With Joffre at Verdun Part 6

"German--the heavy German official--from the crown of that ridiculous hat right down to your big flat feet," declared Stuart with gusto, when the little performance was finished. "I'd never have thought it possible, but that moustache has done wonders, and now that one really gets a good glimpse of you, for it isn't so dark after all, I've no hesitation in saying that I'd pa.s.s you in the street every day and fail to spot you as Henri."

"As Henri, or even as a Frenchman," added Jules, "or even as any alien or enemy of the Germans. It's tremendous, Henri, a ripping turn-out!

How did you manage it? And where on earth did you lay your hands on such garments?"

The somewhat bulky and voluminous individual who had joined them sat down before Stuart and Jules and treated the two of them to an amiable grin, made all the more amiable and owl-like by those gla.s.ses.

"I couldn't help grinning at myself," he told them after a minute; "the whole thing seems so awfully cheeky. But, 'pon my word! it occurs to me that cheek is more likely to carry one through in business of this sort than the greatest caution. Cheek and luck did it at that farm and deceived that German party, and now let us hope the same two things--you can't call them virtues--will set us safely in France. How did I do it?--eh! Well, I searched the machine-shops down below, and precious nearly ran my head against a workman; then I crossed the yard, and, on the principle that when you are in quest of anything it's better often enough to go to head-quarters, I boldly made for the manager's office. He's a bit of a Jew, that manager, and it appears that he sleeps in his office, or, rather, in a room attached to it.

Anyway, he had quite an a.s.sortment of clothing, and I should imagine this to be his best suit, the sort of thing he wears when he's holiday-making--that is, if a German ever does take a holiday. It doesn't exactly fit to a T--it's too loose and baggy, I admit--but it'll do, and the gla.s.ses and the moustache help considerably. As to the moustache--well, I fancy the manager occasionally indulges in theatricals. He can't have wanted a false moustache for himself, for I've caught a glimpse of him before now from one of these windows, so it must be that he kept the paraphernalia about for dressing up other people. Talking of dressing up other people reminds me of you two.

Stuart's the difficulty; he's so big and bony and strong. Jules would make a splendid girl, if he'd only remember to walk decently and not stride along as he does; but Stuart, what's to be done with him? I thought once of taking him along as my wife, dressed in a most elaborate costume I found in the manager's box of accessories; but it wouldn't do, for, though German women are fat enough in all conscience, heavily built like our friend opposite, they are not so broad in the shoulders, nor so bony."

Stuart's eyes had opened wide as Henri spoke, and more than once a flush came into his face. He felt half-angry for a moment, and then more than half-amused. A second later he seemed to have conjured up a picture of himself dressed as the heavy German lady, the wife of this baggy-breeched, spectacled German, represented by Henri, and the picture set him laughing, softly at first, then, with his mouth wide open, on the point of emitting a roar of mirth. Fortunately, however, Jules caught him in the act, and, clapping one hand over his mouth, arrested the sounds.

"Of course," he said, "if you want to shout and call in the whole crew outside, well, do so; only give us a little time to make our exit beforehand. I'm convinced now, after what Henri said, that you're going to be a trouble to us. You're too big, too big and too heavy by far to be smuggled through the country as a woman, and, 'pon my word, in whatever disguise you are hid--if one can hide such a monster--there's always the danger of your giving us away by ribald laughter."

You might have expected the huge Stuart to boil over with anger after such an outburst, and, indeed, Jules's indignant reproaches were uttered with that purpose; but, as we have inferred before, this great Englishman was not only big and strong and disgustingly healthy, the envy of all in Ruhleben camp, the suspected of every German guard in the place--for how could a fellow retain such proportions with such attenuated diet?--but, boasting of an excellent digestion, the fellow was seldom in an ill humour. Even when he grumbled and said scathing things of the Germans, he was half laughing, and it required a very great deal of annoyance indeed to rouse his pa.s.sions. Yet the smallest hint of disloyalty to Great Britain, the smallest slur cast on his country's people, roused the giant in this fellow; then those muscles of his were braced for action. And if Henry and Jules had previously had any doubts as to his prowess, these were set at rest after they had witnessed his manner of tackling that under-officer at the mouth of the tunnel. But the friendly gibes of the merry Jules--this somewhat dilapidated and war-worn Frenchman, this individual who had come to Ruhleben camp months before as dapper as Henri, with clothes cut in the masterful manner peculiar to your London tailor, with boots of immaculate appearance, and socks which till then had been the envy of many a youngster--could not rouse Stuart. He was above such petty matters. He could read the meaning in the heart, could see deeply into the characters of the two who were his companions, and, seeing so clearly, the big fellow seated on the floor merely stared back at Jules and Henri and grinned a huge, capacious grin, which took them both in in the semi-darkness, which almost aggravated them, and which finally set them both laughing.

