The Man Without a Memory by Arthur W. Marchmont (digital e reader .TXT) 📕

"That's all right; but Schiller's a useful man to oblige. What sort of a plane is this?" I asked as we reached the men.

"An old type, but quite reliable. We use it for lessons chiefly. The petrol tank filled, Max?" he asked the foreman.

"Yes, sir; but there's something wrong with the engine; keeps missing fire," was the reply.

Pleasant news, seeing that in about ten minutes the mysterious Schiller would be on the scene raising Cain!

"Take long to put right, Max?" asked Harden.

"Can't exactly say, sir. I can't quite get at the mischief yet."

"Let's have a look at her," said Harden; and he and the man wasted five of the invaluable minutes over the examination.

There was only one thing to do. The way out being closed, I must get away in the car.

"It doesn't matter, Harden. After all it's not necessary, you know."

"I'm afraid it would take an hour or two at least," he said, looking up from the engine. "I'm really most annoyed about it."

"Well, I'll stroll back to my car, I've left some papers there I want;" and I turned away when Max made a suggestion.

"There's a No. 5 over there. She's not so good as No. 2 here, but she could take the lieutenant up. I filled her tank in case, when I found No. 2 was wrong."

"Why didn't you say so before, Max?" cried Harden.

If he had, he would have saved me from a very nasty heart spasm. As it was, there would only just be time to get off safely. But it might have been fatal to appear in any hurry, so I strolled over casually to the No. 5, pretended to look her over, as if time was no sort of consideration, and was climbing into the fuselage when we heard the furious tooting of a motor horn in the distance.

"Hullo, what can that be?" exclaimed Harden.

"Sounds as if some one had had a breakdown and was tooting for help," I suggested with a smile.

A few seconds later the horn sounded again; much nearer this time. Schiller was in a hurry and no mistake. But all this hurry wouldn't help him now. The bus was an old type needing the help of the mechanics to get moving, and Max struggled with the propeller to start her.

There was a little difficulty and I held my breath. It was a matter of seconds now; seconds which meant life or death to me.

Fortunately Max knew his job thoroughly and knew the bus also and its little peculiarities. He got her going, just as the horn sounded once more and an officer, followed by a couple of soldiers and police, came running round the corner of the buildings and out towards us, shouting furiously and waving their arms.

I shoved the lever and the bus began to move.

"It's Captain Schiller; he's waving to us to stop," cried Harden.

It was just too late. "He'll be able to see me start," I called over my shoulder. "Give him my love and tell him he ought to have been here sooner."

"What do you mean?" shouted Harden.

"He'll know," I yelled. The noise of the engine probably drowned the words, for she was running sweetly; the bus lifted like a bird in reply to the touch of the controls; and I was off.

Not without a cheering salute from the captain, however. I wasn't far away before a bullet grazed the edge of the right plane, and glancing round I saw his soldiers emptying their magazines in the hope of satisfying his loving desire to embrace me.

They were tremendously busy. But it's no easy job to bring a bus down with a rifle bullet, and the majority of Bosches are mighty poor shots; so I didn't worry about it, began to climb, pointing for the frontier, and was soon out of range.

My last glimpse earthwards showed me a little group of dots hurrying to and fro excitedly, like a number of disturbed ants infuriated by the ruin of their nest.

No doubt that was about the condition of things in that Ellendorf nest. Rather a pity I couldn't be present, perhaps.

But it didn't seem worth while to go back.

I could enjoy the scene sufficiently from the air.

I had a lovely trip in that old practice bus. She was quite a decent old thing and I let her rip, all out, as long as the daylight lasted.

I had half expected No. 14 would have been sent up in pursuit, but I had too good a start to trouble about that and was a trifle disappointed that this was realized at Ellendorf. It would have been rare fun to have had a game of chivy chase over Dutch territory; quite good sport; but I had to travel without escort.

In the language of the communiqués, there was "a certain liveliness" as I crossed the frontier. The Dutchies could see the German crosses on the planes and a couple of archies expressed their resentment at the trespass; but I was then too high up for anything to ruffle my feathers, and the storm in a teacup was soon left far behind.

About dusk I went down to spy for a landing-place, spotted one near a railway station, and decided in its favour out of consideration for Harden. He had been very decent and unwittingly had done me such a really good turn, that it was only fair to return the bus to him.

Lots of people had seen me, of course, and when I landed I had quite a reception at the hands of the police, some soldiers and other gapers, all of whom very naturally mistook me for a German officer. I was arrested amid much fussation and great babble of tongues and hauled off to the mayor of the town, after having arranged for the safe-keeping of the machine.

