The Yellow Dove/Chapter 20
CHAPTER XX
THE FIGHT IN THE CAVERN
UDO loomed against the light and the uniform he wore seemed to give the projecting weapon a new significance. He was not Udo, the kinsman and companion who had so often shared this refuge with Hammersley in the hunting days. He was Germany. Hammersley could never remember the time when the muzzle of a weapon had seemed so large. It was much better to sit without moving, and Udo’s quick instructions were not wasted.
“Don’t move, Cyril,” he said coolly in German. “Up with your hands! So. Now get up, leaving your belt where it is, and sit on the stool yonder. Quickly! I will shoot—to kill.”
Hammersley read in his expression a determination to put the threat into practice and, watching narrowly, silently obeyed. Von Winden, still covering him carefully, picked up the belt and transferred Lindberg’s pistol to his own holster. He was a dead shot with any firearm, as Hammersley knew, and his own chances at three paces even in a rush were small. It was decidedly a case for discretion.
“I suppose there’s nothing to be said,” Hammersley muttered. “You outguessed me, Udo.” And then, to gain a moment of time, “I thought that your memory might be quite good enough to forget the Thorwald.” Von Winden frowned down the barrel of the automatic.
“It is too much to expect even from me,” he said crisply. “I am your kinsman but I am first of all—a German. And not even for you will I be a traitor.”
“Natürlich!” smiled Cyril.
Udo von Winden’s look was grave, his voice sober, and the muzzle of his automatic did not waver.
“I have already had a bad memory, my cousin. This afternoon I forgot that Lindberg, who served your meals, was a good friend of yours and mine and that he might be counted on to help you out of your difficulties. I also forgot that there was such a place as the Cave of the Thorwald until I learned from Excellenz last night, the price Germany was to pay for my indifference. If you had failed to capture the documents of His Majesty, I might have remained silent. As you took them, there remained nothing but to act. I came here, for I knew it would be the one place where I should find you.” Hammersley bent his head. “I understand.” And then quickly, “Would you mind telling me if you have spoken—if you have told what Lindberg—?”
“No,” von Winden broke in, “I have told nothing. Lindberg is safe. I have come here alone”
Hammersley gave a gasp of relief and leaned forward, peering into the fire.
“I came for one purpose, Cyril,” Udo went on quietly. “I have no personal desire for your death, but I would kill you as you sit rather than see Germany suffer the loss of the documents in your possession. I came for them and I intend that you shall give them to me.”
Hammersley looked up into his cousin’s face and their eyes met. Von Winden’s tone was cool and his manner as calm as on the days last year when they were hunting together, but Hammersley knew that when Udo von Winden was most calm he was also most dangerous. So he slowly reached into the pocket of his trousers and handed his cousin the papers he had taken from the German messenger.
“Danke,” said Udo, backing to the light of the entrance of the cave to examine them. “You are sure they are all here?”
“My word on it, Udo,” said Hammersley frankly. He watched his cousin examine the documents and heard him give an exclamation of satisfaction, but Hammersley saw that his eyes neglected no detail of the cavern and was aware that the muzzle of the weapon in Udo’s hand still bore directly upon him. In the shadows Hammersley saw the face of Doris, who was sitting up, pallid and dark-eyed as though awakened from one nightmare into another. As Udo saw her the muzzle of his weapon wavered and went out of alignment, but Hammersley did not move or even appear to notice the girl.
There was a note of embarrassment in the German’s officer’s voice as he spoke again.
“I am sorry, my cousin, that your father’s blood called you to be false to Germany. You had been suspected by Excellenz, but I would have sworn that he was mistaken. You owe me nothing, of course, but”
“It’s war, Udo,” said Hammersley quietly. “You will remember that I did not seek duty in the Imperial Secret Service. It was the Herr General who thought it valuable to use our kinship for his own purposes.”
Udo shrugged. “Yes, I know,” he said quietly. “You have done your duty—but you must now be aware of the fact that you can ask no favors of me.”
“I don’t. I am in your power. Shoot me if you like.” Udo smiled.
“I can hardly be expected to do that. I do not love you now, my cousin. I cannot love anyone who is false to my country, but I cannot forget that once, not a year ago, we were brothers. No, I cannot shoot you, Cyril, though perhaps that would be a better death than that other—yonder.”
Hammersley shrugged. “It is the fortune of war. From your point of view I deserve it. I can only thank you again, for myself and for Miss Mather, for your generosity.”
A sound from the girl and Udo acknowledged her presence by a bow.
