CHAPTER XXVI

At the Frontier

A prey to the wildest apprehensions, Malcolm Carr flattened himself on his hard, uneven bed. Rapidly he debated as to his course of action; whether to regain his feet and throw himself upon the two men before they had time to recover from their surprise, or to keep perfectly still in the hope that he would be unnoticed. He could hear Peter shifting his position, ready to join in the imminent struggle.

"Wer da?" shouted a guttural voice from the window of the house across the canal. Immediately after came the "pluff" of an air-gun being discharged, and a pellet thudded against a post on the tow-path.

With muttered exclamations the two men took to their heels, while the watchers, leaving their post at the window, ran downstairs, presently to reappear accompanied by a large dog.

For a moment or two they stood looking across the canal at the barge; then, calling the animal to heel, they walked rapidly in the direction of a bridge about a quarter of a mile away.

"This is too hot a show for us, Malcolm," whispered Peter, as he emerged from his hiding-place. "That dog will be our undoing. Those fellows are evidently crossing the canal to inspect the barge in case the thieves have had time to take anything."

Clearly it was too risky to land and run across the fields; the dog would track the fugitives with the greatest ease. The question was how they were to put the animal off the scent in the brief time that remained before the watchmen, or whoever they might be, arrived upon the scene.

"You said you were thirsty," continued Peter grimly. "Now's your chance. Overboard and hang to the rudder."

Silently the fugitives lowered themselves into the water, and, swimming cautiously, gained the slight protection afforded by the bluff overhang of the boat's quarter and long, projecting rudder. Hanging on to a chain, and keeping in the shadow, the brothers awaited developments, knowing that if the now open entrance to their dug-out were spotted, suspicion would be diverted from the marauders to them. Since the news of the escape of a numerous body of prisoners from Düren must have been sent far and wide, the inference that the barge had been a hiding-place for some of their number was obvious.

Up came the two watchmen, breathing stentorously, for they were middle-aged and corpulent. They were in uniform; each was armed with an air-rifle and a short sword.

Malcolm could hear them walking along the barge, testing the locks of the fore and after cuddies, and examining the metal fittings of the winch and the tiller-head. One of the men even flashed an electric torch over the side, but it was a purely perfunctory action. Meanwhile the dog was sniffing on the track of the would-be thieves, and made no attempt to go farther than the spot where the men had been brought up by the canal official's hail.

Finally, after a considerable amount of argument, the watchmen whistled the dog, regained the tow-path, and walked briskly in the direction the marauders had gone.

"Peter," whispered his brother, "I'm a silly ass!"

"Eh?"

"I forgot about my ration when I went overboard. It's sopping wet."

"So's mine," added Peter. "I took mine deliberately. It couldn't be helped. If we'd left the stuff on the barge that dog would have discovered it. A packet with the word 'London' printed on it would give the show away absolutely. For one thing, the stuff's been soaking in fresh water."

"And so have I," rejoined Malcolm. "At any rate, my thirst is quenched, and we have to spend the rest of the night in wet clothes."

"I'm going to try my hand at house robbery," announced Peter. "Although I couldn't understand all the conversation between those two fellows, I managed to learn that they decided to go to the nearest village and get the police to make enquiries of the whereabouts of a certain Karl Hoeffer--evidently one of the two men who gave us an unpleasant five minutes. You're not to come; this is a one-man job. Make your way back to our hiding-place, wring out your wet clothes--over the coal, mind--and wait till I come back."

Malcolm knew that his elder brother's word was law in such matters. It was useless to expostulate. As he regained the barge he could just discern Peter's figure creeping up the opposite bank of the canal.

In ten minutes Peter was back again with the best part of a rye loaf, a large sausage, and a piece of cheese, all wrapped up in a couple of blankets.

"'Nuff said!" he remarked. "Wrap yourself up and eat. I'll tell you about it later."

The blankets were dry and comforting, the food really appetizing, and, having made a satisfying meal, the brothers slept soundly after forty hours of unceasing vigilance.

As Peter had expected, he experienced no serious difficulty on his foraging expedition. The house was deserted, but by means of a stack-pipe he entered by the open window at which the watchmen had been sitting. Having raided the pantry, the New Zealander removed a blanket from each of two separate beds, taking care that outwardly the beds appeared undisturbed. To cross the canal without wetting the food and blankets he swam back with the spoils held over his head. By the time the things were missed, the barge, with ordinary luck, ought to be miles away.

With the first streak of dawn the sleepers awoke, feeling greatly refreshed. Malcolm had taken the precaution to fill a tin with water from the canal. The liquid was fresh to a certain degree, and men who have served in the trenches are not fastidious.

The main point was that the fugitives would be able to quench their thirst during the heat of the day. Their wet clothes were spread out against the wall of their retreat, so that the heat of the sun's rays, penetrating the absorbent coal, would dry them sufficiently for the men before nightfall.

Shortly after sunrise the remaining barges of the flotilla, which had been tied up for the night at some distance along the canal, came up and passed the solitary craft. Before her crew returned with the horse, the previously leading barge became the last of the group.

