Part 6 (1/2)
”Right!” said d.i.c.k.
Just then the cab, caught in a rutty road where the going was very heavy, and there was a slight upgrade in addition, to make it worse, slowed up considerably. And d.i.c.k, looking out of the window on his side, gave a stifled exclamation.
”Look there, Harry!” he said. ”Do you see the sun flas.h.i.+ng on something on the roof of that house over there? What do you suppose that is?”
”Whew!” Harry whistled. ”You ought to know that, d.i.c.k! A heliograph--field telegraph. Morse code--or some code--made by flashes. The sun catches a mirror or some sort of reflector, and it's just like a telegraph instrument, with dots and dashes, except that you work by sight instead of by sound. That _is_ queer! Try to mark just where the house is, and so will I.”
The cab turned, while they were still looking, and removed the house where the signalling was being done from their line of vision. But in a few moments there was a loud report that startled both scouts until they realized that a front tire had blown out. The driver stopped at once, and descended, seemingly much perturbed. And Harry and d.i.c.k, piling out to inspect the damage, started when they saw that they had stopped just outside the mysterious house.
”I'll fix that in a jiffy,” said the driver, and began jacking up the wheel. But, quickly as he stripped off the deflated tire, he was not so quick that Harry failed to see that the blow-out had been caused by a straight cut--not at all the sort of tear produced by a jagged stone or a piece of broken gla.s.s. He said nothing of his discovery, however, and a moment later he looked up to face a young man in the uniform of an officer of the British territorial army. This young man had keen, searching blue eyes, and very blond hair. His upper lip was closely shaven, but it bore plain evidence that within a few days it had sported a moustache.
”Well,” said the officer, ”what are you doing here?”
The driver straightened up as if in surprise.
”Blow-out, sir,” he said, touching his cap. ”I'm carrying these young gentlemen from Waterloo to Ealing, sir. Had to come around on account of the roads.”
”You have your way lost, my man. Why not admit it?” said the officer, showing his white teeth in a smile. He turned to Harry and d.i.c.k. ”Boy Scouts, I see,” he commented. ”You carry orders concerning the movement of troops from Ealing? They are to entrain--where?”
”Near Croydon, sir, on the Brighton and South Coast line,” said Harry, lifting innocent eyes to his questioner.
”So! They go to Dover, then, I suppose--no, perhaps to Folkestone--oh, what matter? Hurry up with your tire, my man!”
He watched them still as the car started. Then he went back to the house.
”Whatever did you tell him that whopper about Croydon for?” whispered d.i.c.k.
”I wasn't going to tell him anything--”
”Then he might have tried to make us,” answered Harry, also in a whisper.
”Did you notice anything queer about him?”
”Why, no--”
”'You have your way lost!' Would any Englishman say that, d.i.c.k? And wouldn't a German? You've studied German. Translate 'You've lost your way'
into German. 'Du hast dein weg--' See? He was a German spy!”
”Oh, Harry! I believe you're right! But why didn't we--”
”Try to arrest him? There may have been a dozen others there, too. And there was the driver. We wouldn't have had a chance. Besides, if he thinks we don't suspect, we may be able to get some valuable information later. I think--”
”What?”
”I'd better not say now. But remember this--we've got to look out for this driver. I think he'll take us straight to Ealing now. When we get to the barracks you stay in the cab--we'll pretend we may have to go back with him.”
”I see,” said d.i.c.k, thrilling with the excitement of this first taste of real war.
Harry was right. The driver's purpose in making such a long detour, whatever it was, had been accomplished. And now he plainly did his best to make up for lost time. He drove fast and well, and in a comparatively short time both the scouts could see that they were on the right track.