CHAPTER XIX
A NEST OF SPIES
Neither of the air service boys had any doubts now with regard to thecharacter of the grounds they were invading at dead of night. It must bea private estate. Once it may have been kept up through a lavishexpenditure of money, but of late years things had evidently beenallowed to grow more or less wild.
Tom was following what appeared to be the drive. It was not difficult todo so, because of the moonlight that sifted down through the barebranches of the neighboring ornamental trees, now destitute of foliage.
The house was presently discovered. Just as Tom anticipated, it was arather large building, that might even be called a mansion, or chateau.It lay half buried amidst a prodigious growth of trees and bushes.
Jack fancied there was a sort of haunted air about the place, somethinguncanny, as he told himself. And then those sobs or screams could not beforgotten.
"Let's go around first, and see what lies in the rear," whispered Tom.
He had an object in view when he said this. Having noted carefully theirroute in coming from the open field where they had left their big plane,Tom knew that the window from whence the sobbing had come must be eitherat the back of the house, or on the eastern side.
He was heading in that quarter now, and looking for signs of a light insome upper window. This he discovered speedily, and pointed it out tohis companion.
"Whoever was crying, Jack, must be up there," he said, close to theother's ear so as to insure safety.
"But how can we find out?" queried Jack. "If you say the word I'mwilling to climb up, and learn what's wrong."
"Not yet. We must take a turn around, and pick up more knowledge of thisplace, as well as the people who live in the house."
"Then why not creep up and look in at that lower window?" suggestedJack, pointing as he spoke. "I've seen a shadow passing back and forth,as if some person were walking up and down like a caged tiger. It's aman, too, Tom, because I could easily make out his figure, a tall man toboot."
Tom led the way, with Jack at his heels. They managed to crawl throughthe bushes that cluttered the ground close to the wall of the stonebuilding, and were at length in a position to raise themselves fromtheir knees and peep under the drawn shade.
Jack was the first to look. Almost instantly he drew back with a lowejaculation of wonder. Tom, spurred on by this fact, also raised hishead until his eyes were on a level with the small strip of open spacejust below the shade. He too had a thrill at what he saw.
"I feel as if I must be dreaming!" whispered Jack huskily. "Tell me, isthat man in there really Carl Potzfeldt, the good-for-nothing guardianof little Bessie Gleason?"
"It's no other than our old acquaintance of the Atlantic liner,"admitted Tom, though he himself had some difficulty in believing thestartling fact.
This man, whom they felt sure was a German spy, had last been seendescending the gangway from the steamer at an English port, with BessieGleason, his pretty little ward, held by the hand, as though he fearedshe might try to run away from him.
Many times had Jack tried to picture the conditions under which he mightrun across Carl Potzfeldt again; but no matter what line of flight hisimagination took he certainly had never dreamed of such a thing as this.Here in the heart of Lorraine, many miles back of the German front, on amoonlight night, and in a lonely country house, he once more beheld theobject of his former detestation.
He clutched his chum by the arm almost fiercely.
"Well, that settles it, Tom!" he muttered savagely.
"Settles what?" whispered the other, for the window was closed, andthere did not seem to be any chance of their low-voiced exchange ofopinions being overheard.
"I don't leave here until I've seen _her_. For if he's at thisplace it stands to reason Bessie must be here also. Tom, that was Bessiewe heard sobbing, I just know it now."
Tom had already jumped to the same conclusion. Nevertheless he did notmean to let it interfere with his customary caution. Nothing was to begained through reckless and hurried action. They must go slowly andcarefully. This house by the roadside on the way to Metz he concludedmight be a nest of spies, perhaps the headquarters of a vast network ofplotters.
"Hark! There's a car coming along the road and stopping at the gateshere!" he told his chum, as he drew Jack down beside him. "We must bemore careful how we look in lighted windows. If any one chanced to beabroad in the grounds we'd be seen, and perhaps fired on."
They crept from the vicinity of the window. Tom led the way toward thefront of the house, as if he had an object in view. The car was nowcoming in along the crooked drive. They could see its one light, foreconomy in the use of all means for illumination was a cardinal featureof the German military orders in those days of scarcity.
