Chapter IV.
Rescue
Avis felt herself being sucked down into the darkness. The water was bitterly cold. Down down down she went, pulled along by the sinking ship. It was such a great ship and she was such a little girl that she despaired of ever getting away from the dreadful suction. She was dreadfully deep now; the water pressed heavily on her and her lungs cried out for air. But her lifebelt did its duty and fought gallantly against the pull of the water—for a moment she felt suspended and the next instant she shot up towards the light.
She broke through the surface coughing and taking in great gulps of air. She bumped against something hard and strong hands took hold of her and pulled her onto solid wood. Avis wiped the water from her eyes and blinked several times. She was in one of the collapsible lifeboats which several men had managed to salvage and make reasonably seaworthy by raising the canvas sides. They were now taking it among the wreckage of the ship, rescuing survivors. One of the men in fact was Leslie Morton.
“What! If it isn’t little Avis!” he exclaimed.
“Have you seen Professor Holbourn?” Avis asked anxiously.
“Haven’t seen anybody yet, but you. I don’t think many got off. She’s nearly gone already; look.”
Avis looked to where the liner’s stern was rapidly disappearing beneath the waves, its screws slowly turning, and several salty tears mingled with the seawater which ran from her eyes. Surely the professor could not have gotten off in time.
The hours that passed afterwards Avis tried vainly to wipe from her memory in later years. The little lifeboat filled with wet, shivering survivors with large anxious eyes, for nearly everybody was missing someone he loved and death was still so near nobody could feel as if he were safe yet. Avis was bitterly cold. There was nothing dry to be seen and the air, which had been so pleasantly cool just a few hours earlier, was now chilly. Leslie Morton tried to cheer her up.
“It’s a good thing you had your lifebelt on properly,” he said. “It saved your life, depend on it.”
Avis looked out across the sparkling water (she would always afterwards hate clear, calm water) and thought of Professor Holbourn. He had kept his promise to her, but where was he now? Oh, if only she hadn’t left the ship without him!
Avis saw Leslie and the other men looking often towards land.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“Rescue boats,” they said.
The men were doing their best to row to shore, but the boat was so weighted down that they were making very slow progress. Everyone was cold and wet and were just beginning to become horribly thirsty. Worst of all, the boat was over-loaded and could capsize at any moment. Their terror of a few hours before now settled down to pure misery.
Suddenly Leslie cried, “Look!” and everyone sat up and followed his finger with their eyes. It was a fishing ship, coming slowly in their direction. A few feeble cheers went up. Avis was content with merely watching its slow progress towards them.
But the fishing boat passed them, the crewmen informing them by gestures that they were going to try to rescue those in the water. Fortunately the survivors’ disappointment did not last long, for other boats soon began to arrive from Queenstown. One of these met Leslie Morton’s boatload and took on the passengers. Leslie declined getting on the boat as well. Instead, he took his little lifeboat and went back to save as many people as he could. Avis, watching him push off, suddenly remembered that his brother was one of the crewmen on the liner.
“Your brother,” she shouted, “has he been rescued yet?”
Leslie just looked down and shook his head, meaning that he did not know.
The sailors on the rescue ship were very kind. They offered Avis a rug to wrap up in while her clothes dried and made her a cup of tea. Avis had never known before how nice it felt to be dry and warm, or how pleasant hot tea was. There was a fire burning in the hold and Avis curled up next to it along with the other survivors. The sailors looked at them and shook their heads. They found it as hard to believe as anyone else—that Germany would sink a ship with upwards of three thousand non-combatants aboard, that is.
The boat came into the harbour at Queenstown at dusk. The docks were lit with torches in whose dim light Avis could see other survivors of the wreck waiting to see if a dear face might possibly be among the rescued. Avis felt sorry for them. At least she did not have any family members to worry about. Only the professor…
A kind woman who lived in the town took Avis under her wing and carried her away to a hotel to spend the night. Avis had a good supper of which she could not eat much and went off to bed. Some time in the night she awoke, hearing voices. People had been coming and going at the hotel all night long looking for a place to stay or for family members, but somehow one voice alone awakened Avis.
“…a little girl of about twelve. Her name is Avis Dolphin. I asked at the Cunard office and someone said she might be here.”
“Professor Holbourn!” cried Avis feebly.
