Over There with the Canadians at Vimy Ridge

  The sergeant climbed up out of the dugout into the trench, and Irvingfollowed, and soon they were making their way to another similarexcavation which was the headquarters of Lieut. Osborne.

  *CHAPTER XII*

  *QUIZZING A SPY*

  Sergt. Wilson's prediction that Private Ellis's spy story would go tothe major of the battalion was more than realized. Affairs movedrapidly from the time when the non-commissioned officer got a clear ideaof the importance of the situation. He and Irving made a rapid transitfrom their trench cave to the dugout where Lieut. Osborne was stationed,and there the story was repeated. The lieutenant was interested at onceand took the matter up with the captain. The latter instructed thelieutenant to remain at the telephone until he could communicate withhis superior officers.

  There followed a wait of rather nervous expectancy for Irving. Itreally was not more than half an hour, although it seemed much longer tothe young soldier who made the original complaint. At last, however,came a ring of the muffled telephone bell, and Lieut. Osborne lifted thereceiver to his ear. He listened a minute or two, then hung up thereceiver and said:

  "Ellis, you and I are ordered to proceed to the hospital and confrontthis young spy of yours with the fact that we have the goods on him.The captain communicated with the major, and the major with the colonel;so, you see, your story has gone up to the head of the regiment. Sergt.Wilson, I am going to leave you here in my place while I'm gone. I hopeto be back before nightfall. If I'm delayed longer than I expect to be,I'll communicate with you by 'phone. Ellis, we'll start at once. Thecolonel has ordered an automobile to be ready to meet us at the nearestrelief station back of the lines. Come on."

  In a few minutes the officer and the private were racing through thenearest communication trench, which was deep, sinuous and wellcamouflaged, on past the second and third lines to the relief stationjust beyond a small inn covered with a growth of trees and a thicket oftall bushes. The promised automobile was waiting for them, and theywere soon speeding away toward the field hospital which, in the lasthour, as a result of Private Ellis's story, had become a center of veryserious interest in a strange admixture of an elaborate spy system and"high art."

  Lieut. Osborne and his companion were both apprehensive lest they findthe second lieutenant in condition so weakened that it would beinadvisable to subject him to the strain of a "third degree." Theydiscussed this possibility on the way, and the officer decided that hewould broach the subject gently in order to avoid the danger ofdefeating their purpose through a physical and mental collapse of thepatient.

  But Lieut. Tourtelle proved to have withstood the shock of the operationmuch better than might have been expected. They found him lookingreally bright and vigorous. Apparently he had had the best of care andhad rested well. Nevertheless, Lieut. Osborne called a nurse aside andasked her to administer a stimulant to him, as he had important businesswith the patient under instructions from the commander of the regiment.The nurse did as requested without arousing any suspicion in the "cubistart spy."

  "This is quite a surprise to receive a visit from a superior officerunder such circumstances, and I'm sure it's very much appreciated,"Tourtelle remarked after he had answered several questions put by Lieut.Osborne regarding his condition and the attention he was receiving.

  "The occasion fully warrants our coming to see you," the superiorofficer replied in a purposely peculiar tone of voice. Tourtellenoticed it and looked inquiringly at Lieut. Osborne.

  "Private Ellis told me about that art souvenir that was peeled off yourarm and I have come to see it," continued the leader of the "visitingexpedition."

  Tourtelle shot a furtive, searching glance at each of his callers.These glances did not escape the observation of either the officer orthe private, for both were looking for evidence of this sort; but theywere well on their guard and did not betray, by the slightestexpression, any evidence of what was going on in their minds.

  "Of course you have it here," Lieut. Osborne continued in tone ofassurance. "Ellis tells me he laid it by the side of your pillow andasked the nurse to call your attention to it after you came out from theeffects of the anaesthetic."