He was a fat jovial little man with twinkling, merry eyes, and when I told him my story, he laughed over the telephone incident until the tears literally streamed down his cheeks and I feared he'd have an apoplectic fit.

He was Anglophile to the finger-tips, made me consent to remain the night in his house, promised to see to the return of the bus, and found me a rig-out of clothes; but stuck when I suggested the return of Vibach's uniform also. He declared that nothing should induce him to part with such a delightful memento of the incident.

I spent a jolly evening with him. He brought in a few congenial friends and I had to tell the story over again, to the running accompaniment of shouts of laughter, prodigalities of Schnapps, and comments on the Germans which would have meant ages of penal servitude if uttered on the other side of the frontier.

Most of his friends turned up at the station the next day to see me off to Rotterdam; and the train steamed off amid a storm of cheers, waving of hats, and cries of good luck. Then some one started "God save the King," which they were all yelling at full lung power until I was out of hearing. I might have been His Majesty himself, judging by the enthusiasm; and my fellow passengers looked as if they thought I was some important big-wig.

I reached Rotterdam late in the afternoon, got the name of Nessa's hotel after a little trouble at the Consulate, and was going to 'phone to her, when an irresistible temptation seized me.

I was fearfully bucked over my lucky escape and I simply could not help trying a last wheeze with her as a good wind up. I hunted up a good barber's shop, bought a black, glossy-haired wig and a toothbrush moustache and imperial to match, darkened my eyebrows and made up with a few wrinkles and little artistic touches of the sort.

It was quite a good disguise; and a pair of black cotton gloves, two sizes too large, and a sort of lumpy gamp umbrella helped to suggest the character I had in my mind. Then I scribbled on a dirty piece of carefully crumpled paper a note introducing myself.

"You can trust the bearer, Van Heerenveen by name, a true friend in need to us both. Jack."

I went to the hotel in the dusk and sent in the name, saying I wished to see her on important private business; a tip secured me the sole use of what was called the Reception Saloon, a dingy little room with one window; I dimmed the already poor light by drawing the blind half down, and chose my seat so that my back should be to it.

I had a qualm and nearly gave the show away when I saw the trouble and anxiety in her dear pale face; but I checked the impulse, knowing how delighted she would be the instant she recognized me, and what laughs we should have over it together in the delicious afterwards.

She was intensely puzzled by the odd figure I cut, but didn't spot the disguise, although she stared hard enough to see right through me. Her nervousness at such an unexpected visitor helped to blind her sharp eyes.

She paused on the threshold with a start and a frown of concern and perplexity. "You wish to see me, sir? I could not quite catch your name from the servant," she said in German.

"Van Heerenveen is my name, madam," I replied. I was chiefly afraid that my voice would betray me; so I spoke slowly, made a big mouthful of the name, deepened my tone and put a little husk into it, talked out of the side of my mouth, and rolled out in deliberate guttural gibberish what I intended her to take for a question in Dutch.

"I do not speak Dutch, sir; only English, German, and French."

I nodded slowly and made a little play with the loose finger-tips of my ridiculous gloves. "Will you not sit down, if you please?" I said in German. "Do not be alarmed, I beg you. There is no need, if you are Miss Nessa Caldicott."

She had been holding the door half open and now closed it and sat in the chair I had placed in readiness, and I sat on the opposite side of the room at a safe distance.

"I am Miss Caldicott, of course."

"It is necessary for me to be quite sure of that, madam. Have I your permission to ask you a few questions?" The voice had passed muster all right, and, as she was close to the door and I so far away, her anxiety soon gave way to curiosity. She was absolutely puzzled.

"Certainly, sir."

"You have come from Germany? Is that so?"

"Yes, I arrived yesterday."

"May I ask for your passport, if you please?"

She started. "Why? As a matter of fact I haven't one; but I am known at the British Consulate here. They suggested my coming to this hotel."

"No passport? Umph!" I grunted with a solemn wag of the head. "Is it so that you came from Berlin and left there somewhat hurriedly?"

"Oh, yes. I was there at the outbreak of the war and they meant to send me to an internment camp; I ran away."

"Umph!" I grunted again, fingering my imperial with my glove monstrosities; a gesture which she noticed with a flickering smile. "Were you alone, madam?"

She hesitated. "No; but I cannot say more than that." Staunch little beggar, she wouldn't give me away until she knew more.

"You must speak frankly to me, madam. I know the person who accompanied you. I ask you because I must be certain who you are."

She wasn't to be drawn by that. "I must know first why you come to me," she said with one of her quick head gestures.

"I come as a friend, madam."

"Pardon me, but how am I to know that?"

I pushed her hard, but nothing would induce her to give me the name. "Very well, I will try another course. There