Prince Cecil: II

Chapter II.

Over the Border

Cecil strode aimlessly up the length of the train coach and wondered if it was nearly time to go to the dining car. It had been a long journey and he was getting good and tired of it. He had already examined the emergency brakes and converted his seat into a bed and back into a seat again several times. He wanted to let down the window and put his head out so he could feel the wind in his hair, but when he had done this a cross old gentleman had shouted at him and made him put it up again.
There were notices posted about the car, written in German because it was a German train, which told you not to smoke or to please pull the brake handle only in case of emergency. Having nothing better to do, Cecil stopped to read these notices and to copy them into his notebook.
He was very busy writing when he suddenly happened to look up and encounter the eyes of the ticket collector, who had stopped opposite him and stood glaring at him. Cecil had run into him twice before—once when he was getting on the train, and then when the collector had taken his ticket—and both times the man had looked at him with the same suspicious stare.
‘Can I do anything for you?’ asked Cecil in faultless German.
The man’s expression stayed the same.
‘Who’s with you?’ was all he said.
‘Nobody. I’m travelling by myself.’
‘You’re English, aren’t you?’
It seemed that the English were not very popular in that part of Europe.
‘No, I’m not,’ replied Cecil stiffly. ‘Besides, I’ve paid for my ticket.’
He met the man’s stern gaze squarely and there followed a long battle of looks between them. Cecil was just about to speak again when the ticket collector opened his mouth and bawled loudly,
‘All passengers to descend and proceed through customs!’
Cecil was quite taken aback but quickly recovering, he raced to the window and looked out. A station advanced down the tracks and before it stood a sign which read,

FRONTIER

He fetched his knapsack from the seat and descended with the rest of the passengers onto the station platform. Cecil had already been through customs several times so he did not expect to have any difficulties. The official behind the desk sorted through his knapsack rapidly and efficiently. Socks, ties, handkerchiefs, New Testament, toothbrush, cartridges, chocolate, wire clippers, electric torch, ball of string, marbles, chewing gum, Swiss Army pocket knife, railroad map, rubber eraser, small battery, Virgil’s Aeneid. Deftly he stuffed everything back, handed Cecil his passport and waved him on.
Cecil stopped in the station house to buy peanuts and found that the room was full of noise from a group of men playing at cards in the corner. One of the men wore a heavy beard and had a Jack of clubs stuck into his hat brim. He was one of the most absorbed players, but when he noticed Cecil he seemed to forget all about the game and stared at him fixedly. Such intense scrutiny rather annoyed Cecil and he was quite relieved when the man left off staring to cross the room and speak to the person at the ticket counter. The train whistle hooted and Cecil hurried out onto the platform.
He had waited longer than he had meant to and the train was just about to leave. A railroad official waved to him impatiently and Cecil hurried towards the nearest car. Just as he reached it he saw the bearded man coming out with the station master and a Pyromanian policeman. (He was now on Pyromanian soil.)
‘Hi! Stop!’ the man called when he saw Cecil.
Cecil climbed up on the step and watched as the train pulled out and picked up speed, leaving the three men fruitlessly pursuing. They were only in time to get onto the very last car and the station master was not quite fast enough to manage even this. He stopped at the end of the platform and watched the train pull away at a rapid speed.
Cecil entered the car and took a seat, squeezing himself between the window and a fat gentleman and pulling his cap over his eyes until he saw the policeman and the bearded man walk past down the aisle. He followed them with his eyes and wondered what they were up to, chasing him like that. He must be on his guard. After all, you cannot be too careful if you are a prince returning to your country while it is under the rule of an evil and ruthless dictator. When he had made quite certain the coast was clear he made a few emergency arrangements in the coach, stowed his knapsack above his seat, and made his way to the dining car.
The dining car was full of interesting smells, it being supper time. Cecil took a table in a far corner and ordered sausages and mash, a boiled egg, preserved peaches, a dundee cake, and bottled root beer. He would also have ordered chicken soup, but he was afraid he would not have been able to manage it should the train take a curve.
His supper came at last although, being train service, it took its own time about it and Cecil was just getting comfortable over it when a railway official came into the car with two men after him. Cecil had his back turned and would not have noticed them except that what the official was saying caught his attention.
‘I know the one you mean,’ he said. ‘He was the last one to board—before you, anyway.’
