CHAPTER X.
THE CARRIER PIGEONS.
Billy and Henri, with much less weight to carry than their stalwartfellow fugitives, and much spryer as sprinters, easily led in the raceto the flying machines.
Schneider stopped more than once in his tracks to fire from the hip atthe pursuing cavalrymen, but he failed to score a hit until the leaderof the troopers had almost ridden him down. One of the long-barreledrevolvers emptied the saddle of the rearing charger. Schneider hadthrown his rifle away at the last moment, finding his pistol moreeffective in close quarters.
By this time, the boys, assisted by Roque, who was doing some shootinghimself, until all of the cartridges in the revolvers he carried wereexploded, had pushed and dragged the biplanes into the road, and readyfor the getaway.
Schneider, with a yell, hurled the empty revolvers in the direction ofthe next comer, then bounded across the first ditch in his way, jammeda shoulder against the now humming machine in which Henri was seated,to give it starting impetus, and at the same instant leaped within themachine.
Both machines were off in a jiffy, and when the cavalrymen in forcegalloped to the spot, their carbines fell short of range. That they hadbeen chasing airmen was something of a surprise for if they had notbeen so sure of a capture, the troopers would probably have pumped leadmuch earlier in the chase.
"Guess he didn't get his man for keeps," remarked Billy to Roque, as aside turn of the aircraft enabled him to look down on the field, wherea dismounted rider was getting a helping hand up from a comrade.
"Schneider gave him something to remember, anyhow," grimly repliedRoque.
In the other machine the red-topped and red-tempered aviator in theobserver's seat was deeply deploring, in no uncertain terms, the lossof a crack-a-jack rifle and two up-to-date revolvers, borrowed for theoccasion.
"Hume may toss earth when I tell him his pet irons are gone, but it wasa shindy for quick action, and no saving grace."
Schneider evidently intended to tell the aviation lieutenant about thefight before he mentioned the missing weapons.
The next flight planned by Roque was one of long distance--startingtwenty-four hours later, and leaving France.
"Good-bye, my young friends, and good luck to you; if you ever seeColonel McCready again tell him 'here's looking at him.'"
These were the parting words of Colonel Muller, accompanied by a warmhand-grip.
When the flying party finally reached Strassburg, the big German cityof the Alsace-Lorraine region, it was a glad day of halting.
They had floated in over a country literally shot to pieces by theconcentrated fire of the French and German guns--that is, in FrenchLorraine--and in the distance viewed the great fortress of Metz. To theaviators it appeared as though the land hereabouts had been devastatedby a gigantic earthquake, which had shaken down all the towns andvillages into a mass of shapeless, smoke-blackened ruins.
The boys wondered that they did not see more soldiers in the open, andHenri expressed this wonder to his companion in the biplane.
"Oh, but the woods are full of them," assured Schneider, pointing tothe small columns of smoke rising here and there from the snow-cladforests.
True it was that these same woods contained thousands and thousandsof armed warriors, ever on the lookout, who were gazing across thefrontier at the other woods, which concealed countless thousands ofsoldiers of the Kaiser.
In Strassburg, Roque was again in touch with the invisible strands ofthe far-spreading web he maintained. Among his first advices was themost disturbing one that Ardelle had returned and had been making someten-strikes within the borders of the empire.
The boys shrewdly guessed that something of the sort had happened fromthe renewal of the German agent's habit of charging almost every sortof disaster to the secret work of his French rival.
Roque realized, as one of the profession, what an important factor isthe under-cover man who works within the enemy's lines in the serviceof his country. And with a keen blade like Ardelle, big things werepossible, as past performances indicated.
But even Henri, as a self-claimed prophet, had no idea that the manhe knew as Anglin would bob up in Strassburg, though the city was aslikely a point as any in the war zone for secret service activity.
When Billy jokingly asked his chum if he had any predictions to fitthis occasion, Henri admitted that his second-sight "was off the job."
It soon developed that the secret service experts of both sides werematching wits in this quarter. Reported in Roque's calendar of theweek was the giving away by one of his workers in hostile territory ofa French attack on the Germans during a fog, with the result that theintended surprise resulted in a rout, and the assailing force moweddown almost to a man. The mute testimony was in a low-lying valley outin the Lorraine field--700 graves in a space 200 yards wide and about50 broad.
Then a counter-move, wherein the French had advices from some sourceunknown of the coming flight of a Zeppelin out of the Black Forest,and three French aeroplanes were ready to charge at the big dirigible,which, after a continuous exchange of fire lasting forty minutes, madenarrow escape to the north, just when the lighter craft had succeededin getting above it for a finishing stroke.
As it came about, and in a queer way, too, the boys were the first toblunder upon a cunning ruse being resorted to by a smooth worker ingetting away information under the very nose of the astute Roque.
Billy and Henri, indulging their liking for high places, and havinga little leisure to look around, found a favorite perch in one ofthe famous towers of Strassburg. They were interested, as airmen, inwatching the daily flying exhibit of the pigeons 'round about.
"Have you noticed, Henri, the streak of feathers every once in awhile that don't stop to associate with this housekeeping bunch? I'veseen two of these birds already this morning; they act just like anaeroplane, circle about, and then break away like a bullet. There's onenow. Look!"
Henri followed the aim of Billy's finger, and, sure enough, along-tailed flyer was cutting the air like greased lightning in astraight line west, without the slightest notice of the many of itskind pluming themselves on neighboring towers and housetops.
"They make long visits," commented Billy; "I've watched, but never seeany of these air hustlers come back."
