A Gas Attack
I
Mr. Noakes made no further attempt to interfere with the irrigation of Farmer Trenchard’s fields. The two lads repaired the dam, gave the parched ground a thorough soaking for two days and nights, then demolished the simple structure and allowed the stream to pursue its usual course.
Templeton, meanwhile, had been anxiously weighing the claims of the other ideas that jostled in his brain. He wanted to perfect his automatic hair-cutter; to experiment with what he called, in advance, a “levitator”—a contrivance for enabling an aeroplane to rise more rapidly; to test his notion of a tar entanglement, and various other sound schemes. Unfortunately the incomplete hair-cutter had been confiscated by his head master, and it would take weeks to construct a new one. The levitator was out of the question at present, for it would cost a good deal more than the two pounds odd which remained out of his aunt’s gift. Several ideas were unworkable for the same reason, and he had almost resolved on the tar entanglement when, with that suddenness to which inventors are accustomed, a quite new idea shot into his mind.
He had been reading, in a war correspondent’s dispatch, about the star shells and Verey lights which were used at night to throw a fitful illumination upon the hostile lines. Eves noticed that as he cleaned his teeth before going to bed he made frequent pauses, holding the tooth-brush motionless for some moments at a time.
“What’s up, old man?” asked Eves, who was already in bed. “Got toothache?”
“No; I was thinking,” replied Templeton, rubbing again. “You see——”
“But I can’t hear through the bristles. Hurry up, or I shall be asleep.”
Templeton finished his toilet, blew out the light, and got into bed, sitting up and clasping his knees.
“Those flash-lights, you know—they don’t last long enough. What our fellows want is some continuous illumination.”
“What about the moon?”
“You know perfectly well the moon doesn’t shine for half the month.”
“I thought perhaps you’d invented an artificial moon. But expound, old bird.”
“Well, you know the prevailing wind in winter is from the west. Why shouldn’t our men start relays of light balloons——”
“Balloons always are light.”
“I mean light-giving balloons. They’d float over the German lines and illuminate their whole positions with a steady continuous light.”
“The Huns would shoot ’em down.”
“Not easily, for they’d be dark.”
“Light and dark at the same time! Go on, Bobby; I’m sure you can prove black’s white.”
“If you wouldn’t interrupt, you’d see. The illuminant would be attached to the balloon by a long cord, and there’d be a shade like a lampshade over it, so that the balloon itself would be in darkness. It’s easy enough to try.”
“How?”
“All you want is a dozen toy balloons, a few cubic feet of hydrogen, a slow match, and a little magnesium wire. There you have it on a small scale. Fill the balloons with hydrogen, tie ’em together, fasten a slow match and a bit of wire to each, light the match, and send the whole caboodle up.”
“But magnesium wire only burns for a second or two.”
“You really are an ass, Tom. We’d only use magnesium wire for our experiment; there are heaps of things that could be used with big balloons at the front.”
“You mean to try it, then?”
“Of course. Old Noakes has some toy balloons.”
“But what about the hydrogen? It doesn’t smell, does it?”
“No. Why?”
“Only that I forget all my chemistry except the stinks. How do you make it?”
“By the action of an acid on a metal. Don’t you remember Zn + H2SO4 = ZnSO4 + H2? Iron will do as well.”
“That’s easy enough, then. But you’ll want retorts, wash bottles, pneumatic troughs, and goodness knows what else. Bang goes the rest of your cash, Bob.”
“Nonsense! Mother Trenchard has some old pickle bottles, and we’re not out to make a specially pure gas. All we’ll have to buy will be a little acid, a few feet of glass tubing, and a rubber cork or two. Four or five shillings will buy the lot. We shall have to go to Weymouth for them.”
“Righto! That’s a day off to-morrow.”
The morning post brought a letter from Aunt Caroline enclosing a list of foods which she wished Mr. Noakes to stock. Templeton read it solemnly, and handed it to Eves.
“I say, Mrs. Trenchard, what do you think of this?” cried Eves. “Things Bob’s aunt is going to lecture about, you know. Haricot beans——”
“They want a deal of cooking, Mr. Eves,” said Mrs. Trenchard. “You must soak ’em overnight, and boil ’em hours and hours. I have my doubts whether the village folk can spare the time.”
“Well, here’s dried peas.”
“Do ’ee think the women ’ll use ’em dried when the shucks are full of green? What can Miss Caroline be thinking of?”
“Tinned eggs, then.”