  Plainly enough Tourtelle was struggling within himself over something,and his visitors did not have much trouble convincing themselves what itwas. But finally he settled the problem tentatively in favor of theevident inevitable and replied:

  "Yes, of course, I have it here, only I hate to unpack it; but if yourcuriosity over a freak idea is uncontrollable, I must submit. I'm veryjealous over that affair, because the average person is utterlyincapable of appreciating it and would only laugh at me."

  "Oh, you needn't be afraid of our doing anything of the kind," returnedthe lieutenant reassuringly. "We're deeply interested, both of us."

  "You must be profoundly interested if you can leave your places at thebattle front just to inspect a sample of what most people would callfreak art. You didn't call a truce and sign an armistice just for this,did you?"

  The lieutenant realized by this time, as Irving had realized before,that he was dealing with a young fellow of no puny intelligence.Tourtelle, although signifying willingness to do as requested, wasevidently fencing with weapons of jest and banter, intended to beaccepted as conversational pleasantry. He made no motion as yet toproduce the box containing the tattooed section of skin packed in salt.

  "No," the visiting officer replied quietly; "but I'm sure you won'tdisappoint me after I've gone to the trouble to get permission from thecolonel to come here and see that remarkable curiosity that Ellis saysyou possess. Where is it?--under your pillow?"

  Lieut. Osborne made a move as if to reach under the pillow. The patientmade no motion to object; he maintained a passiveness of manner whichthe inspecting officer accepted as an admission as to the whereabouts ofthe article of interest. The next moment the box was produced from its"hiding place," for Irving and the lieutenant were certain that whenTourtelle put it under the pillow his purpose was primarily to concealit from inquisitive eyes.

  The officer opened the box and poured the contents out on a paper lyingon the floor. Then he picked out the "cubist parchment" and gazed at itwith deep interest.

  "By the way, Lieut. Tourtelle," he said after an inspection lasting aminute or two, "would you mind telling me what these dots and dashesmean in this work of art? They look to me like letters of the Morsetelegraph code."

  As he spoke he looked sharply at the soldier on the cot, whose face inan instant became an interesting study of struggling effort to appearcalm and curious and only superficially concerned. Irving realized,however, that Lieut. Osborne was getting down to business without anypreliminary foolishness.

  *CHAPTER XIII*

  *TOURTELLE ADMITS*

  "Nonsense," replied Tourtelle, with remarkable calmness, after what musthave been a desperate effort at self-control. "Nothing of the kind. Idrew the original picture and I don't know the first thing abouttelegraphy."

  "But it's here," Lieut. Osborne insisted. "I've had a course in wirelessand can read the code like a book. Let me read some of it toyou--'h-e-f-c-k-a-w-r-t-m-c-a-a-b-l'--and so on, all around every one ofthese cubes."

  "Is that so?" exclaimed the patient, rising slightly on his remainingelbow, but falling back. "Let me see it. I never noticed that. Bickettmust have put one over on me if you're right. Bickett was the studentwho tattooed the picture on my arm."

  "Where was that tattooing done?" asked Lieut. Osborne.

  "In our room in Montreal," replied Tourtelle, without hesitation. "Heand I roomed together and attended art school."

  "You're sure it wasn't in a laboratory of a hospital in Toronto?" wasthe inquisitor's next query.

  This was too much for the bedridden "second looie." He opened his mouthas if to speak, but his jaw dropped and remained in its lowered positionhalf a minute as if paralyzed. At last, how
ever, he managed to find hisvoice again, but it came with a succession of stammers.

  "Wh--wh--why," he said, with a brave enough effort to transformconfusion into astonishment. "Wh--wh--what do you mean? I--I don'tunderstand you. You talk like a sphinx. I hope you're not questioningmy word. I can't understand what your motive can be. But maybe you'remaking sport of me. If I told you that I was born in--in New Brunswick,would you try to make out it was in Saskatchewan?"

  "Not unless the fellow who was seized out in the hall and dragged intothe laboratory should appear suddenly and contradict your statement,"the investigating officer answered. "By the way, did you know thehospital was raided by government agents a few days after the tattooingoperation?"