"I'll admit," he said then, almost shamefacedly--"I'll admit that I'm big and strong and bony, and a difficulty under the circ.u.mstances.

Now, Henri can pa.s.s anywhere, I'm sure, as he's dressed and got up; and Jules, well, Jules should make a most dainty little German girl; but there's me--well," he went on, speaking slowly, "that's a job that can soon be ended, and I'll tell you how. You two will get off to-night, and board the nearest train, if you take my advice."

"And you?" demanded Henri.

"Yes, you?" asked Jules inquisitively.

"Oh, I? Well, I'll stay here for a time, and then I'll fare for myself. Supposing we have a race to the Dutch frontier? I shouldn't wonder if I got there as soon as you do, for I'm strong and big, and, you see, I can walk during the night, and, well--all's fair in love and war--there's many a hen-roost that I can rob on my journey."

Spoken flippantly enough, there was yet steady determination in the words of Stuart. He meant everything he said, and most generously gave up his prospects, at least of companionship, for the sake of those companions. More than that, he probably gave up all chances of making good his escape from Germany, for the task of marching to the Dutch frontier was no light one. Henri looked at him swiftly, and then across at Jules, who coughed uncomfortably enough, half-opened his mouth as if to speak, and then remained silent. At last Henri managed to address Stuart.

"You're rotting!" he said sharply.

"On the contrary, never more serious in all my life."

"Then you're----"

"Say it," said Stuart sweetly. "A fool, you were going to say, I think."

"No. Shake hands," Henri demanded, stretching out one of his own.

"It's good to have a chum such as you are, Stuart, good to know that amongst France's allies there is such a fellow. From all accounts the British have stuck well by the French, as the French have stuck by the British. We haven't had much news through, but from what one's heard it appears that the British, retreating from Mons on the left of the French armies, did France an enormous and inestimable service--saved, indeed, our left flank from being crumpled up and driven in on the centre, helped to save Paris, and finally helped to defeat von Kluck's army. It wasn't only by pluck and endurance that British officers and soldiers did that; it was by a considerable display of self-sacrifice.

What's this but a self-sacrificing plan on your part? And you think that we are going to agree?--that Jules and I will accept the proposal, and leave you here alone to face all the difficulties of escaping from Germany--you, who besides being big, as we have already said, hardly know a word of the language? Fool wasn't the word that I was going to use, Stuart, it was something stronger. Shake hands again. Jules and I refuse to leave the place unless you come with us."

There was silence for a while, and then the three set to work again to discuss plans for leaving the factory. It seemed, indeed, that Henri had made quite a find in the manager's office, and that he had already selected a dress for Jules which would suit that young gentleman splendidly; and at length it was decided that Stuart should be dressed in a suit of good material--such as might be worn by a dependant--and that he should accompany the party as if he were a male nurse looking after the aged Henri. That night, indeed, having raided the manager's office again, and relieved him of things essential to their journey, the three set off from the place, and about eleven o'clock on the following day were to be observed on an adjacent railway station. An old gentleman, who peered through round goggles, who stumbled as he walked, and whose shoulders and head were bent and wobbling, traversed the platform on the arm of a girl of fascinating appearance; while in the rear came a huge, ugly fellow, with reddish hair and brilliant complexion, on whose head was thrust a hat which overhung and darkened his features, and who carried a bag--none other than the one in which the manager of the sugar factory had been wont to carry his possessions.

A train came in, and the three embarked upon it. The whistle sounded shrilly, smoke issued from the engine, and in a trice they were off on another stage of their adventurous journey.

