” I said. “But we were all outside at one time, I know.”
“Who were there?”
“Melford, Groucher, G. B., Hubbard, Pagan, Corporal Catchside, and myself.”
“Who came out last?”
“Couldn’t say, could you, Charles?”
“No; but Corporal Catchside went out first,” said Pagan. “He just looked in to say that the planes were overhead, and then went out again.”
“Was that before Melford put the map down?”
“Yep.”
“While you were outside, did anyone go back into the office?”
“Groucher did,” I cried. “To get his field-glasses.”
“By Jove, yes; so he did,” cried Pagan. “He’s the chap. Gory old Groucher. We’ll have him shot at dawn, and I will command the firing party. Ten rounds rapid and F.P. Number One for any man that misses.”
Harding grinned. “Sure, we will give you the job if it comes to that; but let us get on with our investigations. Did anyone besides Groucher go back into the office?”
“Couldn’t say, could you, Charles?”
Pagan shook his head. “Possibly, but I don’t think so. Corporal Catchside didn’t, for Melford sent him off to get the men under cover.”
“Then we may wash him out,” said Harding.
“And I did not,” I said. “Melford sent G. B. and myself to see what was happening in Sericourt.”
“Then it was unlikely that G. B. went back?”
“Very, I should think; we went off to Sericourt almost at once.”
“What happened then?”
“Oh, we watched the planes for a few minutes and then went back into the office—with the exception of Hubbard; he went off to the mess,” said Pagan.
“Who went back into the office first?”
“I did,” said Pagan.
“Was the map there then?”
“Don’t know; didn’t notic
e.”
“And then?”
“Groucher went off to the Mayor with the billeting-book, and Melford locked up the notes in the dispatch-box.”
“And the map was gone then?”
“I suppose so; for Melford would have had to take it off the notes had it been there. It was about five minutes later that he looked up and asked if I had seen it. We hunted all over the place, and then he unlocked the dispatch-box to see whether it had got mixed up with the notes.”
“H’m!” growled Harding. “The map was there when you left the office but was gone when you returned. You didn’t go far away from the door?”
“No; some of us were on the doorstep.”
“There is only one entrance to the office, so no one could have got in without being seen.”
“Quite.”
“But there is an inner room,” continued Harding, nodding his head.
“Where the Sergeant-Major sleeps,” agreed Pagan.
“And somebody may have been in there,” I exclaimed.
“I don’t think so,” objected Pagan. “Sergeant-Major Craggs went through the office whilst I was there, and he left his door open. If there had been anyone in his room I must have seen him. It is a tiny place, and there is only the stretcher that the S.M. sleeps on.”
“And to get out, our thief would have had to pass through the office, in which case you must have seen him,” said Harding.
“But there is a window in the S.M.’s room,” I cried.
Harding nodded his head solemnly. “To sum up,” he said: “whilst you were gazing at the clouds either one of you went back into the office and took the map…”
“Gory Groucher,” put in Pagan.
“…or someone was in the Sergeant-Major’s room and took advantage of your sky-gazing to slip into the office, take the map, and escape through the window in the back room.”
“The only person who could possibly have been in the Sergeant-Major’s room is his batman,” I said.
“We have circumstantial evidence then—such as it is—against the Sergeant-Major’s batman and Groucher,” said Harding.
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