The Dispatch Riders Part 37

"And what are you doing here?" asked Kenneth with a display of fraternal authority. "There are at least three British hospitals in Antwerp, I believe. I wonder why you didn't join one of these."

"I wonder why you didn't join the British army instead of enlisting in the Belgian one," retorted Thelma in mock reproof.

"For one thing, we weren't old enough," explained her brother. "For another, we saw most of the fun before our troops landed in France.

It's been a rotten time, but it's well worth it."

"Yes, I am glad you were able to do your bit," agreed Thelma. "And now I'll tell you why I'm here. My friend Yvonne Resimont and I both entered as nurses, so as to be together."

"Yvonne Resimont here?" asked Kenneth.

"Yes--do you know her?"

"No; but I might have done, had Madame de la Barre not been so confoundedly pigheaded. But it's not too late now," he added.

Thelma laughed.

"I'll find her," she said.

"One moment," exclaimed Rollo, who had hitherto held his tongue but had made good use of his eyes. "Does Mademoiselle Resimont know about her father?"

"No; she has not heard anything of or from him for weeks. He is not dead?"

"Badly wounded, and now somewhere in England. I don't know where; but perhaps Major Planchenoit could give further particulars. And Madame Resimont?"

"She is in Holland--at Bergen-op-Zoom. The doctors ordered her to go, otherwise she would have remained here and helped with the wounded.

I'll find Yvonne."

In less than a minute Thelma Everest returned, accompanied by her Belgian chum.

Yvonne Resimont was a girl of medium height and well-proportioned. Her features were dark and clear, her hair of a deep brown.

Notwithstanding the grimness of her surroundings she had a natural vivacity that could not fail to charm all with whom she came in contact.

"You, then, are Kenneth," she exclaimed in good English, with a slight foreign accent. "I know much about you from Thelma, but I did not expect to see you in the uniform of our brave Belgians."

Kenneth coloured slightly.

"I wish to goodness the uniform were a little better fitting," he thought; but it would not have mattered in the slightest degree.

Yvonne was a patriot to her finger-tips. Every man in the uniform of her beloved country was to her a hero. The uniform, ill-fitting or otherwise, was in her eyes an emblem of right against might.

"Tell me, Kenneth," she continued, using his Christian name quite as a matter of course. It was excusable, since Thelma had never spoken of her brother by any other name, and Kenneth had not the faintest objection. "Tell me, how came you to be fighting with us in Belgian uniform?"

"Time, old man," announced Rollo, for during the animated conversation the minutes fled with astonishing rapidity. "It's nearly three o'clock."

"You'll both come to see us again whenever you have the chance, won't you?" asked Thelma, as the two chums bade the girls farewell. "For the next ten days we are on night duty, so you can call at any hour between eight and eight."

"And if we are asleep," added Yvonne, "tell them to awaken us. I will not be cross at being disturbed, and I do not think Thelma will be."

"Ripping girl, your sister, old man," remarked Rollo enthusiastically, as the twain hurried towards the staff office.

"Is she?" asked Kenneth absent-mindedly. He was thinking deeply of someone else.

CHAPTER XXVI

Self-accused

"We've a few minutes to spare," observed Kenneth, "so I'll get those cigars for Private Labori. There's a swagger shop just across the road."

In spite of the threatened bombardment of Antwerp the population was calm. It was a case of "business as usual". The cafes and shops were doing a good trade; the price of provisions, notwithstanding the great influx of refugees, was but a little above the normal. Were it not for the military element in the street, and the occasional visit of a Zeppelin or hostile aeroplane, it would have been difficult to realize that the city was almost within range of the German siege guns, and that day by day those guns were slowly yet steadily advancing.

Kenneth entered the tobacconist's first. As he did so he momentarily forgot that he carried his rifle across his back. In pa.s.sing through the narrow doorway the muzzle of the weapon struck the plate-gla.s.s window of the porch and cracked it.

Alarmed by the crash the shopkeeper rushed out, but before Kenneth could offer any apologies the man gave a howl of terror.

"Mercy, monsieur Englishman!" he exclaimed. "Indeed I could not help it. Von Koenik compelled me to disclose your name."

Kenneth, ever quick-witted, grasped the situation instantly. The tobacconist was none other than the spy who, under the name of Jules de la Paix, kept a similar establishment at Brussels. There his dirty work had been completed; at Antwerp it was just beginning.

The fellow had also recognized Kenneth as the Englishman he had basely denounced to his paymasters, the Germans. Seeing him in uniform and armed, with a fully-accoutred companion, the spy jumped at the hasty and erroneous conclusion that Kenneth had discovered his duplicity and had come to arrest him.

His panic at seeing the man whom he supposed to be dead amounted to a superst.i.tious terror. Hardly knowing what he said, he let fall the d.a.m.ning admission that he was at least partly responsible for Kenneth's arrest at Brussels.

"You are my prisoner!" exclaimed Kenneth sternly.

Momentarily recovering his courage, the fellow drew back. His hand flew to his pocket, but before he could produce a concealed weapon the British lad grasped him by both arms.

Meanwhile Rollo, guessing by the crash of the broken gla.s.s that something was amiss, had sauntered leisurely into the shop, fully expecting to hear his chum apologizing profusely to the tobacconist for his clumsiness. To his surprise, he found Kenneth and the shopkeeper swaying to and fro in a desperate struggle. Chairs had been overturned, cases of pipes and packets of tobacco were being thrown in all directions.

In spite of being enc.u.mbered with his rifle and kit, Kenneth succeeded in throwing the spy to the floor and kneeling on his chest.

[Ill.u.s.tration: KENNETH SUCCEEDED IN THROWING THE SPY TO THE FLOOR]

"Get a strap, a rope, or something, old man," he exclaimed breathlessly. "We've collared a spy."

Rollo obeyed. It was one of those rare instances when he acted on the spur of his chum's orders and argued the situation afterwards. He could not understand how Kenneth had effected the capture without any previous warning. To him, a lad brought up in a country where law and order moves with slow and majestic deliberation, it looked like a case of illegal arrest. Nevertheless he found a length of packing-cord, and deftly secured the arms of the now exhausted spy, tying them at the wrists behind his back.

The two female a.s.sistants--Belgian girls--had fled screaming at the commencement of the struggle. Two or three customers at the other end of the long shop had watched the scene without attempting to interfere; but directly the shopkeeper was secured they rushed into the street, yelling that a spy had been captured.

The utterance of the word "Espion" was sufficient instantly to attract a huge crowd. Civil Guards and soldiers found their way through the press, and kept the curious onlookers from the door.

"Who denounces the accused?" demanded a sergeant of the Civil Guard.

"I do," promptly responded Kenneth, at the same time producing his ident.i.ty papers.

The sergeant glanced at the doc.u.ments, and entered Kenneth's name in a book.