CHAPTER VI

Changing their Direction

"Crikey! What a do! What a performance! Who'd have thought it?"

gasped the huge Stuart, flinging himself back on the seat in the compartment and staring out of the window as the train moved away from the station. "Henri, you're a wizard, a conjuror, a most mysterious and clever individual. 'Pon my word, I looked at you as you boarded the train, and if I'd been a German official, one of these thick-headed, beer-drinking tubs of fellows, always on the look-out for aliens and enemies, I'd have failed to spot you."

"Magnificent!" ventured Jules, rubbing his hands and moving his limbs in a most unladylike fashion, in such masculine manner, in fact, that the cautious Henri, ever on the look-out for something which might attract the attention of enemies swarming about them, immediately pounced upon him.

"That's not right," he said; "no girl would sit like that, Jules, and you know it. Indeed, who should know it better than you, who, up to the outbreak of this war, were a regular lady's man? You've studied the fair s.e.x, my boy, and now's the time to take advantage of that study."

Stuart guffawed. The whole adventure was so droll, so full of little incidents which tickled his mirth and which prompted laughter, that it was as much as he could do to keep his big, healthy features steady.

And, seeing that they were in a compartment by themselves, why not make merry? For during the last two hours their actions had had to be serious enough in all conscience, and, indeed, the big Englishman spoke only the truth when he said that Henri had behaved like a perfect wizard. Stumbling down the platform, that ridiculously small Homberg hat only partially covering thin wisps of white hair--artificially whitened, let us explain, with the aid of some chalk--upon a head which if it were not bald, looked as if it ought to be so, Henri had acted the role of a feeble, querulous, short-sighted, and somewhat arrogant old gentleman to the life. He had snarled at his daughter--or his wife, whichever Jules was supposed to be, and, from the obvious youth of the young lady, probably she was the former. He had snapped at the big, beefy attendant who came behind him, and, reaching the train and making an effort to clamber aboard it--a none too easy performance on Continental railways--he had stumbled even more, had contrived to get into a position half-within and half-without the carriage, and had there stuck firmly, become jammed, as it were, a position which roused the wrath of the old gentleman still higher, which set him snarling at his lady companion, and caused him to throw a fiery imprecation at his attendant. It caused the officious station-master to hasten forward, and then, at the sight of this arrogant and somewhat important old gentleman, to bow obsequiously and a.s.sist his entrance to the carriage.

Yes, altogether it was a splendid addition to their adventures.

"It's enough to make a cat laugh," said Stuart. "But here we are; and well now, I'm just wondering what our friend--sorry, your friend, Henri!--the manager of the sugar factory, will be saying just about this moment? Of course he'll learn that someone has entered his quarters."

Learn it, indeed! At that very moment the portly individual in question was in the centre of his bedroom, surveying the contents of a box which had been sadly depleted. He was rubbing the grizzly locks beside one ear, pondering deeply, staring through big goggles at the box, and trying to understand what had happened.

"But no," he said aloud; "I have not taken the things. Then who? And see this--my best suit of clothes has gone, my hat, and the goggles I placed on this chest last evening."

He made a movement towards the bell, and then dashed back, and once more came to an abrupt halt, pausing with feet far apart, with eyes peering into the distance, with wrinkled forehead, and with one hand still rubbing his grizzly locks.

"But, a thousand thunders! Then what does this mean?" he demanded, so loudly that a clerk dashed in from the adjacent office and asked what had happened. "Happened, indeed! Then see here, my Fritz, this box of clothing has been pilfered. My clothes are gone--my best suit of clothes--my hat, and what more I cannot say. Who, then, can have paid my quarters a visit?"

It puzzled the clerk also. For a while the two discussed the question in the most animated and Teutonic manner. Then a brilliant idea seized upon the brain of the clerk--an idea which sent a hot flush from the top of his head to the soles of his somewhat flat feet.

"That party of soldiers who came here a little time ago," he cried; "those prisoners who broke out of Ruhleben--who else, mein Herr Winterborgen--who else can have wanted such clothing, such disguises?

Listen, there were three of them; now say what clothing you are missing."