Cecil looked around. It would have been better if he had not, for his eyes met the direct gaze of the bearded man and the policeman.
‘There he is!’ said the bearded man, pointing straight at Cecil.
Cecil didn’t wait to hear more. He leaped up and made for the rear of the car with the three men in hot pursuit, or at least as hot as one can pursue in a coach full of tables while everything is moving at over forty miles per hour.
‘Stop him! Stop him!’ cried the bearded man.
But Cecil got out a good bit ahead of them and dashed through the next car. He hoped he’d be able to keep ahead of them until he got to his own coach which was three coaches down. He was upsetting a lot of people already, tearing through the cars like that, but what could he do? He reached his own car at last and, snatching his knapsack from the shelf, glanced back in time to see the bearded man and the policeman just entering.
‘Hi! Stop!’ they shouted.
Cecil ignored them and was about to dash on through the other door when it opened and the ticket collector entered, running smack against him.
‘Beg pardon; please let me pass,’ said Cecil when he had gotten his breath back.
‘Stop him!’ cried the policeman.
‘Aha, my fine friend!’ replied the ticket collector, attempting to collar him.
Cecil dodged and ran to the nearest window. The train was slowing down for a curve.
‘Don’t let him do it! Stop him!’ cried the policeman.
The passengers began to sit up and take notice.
‘Hi! Shut that window!’ cried an old gentleman, but it was too late.
Cecil perched for an instant on the sill and the next he had catapulted himself out of the moving train. His pursuers, rushing to the window, were just in time to see his heels disappearing into a stack of straw which stood beside the tracks. Inside the car a lady screamed.
‘We’ll get him yet,’ said the policeman. ‘Somebody pull that brake handle!’
Cecil struggled out of the straw stack and dusted himself off. Far off down the track the train was rapidly growing smaller while on one coach three men shook their fists at him and shouted.
‘Just as well I disconnected the emergency brake earlier,’ said Cecil. ‘But they’ll manage to stop it soon enough and it’s no good being here when they do. I say, I wish they’d had the decency to wait until I’d finished my supper!’
He was in a wide open field dotted with straw stacks. The sun had just set and it was beginning to grow dark and Cecil thought wistfully of a comfortable sleeper car. But there was no use in wishing; he had to set out on foot and avoid roads that might have policemen on them who would be warned of his arrival.
He found a footpath leading across the fields and struck out along it, following it until it led into a thick wood. The night fell around him suddenly and Cecil soon found himself sleepy as well as immensely hungry. Besides these discomforts there were a lot of mosquitos in the wood. Mapleton did not seem such a bad place at the moment.
He trudged on. The footpath came to a road, but Cecil, referring to his map of Pyromania, found that it was a rural thoroughfare and didn’t lead directly to the capitol city. Of course the capitol city was his destination, but it was still over twenty miles away according to the map. He kept on the footpath and tried to stay awake. He did not know how many hours he had walked before he saw off in the distance a light shining through the trees.
‘If it’s a farmhouse, I’ll risk it and ask for shelter,’ thought Cecil. ‘Maybe it’ll be a loyal farmer who will give me a ride to the city.
He picked up his pace but tried to advance cautiously in case the place kept a dog. He didn’t want to rouse the whole neighbourhood. He had just passed through a clump of trees and come close enough to get an idea of what kind of building the light came from when he was stopped by a voice close behind him.
‘Halt! Hands up!’
‘Who are you?’ came a second voice, as Cecil complied.
‘Drop your knapsack. No fast moves, hear?’
‘What are you doing out after curfew? You’re not a farm labourer—you’re urban. How did you get here?’
‘My passport’s correct,’ said Cecil as soon as the voices gave him a chance to speak.
‘We’ll find out soon enough.’
Two of the men came round in front of him and Cecil heard them fumbling through his knapsack in the dark.
‘Here’s his passport,’ said one. ‘Strike a light, Hertzler.’
‘Nah, it’s too dark,’ said Hertzler, making an abortive effort to read by the faint glow of a match and lighting a cigarette with it instead. ‘Might as well take him to the guard house and let the Leutnant look him over.’
They—Cecil thought there were about five or six of them—made Cecil march in front of them in the direction of the light. It grew much brighter as they came closer and Cecil saw that it was a spotlight on a pole in a yard enclosed with barbed wire. Inside the yard stood a concrete building with bars in the windows. The men marched Cecil through a gate and into this building.