The professor appeared in the doorway. With one stride he crossed the floor and had her in his arms. Avis began to cry. “I thought you’d drowned,” she said.
“I thought you had. I saw your boat capsize. Thank God you’re safe.”
“I prayed,” said Avis simply. “Oh, I was so afraid you’d drowned!”
“Don’t be afraid,” said the professor. “There’s nothing to be frightened of anymore.”
Friday, April 16, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Le Saboteur: X.
Chapter X.
Sauvès!
Allison stood in indecision for a moment. The last car was pulling past when with a sudden resolve he started forward and swung himself onto it. He vaguely saw the little station platform disappear behind him as he scrambled onto the roof of the boxcar.
He glanced ahead. Eighteen cars between this one and the engine. Well, he could manage that distance, but it might take awhile. Then came a good bit of scrambling across roofs and climbing up and down ladders from car to car. At last he reached the tender just behind the engine and scrambled over the coal to look inside the cab.
Kearns was in there, regaling the driver and fireman with anecdotes. He was seated on his rucksack and Allison crept back to consider what to do. It was not so simple as it seemed. He could not simply inform the men that there was a firebomb on board. Supposing they believed him, they would want to know how he happened to know about it and it was not a matter he particularly wanted to explain. He might simply disconnect the first car from the tender and the ammunition would be safe, but the men in the engine would be roasted. The best thing to do, he decided, was to get them to leave the engine and heave the box of cigars overboard.
Having made up his mind, Allison scrambled forward and slid into the cab of the engine amid an avalanche of coal.
“Hullo?” said the driver, “where’d you come from?”
“Why, it’s Allison,” said Kearns. “What are you doing, Allison? Come for a cigar after all?”
“I only wanted to tell you,” said Allison, “I saw smoke and thought I’d better warn you what with all the ammunition on board.”
“Sure it wasn’t smoke from the engine?” asked the fireman.
Allison said nothing.
“Can’t be too careful, Bob,” said the driver. “Better ‘ave a look.”
“Very well.”
“Wait, I’ll come with you,” volunteered Kearns.
Allison hoped that the driver would decide to go too, but the fellow contented himself with standing on the running plate and watching his comrades’ progress. He glanced in a friendly manner at Allison.
“Aviator, are you?” he asked, noticing Allison’s uniform.
“Yes.”
“Friend of the other bloke?”
“Of sorts.”
The train jerked slightly and Allison absently adjusted the steam valves.
“Work on a train before?” asked the driver, watching him.
“Yes, several years ago.”
“I been working with trains—let me see—it must be thirteen years now. ‘aven’t been on this line long, though. Just since 1916.”
Allison’s uneasiness at this point may best be imagined. He could not get his mind away from that bomb lying so innocently inside Kearns’s rucksack. Just then the driver leaned a little further out to see how Kearns and the fireman were getting along and in the process turned his back to Allison. Allison edged nearer to the rucksack.
Suddenly there was a terrific noise and Allison was thrown violently to the floor. He scrambled giddily to his feet and found the entire interior of the cab in flames, with flames spreading to the coal in the tender. The driver had been knocked off into the grass along the tracks by the violence of the explosion and Allison scrambled onto the running plate and along to the back of the tender, beating out the flames on his clothing with one hand and hanging desperately to the rail with the other.
He reached the couplings between the tender and the first car and set himself to undoing them. His hands fumbled on the iron and he realized of a sudden that they were badly burned and would not do what he wanted them to. The coal tender was now a blazing inferno. Sparks were flying out and landing on the ammunition cars behind. Allison worked feverishly but he could feel himself growing weaker and still the couplings would not come apart! The roar of the flames filled his ears, almost drowning out the noise of the engine. A grayness filled his eyes and he could not see the couplings clearly.
But there, it was done and the buffers parted. The chain snagged for an instant, then came free and the engine surged forward, free from its heavy load. Allison sank forward, unconscious, and tumbled onto the tracks, while the train cars, borne on by their impetus, rattled by just above him.
Kearns and the fireman stared in consternation at the retreating engine.
“Lucky it came free or we’d’ve been blown to chops,” said the fireman. “Wonder wot set the coal afire like that.”
“What about Allison and your pal?” asked Kearns. “They must be frying!”
