FullReads

With eyes still bulging, the boy lifted himself into a sitting posture.

“My pay–my month’s pay?” he stammered. “Can I take It?”

The expression on the face of the conqueror relaxed.

“Take it and get out,” Ford commanded.

With eyes still fixed in fascinated terror upon the invader, the boy pulled open the drawer of the table before him and fumbled with the papers inside.

“Quick!” cried Ford.

The boy was very quick. His hand leaped from the drawer like a snake, and Ford found himself looking into a revolver of the largest calibre issued by a civilized people. Birrell fell upon the boy’s shoulders, Herbert twisted the gun from his fingers and hurled it through the window, and almost as quickly hurled himself down the steps of the tower. Birrell leaped after him. Ford remained only long enough to shout: “Don’t touch that instrument! If you attempt to send a message through, we will shoot. We go to cut the wires!”

For a minute, the boy in the tower sat rigid, his ears strained, his heart beating in sharp, suffocating stabs. Then, with his left arm raised to guard his face, he sank to his knees and, leaning forward across the table, inviting as he believed his death, he opened the circuit and through the night flashed out a warning to his people.

When they had taken their places in the car, Herbert touched Ford on the shoulder.

“Your last remark,” he said, “was that what we wanted was a live one.”

“Don’t mention it!” said Ford. “He jammed that gun half down my throat. I can taste it still. Where do we go from here?”

“According to the route we mapped out this afternoon,” said Herbert, “We are now scheduled to give exhibitions at the coast towns of Salthouse and Weybourne, but–“

“Not with me!” exclaimed Birrell fiercely. “Those towns have been tipped off by now by Blakeney and Cley, and the Boy Scouts would club us to death. I vote we take the back roads to Morston, and drop in on a lonely Coast Guard. If a Coast Guard sees us, the authorities will have to believe him, and they’ll call out the navy.”

Herbert consulted his map.

“There is a Coast Guard,” he said, “stationed just the other side of Morston. And,” he added fervently, “let us hope he’s lonely.”

They lost their way in the back roads, and when they again reached the coast an hour had passed. It was now quite dark. There were no stars, nor moon, but after they had left the car in a side lane and had stepped out upon the cliff, they saw for miles along the coast great beacon fires burning fiercely.

Herbert came to an abrupt halt.

“Since seeing those fires,” he explained, “I feel a strange reluctance about showing myself in this uniform to a Coast Guard.”

“Coast Guards don’t shoot!” mocked Birrell. “They only look at the clouds through a telescope. Three Germans with rifles ought to be able to frighten one Coast Guard with a telescope.”

The whitewashed cabin of the Coast Guard was perched on the edge of the cliff. Behind it the downs ran back to meet the road. The door of the cabin was open and from it a shaft of light cut across a tiny garden and showed the white fence and the walk of shells.

“We must pass in single file in front of that light,” whispered Ford, “And then, after we are sure he has seen us, we must run like the devil!”

“I’m on in that last scene,” growled Herbert.

“Only,” repeated Ford with emphasis, “We must be sure he has seen us.”

Not twenty feet from them came a bursting roar, a flash, many roars, many flashes, many bullets.

“He’s seen us!” yelled Birrell.

After the light from his open door had shown him one German soldier fully armed, the Coast Guard had seen nothing further. But judging from the shrieks of terror and the sounds of falling bodies that followed his first shot, he was convinced he was hemmed in by an army, and he proceeded to sell his life dearly. Clip after clip of cartridges he emptied into the night, now to the front, now to the rear, now out to sea, now at his own shadow in the lamp-light. To the people a quarter of a mile away at Morston it sounded like a battle.