  By this time, Tourtelle, who must have realized the gravity of thesituation, had summoned all the nerve needed to provide him with a boldfront to meet the emergency. He just sat and stared blankly at hisvisitors.

  "Why don't you answer?" Lieut. Osborne demanded.

  "Because I haven't the faintest idea what you're driving at," Tourtellereplied, with well assumed mystification. "But I'm sure of one thing,or rather one of two things, and that is that either somebody has putyou on a very bum steer, or you have got things very badly twisted.You'll have to straighten matters out some way or else stop this line ofquestioning, for I don't know how to answer you except by denyingabsolutely more than half you say."

  "Now, see here, Tourtelle," returned the visiting officer severely;"this camouflage of yours has gone far enough. I came here to get fromyou an admission of the main truth and some additional information. Ialready have all the proof needed to convict you of being a spy. Unlessyou do what I ask you to do, undoubtedly you will be courtmartialed andshot. Now, the question is, do you want to save yourself from such afate?"

  "That is a grave accusation," Tourtelle answered icily. "At any rate,I'll listen to the evidence you have against me. Suppose you tell mewhat it is."

  "It's right here in this," Lieut. Osborne replied, unhesitatingly,holding up the section of skin containing the tattooed outlines ofstrange art. "You have here a message of secret information for someoneon the other side of the Rhine. I want to know whom it is for and thesubstance of the message."

  "But how do you figure that I could get it into the hands for whom it isintended, admitting for the sake of argument that you are correct inyour inference?" the soldier on the bed inquired.

  "By surrendering to our enemy at the first opportunity," was the answer."That's what you tried to do out in No Man's Land the night you werewounded."

  This was a new startler for the wounded spy, as was evident from theexpression on his countenance. After a few moments of undoubtedlypainful meditation, he continued:

  "Again, just for the sake of argument, how could I be certain that youwould keep your word after promising to save my life if I actedaccording to your instruction?"

  "All you have is my word for it and your own common sense. If you giveus some valuable information that could not have been obtainedotherwise, it stands to reason--doesn't it?--that we'd forget that you'dbeen a spy, particularly so if the value of your information was greaterthan your menace as a spy."

  "All right, I'll admit I'm a spy," said Tourtelle, a little doggedly;"but I'm not going to tell you anything until I have more authoritativeassurance that I'll not be courtmartialed."

  "I don't mean to assure you that you won't be courtmartialed," Lieut.Osborne answered, hastily. "I mean that I will intercede for you.Moreover, there is no evidence that can be produced against you exceptthrough Private Ellis and me. We have the information, and will eitherproduce it or keep it under cover as we see fit."

  "But suppose I really have no information of great value; suppose I'mmerely a bearer of a cipher message, which I can't read and don't evenknow the person to whom it is addressed--what then?"

  "I don't ask anything impossible," the inquisitor replied. "All I wantis a straight-forward story from you, with all details. If you keepanything back or lie to me, I'm very likely to find it out, and thenyou'll fare worse than if you refused point blank to enter into anagreement with me."

  "All right," said Tourtelle, "I suppose I may as well give in, for youseem to have some real information, although I can't understand where orhow you got it. Anyway, here's my story:

  *CHAPTER XIV*

  *TOURTELLE'S STORY*

  "I must first tell you who I am," Lieut. Tourtelle began, after somemoments' deliberation. Ordinarily his countenance was almostexpressionless, for he belonged to a certain type of pulseless-souledhumanity that talks little with the face, except through that orificewhere the tongue wig-wags the signals of the mind. But on thisoccasion, he looked not only serious, but seriously concerned over hispredicament. Before he got farther with his introduction, however,Lieut. Osborne interrupted him with this warning:

  "I want to urge you, Tourtelle, to be very careful to tell the truth andthe whole truth, because you are surely going to get yourself intotrouble if you don't. We know a good deal more than I have told you,and I promise you that I have some information on which I can catch youif you tell me any lies."