‘Found him out after curfew,’ they explained to an officer who sat behind a desk in the office.
‘What’s your name?’ asked the lieutenant without wasting any time.
‘My name?’ asked Cecil, trying to remember the name in his passport. He knew it started with Mont-something. Was it Montgomery? Or Montmorency?
‘Yes, what’s the matter? You know your own name, I suppose.’
One of the soldiers handed Cecil’s passport to the lieutenant.
‘Oh, Montague, I see,’ he said, flipping it open. ‘Well, where did you come from?’
‘I fell off the train.’
‘Clumsy of you. Your passport looks all right. Where do you live?’
‘Nowhere right now.’
‘You have to sign immigration papers if you want to come here to stay. Don’t you have any parents?’
‘No.’
‘I don’t believe a word of it,’ said one of the soldiers, speaking up. ‘He’s a spy.’
The lieutenant looked at Cecil dubiously.
‘He looks a bit young for that,’ he said.
‘They start them out at that age,’ said one of the other soldiers. ‘Karl’s right. This countryside’s crawling with spies and saboteurs. It’s on account of that shipment of tanks Germany’s sending in.’
The lieutenant leapt to his feet and, dashing round his desk, pulled the soldier’s helmet down over his face.
‘Idiot!’ he exclaimed. ‘Nobody was supposed to know about that. I thought they taught you to keep your mouth shut at training camp: they obviously didn’t teach you anything else.’
‘The word’s probably leaked out already, anyway,’ said the soldier, righting his helmet abashedly. ‘I’m sure the farmers know something’s up.’
‘He knows now, whoever else does or doesn’t,’ replied the lieutenant angrily. ‘What do we do with him, I’d like to know? We can’t let him go now. You know what The Superior’s orders were.’
The soldier swallowed at mention of The Superior.
‘Now see what a mess you’ve gotten me into,’ said the lieutenant, sitting down again and mopping his forehead. ‘Lock him up in the cell over there. I’ve got to think this thing through.’
The soldiers complied and then skulked out, hoping they wouldn’t get into trouble. The cell they had locked Cecil in was bare save for a concrete bench and a barred window. It was small and it did not take Cecil long to examine it minutely enough to realise that there was no possible way of escape. He sat down on the cold bench and tried to think.
Here he was, barely even over the border, and already he had been caught. It could only be a matter of time before they discovered who he really was—he knew the men who had chased him on the train had been suspicious—and once they did, it was all up with him. –Even if he was only twelve years old.
He went to the window and looked out. In the darkness he could see the vague shape of a guard walking back and forth in front of the barbed wire fence and could hear the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Cecil turned and went to the other side of the cell where the barred door separated it from the outer room.
The lieutenant sat at his desk rubbing his forehead and staring at an ashtray. He seemed to be trying to make up his mind and twice picked up the telephone as if he were going to make a call and then put it back again without doing so. Once he got up from the desk and walked up and down, sighing and scratching the back of his neck like a star-crossed lover. Cecil soon grew tired of watching him and sat down on the bench again. He had nearly fallen asleep when he was roused by a particularly despondent sigh from the lieutenant.
‘Why do you let it bother you so much?’ asked Cecil, sitting up and observing the lieutenant curiously. ‘You don’t have to, you know. You could just let me go. Your men will keep their mouths shut if you do.’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you?’ said the officer suspiciously.
‘Wouldn’t you if you were me?’ asked Cecil.
‘Maybe,’ said the lieutenant, scratching the back of his neck again. ‘I should let you go—you’re only a boy.’
‘Well, why not, then? After all, my passport was all right.’
‘But it’s so suspicious—you out at this hour in the middle of the forest without a satisfactory explanation.’
‘I’m a boyscout,’ said Cecil.
‘That’s not satisfactory enough. I have to detain you at least for the night. I’m just afraid if I call up Headquarters they’ll be angry with me for bothering them with insignificant information.’
‘I’m sure they’d be very angry,’ said Cecil. ‘I wouldn’t bother them, if I were you, and this cell’s beastly uncomfortable. You might let me sleep in your room if you’ve got to keep me all night.’