“Lawk-a-mussy, I was silly enough to buy one o’ they tins once, and when I opened it—there now, never in my life did I come so near fainting afore, and me not a fainting sort, the smell was so terrible. If that be the kind of thing Miss Caroline’s cook do give her, ’tis time I was back in my old place, that it be.”
Eves laughed as he handed the list back to Templeton.
“There are a dozen more things,” he said; “if they’re all as good, old man, Aunt Caroline will get a shock when she’s heckled.”
“Bless ’ee, sir, and who’ll be so bold?” said Mrs. Trenchard. “Folks ’ll listen, ay sure, as meek as lambs; but buy them things—never in the world.”
“Well, Bob, you must take the list to Noakes. You must do something for your tenner. Tell you what: I’ll go to Weymouth for the chemicals and things. By the time I’m back you’ll have seen Noakes and got the bottles and other things ready. Noakes wouldn’t serve me, I’m sure.”
So it was arranged. Eves hurried through his breakfast and just caught the carrier’s cart that conveyed passengers to the junction. Templeton finished leisurely, and then, not much liking his job, walked down to the village to interview Noakes. As he came to the shop door he heard Noakes addressing a customer.
“No, I tell ’ee, you can’t have no sugar without you buy tea and bacon.”
“But ’twas only the day afore yesterday I bought my quarter of tea, sir,” said a woman’s voice, plaintively; “and I must have sugar to stew my plums for the children’s dinner.”
“Bain’t no good you standing there whining about yer children. No sugar without t’other things; that’s my last word to ’ee.”
“Excuse me,” said Templeton, entering the shop. “Is there a new order from the Food Controller? If I’m not mistaken, there have been several prosecutions lately of——”
“Now look ’ee here,” cried Noakes, angrily, “I bain’t a-going to stand no more nonsense from you. Who be you, I’d like to know, coming and ordering me about in my own shop?”
“Far from it, Mr. Noakes. I only wished to give you a hint that your customer is entitled to buy sugar without any conditions, and it’s silly to put yourself in the wrong.”
Noakes glowered and blustered, but previous experience of Templeton’s determination had taught him a lesson, and ultimately he served the woman with a half-pound of sugar.
“I want half a dozen of those toy balloons,” said Templeton.
“They bain’t for sale,” growled Noakes.
“Indeed! You hang them up as ornaments, I suppose. Perhaps you’ll sell me some if I buy some sugar, say.”
“Get out of my shop,” cried Noakes, furiously. “I tell ’ee I won’t serve ’ee, and I won’t have you imperent young fellers in my shop at all, so now you know it.”
Templeton shrugged his shoulders. Taking his aunt’s letter from his pocket, he opened it, and said:
“There must be a mistake. My aunt says that the principal tradesman is a very civil and obliging person. You know her—Miss Caroline Templeton. She is coming down in a few days to lecture on food economy, and wants you to lay in a stock of various things of which I have a list. But perhaps she is referring to somebody else, and it’s no good bothering you.”
At the mention of Miss Templeton’s name an uneasy look settled upon Noakes’s face. He watched Templeton replace the letter in his pocket, then said hesitatingly, in a milder tone:
“When be the lady coming, sir?”
“In ten days or so, and as the letter was written some days ago, it may be under a week from now.”
The look of uneasiness gave way to a smile. Noakes turned his back, and Templeton, resolving to have nothing more to do with the man, left the shop.
II
Thinking it probable that he might get some balloons at the nearest village about five miles away, Templeton set off to walk there. Eves would not be back till the afternoon; there was plenty of time. As he left the shop he met the man Smail, who had been in Noakes’s company on the day of the experiment with the glider. The man leered at him and passed on.
When Templeton, unsuccessful in his quest, returned to the farm at midday, he found Mrs. Trenchard in a state of great agitation.
“Oh, Mr. Templeton,” she cried, bursting into tears, “to think I’ve lived to see this day!”
“Why, what’s the matter, Mrs. Trenchard?” he asked.
“He’s there, sir,” she nodded towards her husband’s little den, “and ’tis ruin to us, and we’ll have to go to work’us, and my poor Joe——”
“Come, Mrs. Trenchard, don’t be upset. Just tell me all about it. Nothing has happened to Mr. Trenchard, I hope?”
