With Beatty off Jutland Part 19

After a run of minor activities, an opportunity was about to occur whereby they might render an important service to the Fatherland. A high official was engaged upon an industrial tour of Lancashire and Yorkshire, with the intention of increasing the already huge output of munitions from the factories temporarily given over to the production of war-like stores. The magnetic personality of the man made the task an easy one to him, although others less gifted would have encountered nothing but opposition had they proposed the same conditions to the independent operatives of Lancashire and Yorkshire. He was one of the very few Government officials who understood the northern temperament.

When others would have "rubbed them up the wrong way", this level-headed statesman was able to enlist the whole-hearted sympathies of blunt and outspoken audiences. His persuasive powers were worth an army corps to the Commander-in-Chief of the British troops in France.

The five Germans had laid their plans well. Their proposed operations had met with full approval from head-quarters at Berlin, and the result of their efforts was anxiously awaited by the German Government. Since abduction left a loophole in the complete furtherance of the plot, Teutonic thoroughness and frightfulness had devised a more drastic plan.

At the summit of the Blackstone Edge is a large lake or reservoir, its unfenced sides shelving steeply to a depth, in a certain place, of fifty feet. It would be a comparatively simple matter to wreck the car, murder its occupants if they still survived the fall from the overturned vehicle, and topple the wreckage into the dark waters of the mountain lake.

A cloud pa.s.sed athwart the sun. The sweltering heat gave place to a piercing cold. The Huns shivered in the cold wind and grumbled at the keenness of the English June. Overhead three gaunt crows flew, cawing dismally. With Teutonic superst.i.tion one of the men called his companions' attention to the ill omen.

"Nonsense, Otto!" protested the man known as Hans. "The ill luck is directed against the man for whom we are waiting so patiently. Ha!

Here comes the car."

With their heads just showing above the ridge, the five kept the approaching motor under close observation. It was climbing rapidly, leaving in its wake a cloud of dust that drifted slowly across the deep valley on the left-hand side of the curve. Presently an unmistakable rasping sound announced the fact that the driver, finding the gradient too severe, had let in the lowest gear.

"Are you certain it is he?" asked one of the Huns. "There are four in the car?"

"Did you suppose he would travel alone?" retorted his leader. "That is he right enough--the man in civilian clothes. The other is a military staff officer. The red in his cap proves that. The younger men are doubtless his secretaries--valets perhaps. Yes, it is our man. Now, make ready."

Giving a glance in the opposite direction in order to make certain that no one was approaching from the Yorkshire side of the Pa.s.s, Hans cautiously placed a small battery within easy reach of his fat, podgy fingers. From the battery ran a couple of fine wires through the stretch of gra.s.s, terminating at an inconspicuous greyish object lying in the centre of the road in the midst of a scatter of loose stones.

At the critical moment a touch upon the firing-key of the battery and----

"Why are you so keen upon the East Coast route, Crosthwaite?" asked the admiral. "It's a jolly sight longer."

"That I admit," replied the general. "But I know it, which makes a vast difference. The Carlisle road is jolly rough, especially over Shap Summit."

"By the by, George, here is a little problem for you," said Admiral Sefton. "Which is the farthest west, Liverpool or Edinburgh?"

George looked at Leslie for a.s.sistance. That worthy, having heard the question put many times before, took an astonishing interest in a policeman at the street corner.

"Well, sir," replied George, "Liverpool is on the west coast; Edinburgh on the east----"

"Within a few miles," corrected the admiral. "Therefore I should imagine that Liverpool is more to the west."

"Then look it up on the map," exclaimed Admiral Sefton triumphantly.

"You'll find you're wrong. That's why I couldn't understand your father's intention of keeping to the East Coast route until he explained his preference."

"We'll do it quicker, too," rejoined Crosthwaite, Senior. "Once we're clear of the outskirts of Manchester we'll reel off the miles like winking. Here you are: Rochdale, Halifax, Bradford, and Harrogate, striking the Great North Road at Boroughbridge."

The journey was resumed, the admiral, as before, sitting with Crosthwaite Senior, while George and Leslie, comfortably ensconced in the rear seats, were surrept.i.tiously examining a formidable-looking air-pistol that Leslie Sefton had smuggled into his portmanteau.

It was modelled after a Service weapon, having the same weight and balance. The barrel was rifled, and was capable of sending a lead slug with considerable force and low trajectory from a distance of fifty yards.

"We'll take pot shots at rabbits on the way," declared Leslie. "The governor won't hear the sound. It makes very little noise, and the engine will drown that. There'll be hundreds of bunnies up there," and he pointed to the still-distant outlines of the frowning Pennines.

Up and up, out of the dreary manufacturing district, the car climbed, until the moist smoky atmosphere of the cotton-mills gave place to the keen bracing air of the hills.