The car stopped in front of the house, and a man jumped out. Tom sawthat he wore a uniform of some sort, and judged that he might be acaptain, at least. There was a second figure on the front seat, also inthe dark-green garb of a soldier, but a private possibly.
The two young Americans crouched amidst the dense bushes and listened.So many thrilling things were happening in rapid succession that theirpulses beat with unwonted speed.
Before this the sound of the approaching car must have reached the earsof the man they had seen pacing the floor in the spacious room thatlooked like a library. There were many books in cases and on shelves,while pictures and boars' heads decorated the walls.
Potzfeldt opened the door just as the officer alighted, and there was anexchange of stiff military salutations. Tom discovered that his guesswas a true one, for the man of the house addressed the other as"Captain."
It was too bad that they spoke in German as they stood by the open door.Jack for once bitterly regretted the fact that he had never taken up thestudy of that language when at school, as he might have done easilyenough. It would have paid him handsomely just then, he believed.
The two men talked rapidly. Apparently the officer was asking questions,and demanding something, for in another minute Carl Potzfeldt took anobject out of a bill book and handed it to the other. As near as thewatchers could make out this object was a slip of paper, very small, buthandled as though it might be exceedingly precious.
Jack had a sudden recollection of a correspondingly minute slip of paperwhich he and Tom had found hidden in that little receptacle attached tothe leg of the homing pigeon the latter had shot.
More talk followed between the two men. Presently the man turned andhastened inside again. He had left the door standing open, however, withthe German officer waiting as if for something he had come after besidesthe scrap of paper.
Jack knew now that the man in uniform was from the headquarters of theCrown Prince. That accounted for the numerous marks of car tires whichTom had discovered on the drive. This lonely house by the roadside onthe way to Metz was a nest of spies. Perhaps Carl Potzfeldt might be thechief, through whom negotiations were conducted and lesser agents sentforth.
Jack had got no further in his deduction when he saw the tall manreturning. He carried a bundle that was wrapped in a cloth, and dependedfrom his hand by means of a heavy cord, or some sort of handle.
This he set down on the landing, while he passed further words with thecaptain; and now it was Potzfeldt who asked the questions, as though hewished to learn how things were going at the front.
Between queries and guttural replies the hidden air service boys heard aseries of sounds that gave them sudden light. Jack's hand pressed onTom's arm, as though in this manner he wished to call the attention ofthe other to the noise.
Many times both of them had listened to similar sounds while watchingsome pigeon on the barn roof dare a rival to combat, or when wooing hismate. And as they could easily trace this to the covered package whichCarl Potzfeldt had just brought out of the house, the meaning wasobvious.
Of course there were pigeons in that cage, homing pigeons at that, likethe one Tom had shot! Doubtless had that one escaped its tragic fate themessage
it carried would have been delivered to the owner of this lonelyhouse, in turn to be handed over to one of the messengers from Germanheadquarters.
And now the German captain, stooping over, took possession of the cagecontaining at least two of the trained birds. They would be carried tosome point from which, on another night, a daring Boche airman wouldattempt to take them far back of the French front, to hand over to theagent who was in communication with the master spy, Carl Potzfeldt.
It was all very simple. Nevertheless it was also amazing to realize howby what might be called a freak of fate the air service boys had beenenabled to discover these facts. But for the accident to the motor theywould not have dreamed of making a landing short of the aviation fieldat Bar-le-Duc. Then, had they not caught that woeful sound of loudsobbing, the idea of looking around would never have occurred to them.
The officer was now starting back to his car, which would carry himpost-haste to German headquarters, where the fresh message in a ciphercode from beyond the French lines might be translated, and the valuableinformation it possibly contained be taken advantage of.
Presently the military chauffeur started to swing around a curve thatwould allow them to leave the grounds by the same gates through whichthey had entered. The car's course could be followed by the strong rayits one light threw ahead; and the boys were able to tell when itreached the road again.
As they expected it returned the same way it had come, probably headingfor the headquarters of the Crown Prince.