“Only a broken heart, sir. Ah! if he’d only telled me afore! We’ve had bad times, as you know, sir; ’twas worse than I knew, and my poor man kep’ it all to himself, so’s not to worrit me. He went and borrowed money of Mr. Noakes, sir, to tide him over harvest. I don’t know the rights of it; ’tis too much for my poor head; but by what I can make of it Trenchard signed a paper to say as if he didn’t pay back the money by a certain time the farm ’ud belong to Mr. Noakes, and a week afore the time Mr. Noakes could put a man in to see as we didn’t rob him. And he’s in now, sir, in there—’tis Ted Smail, a rascal of a man as knocks his poor wife about. And what I’ll do, Them above only knows.”
“Can’t Mr. Trenchard turn him out?” asked Templeton.
“’Tis the law, sir; Trenchard owned it all, poor man, and axed my pardon, he did, for bringing it on me. Ah! if he’d only telled me afore! A week’s such a little time to get all that money. When he telled me, wi’ tears in his eyes, I said, ‘Now just you run up along to Lunnon and see your brother, as keeps a public-house and is rolling in money. He’ll help ’ee, and I’ll work myself to skin and bone to pay him back.’ And he’d just time to catch the train at the junction, and if his brother be hard, as some be, there’s nothing but the work’us for us.”
“Cheer up, Mrs. Trenchard. Let’s hope for the best. I’ll talk it over with Eves when he gets back, and we’ll see what can be done.”
“Thank ’ee kindly, sir, but don’t ’ee go against the law. The law be a terrible creature.”
In the afternoon Eves returned with his purchases.
“There you are, old man,” he cried, “acid, stoppers, and tubing. You’ve got the balloons?”
“No. I say, Tom, this experiment’s off for the time; things here are in a deuce of a mess.”
He gave an outline of the domestic troubles.
“Whew!” Eves whistled. “So that’s old Noakes’s game. That throws a flood of light on the old villain’s doings. But we’ll dish him yet. The first thing is to get this fellow Smail out of the place. That will make the old woman feel a little easier.”
“I don’t see how we can do that. Trenchard signed the deed or whatever it’s called, and you may be sure that Noakes kept on the right side of the law.”
“Well, let’s go and see.”
They opened the door of the farmer’s little room, and beheld Smail lying on his back on the sofa placidly smoking a very rank tobacco. On a chair was a basket of provisions and several bottles of beer.
“I say, my man,” said Eves, “your boots are rather dirty, you know.”
Smail closed one eye and said nothing.
“Mrs. Trenchard doesn’t like it, you know,” Eves went on. “Don’t you think you’d better go?”
The man was still silent. Eves mutely consulted Templeton. Smail was a big, thick-set fellow; a physical struggle with him might end in disaster.
“Look here, how much do you want to go?” asked Eves. (“I’ve got some change,” he whispered to Templeton.)
Then the man spoke. Winking and waving his pipe, he declared, hoarsely:
“Here I be, and here I bide.”
“We’ll give you ten shillings,” said Eves.
“Here I be, and here I bide.”
“Oh, all right, bide away,” said Eves, taking Templeton by the arm. “Rotten tobacco, ain’t it, Bob?”
They returned to the other room and sat down.
“We can’t starve him out,” said Eves. “The beggar’s got grub enough for a week.”
“If we could only entice him out it would be all right,” said Templeton, “because I believe I’ve read somewhere that a bailiff or whatever you call him can’t legally force his way into a house.”
“Well, only beer would entice that sort of bounder, and he’s got plenty of that. He’s a big hulk, but we might manage to chuck him out.”
“Dangerous that. Even if we succeeded, we might find ourselves in court again.”
Eves stuck out his legs and pondered. Suddenly he sat up straight.
“By Jove, I’ve got it!” he cried. “We’ll stink him out.”
“How do you mean? It would have to be a powerful stink to upset a fellow who can smoke that tobacco.”
“Of course; and I haven’t wasted my time in the lab, old man. I never took any interest in chemistry till I learnt how to make stinks. What about H2S? The very thing. Splendid! We’ve got the acid; all we want is—by Jove! where can we get some iron pyrites? That means another trip to Weymouth.”
“And you probably won’t get it there.”
“Hang it all; can’t we make it some other way?”
“Wait a bit. Don’t you remember old Peters making it once by boiling sulphur with tallow? And he told us you get a more steady flow of gas that way. We’ve probably got all we want on the premises. But how are you going to get it into the room?”
“We’ll have to find a way. Let’s go and investigate.”
Inquiry of Mrs. Trenchard elicited the information that her store cupboard ran along the whole length of the room in which Smail had made himself at home. The wall between them was rather thick, but it would certainly not be impossible to pierce a hole in it.