“There’s Tom back there, I don’t know where the other chap went. ‘ope ‘e made it out of the hengine.”
The two jumped down from the cars which were slowing down and ran back towards the driver who was approaching slowly, rubbing his side.
“’e took moi engine and run away with it, the blighter,” he informed Kearns and the fireman.
“Ho! There ‘e is!” cried the fireman, pointing to a still form on the tracks. Kearns turned and raced towards it. The other men followed him.
“Allison,” said Kearns, “You all right?
“He’s out cold,” he informed the other two. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”
* * * *
The major paced up and down the floor of his office. He had just received a most distressing call from headquarters and the diminutive Frenchman sitting in his office had recently arrived to confirm it.
“You say it was sabotage?” the major asked.
“Undoubtedly.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in!”
Hayes, in captain’s uniform, entered.
“I only wanted to say, sir, I think the rain may be too heavy for ‘C’ flight to go up.”
“’C’ flight?” said the major. “Just how many men do you have to take up?”
“Well, sir, there’s Clark, and you were going to send up Morgan and Garrett a second time today to fill up the gaps left by Kearns and Randolph. But now that we’re missing Renhard and Allison as well that only makes four.”
“Yes,” said the major, “I’ve written twice to HQ for a replacement for Randolph—not that he could ever be replaced, but…”
He sighed and strode to the window.
“Yes, it does look rather bad. Keep your men on the ground for now. I can’t afford to lose any more. The advance will have to go on without us. Not that there will be any Germans in the air today anyway—they’ve no gasoline for their ‘planes. Well, that’s all, captain: dismissed.”
Hayes left and the major sat down at his desk.
“So you’ve proof against Renhard?” he asked the Frenchman.
“Yes, I’ve been tracing him ever since the first incident here. I’ve learned that he is German-American, though I’ve been unable to discover anything else of his background. He isn’t the first one I’ve caught, either. New York City is a hotbed of them—most of them with orders direct from Von Rintelin.”
“Accomplices! Accomplices!”
“Unfortunately, yes. What do you expect of a country consisting mainly of immigrants? Though I mean no slight to your nationality, of course. But back to the prisoner. I hope you have secured him well?”
“Yes, I had my men tie him up and lock him in the janitorial closet.”
“Good. A force will arrive this evening to convey him to prison.”
CRASH!!
“Sounds like quite a storm,” said the major. “I hope that force of yours will be able to get here.”
In the janitorial closet Renhard was also watching the storm. Getting captured did not trouble him as much as one would have expected it would. He would have said it was an “Occupational Hazard”. Renhard was perfectly equal to the situation and sat gazing reflectively through the little closet window as the storm clouds rolled past.
Strangely enough, the other men felt rather sorry for Renhard. Oh, yes, he’d had a sticky end in store for Kearns and they all agreed that he deserved the firing squad, but he’d been a brick all the rest of the time he’d been with Squadron 11, and he’d shown downright spleen when Woodward and Garrett were tying him up, so that certain individuals were moved to secrete chocolate bars under the closet door as expressions of their condolences.
“That’s done it,” muttered Renhard, pulling his right hand free from his bonds. “Now for the feet. Thought they could tie up me, a professional spy. They must be daft!”
He stood, stretched, and lighted a cigarette while taking stock of his surroundings. The window was too small to admit a man of Renhard’s build, but there was no point in going through the window anyhow, as his togs and flying helmet were inside the barracks. He searched among the mops and brooms until he found a safety pin. With this he proceeded to unlock the door. Hayes and Morgan were in the room beyond, but the lamp was low and if he couldn’t get past them it meant he was getting awfully rusty.
“What a storm!” shouted Ross to his friend Perkins as the two crossed the barracks yard towards the nearest hangar.
The wind was now raging and drowned out all sound of the barrage going on over the trenches to the East. The heavens seemed engaged in a fearful combat of their own and made the ground battles seem puny in comparison.
“Well, there’s no point in going on,” said Perkins. “We’re not going up today, anyway.”
“Hullo, what’s that?” said Ross.
“What?”
“Listen!”
Above the thunder of the rain they heard the throbbing sound of an engine starting up.
“Who’s crazy enough to go up in this weather?” said Perkins.