The second day passed much like the first, except that the heat was not so trying, and that the men in hiding did not suffer from thirst.

About four o'clock in the afternoon of the next day a longer halt than usual occurred. Making use of their observation-holes the stowaways saw that the craft had tied up alongside another barge which was fast to a long quay. Beyond was a row of tall, quaintly-built houses with picturesque red-tiled roofs and fronted by a line of closely-trimmed trees. Nearly fifty people were lounging about, regarding the new arrival with curious interest, while on the adjoining barge stood about a dozen men in grimy overalls, with planks, barrows, and spades, in readiness to commence work.

Like ants the coal-heavers swarmed over the heaped-up cargo, shovelling the coal into barrows and trundling them along the planks on to the quay, whence they disappeared into a large shed about a hundred yards away.

With feelings of satisfaction the New Zealanders saw that the for'ard portion of the cargo was the first to be dealt with, and that, before the man with the first load returned with his empty barrow, five others were on the way, leaving six on board.

"No use waiting to be dug out," whispered Peter. "Now's our chance, if at all."

With a mighty heave of his shoulders Peter sent the barrel staves and their superimposed covering of coal flying. Before the coal-heavers could grasp what was happening, the two men leapt across the intervening barge and gained the quay.

With lowered heads they charged straight for the nearmost of the waterside idlers.

Right and left scattered the dumbfounded spectators, and without any attempt at obstruction the fugitives gained the open and unfrequented part of the quay.

Not until they had put fifty yards between them and the barge did the onlookers grasp the situation, then, joined by the coal-heavers, who had abandoned their task, the whole crowd started in pursuit, yelling loudly in an unintelligible manner.

At the end of the quay the main street bore off to the left, and from that point there were houses on both sides. Those on the right had gardens of gradually-increasing length running down to the canal, which was here a considerably wide waterway. Everywhere along the canal wharves were barges, often double- and triple-tiered, but alongside the waterside edges of the gardens were several small pleasure-craft. Every house seemed to possess one. Another thing Peter noticed was that the nearmost of the houses on the canal side of the street was separated from the quay by a supplementary waterway that burrowed under the road.

Along the cobbled street the two men ran, Passers-by stood stock-still in amazement. A grey-coated policeman drew his sabre and attempted to bar the way, shouting peremptorily in a manner that clearly indicated "Stop!"

"In here!" exclaimed Peter, and literally bundled his brother into an open doorway, then slammed and bolted the door.

"We've five minutes fresh start at least," he said hurriedly. "Come along through. There's a boat at the end of the garden."

Even as they made their way through a spotlessly-clean kitchen, to the consternation of a portly woman-servant, Malcolm could not help noticing the resplendant copper vessels on the shelves. Evidently the owner of the house had not conformed to the Imperial German Government's order to surrender all metal suitable for the manufacture of munitions.

At the farther part of the garden two men were sitting at a table. One was a rotund pleasant-faced man of about fifty who was puffing sedately at a long-stemmed, huge-bowled pipe. The other, holding a large cigar in his hand, was certainly not far off sixty years of age, clean-shaven, 'and dressed in a manner more like an Englishman than a German. Before the smokers could rise from their seats the two fugitives were past and dropping over the low wall into a boat.

"Push off, Malcolm!" shouted Peter, as he gripped the oars.

"What's your hurry, you fellows?" asked a deliberately cool voice from above. "Can't you behave yourselves in a neutral country? What's the trouble?"

Leaning on the wall, his grey eyes twinkling with suppressed mirth, was the elder of the two men who had been sitting in the garden. At his elbow was the other, gesticulating and protesting volubly at the bull-in-a-chinashop tactics of the intruders.

"Neutral country?" repeated the astounded Peter. "What do you mean? Where are we?"

"In Holland. To be more precise, in the town of Roermonde," was the surprising information. "You've done a bunk from Germany, I presume? I thought so. It's all right, Mynheer van Enkhuizen," he continued in English, addressing the Dutchman; "these are some of my compatriots who have escaped from Germany."

"In that case it does matter not at all," replied the owner of the house in the slow hesitating manner of foreign-spoken English. "It is of no consequence that your friends have trampled through my dwelling and over my garden. Excuse me. I will inform the noisy crowd also that it is not of any consequence, and then I will instruct Katje to provide food for your military friends."

"Come into the house," exclaimed the Englishman. "I'll hear your story presently, although I presume you are two of the men who got away from Düren. Eight of them have crossed the frontier up to the present, and I shouldn't be surprised if others do the same in the course of the next few days. My name? Oh, just Brown--of London! Yes, that will be all right. Von Enkhuizen, although his manner may seem a bit erratic according to British notions, is a genuinely sympathetic fellow. You've fallen on your feet, both of you."

For three days the two refugees enjoyed the Dutchman's hospitality. Then the Carrs were furnished with money and a ticket to enable them to travel via the Hook of Holland to England; and, with many earnest expressions of gratitude to their benefactors, Peter and Malcolm set out on their roundabout journey back to the firing-line in Flanders.