“Splendid!” said Eves. “We can make the gas in the store cupboard, and pass it into the room through one of our tubes. Of course, we’ll have to lock the man in.”
“The gas won’t drive him out of the window,” said Templeton. “In fact, if he keeps that open the smell will never be strong enough.”
“You may be sure the window won’t be open. A fellow of that sort revels in fug. No doubt he’ll take an afternoon nap to-morrow. That’ll be our time. He’ll wake up choking, and if I know my man he’ll make a dash for the window and tumble out into the open—by the way, I suppose the gas won’t actually poison him?”
“No; the worst effect, I believe, is sickness and dizziness. We had better start boring our hole to-night, when he’s asleep. If we’re careful he won’t hear us.”
“We must get Mother Trenchard to take out her stores. Shall we tell her why?”
“Better not. I’ll just say we want to try an experiment.”
Mrs. Trenchard somewhat reluctantly agreed to remove her stores for a short time. From her they obtained a quantity of tallow and a few sticks of brimstone, and in the privacy of their bedroom they broke up and pulverised one of the sticks, and boiled a little of the sulphur powder with tallow in a tin.
“Ripping stink,” said Eves, putting his head out of the window. “It’s going to work A1. We’ll pound up the rest of the brimstone, and then wait for night. This is the stuff to give friend Smail. It will bring him to his senses right enough.”
“More likely it’ll take his senses away from him to begin with,” answered his fellow-conspirator. “But it won’t do him any real harm. Phew, what an aroma!”
After dark, when loud snores from the room proclaimed that its occupant was asleep, they bored a couple of holes in the partition wall with a brace and bit obtained from Constable Haylock, who was something of a carpenter.
“I’ll lend ’em to ’ee with pleasure, sir,” he said when Eves requested the loan, “purvided ’tis for a legal objeck. As a servant of the nation, ’tud be my ruin if so be you was committing a felony.”
“That’s all right, constable,” replied Eves. “We’re only going to bore a couple of holes for Mrs. Trenchard.”
After an hour’s careful work there were two small holes in the wall, about six niches apart and a few inches above the floor, just under the sofa. Satisfied that all was now ready for the morrow’s experiment, the lads went to bed.
Next afternoon Templeton assured himself, by a peep from the outside through the closed window, that Smail had settled himself on the sofa to sleep over his heavy midday meal. Eves then quietly opened the door, abstracted the key, and locked the door from the outside. Their simple apparatus was already fitted up in the store cupboard—an old saucepan over a spirit lamp, with two holes in the lid through which they had passed two lengths of glass tubing, the other ends of which projected slightly into the room. Their next move was to lock all the house doors, except one leading to the garden at the back. By this time they had found it necessary to tell Mrs. Trenchard what they were about, and she was rather timorously awaiting results.
“Whatever you do, Mrs. Trenchard, don’t open the door to the fellow after we get him out,” said Eves, impressively. “Templeton says he can’t legally force his way in, so keep the doors shut and leave the rest to us.”
Templeton lit the spirit lamp and closed the store-room door. In a few minutes the nauseating fumes of sulphuretted hydrogen stole through the cracks into the passage.
“Gracious goodness, we’ll all be poisoned!” cried Mrs. Trenchard.
“No, it’s quite harmless, I assure you, though rather horrid,” said Eves. “Look here, Bob, you paste some strips of paper over the cracks while I go outside and see how things are getting on.”
He went out of the back door, hastened round to the front, and peeped in at the window. Smail was sleeping on his back with his mouth open, one hand dangling over the side of the sofa. The gas being colourless, Eves had no evidence that the experiment was working until he put his nose to the lower sill and got a faint whiff of the fetid odour. Minute after minute passed, and there was no sign that the gas was having any effect on the sleeper. At last, however, he stirred, sniffed, and looked round the room. Then he got up, looked under the table, under the sofa, examined his basket of provisions, turned up on end two empty beer bottles. Seized with a fit of coughing, he made for the door, tugged at the handle, shouted, then dashed to the window, pulled back the catch, tumbled out, and ran towards the front entrance.
Eves had slipped out of sight, but the moment the man’s back was turned he ran to the window, sprang on to the sill, and braving the fumes, prepared to dispute any attempt to re-enter by the same way.
Meanwhile Smail was thundering at the front door, mingling curses with cries to be let in. At this signal that the experiment had succeeded, Templeton threw open the door of the store cupboard, extinguished the lamp, and asked Mrs. Trenchard to open all the inner doors and the upper windows, so as to clear the air.
