The Hero of Garside School Part 53

Paul had promised himself that he would make an effort to find out; so, as he had heard nothing from Wyndham, he seized the first opportunity that occurred to visit that part of the common where the master had disappeared. He followed the trail which the master had pursued in the direction of the river until he came to the thickly-wooded part where the trees, furze-bushes, brake, and bramble grew in wild profusion.

This was the spot where he had lost sight of him. At first Paul could see nothing but the brambles. Examining the place more minutely, he found the bushes curiously divided in the centre. Feeling beneath them, his hand came in contact with cold iron. It was a ring, attached to a circular piece of wood, rusty and moss-grown, so that in appearance there was little to distinguish it from the undergrowth. He found little difficulty in moving it.

He thought at first that it would prove to be the entrance to a well, similar to the well in the ruins where he had hidden on the night he had fled from Zuker; but to his amazement he discovered that it was no well, but led to a sloping tunnel cut in the sandstone. That then was the place where the master had so suddenly disappeared. For what purpose? And where did it lead? It was impossible to tell without exploring it. Should he make the venture? Should he enter it?

Paul hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment. The next he entered the tunnel, cautiously drawing over the lid which concealed it. The pa.s.sage in which he found himself sloped downward, and was at first scarcely large enough to allow him to walk upright. Little of light penetrated into it, and he had, therefore, to walk cautiously along, like a blind man, making sure of every step he took.

Presently the path seemed to broaden. Extending his arms to their full extent Paul could just feel the walls on either side. He proceeded still more slowly, straining his ears to catch the sound of footsteps. All was silent. It was the silence of the tomb.

"My stars, what a queer place! I wish I could only strike a light, so as to have a peep at it," thought Paul. "What can Mr. Weevil do down here?

It isn't a cheerful place, even for a man who happens to be very much in love with his own society."

He came to a sudden pause. What was the use of exploring the tunnel further? He could see nothing, hear nothing. So where was the use of groping along in the darkness? It was folly, especially when he might be precipitated at any moment into some hidden chasm. But folly though it might be, Paul could not turn back. A mysterious voice within him seemed to be urging him on. If Mr. Weevil had pa.s.sed along that tunnel in safety, why shouldn't he? It must have an outlet somewhere, and Paul grew more and more curious to find out what that outlet could be.

"I feel very much like an explorer in darkest Africa," he smiled to himself. "Shall I be coming across an unknown lake presently, or a race of pigmies? Hallo! What's that? Light at last."

Light it was but of the faintest. It came with a faint streak into the tunnel. The darkness was only darkness before, but now fantastic shadows seemed to menace Paul at every footstep he took. Feeble though the light was, it was enough to show him that the tunnel had broadened considerably. Stepping warily along, the light grew stronger at every step, until he at length discovered that the path along which he was so cautiously travelling led into a cave lit with oil-lamps.

Then he came to a sudden pause again, and his heart beat wildly against his ribs, as he caught the sound of voices. The cave was not empty.

There was some one inside. Who?

As he approached nearer he saw that a curtain was partly drawn over the entrance. Paul knew that a false step might betray him.

To lessen the risk of detection, therefore, he crawled on hands and knees to the curtain, and eagerly peered through the s.p.a.ce nearest the wall.

The cave looked quite warm and comfortable. A fire of anthracite, which sent out plenty of heat but no smoke, burnt on a hearth cut out of the sandstone. Two or three lamps suspended from the roof diffused an Oriental glow, while several warm bear-skin rugs were scattered over the ground.

A couple of guns and two or three cutla.s.ses were hanging on the wall; and what was more astonishing to Paul, several maps and designs. The nature of these it was impossible for him to ascertain. He further noticed that in one niche of the wall was a photographic camera. In another were ship models, in the third the models of torpedoes, engines, and machinery of various kind.

Paul had taken all this in at a glance. He had not yet seen the occupants of the cave, but there appeared from what he could hear, to be only two. They were conversing in low tones at the far end, where the lights from the lamps dimly penetrated. After a while the conversation became more animated, and the two moved to a table at the centre.

"I think we've succeeded in quieting suspicion," said the foremost of the two. As he spoke the light from the lamp fell full upon his face.

It was Zuker, the German Jew!

Paul's glance turned from him to the other man. It was Brockman, the burly ruffian who had seized the bridle of Falcon on the night of his flight to Redmead--the ruffian who struck the blow which caused the gallant horse's death.