‘No, I couldn’t do that. You might escape. I know it’s not very pleasant in there, but what can I do? I wouldn’t do things like this, but I—I don’t know what to do.’
He ended with another sigh and began to pace again.
‘Well dry up, then,’ said Cecil; ‘and let a chap get some sleep at least.’
At that moment an automobile engine rose above the sound of the crickets outside and they heard a voice shouting to someone at the gate to open up. The lieutenant went quickly to the window and Cecil strained to see out over his shoulder—which was difficult because his shoulder was all the way across the room.
In a minute the door opened and two uniformed officers stepped inside. Through the open door Cecil could see a shiny black staff car bearing the Javotski party flags parked just outside.
The lieutenant sprang away from the window and saluted feverishly as they entered.
‘My Colonel,’ he said. ‘I was not expecting… is there something—I mean, is there anything—’
‘Shut up,’ said the colonel peremptorily. ‘Where’s the spy you telephoned about?’
‘Telephoned? I didn’t—’
‘Where is he?’
‘In—in the cell over there.’
‘Why didn’t you say so at once? Where’s the record of his arrest?’
‘I have not yet made one. I was waiting… that is, I thought—’
‘I don’t believe you ever think. You are incompetent, Leutnant. I expect you searched the prisoner?’
‘Oh yes, of course, Colonel. He had nothing of consequence except for a shortened cavalry sabre and an automatic. Of course we took those away.’
‘That’s his, I suppose?’ asked the colonel, pointing to Cecil’s knapsack which had been left on a bench.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Search it, Schneller.’
The officer with him emptied the knapsack and spread out the contents on the bench. The colonel stepped forward and examined the motley array of objects.
‘What’s this? Nothing of consequence, Leutnant?’
‘But Colonel, that’s only a New Testament.’
‘Only a New Testament? Subversive literature, Leutnant. This prisoner is highly dangerous.’
‘Do you really think—’
‘Of course I do—unlike you, I see. I will take charge of him myself. Put him in the car, Schneller. If he makes a move to run, blast him.’
‘Javoh!’ replied the other officer (which is German for right ho!) and, unlocking the cell door, he marched Cecil out.
‘Have one of your men carry those things out to the car,’ said the colonel, motioning towards Cecil’s belongings. ‘They may be useful as evidence.’
He returned the lieutenant’s salute and turning sharply on his heel, strode through the door.
For several miles Cecil rode in silence in the back seat of the staff car, wedged between the two officers with the adjutant’s pistol pressed to his ear. At length the driver looked over his shoulder and spoke to them.
‘Twenty miles to the capitol,’ he said.
‘All right; you can speed up a bit George,’ said the colonel. ‘Put away the pistol, Fred.’
‘It isn’t loaded,’ said the adjutant.
‘Don’t be alarmed, your highness, if I happen to know who you are,’ said the colonel. ‘We’re all friends here. In fact, we’re members of the British SIS, but it’s best if we don’t tell you too much about ourselves. We got tipped off that you’d been picked up by that patrol and we decided to pop over and help you out of the jug. You’re going to the capitol, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Cecil, whose head was spinning from the rapid and unexpected information and from the shock from being called ‘your highness.’
‘Well, we’ll get you into the city and drop you off at the British consulate.’
‘The British consulate? Why there?’ asked Cecil. ‘He can’t give me—what do you call it—sanctuary, can he?’
‘No, he wouldn’t be able to keep the Javotskis from getting hold of you, but he’s one of the most useful friends you have here. He’ll hide you and give you any messages Headquarters sends along. By the way, here are your weapons back: you’ll be wanting them badly enough before you’re through.’
‘Thanks,’ said Cecil. ‘How did you find out I got captured?’
‘That’s rather a long story: Headquarters has been following your movements ever since you left England and they’ve kept us informed. The uniforms and car were easy to manage. The whole business in fact has been remarkably easy. Too easy, I should say. We’ve still got to reckon with the secret police, and I’m certain they’ve an inkling of what’s happened. If we can make it to the capitol, we’re safe enough; I’d like to see them try to find us in the city. But if they catch us up before we reach the gates, it’s curtains for us.’
‘Are the entrances guarded?’ asked Cecil.
‘Every single road is guarded and you have to have a pass to go in or out. Government’s way of keeping tabs on everybody. We’ve good passes, but they won’t answer to a secret police agent—that sort’s far more thorough. How many miles yet, George?’
