CHAPTER XXXII
AN AVERTED CATASTROPHE
"MORNING, Norton; you are an early visitor," exclaimed PeterBarcroft. "Five minutes later and you would have found me out--touse a contradictory phrase. I'm just off for a morning with therabbits. Care to come along?"
"Delighted," replied the spy. "I suppose you won't mind my callingat The Croft to get a gun?"
A couple of weeks had passed since Siegfried von Eitelwurmer'sreturn to Tarleigh. During that time Peter had seen or heard nothingof Philip Entwistle. The _soi-disant_ Andrew Norton had resumed hisformer habit of dropping in at Ladybird Fold at all hours, somewhatto the detriment of "The Great Reckoning--and After," which was nowapproaching completion.
Von Eitelwurmer was trying to muster up courage to earnsingle-handed the reward offered by his Imperial Master for theobliterance of the man whose writings had so greatly offended thePotsdam Potentate who was seeking in vain for a place in the Sun.The spy had a wholesome dread of British justice should he bungle inthe attempt and find himself under arrest. He had been told by theauthorities at Berlin that he must not expect further co-operationby means of a Zeppelin. Evidently the rough handling the Germanaerial squadron had met with on the return journey had upset thehitherto implicit faith of the Huns in this branch of frightfulness.Since, then, von Eitelwurmer had no opportunity of getting PeterBarcroft conveyed to Germany, he set about a means to "remove" him.After all, he decided, half the reward was better than nothing.
In his many conversations with Peter the spy never mentioned thesubject of their meeting at Bigthorpe; and Barcroft, putting downhis reticence to a fear of being rallied on his mental lapse,studiously avoided any reference to the event. Nor did vonEitelwurmer say a word on the subject of the raid. In fact, he hadnever discussed the war with the tenant of Ladybird Fold, and hadshown such a casual disinterestedness whenever Peter had touchedupon the matter that the omission to say a word about the Zeppelin'svisit to Barborough occasioned no surprise.
"Haven't you a double-barrel?" inquired Peter as the spy brought outa twelve-bore single-barrelled sporting gun with a breech actionresembling that of a Martini rifle. "If I had known I could havelent you one--a hard-hitting choke bore."
"Thanks all the same," replied von Eitelwurmer. "I'm used to this.I've got in two shots at a running rabbit before to-day. Where areyou making for?"
"Over the moors towards Windyhill," replied Barcroft, signing to thetwo dogs to come to heel. "We'll cut through the Dingle Dell. It's abit rough going, but we'll save a mile or so."
The Dingle Dell was a narrow valley between two rugged cliffs ofMillstone Grit. Through the defile rushed a foaming mountain streamfed by the recent rains and now possessing a tremendous volume ofwater. Centuries of erosion had worn the rocks that confine thetorrent to its course to a remarkable smoothness, while the water asit leapt from one level to another had undermined the banks almostthroughout the entire length of the Dingle Dell.
Tarleigh Moors had been experiencing a variety of weather during thelast fortnight. Following the heavy rain came a hard frost that inturn gave place to the first of the winter snow. Although most ofthe white mantle had disappeared, patches of snow still remained inthe sheltered sides of the valleys, while in the Dingle Dell thetrees still retained their seared and yellow leaves.
Crossing a dilapidated wooden bridge the two men ascended a steepbank, on the top of which ran a narrow path, slippery with theexposed roots of the abundant trees. On the left the ground droppedsteeply to the foaming stream; on the right was a "cut" orartificial waterway that supplied power to the neighbouringbleach-works, the smell of which, hanging about in the dankatmosphere, was the acknowledged drawback to the sylvan beauties ofthe Dingle Dell.
"I haven't been this way before," remarked von Eitelwurmeruntruthfully. He knew the district far better than his companion,and perhaps his knowledge was equal to that of the majority of theinhabitants of Tarleigh. It was his business to acquaint himselfwith the locality of every place in which his secret service workhad led him. "Shouldn't care to walk along this path on a darknight, especially after one of your 'night-caps,' Barcroft."
"Yes, it is a sort of 'twixt the devil and the deep sea business,"rejoined Peter. "Steady!" he added as the spy stumbled over aprotruding root. "Gun's not loaded, I hope?"
"Rather not," replied von Eitelwurmer, pulling down the breech-blocklever and holding up the weapon for his companion's inspection. "I'mused to a gun, remember."
"You may be," retorted Barcroft grimly, "but these roots are not....dash it all!"
He sat down heavily, a patch of slippery ground having beenresponsible for the mild catastrophe. His cap, falling from hishead, rolled down the bank and finally stopped on the top of arounded boulder on either side of which the water swirled furiously.
"The result of moralising," declared Peter. "And I've lost my cap.Bang goes five and sixpence if I don't recover it."
