Part 17 (2/2)

d.i.c.k did not answer. He was thinking hard. He wondered if Jack would try to rescue him. They were getting very near Bray Park, he felt, and he thought that, once inside, neither Jack nor anyone else could get him out until these men who had captured him were willing. Then the car stopped suddenly.

d.i.c.k saw that they were outside a little house.

”Get out,” said the leader.

d.i.c.k and the telephone man who had not been hurt obeyed; the other lineman was lifted out, more considerately this time.

”Inside!” said the German with the thick, guttural voice. He pointed to the open door, and they went inside. One of the Germans followed them, and stood in the open door.

”Werner, you are responsible for the prisoners, especially the boy,” said the leader. ”See that none of them escape. You will be relieved at the proper time. You understand?”

”Ja, Herr Ritter!” said the man. ”Zu befehl!”

He saluted, and for the first time d.i.c.k had the feeling that this strange procedure was, in some sense, military, even though there were no uniforms.

Then the door shut, and they were left in the house.

It was just outside of Bray Park--he remembered it now. A tiny box of a place it was, too, but solidly built of stone. It might have been used as a tool house. There was one window; that and the door were the only means of egress. The German looked hard at the window and laughed. d.i.c.k saw then that it was barred. To get out that way, even if he had the chance, would be impossible. And the guard evidently decided that. He lay down across the door.

”So!” he said. ”I shall sleep--but with one ear open! You cannot get out except across me. And I am a light sleeper!”

d.i.c.k sat there, pondering wretchedly. The man who had been struck on the head was breathing stertorously. His companion soon dropped off to sleep, like the German, so that d.i.c.k was the only one awake. Through the window, presently, came the herald of the dawn, the slowly advancing light. And suddenly d.i.c.k saw a shadow against the light, looked up intently, and saw that it was Jack Young. Jack pointed. d.i.c.k, not quite understanding, moved to the spot at which he pointed.

”Stay there!” said Jack, soundlessly. His lips formed the words but he did not utter them. He nodded up and down vehemently, however, and d.i.c.k understood him, and that he was to stay where he was. He nodded in return, and settled down in his new position. And then Jack dropped out of sight.

For a long time, while the dawn waxed and the light through the window grew stronger, d.i.c.k sat there wondering. Only the breathing of the three men disturbed the quiet of the little hut. But then, from behind him, he grew conscious of a faint noise. Not quite a noise, either; it was more a vibration. He felt the earthen floor of the hut trembling beneath him. And then at last he understood.

He had nearly an hour still to wait. But at last the earth cracked and yawned where he had been sitting. He heard a faint whisper.

”Dig it out a little--there's a big hole underneath. You can squirm your way through. I'm going to back out now.”

d.i.c.k obeyed, and a moment later he was working his way down, head first, through the tunnel Jack had dug from the outside. He was small and slight and he got through, somehow, though he was short of breath and dirtier than he had ever been in his life when at last he was able to straighten up--free.

”Come on!” cried Jack. ”We've no time to lose. I've got a couple of bicycles here. We'd better run for it.”

Run for it they did, but there was no alarm. Behind them was the hut, quiet and peaceful. And beyond the hut was the menace of Bray Park and the mysteries of which the Germans had spoken in the great grey motor car.

CHAPTER XV

A DARING RUSE

Harry, furious as he was when he saw Graves allowed to go off after the false accusation that had caused his arrest, was still able to control himself sufficiently to think. He was beginning to see the whole plot now, or to think he saw it. He remembered things that had seemed trivial at the time of their occurrence, but that loomed up importantly now. And one of the first things he realized was that he was probably in no great danger, that the charge against him had not been made with the serious idea of securing his conviction, but simply to cause his detention for a little while, and to discredit any information he might have.

He could no longer doubt that Graves was in league with the spies on whose trail he and d.i.c.k had fallen. And he understood that, if he kept quiet, all would soon be all right for him. But if he did that, the plans of the Germans would succeed. He had seen already an example of what they could do, in the destruction of the water works. And it seemed to him that it would be a poor thing to fail in what he had undertaken simply to save himself. As soon as he reached that conclusion he knew what he must do, or, at all events, what he must try to do.

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