‘Thirteen,’ replied the driver.
‘Thirteen’s unlucky. Can’t you make it twelve and a half?’
‘Sorry. There’s no short cut that I know of and I can’t go any faster on these curves.’
The colonel rolled down his window and put his head out.
‘No one after us yet,’ he said. ‘Unless they’re mad enough to drive without headlights.’
‘In that case we’ve a better chance of escaping them,’ said the adjutant, who’d been called Fred.
Cecil heard only the first part of this sentence. The last bit got muddled up in a dream about the lieutenant, the patrol, staff cars, and the Superior, for Cecil was so sleepy he couldn’t keep himself from dropping off. He sank into the soundest sleep he’d had for several days and was only awakened a while later by the car slowing down.
‘Just about there,’ said the driver, breaking the silence. ‘Here comes the gate.’
‘All right, get the passes ready,’ said the colonel. ‘Get your gun out for effect, Fred. Let me do the talking.’
Cecil, now thoroughly awake, sat up and strained to see out the window. They had pulled up to a booth with its traffic guard lowered. A soldier demanded their passes and they tendered them.
‘Be quick, about it blockhead,’ said the colonel. ‘We’re in a hurry.’
‘All right, all right; but who’s the fourth party?’
‘A prisoner we’re taking in for questioning. He’s high security so keep your ruddy mouth shut, or you’ll be good and sorry.’
The guard handed back the passes without a word although he looked as if colonels were not his favourite ranking officer at the moment.
‘There’s an SO car behind us,’ said the adjutant in a low voice.
The colonel turned to look out the back window, then waved to the guard to lift the gate.
‘Hold there a minute,’ the guard called. ‘I’ve got to see what’s up.’
They saw him turn and stride towards the secret police car that had pulled silently up, the driver signalling from the window.
‘There’s no help for it;’ said the colonel. ‘Step on it, George; never mind the barricade.’
George complied with a screech of tyres and smashing of timber. A vague shout was heard from the guard but it was drowned out by the sound of the accelerating engine. They sped down the streets of the city, narrowly missing lampposts and taking corners at an impossible speed.
‘They’re onto us,’ said the adjutant.
‘Hold on, your highness,’ said the colonel, bracing himself against the seat and the side of the car. ‘We’ve got to shake ‘em somehow, George.’
‘Shall I try the old Pumpstreet dodge?’ asked the driver.
‘Do you think it will work?’
‘Ought to. It’s a simple one,’ he explained for Cecil’s benefit. ‘You only have to—’
‘Watch your driving, man!’ cried the colonel.
‘I’m all right, don’t worry. As I was saying, you drive into a one-lane alley and slam on the brakes. They swerve so as not to hit you, and—’
From the corner of his eye, Cecil saw a dark alleyway open up on their right and an automobile emerge from the depths, hurtling towards them.
‘Look out!’ he shouted.
The next minute was a confused one. At first Cecil could not understand what had happened and when he had collected his wits he could not tell whether he was upside down or right ways up. The car rocked and quivered and lay still.
‘Alive, your highness?’ came the colonel’s voice.
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Let me get the door open. It’s jammed.’
Cecil heard the thud of a heavy boot against the wood and something suddenly gave way and fresh air came blowing in.
‘There. Get out quick and run for it. We’ll draw them off. Hurry!’
Cecil clambered through the opening and found himself on top of the car which lay on its side, smashed against the wall of a building with the front end of the other car buried in its belly. It was a wonder they were all alive, but staff cars were made well and this one had been made in Italy.
For a split second Cecil had opportunity to survey the scene. The street was lit with lamps and practically deserted but windows in surrounding buildings were flying up and people were putting their heads out and shouting. The driver of the assaulting car was shaking his head as he came to and from the car that had followed them emerged several black-clad figures of the secret police.One of them raised his arm and Cecil saw a flash and heard a bullet pass somewhere nearby him. He scrambled to the ground and struck off at a run over the pavement, never stopping to look back as he heard gunshots and knew the SIS men were covering his escape. He hoped they’d get away, but knew that they were experts in this sort of warfare. As for himself, he had shaken off his hunger and tiredness and felt a surge of excitement pass through him. He was home in his own country and in his own capitol city and nothing was going to stop him now.