When a further investigation was made of the losses which the portly manager had sustained, the incriminating fact was discovered that, besides his best suit of clothes and Homberg hat, a woman's dress and a man's had been purloined. That sent the manager flying to the telephone, and in due course of time set the police officials at the nearest police station bustling. Within half an hour a car dashed up to the gates of the sugar factory, and the most important and imposing of individuals commenced an official investigation on the spot. This investigation, sternly carried out, weighed every point so very closely, and went with so much minuteness into every little incident, that it set the unfortunate manager perspiring, and, indeed, after a while, made him begin to wonder whether he himself were a party to the theft which he had suffered, or a party to a.s.sisting the fugitives.

The important official, if he did not actually accuse the manager of having aided the prisoners supposed to have purloined the articles of clothing, inferred it certainly, glared at the unhappy man, browbeat him in regular Germanic manner, and made him regret deeply that he had ever called for police a.s.sistance.

"You'll be ready to report personally at the police station," he was told. "Now I'll return and set a search in progress. Without doubt the three men who broke out of Ruhleben have paid you a visit; for we know already that they went to a farm farther back along the road and obtained supplies of food. Since then we have lost all sight of them, and it may very well be that they have been in hiding; and that may mean," he added severely, as he stood above the unhappy manager and glared down at him, "that someone has been providing a refuge for them, some unpatriotic and treacherous individual, who, if discovered, will certainly be shot in the morning--be shot in the cold, early morning,"

he added in unpleasant tones which did not fail to have their effect on the man he was addressing. "Yes, Herr Winterborgen, this is an important matter--so important, indeed, that for your own sake you will see that you attend promptly when called for."

It was with a gasp of relief that the manager saw the car driven away at furious speed, while he stood staring out of the window, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. His thoughts were still in a whirl, and even then he could not shake from his mind the more than half belief that in some unconscious way he had indeed, unwittingly and unwillingly--for he was as good a patriot as anyone--aided the runaways. In such a dilemma, feeling vexed and sore at his own loss, and indignant at the cross-examination he had just suffered, it was but natural that he should work himself up into a terrible pa.s.sion, and should turn the vials of his wrath upon the police inspector who had treated him so brusquely. Yet in time, when his anger had died down, he, like every other patriot in Germany, put his own personal disadvantage aside for the sake of his beloved Fatherland. He sighed deeply, and resumed his work with the pious wish that, if he had suffered, his suffering might lead to the discovery and capture of the men who had treated him so shamefully.

It is hardly necessary to narrate what followed after that interview with the police inspector. How the car took him swiftly back to the station, how the telephone was jingled, and how every possible official within reasonable distance was informed of what had happened. The station-master at the station where Henri and his friends had boarded the train presently received a call.

"Yes, here, Inspector," he answered, politely enough, over the telephone. "You are there and you want me--well I am here, what then?

Prisoners escaped from Ruhleben? Ah, yes, yes! I remember, the rascals escaped perhaps a week ago, and have not been heard of since.

Have I seen them here? Pooh! If I had, you know as well as I do that I would have apprehended them. What's that you say? They have been to the station? You ask if I have seen three suspicious people--a man, perhaps an old man, in a dark-blue, well-cut suit, wearing a Homberg hat and goggles, a girl, and a man of whose appearance you have no knowledge? Come now, that's a conundrum! I have seen many such people."

He began to get rather angry at the cross-examination of the police inspector--an examination, let us add, far less severe than that inflicted upon the manager of the sugar factory, but he listened awhile.

"You may have seen many such people," he heard over the telephone, "but all together, Herr Station-master--three all together--an oldish man, not big, perhaps bald, with goggles; a girl, and another man of uncertain appearance. Think now; not a very great number of people travel on the railway nowadays unless they are soldiers; think, have you not had such pa.s.sengers?"

The station-master did think, think violently one may say, for it was well to be on the best terms possible with the police. A station-master might be a most important individual, very important indeed in his own estimation, but an inspector of the police in Germany was an important individual both in his own estimation, which was undoubted, and also in that of the public.

"Hold on one little moment; three people such as you describe--one an oldish man, a girl, and a third, a man with no description--have I seen such people getting on a train together? Why, wait!"