“Under other circumstances,” he said with stiff politeness, “I should be glad to extend the hospitalities of Winden Schloss. But, of course, as Miss Mather can see, my mother and sisters are away and I”
“Of course, Graf von Winden, it is understood,” she said haltingly in German.
“I can do nothing, Fräulein. I am powerless—at the orders of General von Stromberg, who arranges the coming and the going of all at Windenberg.”
“The coming, Udo,” said Hammersley dryly. “Not the going.”
“I am sorry, I have done what I could. You have done well to give me the papers. I shall now go back to Blaufelden and return them to Excellenz.”
Hammersley started up.
“You mean that you will leave us here?”
“Natürlich. I do not wish to see you killed against the kitchen wall. It is not the death for the blood of von Eppingen. Even if you are shot while escaping it would be better.” He shrugged. “My position is this. You can do Germany no further harm. I shall tell a likely story. I have the papers—they are what I came for. If you had not given them to me I would have killed you, but now I shall go away alone as I came.”
“Good old Udo!” said Hammersley impulsively, taking a pace toward him, his hand outstretched.
But von Winden’s automatic came quickly into line and Hammersley halted.
“One moment, my cousin,” said von Winden coolly. “I am quite willing to accept your expressions of gratitude from a distance. I may not wish to see you killed by others, and I would regret the necessity of killing you myself. I shall consider you my prisoner until I go. After that”—and he shrugged expressively—“you can go where you like.”
Hammersley folded his arms and frowned.
“Where I like!” he muttered. “With every village in Hesse-Nassau on the lookout for me.” There was a pause, after which von Winden spoke with quiet earnestness. “Unfortunately I may not help you further. Since there is food, to wait here is safer. Alone, traveling by night, a man might reach Basel safely. As for the Fräulein, if she will return to Blaufelden and give herself up, imprisonment for a time is perhaps the worst that she need fear.”
Doris had risen, the white light from the door of the cavern searching her face pitilessly.
“It is what I would do,” she said haltingly. “What I have pleaded with him to let me do. Cyril,” she implored in English, “you must let me.”
“I will think about it,” he muttered. “You are sure that no harm will come to her?” The muzzle of the automatic had wavered out of line again and Hammersley was carefully measuring with his eye the distance that separated him from his cousin.
“The bark of Excellenz is much worse than his bite. He will bluster and storm. But eventually he will return Miss Mather to her own people.”
Hammersley was shaking his head in indecision.
“I am not so sure that I agree with you about the bite of Excellenz. I shall think of what I will do. I’m sure of one thing, Udo,” he said with sincerity, “that I am deeply grateful for what you have done. The war has made us enemies, and you have now prevented the success of my great venture. But I bear you no illwill. The debt is still mine on account of your silence, back there—a debt made deeper by the presence of Fräulein Mather.” He paused to give his words effect. “I had not told you, Udo, for at Windenberg one has no time to think of the gentler things of life. But just before the war broke out Fräulein Mather had promised me to become my wife.”
Hammersley watched von Winden as he turned toward Doris with a smile, bowing deeply, his sense of the situation lost for a second in the obligations of civility, as he murmured a phrase of congratulations. “I am much honored by your confidences,” he said formally, “and I deeply regret”
He got no further, for Hammersley had sprung in suddenly toward him, risking Udo’s shot, which was fired quickly, without aim.
A furious struggle followed. Hammersley caught at von Winden’s wrist and his weight bore him back against the rock, while both of them fought for the possession of the weapon. The German officer was smaller than his cousin but his wrists were good and he was quicker than Hammersley. They bore only friendship for each other but the incentive of each was greater even than hatred could have been. They struggled in silence, the thought of the possession of the papers uppermost in the minds of both. The struggle was not that of kinsman against kinsman, but of England against Germany. Realizing the desperateness of Hammersley’s attack and the purpose of it, von Winden knew that a victory for Hammersley meant the loss of the papers and so he was bent on killing his cousin if he could, Hammersley on preventing him from doing so. They swayed from side to side, breathing hard, while Doris crouched against the side of the cavern, dumb with terror. Twice she saw the weapon in the German officer’s hand point downward toward Cyril’s back and then, before it could be used, saw Cyril’s arm quickly push it upward. She knew that she was in danger, but she did not know what to do. At one moment von Winden seemed to have the advantage and in another Cyril. Udo’s back was against the wall and one of Cyril’s arms was around him, while their legs were intertwined as each tried to get the other off his balance. Suddenly with an effort Hammersley managed to wrench the pistol from von Winden’s hand and he tossed it into the corner of the cavern.