  "You needn't be afraid of my lying to you," the spy returned quickly;"for, to tell the truth, I'm sick of this whole business. I wish I'dnever got into it, and if I succeed in getting out with a whole skin,I'll admit I'm glad you caught me.

  "I've done a whole lot of thinking since I agreed to put this thing overor try to put it over. There's a lot of difference between sittingstill and dreaming how you love your father's fatherland before heemigrated, and plotting in the midst of your fellow countrymen to help alot of tyrants whom you've never seen on the other side o' the world. Ididn't think of that until I got up to my neck in this business andfound it almost impossible to get out.

  "You see, my father was an Austrian, and my mother was fromAlsace-Lorraine. Both of them died when I was five or six years old andI was adopted by a brother of my father, also an Austrian, of course.By the way, my name is not Tourtelle and never was. That was just a bitof camouflage, so that I might pass as being of French descent. My realname is Hessenburg. My uncle was most bitterly anti-British in thiswar, and is yet. He was a man of considerable means and position in thebusiness world, was a member of the board of directors of that hospitalin Toronto where my arm was tattooed. Yes, that hospital was a hotbedof spies, and I'm glad they raided it.

  "I wasn't taken into the confidence of the high-ups in the spyorganization in Canada, but I know it was a big one. I suppose theythought I was too young to be trusted with any more information than wasnecessary to make me useful. And for that reason, you see, they did nottranslate to me the message that was tattooed on my arm, and they didn'tgive me the key to work out the cipher. Besides, I'm no telegrapher.You'll understand, therefore, that they didn't pick much of an expert tocarry their message."

  "Didn't you know that there were telegraphic characters in that pictureon your arm?" asked Lieut. Osborne.

  "Yes, or rather I suspected it pretty strongly," was the reply.

  "And you don't know what the message is?"

  "No, I don't."

  "Haven't you any idea?"

  "Well, yes, I have an idea, but it's pretty vague. I overheard a littleof a conversation not intended for my ears, and from that I got thenotion, or perhaps it's only a suspicion, that the message contains theBritish naval or aeronautical wireless code."

  "At any rate, it's of great importance," suggested Lieut. Osborne.

  "Oh, there's no doubt about that," Tourtelle, or Hessenburg, assured.

  "Are you an artist?" was the inquisitor's next question.

  "Yes, I am; that is, I was an art student, and the story I told Ellisabout making a hit with a cubist painting is true. That's what startedthe scheme of tattooing a picture message on my arm."

  "Who suggested it?"

  "One of the fellows who did the work. He was something of an artis
t aswell as a chemist.

  "The fellow with whiskers?"

  "Yes," replied the spy. "I see you have had a pretty thorough report ofthat affair."

  "We have. Did you know that the boy who was seized in the hall anddragged into the laboratory left with the pen-and-ink sketch of yourpainting crumpled up in his hand?"

  "No. Is that what became of it? One of the men suggested that he musthave stolen it, but I didn't think he was right."

  "Did you know they put detectives on his track?"

  "No. Did they?"

  "That's what they did. And that is probably the reason why the hospitalwas raided a few days later. If they hadn't followed him, the boyprobably would have passed the matter up and dismissed it from his mind.But he became restlessly curious and reported the affair to the police."

  "Hm!" Tourtelle grunted at this elucidation.

  "Do you mean for me to understand that you have no idea whom thismessage is for?" asked Lieut. Osborne, indicating the section of skinilluminated with cubist art.

  "That's exactly what I mean," the cubist spy replied.

  "But what were you supposed to do after you got over into Germany?"

  "Seek out an army officer and tell him my story. Any officer, I wastold, would know at once what to do with me."

  "Do you speak German?"

  "Not much, nor Austrian, either. I studied German at school and learnedenough to be able to make myself understood on the other side of theRhine."