Apparently the question was rhetorical, for without waiting for an answer he rushed out to the landing strip with Ross just behind him. A lone SPAD was taxiing down the field towards them, head-on into the gale. The pilot waved.
“It’s Ren—Reinhardt!” shouted Ross. “Don’t let him get away!”
The two raced after the ‘plane as it roared past, but of course it was no use. The wheels had already lifted from the ground and the malefactor was making good his escape. His pursuers stopped near the end of the field to catch their breath and gazed after the pursued. The airplane and its occupant vanished into the storm.
Allison came to slowly to find a medical officer wrapping gauze around his arm.
“Who are you?” asked Allison, startled.
“Feel any pain?” the doctor replied.
Allison groaned in answer.
“Good,” said the doctor. “The feeling’s coming back. You’re not seriously injured, but you were in shock for quite a while.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll do all right, my boy. Your friend is waiting outside to see you. I’ll tell him you’re awake.”
Allison was still too confused to think who could be waiting to see him. “Friend”? There was only one person who had ever been his friend and it couldn’t be him.
Kearns entered.
“Hullo, Allison,” he said, toying nervously with his hat. “Feel all right, don’t you?”
Allison looked away in embarrassment. Here was Kearns being nice to him. He obviously didn’t know what Allison had been going to do to him.
Kearns took a seat on the bed. “I telephoned the major and told him everything,” he said.
“Everything?” asked Allison.
“Yes, all about how you saved the ammunition train, for if it hadn’t’ve been for you it should’ve blown up. The War Office was so pleased with what you’d done they decided not to punish you for fighting. The major didn’t tell them it was I who was to blame about that fight, you see.”
Allison rolled his head from side to side on his pillow in misery of conscience.
“I’ll tell the doctor to give you some more morphine,” said Kearns anxiously.
“No, I’m all right. Did they know what caused the explosion?”
“No, they’re still trying to find out. They seemed to think a boiler burst. What do you think it was?”
Kearns asked this because he knew Allison used to work for the railroad and not because he held any suspicion of the truth. Allison saw this clearly enough and could not bring his eyes to meet Kearns’s. He turned his face to the wall.
“It was a firebomb,” he said quietly. “—I knew it was there. I was trying to kill you.”
“Kill me?” said Kearns. “Then why—”
“Never mind about details,” Allison went on hurriedly, for he did not like to implicate Renhard even yet. “Suffice it to say that I knew it was there and I didn’t tell anyone. I changed my mind and that’s why I tried to save the train.”
Kearns was unnaturally silent for several moments. “It was in my rucksack, wasn’t it?” he asked presently. Allison turned to look at him and saw the comprehension of the case stealing over his friend’s open countenance. “Something about the cigars, wasn’t it? I thought the box felt oddly. Then Renhard—” he stopped and looked at Allison. “The major said Renhard had escaped. I didn’t know what he meant. So he went off and left you to take the blame?”
“I was more to blame than he was. I hated you.”
“All the same, you changed your mind, and I’m grateful. Count on it, I won’t ever tell anyone on you, Allison.”
“Doesn’t matter; I’m going to confess,” said Allison doggedly. “I’m not afraid to take punishment.”
Kearns looked at him with growing respect. “What was it that made you change your mind?” he asked. “Was it Randolph?”
Allison was silent so long that Kearns almost forgot what it was he’d asked him. At last he shook his head with a smile and said, “no, it wasn’t entirely Randolph, though I wouldn’t have done it if it hadn’t have been for him. You see, I was almost ready to kill myself with remorse over how rotten I’d been to him, and I probably would have too, but…well, I remembered some things he’d said—I can’t tell you the whole story, but the fact is, I was helped by Someone Else. I think you know Who I mean.”
Kearns thought he did.
There are just two more pieces of information important to our story. The first is that Allison did not go to the firing squad. He was quite ready to confess his guilt, as he’d said, but he was never called upon to do so. The War Office seemed quite content with laying the full blame on Reinhardt the spy and leaving it at that. It was impossible that suspicion should not fall on Allison, but the case was never looked into. This may have been due to his heroism in saving the ammunition train, which, if they couldn’t exactly give him a medal for, they could at least overlook the fact that he ought not to have been on that train in the first place. So it was that Allison returned to his squadron when his wounds had healed and stayed there until the Armistice was signed.
