Wells touched Gregory upon the elbow and began to back away down the gully. Gregory followed, and when they were out of earshot the Inspector whispered: 'We've got to get over the bank far side of the train so they can't see us by those beastly lights. Then we'll try and get into one of the wagons unobserved.'
Climbing the wire fence, they crawled up the steep slope, crossed the permanent way on hands and knees, slid down the other side, and made their way back to the place where the train was standing.
Intense activity was now in progress on the far side of it. The men were hurling out the boxes from its foremost wagons. Wells scaled the bank again and slung himself up on to one of the rear trucks but found it padlocked. Gregory tried another with the same disappointing result. Dropping off, the two men conferred again in whispers.
'They won't unlock the doors of the vans on this side,' Gregory muttered.
'No. Got to take a chance on being spotted and reach the boxes,' Wells replied. 'Come on, let's get beneath the train and wait our opportunity.'
They crawled between the wheels, Wells leading, then a little way along, until they were below some couplings where two of the, vans were hitched to one another. The smugglers were hard at work unloading within a few feet of them. The planes which had first arrived, now emptied of their cargo, were already leaving.
One of the wooden cases, which the smugglers were pitching out of the wagons, caught in the rough grass only about a third of the way down the embankment. Wells craned his neck to see the markings on it but the side towards him was in deep shadow. He poked his head out from below the train and took a quick glance round. The men were sweating and cursing as they heaved other cases down the bank. Speed seemed to be the essence of the whole operation and they evidently knew it. The drill, as the Inspector saw it, was that less than half an hour should elapse between the lighting of the flares to show the landing ground, and their extinction; while the train paused on its journey for about seven minutes only.
Gerry Wells decided to take a chance. Praying to all his gods that if the men saw him in the semidarkness they would take him to be one of themselves, he slipped out from beneath the train and, drawing himself upright, launched himself upon the stranded case. As he heaved it up to throw it down among the rest, he tried to read the big label which was tacked to its top, before it left his hands.
'Hi!' a shout came out of the darkness in his rear. 'What's that feller doing there?' It was the driver or the fireman who had witnessed his sudden appearance from underneath the train.
Instantly the mob of workers dropped their cases and turned towards him. Next moment a new voice called from the bottom of the embankment. 'You there come here else I'll plug you.'
A torch flashed out, and Gregory, who was still concealed under the train, an immobile witness of the scene, saw that the order came from the Limper.
For a second Gregory's hand closed on the butt of his automatic, but this was England. If he shot the fellow all sorts of unpleasantness would result. He shifted his grip swiftly to his torch instead and silently drew himself up between the two coaches. Then, before Wells had time to answer, he flung it with all his force and unerring aim straight at the Limper's head.
'Run, man!' Gregory shouted, as the torch struck the Limper full on the forehead. 'Run!'
The Limper went down under the impact of the missile. Wells leapt on to the permanent way, but the man who had first spotted the Inspector sprang from the step of the engine cab and grabbed him round the waist.
Next moment the Limper was on his feet again, yelling blasphemous instructions to his men as half a dozen of them closed in on Gregory.
He laid one of them out with a blow behind the ear and tripped another who went plunging head over heels down the embankment.
Wells had torn himself from the grip of the man who had jumped off the train and turned to Gregory's assistance, but below them now the smugglers were running from all directions, throwing themselves over the fence and scrambling up the bank. The Inspector hit out valiantly but he could not reach Gregory, who had been dragged to the ground. A second later he too was hurled off his feet by the rush of a dozen brawny ruffians. He went down with a thud, one of the men kicked him in the ribs and another, kneeling on his back, pinioned his arms behind him.
16
Hideous Night
Bruised and half stunned from their desperate struggle the two men were lugged to their feet and thrust down the bank. Half a hundred threatening figures milled round them, their scowling faces lit by the glare of the torches. Pilots, loaders, and the men off the train all left their jobs to crowd about the captives. Every man on the secret base arrived at the scene of the excitement where they jostled together muttering hoarse questions.
A tall figure elbowed his way through the press. 'Silence!' he thundered. 'Stand back there. I'll attend to this.'
It was the Limper. The men gave way before him, forming a semicircle, while he stood in its centre glowering at the prisoners, a little trickle of blood oozing from his forehead where Gregory's torch had cut it.
'You, you, you, you,' he jabbed his finger at four husky fellows, 'take these birds over to the inn. The rest of you get back to work. This upset's put us two minutes behind schedule. You've got to make it up. To work! Like blazes now!'
The four men thrust Gregory and the Inspector forward. The Limper followed close behind with the sharp warning: 'No tricks now. I'll shoot you in the back the instant you try anything.'
The breath having been kicked and beaten out of their bodies they were in no state at the moment to do more than stagger along between their captors; even if they had been mad enough to think of attempting a breakaway.
At the inn they were dragged into the little bar parlour and the door slammed to behind them. The fat landlord was still behind his bar and the handsome knife thrower of Trouville, now in airman's kit, leaned against it drinking a tot of brandy.
'Q'est ce qu'il-y-a,' he exclaimed, as the others tumbled into the room.
'Spies,' snapped the Limper. 'Caught trying to board the train. Preventative officers I expect; we'll soon find out.'
The Frenchman evidently understood English. An evil little smile twitched at his lips. With a single jerk he drew a murderous looking knife from his sleeve. 'Espions, hein,' he murmured. 'Ca s'arrange tres simplement.'
'Stop that, Corot.' The Limper jerked his hand out swiftly at the Frenchman's knife. 'This is not the place. Now you,' he swung on Gregory, 'what's your little game?'
Gregory pulled himself together as well as he could with the two thugs still hanging on his arms. 'What's yours?' he blustered, 'that's more to the point. We've got no game. We were just lost in the marshes. Seeing the lights we came over to ask if you could put us on our road again; but before we had time to open our mouths we were set upon.'
'That's a lie,' said the landlord, leaning forward over his bar. 'The two of them were here at nine o'clock. Said they were attached to the Ordnance Department and on their way to spend the night at Lydd.'
'So we were,' Gregory protested hotly, 'but our car broke down and we tried to get back here to telephone. We took what we thought was a short cut and lost ourselves. We've been tumbling about in dykes and ditches for hours.'