  For sometime the dog lay quietly at Alice’s feet. At last, once more at ease, 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 had enough 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 is over. 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 low whistle. “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. “See that 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 just an empty old out building.” “I’m not so sure it was empty,” Dave replied soberly. “Last time I looked 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 a dramatic gesture, “question is, where’s the man? If he is at all any more.” “Stop talking in riddles,” Brand’s voice rose. “This has been a bad night.” “Sit down and I’ll tell you,” Dave invited as he dropped to a place on the well-worn door sill. The story of his visit to the top of the tower both astonished and thrilled his companion. “And the fellow who went into that shack,” Dave added with a flourish of his 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 wrecked plane? The picture of two young fellows?” “Yes, I remember.” “They were clear enough. You couldn’t make a mistake if you saw one of those men. I saw Nicholas tonight, by the bright light of his own signal torch. I couldn’t be mistaken. In the shoe shop he was always bending over, 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 might have— “Yes. Here it is.” He drank in a deep breath of relief. “I must have put it 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, there were three blasts. There was some time between the first and last. Who’s going 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, listened for a full minute, then said: “Storm’s over. Let’s see if we can’t get them all to go home.” It took little persuading to get Alice and Cherry started. Soon they were all on their way. It was only as they rounded the last curve that brought them in full view of their home that the full significance of Heinie’s work that night burst upon them. They greeted the scene that lay before them in tragic silence. The home that had housed the Ramsey tribe for a dozen generations was a wreck. A bomb had landed on the east end and torn it completely away. Gone was the prim little parlor with its very formal furniture, gone the cozy dining 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 slept since they were tiny tots, and gone all the countless treasures that had adorned their rooms. “Le—t—, let’s have a look.” Brand climbed out of the car. He was trying to be nonchalant about the whole affair and making a bad job of it. Dave climbed out after him. Then, after ten seconds of listening, he flashed on the spy’s powerful light. At once the whole wrecked place stood out in bold relief. By some miracle the great chimney had withstood the shock. The fireplace had been blown clean of ashes. “Dave, you were a gem.” These were Cherry’s first words. “If there had been a spark of fire!” “It’s a miracle that anything is left,” said Applegate. “Of course you’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 quite enough. And there’s the Hideout up at the foot of the hill. It’s quite large and hidden among the trees. We may,” she hesitated, “may need to borrow a few dishes. We—we don’t seem to have any.” “There are whole china cupboardsful at our house. I’ll have a car full of 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 grace the Milky Way.” “That also shall be attended to,” said the young Lord, after they had enjoyed 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 they rattled away up the hill to the Hideout. After building a fire on the wide old hearth they put things in such order as they could for the night. After the others had been made comfortable and were asleep Dave and Cherry still sat by the fire. “We’re always last,” Cherry whispered hoarsely. “It takes time for our nerves to run down. They’re like a cheap old alarm clock, I guess.” She laughed. “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 was tense 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 is where 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 lot more to it than that,” he went on after a time. “It’s easy enough to say, ‘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 and children 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. “This flying sort of gets you. I’ve been within its grip since the first time I went up. “And flyer fighting.” He took a long breath. “It’s like our American football. 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. You stiff arm him if he gets close. You lean like the Tower of Pisa, you zigzag and weave like a sapling in the wind. Flyer fighting is like that.” “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 of angels. Perhaps the applause is for you. Anyway, here’s wishing you luck.” 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 sister and Dave, rolled in a thick, soft rug before the fire, was fast asleep. |
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