The second piece of information pertained to Berthold Reinhardt. He and his stolen SPAD were last sighted flying over no-man’s-land towards the Bavarian sector near Ypres. What became of him subsequently is the subject of another story.
FIN
Sauvès!
Allison stood in indecision for a moment. The last car was pulling past when with a sudden resolve he started forward and swung himself onto it. He vaguely saw the little station platform disappear behind him as he scrambled onto the roof of the boxcar.
He glanced ahead. Eighteen cars between this one and the engine. Well, he could manage that distance, but it might take awhile. Then came a good bit of scrambling across roofs and climbing up and down ladders from car to car. At last he reached the tender just behind the engine and scrambled over the coal to look inside the cab.
Kearns was in there, regaling the driver and fireman with anecdotes. He was seated on his rucksack and Allison crept back to consider what to do. It was not so simple as it seemed. He could not simply inform the men that there was a firebomb on board. Supposing they believed him, they would want to know how he happened to know about it and it was not a matter he particularly wanted to explain. He might simply disconnect the first car from the tender and the ammunition would be safe, but the men in the engine would be roasted. The best thing to do, he decided, was to get them to leave the engine and heave the box of cigars overboard.
Having made up his mind, Allison scrambled forward and slid into the cab of the engine amid an avalanche of coal.
“Hullo?” said the driver, “where’d you come from?”
“Why, it’s Allison,” said Kearns. “What are you doing, Allison? Come for a cigar after all?”
“I only wanted to tell you,” said Allison, “I saw smoke and thought I’d better warn you what with all the ammunition on board.”
“Sure it wasn’t smoke from the engine?” asked the fireman.
Allison said nothing.
“Can’t be too careful, Bob,” said the driver. “Better ‘ave a look.”
“Very well.”
“Wait, I’ll come with you,” volunteered Kearns.
Allison hoped that the driver would decide to go too, but the fellow contented himself with standing on the running plate and watching his comrades’ progress. He glanced in a friendly manner at Allison.
“Aviator, are you?” he asked, noticing Allison’s uniform.
“Yes.”
“Friend of the other bloke?”
“Of sorts.”
The train jerked slightly and Allison absently adjusted the steam valves.
“Work on a train before?” asked the driver, watching him.
“Yes, several years ago.”
“I been working with trains—let me see—it must be thirteen years now. ‘aven’t been on this line long, though. Just since 1916.”
Allison’s uneasiness at this point may best be imagined. He could not get his mind away from that bomb lying so innocently inside Kearns’s rucksack. Just then the driver leaned a little further out to see how Kearns and the fireman were getting along and in the process turned his back to Allison. Allison edged nearer to the rucksack.
Suddenly there was a terrific noise and Allison was thrown violently to the floor. He scrambled giddily to his feet and found the entire interior of the cab in flames, with flames spreading to the coal in the tender. The driver had been knocked off into the grass along the tracks by the violence of the explosion and Allison scrambled onto the running plate and along to the back of the tender, beating out the flames on his clothing with one hand and hanging desperately to the rail with the other.
He reached the couplings between the tender and the first car and set himself to undoing them. His hands fumbled on the iron and he realized of a sudden that they were badly burned and would not do what he wanted them to. The coal tender was now a blazing inferno. Sparks were flying out and landing on the ammunition cars behind. Allison worked feverishly but he could feel himself growing weaker and still the couplings would not come apart! The roar of the flames filled his ears, almost drowning out the noise of the engine. A grayness filled his eyes and he could not see the couplings clearly.
But there, it was done and the buffers parted. The chain snagged for an instant, then came free and the engine surged forward, free from its heavy load. Allison sank forward, unconscious, and tumbled onto the tracks, while the train cars, borne on by their impetus, rattled by just above him.
Kearns and the fireman stared in consternation at the retreating engine.
“Lucky it came free or we’d’ve been blown to chops,” said the fireman. “Wonder wot set the coal afire like that.”
“What about Allison and your pal?” asked Kearns. “They must be frying!”
“There’s Tom back there, I don’t know where the other chap went. ‘ope ‘e made it out of the hengine.”
The two jumped down from the cars which were slowing down and ran back towards the driver who was approaching slowly, rubbing his side.
