The Bomb Makers Part 15

"Nothing particular has happened since we parted on Thursday," replied the girl. "Father has been several times to see Mr Horton in Wandsworth, and last night dined with Mr Harberton in Park Lane."

"Ah! What would the public think if they knew that Count Ernst von Ortmann, who pulls the fingers of the Hidden Hand in our midst, Henry Harberton of Park Lane, and Mr Horton of Wandsworth, were one and the same person, eh?" exclaimed the man, who, though not in uniform, revealed his profession by his bearing.

"One day it will be known, dear," said the girl. "And then there will be an end to my father. The Count will believe that my father has betrayed him."

"Why do you antic.i.p.ate that?"

"Because only the night before last, when Ortmann called, I overheard him remark to my father that he was the only person who knew his secret, and warning him against any indiscretion, and of the fate which Germany would most certainly meet out to him if any _contretemps_ occurred."

"Yes," remarked the air-pilot reflectively. "I suppose that if the authorities really did arrest the inoffensive and popular Mr Harberton, the latter would, no doubt, revenge himself most bitterly upon your father."

"Of that I'm perfectly certain, dear. Often I am tempted to relinquish my efforts to combat the evil they try to work against England, and yet the English are my own people--and also yours."

"You're a thorough brick, Ella. There's not a girl in all the kingdom who has run greater risks than your dear self, or been more devoted to the British cause. Why, a dozen times you've walked fearlessly into danger, when you might have been blown to atoms by their infernal bombs."

"No, no," she laughed. "Don't discuss it here. I've only done what any other girl in my place would have done. Come," she added. "Let's get on and carry out the plan we arranged."

"Right-ho!" he replied. "That's the road," he added, pointing straight before him. "According to the map, there's a wood a little way up, where the road forks. We take the left road, skirt another wood past a farm called Danemore, then over a brook, and it's the first house we come to on the right--with another wood close behind it."

"Very well," answered the girl. "You'll have a breakdown close to the house--eh?"

"That's the arrangement," he laughed, and next minute he was running beside his machine, and was soon away, followed by his mud-bespattered well-beloved.

Off they both sped, first down a steep slope, and then gradually mounting through a thick wood where the brown leaves were floating down upon the chilly wind. They pa.s.sed the farm Kennedy had indicated, crossed the brook by a b.u.mpy, moss-grown bridge, and suddenly the man threw up his hand as a signal that he was pulling-up, and, slowing down, alighted, while his engine gave forth a report like a pistol-shot.

Ella, too, dismounted, and saw they were before a good-sized, well-kept farmhouse, which stood a short distance back from the road, surrounded by long red-brick outbuildings.

The report had brought out an old farm-hand--a white-bearded old fellow, who was scanning them inquisitively.

Both Ella and her lover were engaged in intently examining the latter's machine, looking very grave, and exchanging exclamations of despair.

Kennedy opened a bag of tools and, with a cigarette in his mouth, commenced an imaginary repair, with one eye upon the adjacent house.

This lasted for about a quarter-of-an-hour. In the meantime a woman, evidently the farmer's wife, had come out to view the strangers, and had returned indoors.

"I think it's now about time we might go in," the air-pilot whispered to his companion, whereupon both of them entered the gate and pa.s.sed up the rutty drive to the house.

"I wonder if you could lend me a heavy hammer?" asked the motor-cyclist in distress of the pleasant, middle-aged woman who opened the door.

"Why, certainly, sir. Would the coal-hammer do?" she asked.

"Fine!" was the man's reply. "I'm so sorry to trouble you, but I've broken down, and I'm on my way to London."

"I'm very sorry, sir," exclaimed the woman, who fetched a heavy hammer from her kitchen. "Would the young lady care to come in and wait?"

"Oh, thanks. It's awfully good of you," said Ella. "The fact is I am a little f.a.gged, and if I may sit down I shall be so grateful."

