Part 21 (2/2)

Farnworth was too modest to give details. He had vivid recollections of a dirty day in the North Sea, with submarine E-- lying awash, and a hostile mine foul of her bows. The plucky young officer, a.s.sisted by a couple of equally resolute seamen, succeeded in freeing the submarine from the unwelcome attentions of the metal globe, but in so doing the mooring-chain had surged, fracturing Farnworth's thigh as the heavy mine dropped clear.

It took three months at Haslar Hospital, followed by six weeks at Osborne, to set matters right, but the sub's leg was permanently shortened. To his great relief, Farnworth was not invalided out of the Service, although unfit for sea. He was given a good billet in the Intelligence Department, his district covering the Tyne ports, Hull, and Liverpool.

With a powerful car at his disposal, Farnworth was in clover. His sole regret was his inability to tread the planks of a British war-s.h.i.+p. The call of the sea was strong. He would willingly have relinquished his ”cushy job” to be in command of the slowest little torpedo-boat flying the White Ensign.

”I'm keeping you,” said Sefton at length.

”Not at all,” said Farnworth, with a grin. ”It's Government petrol I'm using, you know, and I'm not due at Liverpool until eight to-night. Do it on my head, so to speak. And you?”

”Just off to the station, old man,” replied Sefton. ”Want to get home to-night.”

”Southampton? I doubt it, old bird. You've missed the express to King's Cross. No, I'm not to blame. It had gone long before you tried to commit hara-kiri under my car. Look here; hop in and I'll drop you at Manchester in plenty of time to pick up the through train.”

Sefton accepted the invitation with alacrity. Being whisked through the air in a comfortable car was infinitely to be preferred to being cooped up in a railway-carriage after a tedious wait in a draughty station.

The ninety odd miles to Halifax was covered in two hours and a half, for, on the open road, Farnworth let the car all out, only slowing down while pa.s.sing through the big industrial towns that lay on his route.

”Now for a ripping stretch of country,” exclaimed Farnworth enthusiastically. ”Something to blow the cobwebs away, don't you know.

I always take this road in preference to the Hebden Bridge way. It's steeper, but the car can do it hands down.”

Up and up, with very little reduction of speed, the high-powered car climbed. Sefton, drowsy for lack of sufficient sleep and from the effects of the strong air, failed to share his companion's enthusiasm.

Lulled by the rhythmic purr of the motor-car, he was fast becoming oblivious to his surroundings when Farnworth gave him a violent shake with his disengaged hand.

”What's wrong?” enquired Sefton.

”Sc.r.a.p,” replied his chum laconically. ”Something more than a dog-fight. What?” he muttered under his breath as he pulled up.

Twenty yards from the road was an overturned car. Close to it lay a khaki-clad figure, while engaged in a desperate struggle were two pairs of interlocked combatants. Approaching them with stealthy steps was a short, thickset, bullet-headed man holding an automatic pistol.

This much Sefton took in with a glance as he leapt from the car.

Fatigue and sleepiness had vanished in an instant. All he realized was that a party of motorists was being molested by a gang of armed roughs, and that was enough.

With Farnworth limping close at his heels, Sefton ran to the rescue. An encouraging shout from his companion caused the armed ruffian to turn.

Brandis.h.i.+ng his pistol, he shouted a warning to the two new-comers to ”clear out and mind their own business”.

Undeterred by the sight of the weapon, the two subs bounded forward. A couple of bullets whizzed past Sefton's head, one of the pieces of nickel chopping a slice out of the lobe of Farnworth's left ear.

Before Hans could fire again, the deep report of a heavy revolver rang out, followed by a bluish puff of smoke from underneath the overturned car.

Clapping his hands to his side, the German spun round three times and collapsed to the ground.

As he pa.s.sed, Sefton kicked the fellow's pistol, sending it flying a dozen yards. If the Hun were playing 'possum, the sub meant to take no unnecessary risks.

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