“’e took moi engine and run away with it, the blighter,” he informed Kearns and the fireman.
“Ho! There ‘e is!” cried the fireman, pointing to a still form on the tracks. Kearns turned and raced towards it. The other men followed him.
“Allison,” said Kearns, “You all right?
“He’s out cold,” he informed the other two. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”
* * * *
The major paced up and down the floor of his office. He had just received a most distressing call from headquarters and the diminutive Frenchman sitting in his office had recently arrived to confirm it.
“You say it was sabotage?” the major asked.
“Undoubtedly.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in!”
Hayes, in captain’s uniform, entered.
“I only wanted to say, sir, I think the rain may be too heavy for ‘C’ flight to go up.”
“’C’ flight?” said the major. “Just how many men do you have to take up?”
“Well, sir, there’s Clark, and you were going to send up Morgan and Garrett a second time today to fill up the gaps left by Kearns and Randolph. But now that we’re missing Renhard and Allison as well that only makes four.”
“Yes,” said the major, “I’ve written twice to HQ for a replacement for Randolph—not that he could ever be replaced, but…”
He sighed and strode to the window.
“Yes, it does look rather bad. Keep your men on the ground for now. I can’t afford to lose any more. The advance will have to go on without us. Not that there will be any Germans in the air today anyway—they’ve no gasoline for their ‘planes. Well, that’s all, captain: dismissed.”
Hayes left and the major sat down at his desk.
“So you’ve proof against Renhard?” he asked the Frenchman.
“Yes, I’ve been tracing him ever since the first incident here. I’ve learned that he is German-American, though I’ve been unable to discover anything else of his background. He isn’t the first one I’ve caught, either. New York City is a hotbed of them—most of them with orders direct from Von Rintelin.”
“Accomplices! Accomplices!”
“Unfortunately, yes. What do you expect of a country consisting mainly of immigrants? Though I mean no slight to your nationality, of course. But back to the prisoner. I hope you have secured him well?”
“Yes, I had my men tie him up and lock him in the janitorial closet.”
“Good. A force will arrive this evening to convey him to prison.”
CRASH!!
“Sounds like quite a storm,” said the major. “I hope that force of yours will be able to get here.”
In the janitorial closet Renhard was also watching the storm. Getting captured did not trouble him as much as one would have expected it would. He would have said it was an “Occupational Hazard”. Renhard was perfectly equal to the situation and sat gazing reflectively through the little closet window as the storm clouds rolled past.
Strangely enough, the other men felt rather sorry for Renhard. Oh, yes, he’d had a sticky end in store for Kearns and they all agreed that he deserved the firing squad, but he’d been a brick all the rest of the time he’d been with Squadron 11, and he’d shown downright spleen when Woodward and Garrett were tying him up, so that certain individuals were moved to secrete chocolate bars under the closet door as expressions of their condolences.
“That’s done it,” muttered Renhard, pulling his right hand free from his bonds. “Now for the feet. Thought they could tie up me, a professional spy. They must be daft!”
He stood, stretched, and lighted a cigarette while taking stock of his surroundings. The window was too small to admit a man of Renhard’s build, but there was no point in going through the window anyhow, as his togs and flying helmet were inside the barracks. He searched among the mops and brooms until he found a safety pin. With this he proceeded to unlock the door. Hayes and Morgan were in the room beyond, but the lamp was low and if he couldn’t get past them it meant he was getting awfully rusty.
“What a storm!” shouted Ross to his friend Perkins as the two crossed the barracks yard towards the nearest hangar.
The wind was now raging and drowned out all sound of the barrage going on over the trenches to the East. The heavens seemed engaged in a fearful combat of their own and made the ground battles seem puny in comparison.
“Well, there’s no point in going on,” said Perkins. “We’re not going up today, anyway.”
“Hullo, what’s that?” said Ross.
“What?”
“Listen!”
Above the thunder of the rain they heard the throbbing sound of an engine starting up.
“Who’s crazy enough to go up in this weather?” said Perkins.
Apparently the question was rhetorical, for without waiting for an answer he rushed out to the landing strip with Ross just behind him. A lone SPAD was taxiing down the field towards them, head-on into the gale. The pilot waved.
“It’s Ren—Reinhardt!” shouted Ross. “Don’t let him get away!”
