Wings over England

  _Chapter_ XV Until the Very End

  For sometime the dog lay quietly at Alice’s feet. At last, once more atease, he rose, stretched himself, walked twice across the dungeon floor,then, marching up to Dave whined low.

  “What’s this?” Dave demanded. “You want to go out again? Haven’t you hadenough for one night?”

  In answer the dog walked to the door, then whined again.

  “O. K.,” said Dave “I don’t hear any motors. Perhaps the big show isover. Let’s get going.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Brand said quietly.

  Arrived at the outer castle door, Dave took one look, then let out a lowwhistle. “Old boy,” he said in a hoarse voice, looking down at the dog,“how did you escape?”

  “What do you mean, escape?” Brand asked.

  “Look!” Dave pointed to a dark spot in the brightly lighted meadow. “Seethat black hole? What stood there two hours ago?”

  “Say!” Brand stared. “A stone building stood there.”

  “But then,” he added after a thought, “what does it matter? It was justan empty old out building.”

  “I’m not so sure it was empty,” Dave replied soberly. “Last time Ilooked at that building a man and a dog were going through the door.That was less than two minutes before the first blast. There,” his was adramatic gesture, “question is, where’s the man? If he is at all anymore.”

  “Stop talking in riddles,” Brand’s voice rose. “This has been a badnight.”

  “Sit down and I’ll tell you,” Dave invited as he dropped to a place onthe well-worn door sill.

  The story of his visit to the top of the tower both astonished andthrilled his companion.

  “And the fellow who went into that shack,” Dave added with a flourish ofhis arm, “was none other than the assistant to old John, the shoemaker.What’s more, his real name is Nicholas Schlitz.”

  “No!” Brand sprang to his feet. “It can’t be!”

  “It is!” Dave insisted. “Remember that picture you took from the wreckedplane? The picture of two young fellows?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “They were clear enough. You couldn’t make a mistake if you saw one ofthose men. I saw Nicholas tonight, by the bright light of his own signaltorch. I couldn’t be mistaken. In the shoe shop he was always bendingover, half hiding his face. Tonight I really _saw_ him.”

  “Where’s his signal torch?” Brand asked suddenly.

  “That’s right,” Dave sprang up. “Where is it? In my excitement I mighthave—

  “Yes. Here it is.” He drank in a deep breath of relief. “I must have putit down. I—I was afraid he had come back for it.”

  “He never will,” said Brand.

  “You can’t be sure,” Dave replied thoughtfully. “Flash went in with him.If Flash escaped, how about Nicholas Schlitz, the spy? After all, therewere three blasts. There was some time between the first and last. Who’sgoing to say whether the first or last made that hole out there?”

  To this question Brand found no answer.

  Brand stood up, gazed at the sky, north, south, east and west, listenedfor a full minute, then said: “Storm’s over. Let’s see if we can’t getthem all to go home.”

  It took little persuading to get Alice and Cherry started. Soon theywere all on their way.

  It was only as they rounded the last curve that brought them in fullview of their home that the full significance of Heinie’s work thatnight burst upon them.

  They greeted the scene that lay before them in tragic silence. The homethat had housed the Ramsey tribe for a dozen generations was a wreck. Abomb had landed on the east end and torn it completely away. Gone wasthe prim little parlor with its very formal furniture, gone the cozydining room with its array of ancient willow-ware and rare glass-ware.Gone was the big four-poster bed on which Cherry and Alice had sleptsince they were tiny tots, and gone all the countless treasures that hadadorned their rooms.

  “Le—t—, let’s have a look.” Brand climbed out of the car. He was tryingto be nonchalant about the whole affair and making a bad job of it.

  Dave climbed out after him. Then, after ten seconds of listening, heflashed on the spy’s powerful light. At once the whole wrecked placestood out in bold relief.

  By some miracle the great chimney had withstood the shock. The fireplacehad been blown clean of ashes.

  “Dave, you were a gem.” These were Cherry’s first words. “If there hadbeen a spark of fire!”

  “It’s a miracle that anything is left,” said Applegate. “Of courseyou’ll all come up to live with us.”

  “Oh, no.” Alice spoke slowly. “The children would worry Lady Applegate.I—I’m sorry. We still have furniture and cooking things. I’m sure quiteenough. And there’s the Hideout up at the foot of the hill. It’s quitelarge and hidden among the trees. We may,” she hesitated, “may need toborrow a few dishes. We—we don’t seem to have any.”

  “There are whole china cupboardsful at our house. I’ll have a car fullof them down first thing in the morning.

  “Sure that’s all?” the young Lord asked anxiously.

  “No, not quite.” Cherry smiled a shy smile as she whispered hoarsely.“I—I’m quite sure that Alice’s dream-robes and mine have gone to gracethe Milky Way.”

  “That also shall be attended to,” said the young Lord, after they hadenjoyed a good laugh.

  The trusty old farm truck was backed out of its shed. Beds, chairs,blankets, pots, pans, and quantities of food were piled on. Then theyrattled away up the hill to the Hideout.

  After building a fire on the wide old hearth they put things in suchorder as they could for the night.

  After the others had been made comfortable and were asleep Dave andCherry still sat by the fire.

  “We’re always last,” Cherry whispered hoarsely. “It takes time for ournerves to run down. They’re like a cheap old alarm clock, I guess.” Shelaughed.

  “That’s it,” Dave agreed.

  “Brand and I are signing up tomorrow,” he said after a time.

  “I thought Brand would, after this night. Who wouldn’t?” Her whisper wastense with emotion. “It’s his country. But why you? It’s not yours.”

  “In America,” Dave replied soberly, “we have a saying, ‘A man’s home iswhere he hangs his hat’. Your home has been mine. It has been bombed.And so—”

  He did not finish. Just sat there staring at the fire. “There’s a lotmore to it than that,” he went on after a time. “It’s easy enough tosay, ‘It’s not my war’, when you’re far away. But when you are here,when you see how this war is being fought, defenseless women andchildren who never harmed anyone being killed and country homes bombed.Good God! How can you help wanting to fight?

  “And there’s still more to it,” he added after a moment’s silence. “Thisflying sort of gets you. I’ve been within its grip since the first timeI went up.

  “And flyer fighting.” He took a long breath. “It’s like our Americanfootball. It’s a game. The other fellow has the ball. You go after him.You have the ball. He goes after you. You dodge this way and that. Youstiff arm him if he gets close. You lean like the Tower of Pisa, youzigzag and weave like a sapling in the wind. Flyer fighting is likethat.”

  “But the score?” Cherry whispered.

  “Ah, yes,” Dave murmured. “The score must always be heavy on your side.”

  They were silent. At last Cherry whispered: “I seem to hear applause,the way you hear it on the radio. Per—perhaps it’s the applause ofangels. Perhaps the applause is for you. Anyway, here’s wishing youluck.” She put out a slender hand to seize his in a quick, nervous grip.

  A quarter hour later the girl was beneath the blankets beside her sisterand Dave, rolled in a thick, soft rug before the fire, was fast asleep.