Burton of the Flying Corps Page 3

  III

  Burton drove his elbow through the skylight, swung himself through thehole, and dropped to the floor. To his great relief he saw thatMicklewright was neither dead nor unconscious; indeed, his eyes weregazing placidly at him through his spectacles. It was the work of amoment to cut the cords that bound the chemist's legs and arms to thechair, and to tear from his mouth the thick fold of newspaper that hadgagged him.

  "Wood pulp!" said Micklewright, with a grimace of mild disgust, as soonas he could speak. "Beastly stuff!--if I've got to be gagged, gag mewith rag!"

  "Who did it? What's it mean?" said Burton.

  "It means that somebody was keenly interested in that paragraph whichthe Admiralty clerk so kindly supplied to his journalist brother."

  "The new explosive?"

  "Yes. Competitors abhor a secret.... The taste of printer's ink on pulppaper is very obnoxious, Teddy."

  "Hang the paper! Tell me what happened."

  "It was very neatly done. As nearly as I can recollect, a man put hishead in at the door and asked politely, but in broken English, the wayto Faversham. Being rather busy at the time I'm afraid I misdirectedhim. But it didn't matter, because a second or two after I was kickingthe shins of two other fellows who were hugging me; I'm sorry I had touse my boots, but my fists were not at the moment available. You see howit ended.

  "They had just fixed me in the chair--printer's ink is _very_horrid--when the telephone bell rang. My first visitor told one of theothers, in French, to cut the wire: it must have been rather annoying tothe person at the other end."

  "I was trying to get you in the 'Sun.' But go on."

  "Their next movements much interested me. The commander of theexpedition began to scout along the bench, and soon discovered myexplosive--by the way, I proposed to call it Hittite. He was a coolcard. He first burnt a little: 'Bien!' said he. Then he exploded alittle: 'Bien!' again. Then he scooped the whole lot into a brownleather bag, just as it was, and made off, lifting his hat very politelyas he went out. He had some trouble in getting his motor-cycle tofire----"

  "They came on motor-cycles? I saw two crossing the railway atSnipeshill as I went. Look here, Pickles, this is serious, isn't it?"

  "Well, of course any fool could make Hittite after a reputable chemisthas analysed my stuff. I shall have to start again, I suppose."

  "Great Scott! How can you take it so coolly? The ruffians have got tobe caught. Can you describe them?"

  "Luckily, they allowed me the use of my eyes, though I've heard ofspeaking eyes, haven't you? They were all foreigners. The commanderwas a big fellow, bald as an egg, with a natty little moustache, veryurbane, well educated, to judge by his accent, though you can never tellwith these foreigners. The others were bearded--quiteuninteresting--chauffeurs or mechanics--men of that stamp. Their bosswas a personality."

  "He spoke French?"

  "Yes. You brought that picric acid, Teddy?"

  "It's in the house. By the way, they gagged Mrs. Jones too."

  "Not with a newspaper, I hope. I'm afraid the poor old thing will giveme notice. We had better go and console her."

  They mounted on the bench, clambered thence through the skylight, andslid to the ground.

  "Look here, Pickles," said Burton, as they went towards the house, "I'mgoing after those fellows. Being foreigners they are almost sure tohave made for the Continent at once. I'll run down to the road andexamine the tracks of their cycles; you've got an ABC in the house?"

  "It is possible."

  "Well, hunt it out and look up the boats for Calais. How long have theybeen gone?"

  "Perhaps three-quarters of an hour."

  "A dashed good start!" exclaimed Burton. "We'll save time if you bringthe ABC down to the creek. Buck up, old chap; no wool-gathering now,for goodness' sake."

  They parted. A brief examination of the tracks assured Burton that thecyclists had continued their journey eastward. They would probably runinto the highroad to Dover somewhere about Norton Ash. Returning to thecreek he was met by Micklewright with the buff-coloured timetable.Micklewright was limping a little.

  "There's no Calais boat at this time of day," he said.

  "Did you try Folkestone?"

  "It didn't occur to me."

  Burton took the time-table from him and turned over the pages rapidly.

  "Here we are: Folkestone to Boulogne, 4.10. It's now 3.35," saidBurton, looking at his watch. "I can easily get to Folkestone in halfan hour or less--possibly intercept the beggars if they don't know theroad: in any case be in time to put the police on before the boatstarts. You'll come, Pickles?"

