He pulled up with startling suddenness. Less than ten paces ahead of him was a German sentry. Sheltering under the lee of the outer most tree the fellow was actually looking straight in the flight-sub's direction.
For several seconds Barcroft stood stock still, debating whether to throw himself upon the man or seek safety in flight. The sentry, his coat-collar turned up and his hands resting upon the muzzle of his rifle, appeared as immobile as if fashioned of stone. He was an oldish man. The flight-sub was certain of that fact; more, he wore glasses.
"A Landsturmer, and as blind as a bat," thought the young officer. "There were three sentries, then; two have gone to the estaminet, the old boy is told to remain at his post. Now what's to be done? Something, or Fuller and Kirkwood will be forging ahead to find me and then there'll be damage done."
Very cautiously Barcroft began to back away from the unsuspecting Hun. The man coughed and hunched his shoulders still more. At the sound Billy again stood rigid, half expecting the sentry to slope arms and resume his beat. Nothing happening, the flight-sub withdrew as silently and stealthily as the slippery state of the pavé permitted.
"Well?" whispered the A.P.
"Hist!" was Barcroft's only reply, then grasping his companions by their arms he led them back until they were well out of the sentry's hearing—even supposing that he possessed the normal use of his ears.
"A Boche over there," reported Barcroft. "Nearly rammed him broadside on. Blind as a bat; a regular septuagenarian. We'll make a slight detour and have another shot at crossing the road. It's open country beyond."
This time the highway presented no difficulty, and with renewed vigour the trio struggled through the tenacious slime beyond.
It was Barcroft's plan to keep to the fields as much as possible and follow the road on a parallel course. It was infinitely harder going, but there was less risk of blundering upon a German outpost, while at intervals military motor-cars tore at break-neck speed over the slippery pavé, their iron-shod wheels slithering dangerously on the slimy stones.
In almost total silence the dreary trek was maintained throughout the night, with the exception of two brief halts. Gamely Fuller "stuck it," although his ankle was getting worse under the strain. His left arm, too, was throbbing in spite of careful bandaging, yet no word of complaint came from his lips.
At half past six in the morning Barcroft called a halt.
"By dead reckoning I estimate we have covered twenty-five miles," he announced. "That's not so dusty. It will be dawn in another hour. We'll have to find a place and lie doggo until to-night. How's the victualling department, purser?"
"I can spare a couple of biscuits apiece," declared the A.P. "And a small tot of Schnapps. You'll have to wait till lunch time for the sausage tack. I'm counting on a three days' basis, you know."
"Very good," replied Barcroft approvingly. "There is a hovel or barn ahead. We'll make for that."
The outbuilding consisted of stone walls and a tiled roof, the latter in a state of dilapidation. The massive oaken door had been partly wrenched from its hinges. Within, the floor was of trodden earth mixed with lime. The place was absolutely bare.
"Not even a bundle of straw," declared the A.P. "The roof leaks like a sieve. Still, it is better than nothing at all."
"The only place to hide in is under the rafters," said the flight-sub. "Those two planks lying over the beams will serve that purpose should necessity occur. I would suggest that we keep watch by turns—two-hour tricks. That will give each man four consecutive hours' rest. I'll take first trick; you, Bobby, will relieve me and John will follow on. Now to bed, you roysterers."
Fuller and the A.P. needed no second bidding. Rolling themselves in their leather coats that fortunately acted as waterproofs, and with their heads pillowed on their padded flying helmets, they were soon sound asleep.
Taking up his post by the open door—he made no attempt to close it lest the fact would be remarked by people living in the district—Barcroft commenced his dreary vigil. Although bodily and mentally tired he knew that his comrades were more in need of rest than he. It was merely a case of "sticking it"; happy in the knowledge that the guerdon, in the shape of precious liberty, was twenty-five miles nearer than it had been seven hours previously.
Gradually, as the sullen dawn overcame the blackness of the night, the dreary landscape unfolded itself to the watcher's eyes—an expanse of flat country broken here and there with isolated buildings. Within fifty yards of the barn where the fugitives sheltered was a fairly broad river, that described almost a complete semicircle around the building.
"It's running north," soliloquised Billy. "Wonder if it's the Aa? Hanged if I can fix our position with certainty! We've crossed five or six railway lines, and half a dozen small streams. Hang it all! We can't be more than five or six miles from the frontier. By Jove, we are close to the road, though! Wonder if that bridge is guarded?"
After a short interval a convoy of motor waggons thundered past. The A.P., roused out of his sleep, sat up.
"What's that—an air raid?" he asked drowsily.
"No, only traffic," replied Billy. "No cause for alarm. You've another forty minutes yet."
A little later on a barge, quite eighty feet in length, manned by a couple of Belgians and towed by a miserably gaunt horse, descended the river. As it rounded the bend the cumbersome craft ran aground. Its stern, being still afloat, was swung round by the force of the wind and jammed against the opposite bank.
At the impact, slight though it was, the hatch of the after cabin was thrown back and German soldiers scrambled on deck. One of them was smoking a long pipe with a bent stem. He evidently regarded the situation with philosophical stolidity, but not so his companion. The latter, cursing and reviling the luckless Belgians, danced like a madman on the sodden deck, till, losing his balance, he subsided heavily against the massive tiller.
"Bring the horse back, you swine!" he shouted to the man on the bank. "There'll be trouble in store for you if the barge doesn't reach Wuestwezel by noon. Himmel! What will Herr Kapitan say?"
Peering through a crack in the door Barcroft watched the proceedings. The German had mentioned Wuestwezel. Consulting the map the flight-sub found that it was a small Belgian village on the frontier, where in pre-war days a customs station was situated.
For the best part of an hour the men strove unavailingly to extricate the barge from the tenacious mud. Even the two Huns condescended to assist in the operation but without the desired result. So interested was Barcroft in their frantic efforts that he quite overlooked the fact that it was time for Kirkwood to relieve him.
"You'll have to go to Hulstweelde and get additional help, you lazy dogs!" bellowed the infuriated Fritz. Then he said something to his companion, but speaking in a lower tone the words were unintelligible to the young British officer. Apparently there was an argument in progress as to which of the two Germans should accompany the bargees, lest the latter took it into their heads to decamp. Finally all four trudged off, leaving the horse to nibble at the scanty pasture on the bank.
"You rotter!" exclaimed Kirkwood. "It's gone nine. Why didn't you turn me out? And what are you so interested in? Come, now, you were very keen on ordering me to turn in. Try this luxurious salle-à-coucher."
"Before I do so," replied Barcroft pointing to the abandoned barge, "I'm going to do a bit of burgling if there's anything in the food line. Keep a sharp look-out, old man—towards that bridge especially. I won't be long."
It was a comparatively simple matter to board the deeply-laden craft. Almost the whole of the space amidships was covered by huge tarpaulins, leaving a narrow gangway on either side. Making his way aft Barcroft boldly descended the short ladder leading into the cabin—a somewhat spacious compartment with the small "cuddies" on barges working British canals.