Boy Scouts -- Juvenile fiction; Courage -- Juvenile fiction; Spy stories; World War, 1914-1918 -- England -- Juvenile fiction
"Thank you, Gaffer," said Jack, gravely. "You’ve told us just what we
wanted to know. I’ll bring you some tobacco in the morning, if you
like. My father’s just got a new lot down from London."
"Thanks, thank’ee kindly," said the Gaffer, overjoyed at the prospect.
Then they said good-night to the old man, who, plainly delighted at the
thought that he had been of some service to them, and at this proof of
his sharpness, of which he was always boasting, rose and hobbled into
his house.
"He’s really a wonderful old man," said Dick.
"He certainly is," agreed Jack. "His memory seems to be as good as
ever, and he’s awfully active, too. He’s got rheumatism, but he can see
and hear as well as he ever could, my father says."
They walked on, each turning over in his mind what they had heard about
Graves.
"That’s how he knew we were here," said Dick, finally. "I’ve been
puzzling about that. I remember now seeing that car as we went by. But
of course I didn’t pay any particular attention to it, except that I saw
a little American flag on it."
"Yes, they’re supposed to be Americans, you know," said Jack. "And I
suppose they carry the flag so that the car won’t be taken for the army.
The government has requisitioned almost all the cars in the country, you
know."
"I’m almost afraid to think about this," said Dick, after a moment of
silence. "Graves must know those people in that house, if he’s riding
about in their car. And they–"
He paused, and they looked at one another.
"I don’t know what to do!" said Dick. "I wish there was some way to
tell Harry about what we’ve found out."
Jack started.
"I nearly forgot!" he said. "We’d better cut for my place. I told
Harry we’d be there if he telephoned, you know. Come on!"
CHAPTER IV–THE FIRST BLOW
To Harry, as he was taken off to the police station, it seemed the
hardest sort of hard luck that his chase of Graves should be interrupted
at such a critical time and just because he had been overspeeding. But
he realized that he was helpless, and that he would only waste his
breath if he tried to explain matters until he was brought before
someone who was really in authority. Then, if he had any luck, he might
be able to clear things up. But the men who arrested him were only
doing their duty as they saw it, and they had no discretionary power at
all.
When he reached the station he was disappointed to find that no one was
on duty except a sleepy inspector, who was even less inclined to listen
to reason than the constables.
"Everyone who breaks the law has a good excuse, my lad," he said. "If
we listened to all of them we might as well close up this place. You
can tell your story to the magistrate in the morning. You’ll be well
treated to-night, and you’re better off with us than running around the
country–a lad of your age! If I were your father, I should see to it
that you were in bed and asleep before this."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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