Resting his gun against a tree, Barcroft descended with considerableagility till he gained the brink of the torrent. The two dogs,unused to the sight of their master on his hands and knees, caperedbehind him. To his disgust he found that the lost head-gear was justbeyond the reach of his outstretched hand.
He was not going to be done, he reflected stubbornly. By graspingthe stem of a hazel that grew close to the stream he could lean outfurther without losing his balance.
The stem seemed stout and supple enough, but unfortunately its looksbelied its actual strength. It parted, and the next instant Peterwas struggling in the foaming torrent.
Flung against the hollowed water-course with a thud that almostdeprived him of the little stock of breath left after his suddenimmersion in the icy water, Barcroft was unable to make an effort tosave himself from being swept over a miniature waterfall. Full sixfeet he fell; then, almost blinded by the spray that enveloped hishead, he found himself struggling in a small but powerful eddy,while the rocks that almost surrounded the pool were too high andtoo slippery to afford a hand-grip.
Upon seeing their master topple into the stream Ponto and Nan leaptin after him, although Peter was then ignorant of the fact. Swimmingineffectually against the strength of the current both dogs wereswept away, without being able to be of the slightest assistance,through a portion of the water course which, though only a couple offeet across at the top, had been worn away to four times thatdistance underneath.
Meanwhile Siegfried von Eitelwurmer was stolidly contemplating thecatastrophe. He saw the two animals being swept away, and marked thesemi-subterranean channel. A man carried under those overhangingrocks stood little chance of escape. Even if Barcroft were able toresist the remorseless pressure of water that threatened to sweephim through the contracted gully the numbing effect of the waterwould quickly tell. Yet the luckless man maintained silence; not acry for assistance came from his lips.
From the path only the tip of Peter's head was visible. The spystill stood immovable. He had no wish for his unfortunate companionto witness his apathy. He chuckled with fiendish glee. Fate wasplaying into his hands.
Suddenly a maddening thought flashed across his mind. Barcroftdrowned--inquest--verdict: "Accidental Death." Would the GermanGovernment pay the blood-money in these circumstances? He doubtedit. Being a Hun he had no faith in a Hun's interpretation of theaccident.
It was not a sense of duty, the call for heroic action, that spurredvon Eitelwurmer to the rescue. With admirably acted zeal hedescended the declivity, and followed the bank until he reached thepool in which Peter was still maintaining a precarious foothold.
Grasping the benumbed man's wrists he exerted his full strength inan attempt to extricate him. The effort was in vain: Barcroft,encumbered with his saturated clothing and now too exhausted to helphimself, was too heavy to be hauled into safety.
"Run to the works and get assistance," exclaimed Peter, fancyingthat his supposed friend was in danger of slipping off the rocksinto the swirling cauldron. "I can hold on some time yet."
Thoroughness
was one of the spy's characteristics. Having undertakento rescue his companion he was not going to be thwarted if it couldbe helped. Glancing around he spotted a stout branch of a tree lyingon the ground. Its length was more than sufficient to bridge thedistance between the projecting sides of the stream.
"Hold on for ten seconds, Barcroft," he exclaimed, and releasing hishold he made his way to the severed branch and secured it.
"Hang on!" he said, at the same time lifting Peter sufficiently toenable him to grip the span of wood. Then, pulling off his woollenscarf, he leant over the edge and passed it round Barcroft's waist,slackening the "bight" until it sank low enough to go round hiscompanion's knees.
"Now," he continued, "together!"
With a steady heave von Eitelwurmer raised Peter's legs until hisfeet were fairly over the edge of the bank, while his head and bodysupported by the suspended branch were still hanging over thestream. So far so good. The German's next step was to shift thescarf until it formed a loop round Barcroft's shoulders. Anotherstrong pull and the rescued man was lying safe but exhausted on thebank, while the two very wet dogs were frantically licking his face.The animals, after being carried down stream, had succeeded infinding a foothold, whence they had leapt clear of the dangerousstream.
"You've saved my life, Norton," said Peter, stating a perfectlyobvious fact.
"It is nothing," protested von Eitelwurmer.
"Perhaps, but it is precious to me," rejoined Barcroft, unable, evenin his exhausted condition, to resist the temptation of "pulling up"his companion for a badly-expressed declaration.
"What I did, I meant, of course," added the spy. "How about yourcap?"
"I'll have another shot for it," said Peter with suddendetermination. "If you'll hold my hand I'll reach it easily enough."
"No, you don't," decided the German firmly. "I don't want thetrouble of fishing you out again. Come along."
Having assisted Barcroft to the path, von Eitelwurmer againdescended, cut a short stick and deftly hooked the cause of theaccident.
"Here you are, Barcroft," he exclaimed, handing the cap to itsrightful owner. "Quite easy, you see. I suppose rabbit-shooting isoff at present?"
"Until to-morrow," replied the undaunted sportsman. "At ten, sharp.You must have an opportunity of making up for what you missedto-day, Norton; 'pon my word you must."