"Certainly, miss. Just come in both of you for a moment," and she led the way into a homely well-furnished room with a great open hearth where big logs were burning with a pleasant smell of smouldering beech.

"What a comfortable room you have here!" Kennedy remarked, looking at the thick Turkey carpet upon the floor, and the carved writing-table in the window.

"Yes, sir. This is a model dairy-farm. It belongs to Mr Anderson-James, who lives in Tunbridge Wells, and who comes here for week-ends sometimes, and for the shooting. I expect him here to-night.

My husband farms for him, and I look after the place as housekeeper."

"A model farm!" exclaimed Ella. "Oh! I'd so much like to see it. I wonder if your husband would allow me?"

"He'd be most delighted, miss."

"Stevenson is my name, and this is my friend Mr Kershaw," Ella said, introducing herself.

"My name is Dennis," replied the comely farmer's wife with a pleasant smile. "This is called Furze Down Farm, and Mr Anderson-James is a solicitor in Tunbridge Wells. So now you know all about us," and the woman, in her big white ap.r.o.n, laughed merrily.

Kennedy and the girl exchanged glances.

"Well," he said, "I'll go out and try to put the machine right. It won't take very long, I hope. If I can't--well, we must go back by train. Where's the nearest station, Mrs Dennis?"

"Well--Paddock Wood is about two miles," was her reply. "If you can't get your motor right my husband will put it into a cart and drive you over there. It's the direct line to London."

"Thanks so much," he said, and went out, leaving Ella to rest in the cosy, well-furnished room which the solicitor from Tunbridge Wells occupied occasionally through the week-ends.

"Mr Anderson-James keeps this place as a hobby. He's retired from practice," the woman went on, "and he likes to come here for fresh air.

When you've rested I'll show you round the houses--if you're interested in a dairy-farm."

"I'm most interested," declared the girl. "I don't want to rest. I'd rather see the farm, if it is quite convenient to you to show it to me."

"Oh, quite, miss," was the woman's prompt response. She came from Devonshire, as Ella had quickly detected, and was an artist in b.u.t.ter-making, the use of the mechanical-separator, and the management of poultry.

The pair went out at once and, pa.s.sing by clean asphalt paths, went to the range of model cowhouses, each scrupulously clean and well-kept.

Then to the piggeries, the great poultry farm away in the meadows, and, lastly, into the white-tiled dairy itself, where four maids in white smocks and caps were busy with b.u.t.ter, milk, and cream.

Ranged along one side of the great dairy were about thirty galvanised-iron chums of milk, ready for transport, and Ella, noting them, asked their destination.

"Oh! They go each night to the training-camp at B--. They go out in two lots, one at midnight, and one at two o'clock in the morning."

"Oh, so you supply the camp with milk, do you?"

"Yes. Before the war all our milk went up to London Bridge by train each night, but now we supply the two camps. There are fifty thousand men in training there, they say. Isn't it splendid!" added the woman, the fire of patriotism in her eyes. "There's no lack of pluck in the dear old country."

"No, Mrs Dennis. All of us are trying to do our bit," Ella said.

"Does the Army Service Corps fetch the milk?"

"No, miss. They used to, but for nearly six weeks we've sent it in waggons ourselves. The camp at B--is ten miles from here, so it comes rather hard on the horses. It used to go in motor-lorries. Old Thomas, the man bending down over there," and she pointed across the farm-yard, "he drives the waggon out at twelve, and Jim Jennings--who only comes of an evening--does the late delivery."

"But the road is rather difficult from here to the camp, isn't it?"

asked the girl, as though endeavouring to recollect.

"Yes. That's just it. They have to go right round by Shipborne to avoid the steep hill."

Five minutes later they were in the comfortable farm-house again, and, after a further chat, Ella went forth to see how her companion was progressing.

The repair had been concluded--thanks to the coal-hammer! Ella took it back, thanked the affable Mrs Dennis, and, five minutes later, the pair were on their way to London, perfectly satisfied with the result of their investigations.