Finding the front door closed to him, Smail returned to the window. Eves had now entered the room and stood at the window, holding a poker. Smail approached him, scowling and squaring his fists.
“Just you come out o’ that, you young viper,” he cried. “You’ve a-tried to pison me, and I’ll have the law of ’ee. That there room’s my room for now; ’tis the law; so get out.”
“Here I be, and here I bide,” said Eves, brandishing the poker. “Don’t come too near, Mr. Smail. You know so much about the law that you’ll be aware you’re committing a felony if you try to force your way in. You don’t want to go to quod again, Mr. Smail, I’m sure. Besides, I don’t think your head’s hard enough to stand a whack from this poker.”
“I say, Tom, don’t be violent,” said Templeton, coming up behind him.
“I’m just explaining,” replied Eves. “Cut down to the village, Bob, and fetch old Haylock. He’ll expound the law to Mr. Smail.”
Smail spluttered and cursed, but he was evidently doubtful on the point of law, and after standing irresolutely in front of the window for a minute or so he turned on his heel and shambled out through the gate.
“Splendid, old man!” cried Eves. “There’s no law that I know against making a stink, and he went out of his own accord.”
“That’s all very well, but the important thing is, will old Trenchard be able to raise enough money to pay off Noakes? I wish Aunt Caroline were here. She’d be able to advise; she’s had a good deal to do with lawyers, one way and another. If I knew where she was I’d wire her.”
“Well, all we’ve to do at present is to keep Smail and Noakes out till the farmer gets back. From what I make of it, Trenchard still has a few days’ grace before his debt to Noakes becomes due, and anything may happen in that time.”
III
They kept a close watch on the house all the rest of the day. At night all the doors and windows were bolted, and Eves took turns with Templeton to mount guard. The latter was by no means sure of the legal position; it might be that he was mistaken, and that a forcible entry would not be a breach of the law. The night was undisturbed, and next morning Eves, leaving Templeton to keep watch, went down to the village to consult Constable Haylock.
“Can a bailiff, or whatever you call him, force his way into a house?” he asked, meeting the constable near the bridge.
“Well now, that’s queer, danged if it bain’t,” said the constable. “I’ve been axed that very same question a’ready this morning. It do seem there’s debts and executions in the wind, and folks come to me, as stands for law and justice, to know their true rights.”
“They couldn’t come to a better man, I’m sure,” said Eves. “Was it old Noakes who asked you?”
“Now, sir, if you axe me to tell state secrets, I couldn’t do it—no, not for a judge or royal highness. I name no names; but I’ll tell ’ee what I said to them as axed me, that being law for rich and poor. ‘Force yer way in,’ says I, ‘and you would be imprisoned without the auction o’ fine, ’cos the judge med bring it in housebreaking, or burglary if by night. But there be other roads to market,’ says I. ‘If so be you comes up quiet and finds some out-o’-the-way door as bain’t the high road, so to speak it, into the house, and gets yer foot inside—well, there ’tis; if those inside tries to get yer foot out ’tis assault and battery, and the fine forty shilling.’ That’s what I said, and I make no boast, but I defy any man to give ’ee better law nor that, I don’t care who the man is.”
“By Jove! you’re Solomon and Daniel rolled up together,” said Eves. “You’re a treasure, constable. By the way, don’t say I asked about it. I’m rather hard up myself, but Mr. Templeton——”
“Not a word, sir, not a word. Maybe I’ll meet yer friend up along one o’ these days; he’s a gentleman and will behave as such.”
Eves’s face wore a grin when he returned to the farm.
“Haylock’s a priceless old ass, Bob,” he said. “Noakes has been at him, and he’s given him a tip.”
“Who’s given who? Your pronouns are mixed up,” said Templeton.
“Well, you don’t suppose Noakes would tip Haylock; that’s for you to do. What I meant was that Haylock has given Noakes a tip how to get into the house without breaking the law, and you may bet your boots we shall have Smail up again to-night. You know that narrow lane leading up to Trenchard’s coal-shed? It’s hardly ever used. Any one might come up there at night, and get in by the window of the shed. There’s a door between the shed and the scullery, never locked, and Smail can easily get into the house that way.”
“You don’t mean to say that Haylock put ’em up to that?”
“Of course not; but he told Noakes that if he can manage to get into the house secretly when the inmates are off their guard they can’t legally turn him out. Whether he’s right or wrong I don’t know, but you may be sure it was enough for Noakes.”