Both lads, alive to the possibilities of using the air-pistol, hung on to the side of the car, their eyes roving the gra.s.s-land in the hope of spotting a likely target.

The car had been climbing on low gear, but now the gradient became less.

The travellers were nearing the summit of Blackstone Edge.

Suddenly Leslie levelled the weapon, aiming at what he took to be the body of a rabbit showing above the top of a hillock. He was on the point of pressing the trigger when a loud crash, followed by a cloud of smoke and dust immediately behind the car, almost caused the pistol to drop from his grasp.

"What's that?" exclaimed Admiral Sefton.

"Tyre burst, I'm afraid," replied Crosthwaite Senior, momentarily expecting the car to swerve. Applying the brakes he brought the car to a standstill, with the engine still running, and prepared to investigate the extent of the damage.

The Huns' carefully-laid plans had gone awry through Leslie Sefton's instrumentality. The lad had mistaken one of the miscreants' caps for a rabbit. Hans, under the impression that the attempt had been discovered, and that one of the occupants of the car was levelling a pistol at him, suddenly lost his nerve. He depressed the firing-key of the battery a second or so too late. Instead of the detonation occurring immediately underneath the motor, it expended its force harmlessly in the air.

"By Jove, Crosthwaite!" exclaimed the admiral as a rapid fusillade was opened upon the stationary car. "Modern highwaymen!"

"Keep down, lads," ordered the general sharply, for the nickel bullets were singing overhead like a swarm of angry bees. "Under the seat, Sefton. Be sharp!"

"Never!" expostulated the admiral st.u.r.dily.

"Not you, I mean," almost roared his companion by way of apology.

"You'll find a Webley under the seat. Look alive, man! It's loaded only in one chamber."

Leslie Sefton's first impulse was to duck, until remembering that he still held a loaded weapon, although it was but an air-pistol, in his hand, he rested the barrel upon the padded back of the seat and aimed at the nearest of the a.s.sailants.

It was an excellent shot. The little bullet struck Hans just above the right eye. With an oath the German clapped both hands to his injury, dropping his pistol as he did so, and began to dance round and round in agony.

"Four to four now," exclaimed the lad, taking into no account the fact that the supposed highwaymen were all well armed. He jerked back the barrel of the air-pistol and inserted another pellet, the zest of the fight gripping him with the utmost intensity.

Meanwhile Crosthwaite Senior had let in the clutch, and had succeeded in turning the car in the direction of the attackers. Altogether unprepared for this manoeuvre, the four separated, two making to the right, and the others, keeping close together, edging away to the left, still maintaining a hot and erratic fire.

Bending low behind the wind-screen, the plate-gla.s.s of which was already "starred" in several places by the impact of the bullets, the general urged the car straight in the direction of the men on his left. Even as he did so, the admiral, who had discovered the loaded revolver, blazed away on his left, with the result that Otto lost all present and future interest in the welfare of the Fatherland.

"Lucky shot," exclaimed Admiral Sefton modestly. "Very lucky shot. In the centre of his fat forehead, by Jove!"

Only on rare occasions, since those far-off days when he was a young lieutenant, had the retired naval officer handled a revolver, but his skill and deadly precision remained. Leisure hours, spent with his favourite dog and gun amidst his preserves, had done much to keep the hardy admiral's eye as bright and his hand as steady as of yore, when his revolver practice was the envy of his messmates on the old gunnery-ship Excellent.

Ejecting the empty cartridge case, the admiral loaded all six chambers.

Then, ready to resume the encounter, he again levelled the weapon, at the same time protesting audibly that the first shot was a mere fluke.

Giving scant heed to his friend's remarks, Crosthwaite Senior kept the car full in the direction of his particular quarry. Over the low bank bordering the road the heavy vehicle mounted, lurching dangerously as it did so. Only by sheer chance did it escape being capsized, as the offside wheels rose three feet clear of the soft, gra.s.s-grown soil.

"Dash it all, Crosthwaite!" protested the admiral. "Fairly spoiled my shot that time. Easy ahead, man, or you'll have us all overboard."

Loud yells from another of the Huns showed that the admiral's second shot, if not so deadly as the first, had "scored an outer". Leaving his companions to continue the treacherous attack, the wounded man ran as fast as he could, still bellowing with pain, and holding his coat tails with both hands.

Only two Huns remained. Wildly firing, they stood their ground until the car was within a few feet of them.

In his keenness Major-General Crosthwaite had not taken sufficient notice of the nature of the ground. Mounting a steep hillock, the car swerved and toppled completely over, pinning the admiral beneath the cha.s.sis and throwing the other occupants headlong upon the turf.

In a flash the two Germans seized their opportunity. One, levelling his automatic pistol, fired point-blank at the prostrate general, the bullet pa.s.sing completely through his uplifted arm and flattening itself against his silver cigar-case. Before the miscreant could load again--it was the last cartridge in the magazine--George flung himself upon him.