Chapter XXXI: The Frontier

RESISTING his first impulse to rejoin his companions Barcroft crouched upon the unsavoury bundles and drew the corner of the painted canvas cover over his head. In breathless suspense he waited.

The clatter of the horse's hoofs ceased. He heard the rider dismount as his boots struck the ground.

"You there, Corporal Pfeil?" he shouted. "Donnerwetter! what do you mean by getting your charge in this fix?"

Receiving no reply the German began cursing volubly, at the same time expressing his belief that Pfeil and Co. were dead drunk in the barge cabin and that those rascally Belgians had given them the slip.

The fellow came on board. It required considerable effort on his part, for by the time he gained the deck he was puffing and blowing. As he walked aft his spurs jangled on the metal deck. So close did he pass the hiding Barcroft that the latter could have grasped his ankles.

"Schweinhund!" exclaimed the major, for such was his rank. "I'll give Pfeil something to remember this business. Confound this rain! I'll wait for him in the cabin."

He went below. Presently Barcroft could hear the rasping of a match, and the tantalising odours of tobacco from the after-cabin.

"Now I'm done," soliloquised the flight-sub. "The penalty for inquisitiveness, I suppose. Properly dished unless----"

Seized by a sudden inspiration Billy softly threw back the corner of the tarpaulin, crept aft and closed the sliding hatch of the cabin. Before the astonished major could completely realise what was happening Barcroft had shut the massive metal hasp and had secured it by wedging a belaying pin through the staple.

"Shout as hard as you like, my festive!" chuckled the flight-sub; then he, too, realised that he had "put his foot into it." Not only that--he had jeopardised the chances of his companions.

Throwing a sack of clothing to the bank Billy leapt ashore, picked up the weighty bundle and made for the barn.

He found Fuller awake, for Kirkwood had informed him of the danger that threatened the explorer.

"We were just coming to your rescue," announced the A.P., "only we saw that you had boxed the Boche up. What's this bundle for, old bird?"

"For to-night's fancy dress ball," replied Barcroft. "A suit of mufti for each of us. We appear in the characters of the Continental knockabouts."

"What do you mean?" asked Fuller.

"Simply that we must make tracks at once, before Corporal Pfeil and Company return. Obviously we cannot hope to wander unmolested over the country if we stick to our flying kit, so with my characteristic regard for your welfare I have procured a stock of second-hand clothes for your inspection and choice. We'll push on for a couple of miles or so and then hide until it's dark. Then, with luck, over the frontier we jog, without running the risk of being interned by the Dutch authorities."

The contents of the bag were emptied upon the floor--a weird collection of musty and for the most part dirty and ragged clothes.

"Must we, or musty?" inquired Kirkwood sniffing disdainfully

"Both," replied Barcroft decidedly. "Look alive. Pity to have to sacrifice our coats, though. Mine cost me eighty-five shillings only a month ago. Keep your revolvers. They'll stow in the coat-pockets."

The change of raiment was speedily effected. The discarded gear, folded in as tight compass as possible, was stowed away on the beams of the barn.

"Who knows," remarked the A.P., "but that we may have a chance of recovering our kit, when the Boches have been driven out of Belgium? My word, Billy, you look absolutely IT! Tired Tim or Weary Willy must be your character."

"You speak for yourself, old sport," retorted Barcroft laughing. "You're positively not respectable. We tolerate your presence only on sufferance. Matter of fact, Tired Tim does suit me," he added, stifling a yawn. "I'm as dog-tired as a fellow can possibly be. And what might you be supposed to represent, John--a Belgian hare?"

"That's about it," replied Fuller languidly. "The main thing is to keep warm, and trust to luck to get a hot bath later. Some fit, eh, what?"

The flight-lieutenant had appropriated a long cloth coat liberally trimmed with fur. In its prime the coat might have done credit to a wealthy bourgeois of Brussels, but now it would ill-become a city scavenger.

The rest of the clothes were returned to the sack, with the addition of a couple of heavy stones. Barcroft and the A.P. carried the "incriminating evidence" to the river and hurled it into the water.

"Don't suppose our boots will excite suspicion if we fall in with any one," remarked Kirkwood. "It is impossible to say whether they are black or brown."

"Or sabots," added Billy. "Without exaggeration we are carrying half an inch of mud about on them. Now, easy ahead."

Keeping clear of the highway, and following the river at a respectful distance the fugitives covered a distance of about three miles in less than a couple of hours. The rain was falling heavily again, blotting out everything beyond a distance of fifty yards, but by this time the dauntless trio regarded the discomfort with equanimity and as a blessing in disguise.

"By Jove!" exclaimed Puller, suddenly coming to a halt. "There's the frontier."

Before they were aware of the fact they had arrived within a few feet of the seemingly interminable barbed wire fence that separated occupied Belgium from coveted Holland. As far as could be seen the barrier was unguarded.

"How about it?" inquired Barcroft. "Shall we make a dash and risk it?"

"Steady," cautioned the flight-lieutenant. "Suppose, as is more than likely, there's a high tension wire running along that contraption? We don't want to be pipped on the post, you know."

"I'll test it," declared Billy promptly.

"How?" asked his companions in one breath

"By this," replied the sub indicating the wristlet compass. "You hang on here. I won't be long."

"Be careful, then," said the A.P.

"Trust me for that," answered Barcroft cheerfully. "Lie low and keep a sharp look out."

On either side of the fence was a belt of reeds and coarse grass. In ordinary circumstances its height would be five or six feet, but the wind and rain had beaten down the reeds considerably. In places the tangle of grass was almost flat, and, combined with the slippery soil, formed a trap for the unwary.

"H'm! a fair amount of traffic on either side of the fence," commented Barcroft as he arrived upon the scene of his investigations. "They've had sentries patrolling up and down, but evidently they don't like the weather."

Kneeling in the slime the flight-sub unbuckled the strap that secured the little spirit compass to his wrist, then cautiously he held the delicate instrument towards the lowermost wire.

The needle was unaffected, even though he brought the compass close enough to risk a short circuit should the wire be highly charged with electricity. Three parallel wires he tested with similar results. At the fourth, which was about three feet from the ground, the needle oscillated. Whether it was owing to the deviating effect of an electric current or that he had unintentionally jogged the compass Barcroft could not decide. Withdrawing the instrument he waited for the sensitive index to come to rest.

"Dash it all!" he ejaculated as he resumed his investigations. "That wire is charged. It will mean a fine old job getting through this fence. Might squeeze through under the lowermost one if it could be prised up. But supposing the electrified wire isn't always the fourth from the ground: what then? I'll apply another test further along."

So intent was the flight-sub in his work that he failed to hear the faint sound of footsteps stealthily approaching through the squelching mud. Entirely at a disadvantage since he was crouching on his knees, Barcroft was most disgustedly surprised to hear a guttural exclamation, the form of which left no doubt as to the nationality of the speaker.

Turning his head Billy found himself at the mercy of a German sentry, whose levelled bayonet was within a foot of his shoulderblades.