“Haylock ought to have warned Mrs. Trenchard.”
“But Noakes wasn’t such a fool as to say what house he wanted to get into. He asked a general question, just as I did. Well, on the way up I had a ripping idea. Your tar entanglement—just the very thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“Why, if it’s good enough to stump the Huns in Flanders it’s good enough to spoil old Noakes’s game. Noakes is sure to think of the lane. We’ll cover the ground with a layer of good runny tar some inches deep and a few feet square, and stretch a few wires across, and Messrs. Noakes and Smail will find themselves properly held up. I know the very place—just where the lane runs under the wall of the barn on one side and a prickly hedge on the other. They couldn’t go round. Imagine old Noakes stuck fast in the tar, like a fly in treacle.”
“Where’s the tar to come from?”
“There’s a barrel in the outhouse; Trenchard uses it, no doubt, for tarring his fences. We could melt that down, and it would keep sticky a long time this hot weather.”
“But I don’t see why we need take all that trouble. All we’ve got to do is to lock the door between the scullery and the coal-shed.”
“Hang it all, where’s your enterprise? Don’t you see, you owl, we’d kill two birds with one stone? We’d teach old Noakes a lesson and test your idea at the same time. Imagine Noakes is a prowling Hun, coming at dead of night to surprise our unsuspecting Tommies, stealing along, all quiet—and slap he goes into the tar. Come, man, it’s splendid.”
Templeton came round to his friend’s view, and they lost no time in making their preparations. The lane was apparently used only as a short cut from the high-road when coal was brought to the farm. It was just wide enough to allow the passage of a cart, and even on a bright night was dark, owing to the tall hedge on one side and the high blank wall on the other. At its darkest spot, ten or a dozen yards from the house, Eves set to work to prepare the ground. He measured off a space about four yards long, and at the end farthest from the house dug the soft earth to the depth of four inches. Working back from this point, in the course of a couple of hours’ diligent spade work he had made a shallow excavation in the lane, varying in depth from four inches to eight. Meanwhile Templeton had broken up the tar and melted it down in the small portable copper which the farmer used for conveying tar from place to place. They ladled the molten stuff into the excavation, filling up to the level of the lane.
“Hope they won’t smell a rat—which is tar backwards,” said Eves. “Perhaps the smell will have gone off a bit by the time it’s dark. Tell you what, we’ll cover it lightly with farm litter, and strew some more between here and the road; perhaps one smell will kill the other.”
Last of all they carried two strands of stout wire across the lane, about half-way along the tarry patch, and three inches above its surface.
“Good!” cried Eves, surveying the completed work. “In the darkness they won’t see a thing.”
“Suppose they don’t come this way at all?” said Templeton.
“You’re a horrible pessimist. Is there a better way? Aren’t all my deductions good? Well, then, cheer up, and see if you can manage to laugh when the flies are trapped.”
About half-past nine (summer time) Eves and Templeton left the farmhouse by the front door. Mrs. Trenchard locked the door behind them, and they had previously assured themselves that all the other doors and windows were securely fastened. Each carried a shot-gun. Two guns were always suspended on the wall of Mr. Trenchard’s den, and it had occurred to Eves that they might prove useful.
It was a dark summer night. There was no moon, and the starlight was too feeble to throw any illumination upon the tree-bordered high-road. The lads’ intention was to walk down the road until they came to the lane, to hang about the entrance there until they discovered the approach of Smail, and then to take cover in the angle between the hedge and the road, behind the visitor.
They had hardly left the farm gate when Eves’s quick eyes detected a small figure lurking in the shadow on the farther side of the road.
“Noakes has posted a scout,” he whispered. “They’re going to make the attempt. But this is awkward, Bob. We shall have to dispose of the scout; I fancy it’s long-haired Josiah.”
“I bar that,” said Templeton, decisively. “I’m not going to hold up the youngster, or anything of that sort.”
“All right; there’s no need. Leave it to me.”
They walked on, giving no sign of having seen the boy, who slipped behind a tree-trunk as they neared him.
“Yes, it’s just the night,” said Eves in a loud voice, as though continuing a discussion. “Just the night rabbits like. Slip round quietly to the wood; there’ll be hundreds skipping about in the darkness. It’s nearly a mile away; allow half an hour to get there and back, and an hour’s sport; it’ll only be eleven then—not so very late.”
