Secret History of To-day: Being Revelations of a Diplomatic SpyUpward, Allen
History
Secret History of To-day: Being Revelations of a Diplomatic Spy
Upward, Allen
English fiction -- 20th century; Spy stories, English
They were heading southward, and the frontier lay only three miles
away. I counted six batteries--thirty-six guns--the equipment of an
army corps. When all had gone by I retired to rest again.
I rose at break of day, took out my car, and followed in the route
of the cannon. The road conducted me without a turning straight to
the frontier post, where I found a sleepy Russian sentry exchanging
friendly greetings with a still drowsier Austrian one. A short way
beyond stood the Austrian guard-house, with the men lounging on a
bench outside the door in the sunlight, waiting for their coffee.
Everything was as if my vision of the night before had been a dream.
I turned my car round, and drove back slowly, scrutinising every
hedge and tree along both sides of the road. Less than a mile from
the post my attention was caught by a place on the left hand side,
where the hedge appeared to have been mended or replanted. I ought
to explain that the road was bordered at this point by a thick wood
apparently impenetrable to anything bigger than a stoat.
I stopped the car, got down, and approached the hedge, examining
every inch of the ground.
The first discovery I made was that the road itself had been recently
mended. Creases in the surface, like the ruts made by heavy wheels
in turning, had been filled up, and the dust from other parts of the
road carefully raked over the spot.
Then, looking closely at the hedge, I perceived that the bushes were
no longer growing in their place. The entire hedge had been cut
away level with the ground for a space of several yards, and then
replaced, the matted bushes being wired together so as to form a sort
of gate or hurdle, like the furze hurdles in common use in England
and other countries. The leaves were already beginning to droop from
want of the nourishment supplied by the roots.
I drew up my car close to the hedge, and, mounting upon it, managed
to scramble over into the wood, at the cost of some scratches.
I found myself in the midst of a pile of brush-wood which extended
for some paces, completely covering the soil from view. Immediately
beyond came a gap in the trees, not in front, but at one side, so
that it was quite invisible from the road. Turning sharply towards
the frontier, and running almost parallel with the high road, was a
grassy drive or lane, about ten feet wide, and sufficiently free from
undergrowth to admit the passage of an army.
With my heart thumping against my ribs, and almost holding my breath
in my excitement, I stole along this path, which revealed, by a
hundred tokens, that it had recently been used for heavy traffic. I
followed its windings for I should think a mile and a half, when I
found myself brought up abruptly by a post and rail fence, the posts
being painted yellow on the side which faced me, and black on the
reverse.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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