Von Winden had every ethical right to kill Hammersley if he could, but after what his cousin had done for him, Hammersley could not kill Udo. That was impossible. He must succeed without that. This generosity nearly proved fatal to him for the German managed to reach Hammersley’s automatic in his own holster and had almost disengaged it when Hammersley caught his hand again, and the struggle was renewed. But Doris, whose senses and initiative had slowly returned to her, now crept around the walls of the cave and when von Winden’s outstretched hand came within her reach she seized his forearm in both of her hands and clung to it desperately, keeping the muzzle pointed away from Cyril. She was swayed to and fro with the struggling men, who finally toppled sideways and fell to the floor, dragging her with them, but von Winden’s grasp of the weapon, never quite secure, was loosened and, as they dropped, it went flying under the table.
The fight was soon out of the German, for Hammersley’s weight had fallen on him heavily, and in a moment the officer was flat on his back and Hammersley was sitting on him. Doris, who had meanwhile picked up the pistol, now heard Hammersley gasping jerkily.
“Quick, Doris—something to tie with—your stay-strings!”
She understood and disappeared outside the cavern, returning presently with the bonds, helping Cyril while he made the wrists and ankles of von Winden fast.
“I might have killed you—but I didn’t,” Hammersley was gasping. “You saw that, Udo, didn’t you?”
“You needn’t make apologies. I would have killed you. I tried to. It’s too bad—too bad,” he panted.
“I’m sorry,” Hammersley repeated. “Those papers—they’re England’s, Udo. They’re my property. I’ve got to take them.”
And without further words he put his hand inside the breast of the officer’s coat and took the papers out.
“I wish it were anybody but you,” he said.
“I don’t think you can get away with them.”
“I’m going to try.”
“I’ll prevent you if I can.”
“How?”
“I’ll show you.” And with the remnants of his breath he shouted lustily for help. Hammersley threw him back, none too gently, and clapped a handkerchief in his mouth, while he directed Doris to tear her under-skirt and make bandages for a gag. They worked quickly and in a moment the German officer was silent and helpless. Then for a long moment Hammersley sat by the prostrate man, slowly recovering his breath. Doris, ash-gray with fear, crouched beside him, obedient to his look and action. At last with a laugh he got up.
“Close thing, that!” he said. “My word! He nearly got me.” And then with a look at the prostrate man, “Poor old Udo!”
In a moment, with a word to Doris, he went outside the cave and listened intently. He peered cautiously over the ridge of rocks. The road was deserted. The sound of the shot, while it had seemed deafening, would have been muffled at the entrance of the cavern and could not have been heard from a distance. And when Hammersley returned, he reassured Doris as to the immediate danger of discovery.
“There is no hurry, Doris. I must think,” he said, filling his pipe. He stood upright for a while, puffing rapidly, peering down at the captive, his expression struggling between a frown and a smile. Herr Graf Udo von Winden looked so very much like a mummy! The eyes of his cousin, the only visible part of his face, followed Hammersley intently.
“I could have done for you, Udo,” Hammersley repeated. “I want to be sure that you understand that.”
Von Winden’s head moved ever so slightly. Doris had sunk upon the stool, her face buried in her hands.
“Oh, it’s cruel!” she murmured. “Let him go, Cyril.”
“Hardly,” said Hammersley coolly. “He’d raise a rumpus. Wouldn’t you, Udo?”
The officer’s head did not move.
“You see?” said Hammersley. “But I’m going to make him as comfortable as possible.” And taking him by the armpits he dragged his cousin over to the corner and laid him gently on the bed of balsam, and then stood beside the bed looking down at him thoughtfully, addressing him impersonally in English, as though thinking aloud.
“What’s to become of you, when we go, old chap—that’s what’s bothering me now.”
The German’s shoulders moved slightly.
“Oh, that’s all very well, but I can’t leave you up here to rot, my cousin. No one knows the way to the Crag of the Thorwald. You might be here a thousand years if Lindberg shouldn’t come.”
Von Winden made no sign. It was obvious that he had no further intention of helping in the solution of the difficulty.
“Let me stay here with him, Cyril,” Doris was pleading again. “It can do me no harm, and when you are well on your way, I will release him and go back to Blaufelden.”
“I can’t take that chance. You’re going with me.”
“Where?”
“To England.”
“But how?”
“Leave that to me. At present we must have breakfast. Do you know it’s almost ten o’clock?”