By this time they had passed the lurking scout, who must have heard all Eves said. A few yards farther along there was a turning on the right, leading to a small wood. Eves struck into this.
“Come on,” he said to Templeton. “See if my strategy doesn’t answer.”
They concealed themselves in the hedge, and a few seconds later saw Josiah Noakes run down the road towards the village.
“There you are,” said Eves. “Josiah’s run to tell his father we’re off shooting rabbits, and the coast is clear. To bring the guns was a bright idea, Bobby.”
They waited until the boy was well out of earshot, then returned to the road, crossed it, and entered the lane on the opposite side.
Some twenty minutes later three figures were faintly discernible on the white road, coming up the hill.
“Here they are,” whispered Eves. “They’re bringing Josy to protect their rear. Now into cover!”
They crept through the hedge and waited. No footsteps sounded on the road.
“Wearing rubber-soled shoes,” whispered Eves. “So much the better; the tar will stick.”
Presently the voice of Noakes in subdued tones came to them.
“Now, Josiah, do ’ee stop here at the end of the lane, and if so be you see or hear any one coming up or down along, do ’ee run and tell us—quiet as a cat, mind ’ee.”
“All right, feyther. I’ll tell ’ee sure enough.”
The men passed on. Smail sniffed.
“A powerful smell o’ tar, Mr. Noakes,” he said in a hoarse murmur.
“Mm’m,” grunted Noakes. “Trenchard don’t tar his fences till autumn. ’Tis some mischief o’ they young varmints, belike. I’ll tar ’em!”
“You be sure o’ the law, Mr. Noakes? Young feller said summat about my being in quod again. How did he know I been in quod?”
“Quiet, Smail. I’ll answer for ’ee, man. Now, you go for’ard, straight along. When you get into coal-shed, gi’e me a whistle.”
“Not if I knows it. I can’t get in that there winder wi’out being hoisted, and ’tis you must hoist me.”
“Stuff and rubbish! Winder’s low, and don’t ’ee see ’tis best I shouldn’t be seen, if so be the door inside’s locked and you can’t get in?”
The men had halted some yards from the patch of tar. Smail was insistent. Noakes declined to accompany him to the shed, and it seemed to the two watchers that matters had come to a deadlock.
“Now, Bob,” whispered Eves, “we must give them a start.”
He pulled back the trigger of his gun, causing a slight click.
“What’s that?” murmured Smail.
“I didn’t see nothing,” returned Noakes.
“But I heard something.”
“’Twas a bird in the hedge, then. My Josiah would have give us warning if he seed any one, and they young fellers be a mile away. Get on, Smail; ten shillings extry, man.”
He took Smail’s arm and led him, still reluctant, up the lane. They had just reached the edge of the tar when there were two loud reports from the direction of the hedge a few yards behind them.
Startled, they plunged forward, floundered through the first few feet of the tar, tripped over the wire, and sprawled at full length, more or less mixed up with each other, in the deeper end.
“Splendid!” whispered Eves. “Your tar entanglement is a great success, Bob. Let’s get back; we can very well leave them there.”
As they returned to the road they heard the rumble of cart wheels coming up the hill, and voices. The cart stopped.
“That’s young Josiah speaking,” said Templeton. “We had better wait and explain, Tom.”
“All right, the cart’s coming on again.”
They reached the farmyard gate and stood waiting. The lamps of the vehicle fell upon their faces, and both started when a lady’s voice exclaimed:
“Robert!”
“Aunt Caroline!” said Templeton in an undertone to Eves.
“And Trenchard!” cried Eves. “What luck!”
A ramshackle fly pulled up at the gate, and Mr. Trenchard assisted Miss Templeton to alight.
“What has happened?” asked the lady. “We heard shots, and a little boy came running down the hill crying that his father was killed. It is Mr. Noakes, Mr. Trenchard says.”
“Quite a mistake, Aunt,” said Templeton. “I am glad to see you. Come in; I’ll explain. This is my friend Eves.”
“Yes, yes; but the boy was greatly agitated. Run after him, Robert, and tell him that his father is not killed.”
“My hat!” muttered Eves, with a grimace, as Templeton sprinted down the hill.
“What was it, Mr. Eves? I am greatly concerned that the little fellow should have had such a terrible shock.”
“Well, Miss Templeton, I really—you see—oh, yes, it was Bob’s tar entanglement, you know. But Mr. Trenchard has told you about old Noakes, I expect.”
“Mr. Trenchard has told me things about Mr. Noakes that I cannot credit. But I do not understand—a tar entanglement, you said?”