"That's funny," observed Henri, "let's borrow a glass this afternoonand find out, if we can, where they start from. Why, this is goodsport; we'll be wearing badges next as pigeon detectives."
The boys had small notion then that they were butting into a realbusiness proposition, but one that did not advertise!
They were just curious to find out from where came the busy birds thatwould not take time to visit with their brothers and sisters.
The most that the tower observers could discover, even with the fieldglasses, borrowed without leave from Roque's traveling outfit, wasthat the next bird comer took its bearings over a red-roofed building,rising out of a circle of tall trees, a full mile to the east.
Had it so happened that Roque was in a social mood, and the boys makinghim a confidant of their bird study diversion, there would, withoutdoubt, have been no delay in striking at the heart of the problem--andeverything else under that red roof.
Carrier pigeons were not beneath the notice of the big man with thedelicate touch!
But Roque was not inclined at the time to indulge in fireside fancies.He was hooked up to a procession of events that needed constantattention, and as it was all ground work for the present, he had no usefor aviators.
So he missed the first bang at the very musser-up of his plans whom hewas, day and night, seeking to locate.
"We'll amble out that way to-morrow and learn how to break pigeons ofthe loafing habit."
Billy had once had a loft full of pouters in Bangor, that, he claimed,ate their breakfast in bed!
"We'll shake Schneider and start early."
Schneider had been detailed by Roque to keep an eye on the boys, butHenri felt sure that this firebr
and would not be interested in pigeons,save in a potpie, so he suggested the "shaking" process.
Trained in the sense of location by their aviation experience, theboys proceeded without difficulty to the sparsely settled neighborhoodof the red-roof, which they found to be in the center of a neglectedgarden, overgrown with weeds.
"Don't see any pigeon loft yet?"
Having been a fancier himself, Billy knew how the birds were housed.
"You might also say that you don't see any pigeons," added Henri."We've surely run by the station."
"Not on a little excursion like this," maintained Billy. "This is noghost story."
With the words he led the way up the long gravel walk extending fromthe rusty iron gate to the front of the house.
"What will we tell them?" he asked, reaching for the brass knocker onthe dingy door of the dwelling.
"How will it do to say we are from the gas office?"
"A fool answer fits a fool's errand," agreed Billy as he gave theknocker a sounding rap.
The pounding awakened no sign of life.
"Come on, Billy," urged Henri, "let's go. It's all a crazy move,anyhow, and it was just because we were idle that we ever thought ofit."
"I'm going to try the back door," insisted Billy, "and then we'll quit."
There they got a response, probably after an advance inspection.The door was partly opened by a bent, palsy-shaken old man, who inquavering, high-pitched voice inquired their business. The question wasin French, and Henri responded:
"We just came out to look at your pigeons, and"--the age fell from thefigure in the doorway in the twinkling of an eye, two long arms shotout, and in steely grip the astonished visitors were jerked inside, thedoor closing with a slam behind them.
"What's the matter with you?" gasped Billy, whose collar had been givena tight twist by quick-grasping, sinewy fingers.
Another violent wrench of the neck-joint was the rude form of answer.Billy's fighting blood took fire, and he launched a kick at histormentor which sent the latter spinning, doubled-up, clear across theentrance hall.
The jarred one, recovering his breath, leaped like a panther at theBangor boy, but Henri gave him the tripping foot, and he measured hislength on the dusty floor.
The boys were making a break for the door, when a new figure blockedthe way, suddenly emerging from a room nearby--a resolute fellow, witha cold, gray stare, backing up a steadily leveled revolver.
"Been stirring up the monkeys, have you, Fred?"
The fallen man raised himself on his elbow and made the air blue for amoment with his wrathful expressions.
"I'll fix you, you whelps," glaring at the sturdy youngsters who hadbested him.
"Stow the threats, Fred," advised the cool-head, who had restored thepistol to his hip-pocket when he sized up the invaders as unarmed.
"What the devil brought you here?"
The newcomer put a snap in the question, but with no change of icy eye.
"What devil sent them here, you'd better ask?"
This suggestion from the battered Fred, who had again regained his feet.
"That will all come out under pressure," intimated the cool one. "Aslong as you chose to honor us with a visit," he added with quiet irony,"we must get properly acquainted. Show the young gentlemen into theparlor, Fred."
Billy would have started a debate there and then had he not been, asusual, stumped by the French language, which he only understood by fitsand starts. He knew for sure, though, that he was in Queer Street, withthis sudden shift from the regulation German talk he had been hearingsince landing in the empire. It was up to Henri to set matters straight.
Henri, however, had come to the conclusion that the pigeon story wasnot popular here, considering its effect on the man who had first metthem at the door. So he wore a thinking cap on the way to the "parlor."
This apartment was the only one that had a living look, all the others,noted in the passing, cheerless and empty. It was a "sky parlor,"being reached by narrow stairway, only a garret between it and theroof.
An old table, rickety chairs, portable cots and a rusty oil stove werein evidence. There was a wide fireplace with no fire in it. It occurredto Henri that the present occupants of the house did not approve ofsmoking chimneys.
To get a line on what might be expected, he mildly inquired, with apale smile:
"Now that we are here, for what are we here?"
He was certain that he himself could not win a prize with the correctanswer.
The cold-eyed man could not restrain a short laugh in his throat.
"You are the fellow on the witness stand," he said, "but we must waitfor the prosecuting attorney to help us along."
In the waiting time the boys could hear through an open trap-door abovethem the fluttering and cooing of a score or more slate-colored doves,and it had just dawned upon Billy that there was some particular usefor the sheets of oiled tissue and skeins of pack-thread that litteredthe table.