  "Well, no. I strained a muscle or two in scuffling with thosegentlemen--and I've had nothing but newspaper since eight o'clock. Bythe way, you may as well take the only clue we have--this scrap of pulp.It is French, as you see. And, Teddy, don't get into hot water on myaccount. The resources of civilisation--as expressed in highexplosives--are not exhausted."

  Burton stuffed the newspaper into his pocket, and in three minutes wasalready well on the way to Folkestone. Micklewright watched theflying-boat until it was lost to sight; then, pressing his hand to hisaching side, he returned slowly to the house.

  The distance from the Luddenham Marshes to Folkestone is abouttwenty-five miles as the crow flies, and Burton had made the flight oncein his flying-boat. Consequently, he was at no loss in setting hiscourse. A brisk south-west wind was blowing, but it very littleretarded his speed, so that he felt pretty sure of reaching the harbourby four o'clock. Keeping at an altitude of only a few hundred feet, hewas able to pick up the well-known landmarks: Hogben's Hill, the Stour,the series of woods lying between that river and the Elham valleyrailway line; and just before four he alighted on the sea leeward of thepier, within a few yards of the steamer.

  A small boat took him ashore. He avoided the crowd of holiday makerswho had already gathered to watch him, and making straight for the pier,accosted a police inspector.

  "Have you seen three men ride up on motor cycles, inspector?" he asked.

  "No, sir, I can't say I have."

  "Three foreigners, one a tall big fellow?"

  "Plenty of foreigners have gone on board, sir. Is anything wrong?"

  "Yes, they've assaulted and robbed a friend of mine--you may know hisname: Dr. Bertram Micklewright, the inventor. They've stolen Governmentproperty, and it's of the utmost importance to prevent their crossingthe Channel."

  "Where did this take place, sir, and at what time?"

  "At Luddenham Marshes beyond Faversham, just before three o'clock."

  "They'd hardly have got here, would they? They'd have to come throughCanterbury, between thirty and forty miles, and with speed limits hereand there they'd only just about do it."

  "I'll wait here, then. You'll arrest them if they come?"

  "That's a bit irregular, sir," said the inspector, rubbing his chin."You saw them do the job?"

  "Well, no, I didn't."

  "Then you can't be sure of 'em?"

  "I'm afraid I can't, but there wouldn't be two sets of foreigners onmotor cycles. You could detain them on suspicion, couldn't you?"

  "I might, if you would take the responsibility."

  "Willingly. I'll keep a look-out then."

  It occurred to Burton that the men might leave the cycles and approachon foot, so he closely scrutinised all the passengers of foreignappearance who passed on the way to the boat. None of them answered toMicklewright's description.

  "Haven't you got any clue to their identity, sir?" asked the inspector,who remained at his side.

  "None; it happened during my absence. They tied up my friend and gaggedhim. I came across country in my flying machine yonder."

  "They'll lose this boat for certain," said the inspector, as thesteamer's warning siren sounded. "You're sure they are Frenchmen?"

  "Yes; well, they left a French newspaper behind them."

  "Do you happe
n to have it with you?"

  Burton drew the crushed paper from his pocket, and handed it to thepoliceman, who unfolded it, and displayed a torn sheet, with only theletters IND remaining of the title.

  "That's the _Independance Belge_," said the inspector at once. "Iexpect they're Belgians, and aren't coming here at all. Ostend's theirmark, I wouldn't mind betting."

  "Via Dover, of course. Is there a boat?"

  "One at 4.30, sir. I'm afraid they've dished you."

  "I'm not so sure about that," said Burton, glancing at his watch. "It'snow 4.20; this boat's off. If the Ostend boat is ten minutes late too Ican get to Dover in good time to have it searched."

  "Then if I were you I'd lose no time, sir, and I hope you'll catch 'em."

  Burton raced back to the boat that had brought him ashore. In fiveminutes he was on his own vessel, in two more he was in full flightbefore the favouring wind, and at 4.35 he dropped on the water in thelee of the Admiralty pier at Dover. But he had already seen that he wastoo late. The boat, which had evidently started on time, was at leasthalf a mile from the pier.

  "Yes, sir, I did see a big foreigner go on board at the last minute,"said the policeman of whom Burton inquired ten minutes later. "He wascarrying a small brown leather hand-bag. I took particular note of him,because he blowed like a grampus, and took off his hat to wipe his head,he was that hot."

  "Was he bald?"

  "As bald as the palm of your hand. A friend of yours, sir?"

  "No," said Burton emphatically. "He's got away with a secret worththousands of pounds--millions perhaps, to a foreign navy."

  The policeman whistled.