Bewildered, she watched him go to the large tin box in the corner of the cavern, from which he brought forth some dry salt biscuit and several pieces of chocolate.
“It isn’t much, but it’s the best I can do. There’s tea, too, but I don’t dare light the fire.”
She ate, slowly at first, for the food seemed to choke her, but she recalled the fact that except for two pieces of toast and the chocolate of von Stromberg she had eaten nothing since yesterday morning. Cyril, who never seemed at a loss for anything, produced a metal pitcher and going outside the cave for a moment returned with it full of water.
“Lindberg’s,” he said in reply to her question. “His food, too. Good old Lindberg.”
He frowned and then went over to the prisoner.
“You needn’t tell me if you don’t care to, Udo, but I’d like to know how Lindberg is. Will you answer me?”
Von Winden nodded.
“He is able to be about?”
He nodded again.
“Did His Excellency suspect?”
He shook his head.
“Thank God. Then Lindberg is at liberty?”
Udo replied in the affirmative.
Hammersley gave a gasp of relief.
“That is well. I need not worry. He will come and release you.”
Von Winden only frowned.
“Listen, Udo,” went on Hammersley quickly, “Fräulein Mather and I are going down from here, leaving you alone. It can’t be helped. You’ve stumbled up here and you’ve got to take your chance. In time you may wear the strings through against a rock. If you don’t return to Blaufelden by tomorrow, Lindberg will find you.”
“But suppose anything happened to Lindberg,” Doris was whispering. “Ah, Cyril, it would be terrible to leave him here. I should dream of it every night of my life.”
Udo’s eyes smiled at her.
“There is little danger. Graf von Winden is not a man to be so easily beaten. He will get away by tonight. But in the meanwhile we will have gone far enough to be out of his reach.”
“Where are we going?”
“To England, child—in the Yellow Dove,” he laughed.
Doris started away from him, her eyes suddenly brilliant with excitement, and the prisoner, who had lain without movement, showed sudden signs of activity, his eyes frowning and his head wagging in anxiety.
“He wants to speak,” said Doris.
Hammersley bent over his cousin.
“Will you promise not to shout?”
Von Winden nodded quickly. So Hammersley untied the bandages that held the handkerchief in the prisoner’s mouth and helped him to a sitting posture.
“You must not go,” he stammered quickly in German. “It is impossible. You will fail. I warn you.”
“Why do you think so?”
“The machines are guarded, and the spark-plugs of your Taube have been removed and hidden.”
“H’m,” said Hammersley thoughtfully. “Excellenz neglects nothing.”
“You would go to your death.”
“Perhaps. Thanks for the warning,” said Hammersley bluntly. “I’m going just the same.”
Von Winden looked at him in amazement. “You do not believe me?” he asked. “It is the truth, I tell you.”
“I shall find a way.”
“But there is no way. You think that I am trying to persuade you to escape by the mountains so that you may be captured with the papers?”
“Yes. I could not escape that way now. You know it.”
“Perhaps not, but what you plan is insane.”
“Fortune favors the fool. I’ve made up my mind.”
“Then you deserve to be shot,” said Udo. “In the forest at least you would have a chance—Ach—!” He gave a guttural exclamation and then: “Bind me and leave me then—quickly. It’s good-by.”
“Good-by, Udo,” said Hammersley with a smile. “We’ll meet again, when Hesse-Nassau is an English province.”
“Bah, Cyril,” said von Winden. “I have always said that you were a fool.”
Hammersley replaced the gag and bound it into place with great care, smiling the while. Then he removed the belt which contained his cousin’s supply of cartridges and fastened it around his own body above Lindberg’s, loading the two weapons with care and placing them in their holsters.
Doris watched these preparations anxiously, but Hammersley made her eat her fill of chocolate and biscuits and when they had finished, he went to the corner of the cavern and brought forth a large and heavy parcel which he put on the table and opened. Doris saw that Captain von Winden was straightening on the couch trying to see what it contained. Hammersley did not even glance in his direction. He seemed to know by instinct that Udo’s curiosity had gotten the better of his dignity. He opened the package deliberately and spread the contents out upon the table.
“Spare parts of the Taube, Udo. I’ve had them here for weeks. I’ll let you have a peep at ’em if you like. A socket-wrench, spark-plugs, bolts, nuts and wire—by Jove—we might have used that on Udo.”
“You are afraid that what he says is true,” whispered Doris anxiously. “Von Stromberg is prepared for you.”
“I wonder,” he said.