Ralph made no reply. His mother, glancing at him, saw that his face was drawn into tight creases. There was an expression in his eyes which hurt her. For the first time she began to appreciate that there was real fear behind his actions and talk of the last few days. Futilely she started to talk when she should have kept silent.
'Of course, this may not be so very dangerous after all. I expect it's just another of these scares. Things will be all right in the end, and we shall all have a good laugh at our fears. Don't you worry, dear; I expect—good gracious!'
Ralph was roused out of his thoughts to see what had caused her exclamation of surprise. He looked up to find himself facing his father and Major Forbes. An hour ago he would have been pleased to see them and cheered by the thought that the whole party was reunited; but now his greeting was cold.
Major Forbes looked around him.
'And where is Dorothy?' he asked.
Ralph answered him bitterly.
'She's gone to save you,' he said.
Chapter Four
FIGHTING THE MENACE
'Yes, my boy,' said Mr. Waite, 'we certainly owe our escape to you. You seemed so positive about the danger that I did a bit of investigating; poked about a bit among the local officials.
'It was old Inspector Roberts who gave me the tip—he's always considered himself in my debt over that matter of his boy. "Mr. Waite," he said, "I ought not to tell you; in fact, I'm breaking orders by doing so, but if you take my advice you'll get out of the district just as soon as you can." '
'Yes, it was a straight tip, by gad!' agreed the Major. 'I managed to hear a few things about the country round about —pretty bad. Some fool started a panic in Launceston. Half the town was out with sticks and stones and knives, smashing all the yellow balls they could find.
'A man told me the ground was white with spores, as if there had been a snowstorm. Some of the growers tried to interfere, and there was something like a battle. Pretty much the same thing seems to have happened in Tavistock and other places in west Devon.'
Ralph looked up.
'Spores or riots,' he said, 'I'm going down by the midnight train to get Dorothy out of that. What's the time now?'
The Major snorted,
'Don't be a fool, young manl The girl's all right. She'll be back any moment now, I'll warrant. They're not allowing anyone to enter the area now, so she'll have to come back. Your father and I came out on one of the last trains allowed through.'
'What's the time?' Ralph demanded again.
'Twenty to ten,' said the Major, 'and I repeat that you are wasting your time if you go down there.'
'The news,' Mr. Waite said suddenly. 'There's sure to be something about all this.' He called a waiter and asked for the radio to be switched on. A few moments later they were listening to the calm, familiar voice of the London announcer.
The general weather report was unencouraging and the voice went on to add:
'Gale warning. The Meteorological Office issued the following warning to shipping at twenty hours, Greenwich Mean Time. Strong westerly winds, rising to gale force, may be expected on all the Irish coast. English coast west of a line from Southampton to Newcastle, and English Channel.'
Ralph glanced at his father, who caught his eye, but sent a warning glance in the direction of his mother. Both of them grasped the implication. Thousands of light, yellow balls attached merely by skimpy stalks—and a gale rising... .
The announcer began on the news :
'We are asked by the Ministry of Transport to broadcast the following. Suspension of service. All train services between Exeter and points west thereof have been temporarily suspended. Further details will be announced tomorrow.'
The Major looked at Ralph triumphantly.
'I told you so! They're isolating the whole district. There's no point in your going down. We shall have Dorothy back here in no time.'
But Ralph was unconvinced. Dorothy had set out to get to her home, and he had a horrid fear that she would do it if it were humanly possible. The Major did not seem to know his own daughter's tenacity of purpose. Ralph stood up with determination.
'I'm going down there now. There are still cars, even if they have stopped the trains.'
Thump ... thump ... thump ... went Ralph's mallet. It was three days since he had left London, and now he was engaged in driving stakes into the hard soil of Dartmoor.
A message earlier in the day had informed him that no news had been received of Dorothy. There could be no doubt that she had been trapped in the isolated area and was now—if she had succeeded in reaching St. Brian—still forty or fifty miles to the west of him. He reflected angrily on the events which had landed him at his present occupation.
He had rushed from the hotel in search of Arnold. Before midnight he had borrowed the other's car and was running down Piccadilly, in company with the taxis of homeward-bound theatre-goers. The traffic grew faster and sparser as he passed through sprawling suburbs: He looked forward to showing a good turn of speed on the Great West Road. But when he reached it the volume of traffic had undeniably increased once more.
Long lines of trucks, not too punctilious about keeping to the side of the road, stretched before him. A constant flow of private cars against him, unprecedented for the time of night, made it a difficult business to overtake the trucks. Ralph cursed the obstruction of the lumbering line and noticed for the first time that they were not commercial vans, but were painted khaki or grey, with Army markings on their sides. He swore again. A piece of foul luck to get mixed up in Army manoeuvres; but perhaps they would drop off at Aldershot. They did not. They held on the road to the west and, to his exasperation, were augmented by hundreds more.
Anybody would think,' he muttered to himself, 'that there was a war on. The whole blooming Army seems to be going my way!'
To add to his troubles, the wind was rising, bringing with it sharp flurries of rain. Instead of making a dash through the night as he had intended, his speed was reduced to a crawl. Only infrequently did the traffic against him allow him to cut past a few of the lumbering shapes ahead. It was full daylight long before he reached Exeter, and he passed through the narrow streets of the old city still escorted by the Army wagons.
Two miles beyond, the road was blocked by a barricade. Sentries with fixed bayonets were assisting the police to turn back all private cars. The representatives of both forces were equally unmoved by his offers of money or his loss of temper.
'It's no good makin' a fuss, young feller,' advised a police sergeant. 'If I'd been taking money today, I could have made my fortune and retired on it. You get back 'ome now!'
There had been nothing for it but to turn his car round and drive sullenly back to Exeter. There he munched a necessary, though unappreciated, meal, while he decided on the next move.
'No private cars along 'ere,' the policeman had said. But the trucks were going through—those same damned trucks which had hindered him all night. Hundreds of them. They were passed without question, and, moreover, without a search. It ought to be possible to jump one and stow away....
After a number of uncomfortable miles the truck stopped. The tail-board was lowered.
' 'Ere, you, come along out of it,' demanded a voice. A hand fastened firmly on to Ralph's collar and dragged him painfully from his hiding-place amid wooden stakes and rolls of barbed wire. He landed among a group of men under the command of a sergeant. The latter came close to him, his pointed moustaches adding ferocity to his expression as he shouted:
'What the blazes do you think you were doing in that lorry? You come along 'ere with me.'