“Yes, an invention of Bob’s, you know; a splendid thing. But there’s such a lot to tell: won’t you go into the house? Then Bob and I can tell you between us.”
“Very well. Give the driver ten shillings for his fare.”
“I’ve only four and elevenpence half-penny,” said Eves, with a smile.
“Dear me! Then I must ask the driver to come to the house. My notes are in my dressing-case. One cannot be too careful.”
By the time Miss Templeton had found her money and paid the driver Templeton was back.
“It’s all right, Aunt. The boy is going home with his father.”
Eves grinned.
“Oh!” said Miss Templeton. “Now, as Robert is out of breath, perhaps you will be good enough, Mr. Eves, to run down and tell Mr. Noakes that I desire to see him here, without fail, at ten o’clock to-morrow morning.”
Eves threw a melancholy look at Templeton as he departed.
Mrs. Trenchard had received her visitor with transports of delight. It came out that Mr. Trenchard, having failed in his errand in London, had encountered Miss Templeton on his way back at the junction a few miles away, and, completing the journey with her, had explained the circumstances that had led to his absence from home. The lady heard his story with mingled incredulity and indignation. On its repetition by Mrs. Trenchard she exclaimed:
“I am amazed and horrified, Martha. Do you know that when I was last here, ten years ago, that man Noakes came to me and borrowed a considerable sum of money for the extension of his business. He seemed a civil and obliging person, and I was glad to lend to a respectable tradesman—of course, at a reasonable rate of interest. He has paid me the interest regularly, but always regretted that circumstances did not permit of his repaying the loan. It is shocking to find that he has actually used that money—my money—to involve your dear husband in difficulties. Such depravity! I shall deal very sternly with Mr. Noakes to-morrow, I assure you.”
“Ah! To think of it, now,” said Mrs. Trenchard. “And that dreadful man as he put in here—well, I do owe your nephew something, ma’am, for he and his friend Mr. Eves blowed him out with the most terrible smell that ever was, and no harm to a soul. Mr. Bob’s inventions are that wonderful!”
“Really, Robert,” said Miss Templeton, “I hope you have not been troubling Mrs. Trenchard with your inventions. It was clearly understood that you came here to work on the land.”
“And so he hev, ma’am,” put in Trenchard. “Him and his friend hev worked on the land, and done inventions as well, and one of ’em saved my root crops, it did. I’m not the man to say anything against inventions.”
“I am glad to hear you have invented something useful, Robert. Was that tar entanglement that your friend spoke of also an invention of yours?”
“Well, yes, Aunt, it was,” said Templeton, somewhat embarrassed. “It was an idea for worrying the Germans, you know. But, of course—here’s Tom, he’ll explain better than I can.”
“Oh, I say!” protested Eves, who had just come in. Then he began to laugh. “My word! He did look funny—tar from head to foot. You see, Miss Templeton, we got rid of that ruffian Smail once by means of stinks—I mean, sulphuretted hydrogen, a gas very useful in chemistry. Then, suspecting he’d come back, it occurred to me that we might teach him a lesson by putting into practice Bob’s idea of a tar entanglement. It really worked out splendidly. Noakes—he’s a bad egg——”
“A what?” asked the lady.
“A bad man, ma’am. He and Smail came up, and we let off the guns just to encourage ’em, and they fell slap on their faces in the lane over there, and I’m sure they won’t get the tar off for a month.”
“You gave Mr. Noakes my message?”
“Yes.”
“And he said he would come, no doubt.”
“I’m sorry to say, ma’am, he swore like a trooper. But in the circumstances I dare say you would have done the same—not you, of course. I didn’t mean that; I mean any one—that is, any man.”
“But no gentleman, Mr. Eves.”
“Certainly—that is, of course not; but then no gentleman would ever be Noakes.”
Noakes did not appear next morning. Miss Templeton sent one of the maids to fetch him. She came back and reported that Mr. Noakes had been suddenly called away. He never reappeared in Polstead. The story of the tarring was told by Smail, who felt aggrieved, at the village inn that night, and Noakes saw next morning that his position in the village was ruined. He gave instructions for the sale of his business, and Miss Templeton generously cancelled his debt to her in return for his release of Mr. Trenchard.
Miss Templeton gave her lecture on food economy, the last of her tour, and the holidays being over, returned with her nephew and Tom Eves to London.
“A ripping holiday, old man,” said Eves as the friends parted. “Lay in a stock of bright ideas for next year.”