"We've succeeded in calming suspicion for the time being," Zuker was saying, "and that is a great point in our favour; but still we must move cautiously. A false step, and down would fall all my plans like a house of cards. We've been very near discovery once or twice, the nearest was when that youngster got ahead of us with the packet. You remember?"

"Remember! I'm never likely to forget it," said Brockman. "I could never understand how it was the youngster slipped through my fingers."

"Well, it doesn't matter so much as it has turned out, for those Admiralty men--the Hansons--have gone to sleep again. They think that danger is pa.s.sed, that Zuker, the man they so fear and dread, is out of England."

He chuckled softly to himself. Paul grew colder. He knew well enough the youngster they were referring to, no one better, for it was himself. It was quite clear that the letter he had sent from the school to Mr.

Moncrief had never reached him. A staggering suspicion flashed into his mind. He recalled that he had entrusted the posting of that letter to Hibbert. Could it have been that Hibbert had failed him, or worse, could it have been that Hibbert had deceived him? Was he not the son of Zuker?

But the suspicion only dwelt in his mind for one brief moment, and he felt indignant with himself that it had rested there so long.

How could he doubt Hibbert, the one boy at Garside who had so clung to him and who was at that moment lying on a bed of sickness?

"Heaven forgive me!" he said to himself; then he caught the voices of the men as they again spoke, and listened eagerly.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI

THE "FOX-HOLE"

"They really believe you're out of England. You're quite sure of that?"

questioned Brockman, in his thick, guttural voice.

"As sure of it as you're standing there," answered Zuker. "The search for me went on actively for a fortnight, and then dropped. How should they suspect a hiding-place like this? How should they suspect that when the hounds were in full chase of the fox, he had a hole to retreat to where they could never follow?"

"Ha! ha!" chuckled Brockman; "we ought to call it the Fox-Hole. I only wish we had the youngster in it who slipped through my fingers that night on the road to Redmead."

"Do you really?" said Paul to himself. "Well, the youngster's obliged you, and yet you don't seem to be grateful to him."

"_Zut! zut!_ Don't worry about him. He's only a cipher--a p.a.w.n in the great game we have in hand. If we win, it'll be for a prize worth winning--fame and fortune," went on Zuker, as he strode to and fro with rapid strides. "Yes, fame and fortune, and we shall have dealt a staggering blow at a country that we hate. The risk is great, but the stakes are greater still, and each day makes our position surer."

"Surer? Do you think so? Sometimes it seems to me, master, that we're standing on the very edge of a deep precipice, and that one day we shall make a false step, and then----"

Brockman did not finish the sentence, but gave a significant shrug of the shoulders which was much more eloquent than words.

"Das ist recht--that is right; I have never hidden from you the danger.

It is true that one false step might spoil all my plans, but that only makes the game more worth the winning. And listen, Brockman, we must not make that false step. We made one on that night we let the boy get through with the cipher to Redmead. We must not make another."

Paul's ears tingled as he listened. Notwithstanding the peril in which he stood, his heart beat with joy. The words of Mr. Moncrief came back to him: "You have not only done a great service for me and my brother, Paul, but for your country." He had almost forgotten those words in the whirl of events that had since happened at Garside, but now they came flashing back, shining out vividly as a beacon in the darkness around him.

"No; we must not make another," answered Brockman, sending his fist vigorously into the palm of his hand to emphasize his words. There was silence between the two for a moment, then it was again broken by Zuker.

"Those ancestors of yours were dull dogs, Brockman, but there must have been some grit in them to have got up to Chatham. See, they got to this point." Paul could see that a chart was spread out upon the table, and that Zuker was pointing with his finger to a place on it. "Here is the River Medway, which, as you know, can be reached through this tunnel."

The river through that tunnel! Was he awake or dreaming? Paul could scarcely believe the evidence of his ears. His heart thumped so loudly against his ribs that he feared the conspirators might hear him.

"A chain had been drawn across the river, for all England was in a state of alarm at the approach of the Dutchmen," went on Zuker.

"Fortifications had been added to Sheerness and Upnor Castle just here."

Brockman bent over the chart and followed the finger of Zuker.

"Just there. And the chain--what happened to the chain?"

"Sheerness was first taken, and then, taking advantage of a spring tide and an easterly wind, the Dutch broke the chain."

"Broke it? But wasn't it fortified?"

"It was guarded by three ships, but the Dutch took them. They played havoc with several other vessels, and advanced with six men-o'-war and five fireships as far as Upnor Castle, where they burned three more.

That was good, wasn't it?"