The two raced after the ‘plane as it roared past, but of course it was no use. The wheels had already lifted from the ground and the malefactor was making good his escape. His pursuers stopped near the end of the field to catch their breath and gazed after the pursued. The airplane and its occupant vanished into the storm.
Allison came to slowly to find a medical officer wrapping gauze around his arm.
“Who are you?” asked Allison, startled.
“Feel any pain?” the doctor replied.
Allison groaned in answer.
“Good,” said the doctor. “The feeling’s coming back. You’re not seriously injured, but you were in shock for quite a while.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ll do all right, my boy. Your friend is waiting outside to see you. I’ll tell him you’re awake.”
Allison was still too confused to think who could be waiting to see him. “Friend”? There was only one person who had ever been his friend and it couldn’t be him.
Kearns entered.
“Hullo, Allison,” he said, toying nervously with his hat. “Feel all right, don’t you?”
Allison looked away in embarrassment. Here was Kearns being nice to him. He obviously didn’t know what Allison had been going to do to him.
Kearns took a seat on the bed. “I telephoned the major and told him everything,” he said.
“Everything?” asked Allison.
“Yes, all about how you saved the ammunition train, for if it hadn’t’ve been for you it should’ve blown up. The War Office was so pleased with what you’d done they decided not to punish you for fighting. The major didn’t tell them it was I who was to blame about that fight, you see.”
Allison rolled his head from side to side on his pillow in misery of conscience.
“I’ll tell the doctor to give you some more morphine,” said Kearns anxiously.
“No, I’m all right. Did they know what caused the explosion?”
“No, they’re still trying to find out. They seemed to think a boiler burst. What do you think it was?”
Kearns asked this because he knew Allison used to work for the railroad and not because he held any suspicion of the truth. Allison saw this clearly enough and could not bring his eyes to meet Kearns’s. He turned his face to the wall.
“It was a firebomb,” he said quietly. “—I knew it was there. I was trying to kill you.”
“Kill me?” said Kearns. “Then why—”
“Never mind about details,” Allison went on hurriedly, for he did not like to implicate Renhard even yet. “Suffice it to say that I knew it was there and I didn’t tell anyone. I changed my mind and that’s why I tried to save the train.”
Kearns was unnaturally silent for several moments. “It was in my rucksack, wasn’t it?” he asked presently. Allison turned to look at him and saw the comprehension of the case stealing over his friend’s open countenance. “Something about the cigars, wasn’t it? I thought the box felt oddly. Then Renhard—” he stopped and looked at Allison. “The major said Renhard had escaped. I didn’t know what he meant. So he went off and left you to take the blame?”
“I was more to blame than he was. I hated you.”
“All the same, you changed your mind, and I’m grateful. Count on it, I won’t ever tell anyone on you, Allison.”
“Doesn’t matter; I’m going to confess,” said Allison doggedly. “I’m not afraid to take punishment.”
Kearns looked at him with growing respect. “What was it that made you change your mind?” he asked. “Was it Randolph?”
Allison was silent so long that Kearns almost forgot what it was he’d asked him. At last he shook his head with a smile and said, “no, it wasn’t entirely Randolph, though I wouldn’t have done it if it hadn’t have been for him. You see, I was almost ready to kill myself with remorse over how rotten I’d been to him, and I probably would have too, but…well, I remembered some things he’d said—I can’t tell you the whole story, but the fact is, I was helped by Someone Else. I think you know Who I mean.”
Kearns thought he did.
There are just two more pieces of information important to our story. The first is that Allison did not go to the firing squad. He was quite ready to confess his guilt, as he’d said, but he was never called upon to do so. The War Office seemed quite content with laying the full blame on Reinhardt the spy and leaving it at that. It was impossible that suspicion should not fall on Allison, but the case was never looked into. This may have been due to his heroism in saving the ammunition train, which, if they couldn’t exactly give him a medal for, they could at least overlook the fact that he ought not to have been on that train in the first place. So it was that Allison returned to his squadron when his wounds had healed and stayed there until the Armistice was signed.
The second piece of information pertained to Berthold Reinhardt. He and his stolen SPAD were last sighted flying over no-man’s-land towards the Bavarian sector near Ypres. What became of him subsequently is the subject of another story.
FIN
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