Part 11 (1/2)

”But----” the Major again started to speak, and was again cut short.

”The outside rail,” continued Brent, ”so that the tendency would be for the engine to go towards the parapet wall. And no iron girder to hold it up--merely a little brick wall”--he again referred to the paper on his knee--”three feet high and three bricks thick. No nasty parties of men carrying slabs of gun-cotton; just yourself--with one slab of gun-cotton in your pocket and one primer and one detonator--that and the psychological moment. Luck, of course, but when we dispense with the working party we lift it from the utterly impossible into the realm of the remotely possible. The odds are against success, I know; but----” He shrugged his shoulders.

”But how do you propose to get there, my dear chap?” asked the Major, peevishly. ”The Germans have a rooted objection to English officers walking about behind their lines.”

”Yes, but they don't mind a Belgian peasant, do they? Dash it, they've played the game on us scores of times, Major--not perhaps the bridge idea, but espionage by men disguised behind our lines. I only propose doing the same, and perhaps going one better.”

”You haven't one chance in a hundred of getting through alive.” The Major viciously stabbed a tongue.

”That is--er--beside the point,” answered Brent, shortly.

”But how could you get through their lines to start with?” queried Bill.

”There are ways, dearie, there are ways. Petersen is a man of much resource.”

”Of course, the whole idea is absolutely ridiculous.” The Major snorted.

”Once and for all, Brent, I won't hear of it. We're far too short of fellows as it is.”

And for a s.p.a.ce the subject languished, though there was a look on Jim Brent's face which showed it was only for a s.p.a.ce.

Now when a man of the type of Brent takes it badly over a woman, there is a strong probability of very considerable trouble at any time. When, in addition to that, it occurs in the middle of the bloodiest war of history, the probability becomes a certainty. That he should quite fail to see just what manner of woman the present Lady Goring was, was merely in the nature of the animal. He was--as far as women were concerned--of the genus fool. To him ”the rag, and the bone, and the hank of hair” could never be anything but perfect. It is as well that there are men like that.

All of which his major--who was a man of no little understanding--knew quite well. And the knowledge increased his irritation, for he realised the futility of trying to adjust things. That adjusting business is ticklish work even between two close pals; but when the would-be adjuster is very little more than a mere acquaintance, the chances of success might be put in a small-sized pill-box. To feel morally certain that your best officer is trying his hardest to get himself killed, and to be unable to prevent it, is an annoying state of affairs. Small wonder, then, that at intervals throughout the days that followed did the Major reiterate with solemnity and emphasis his remark to the Staff-captain anent women. It eased his feelings, if it did nothing else.

The wild scheme Brent had half suggested did not trouble him greatly. He regarded it merely as a temporary aberration of the brain. In the South African war small parties of mounted sappers and cavalry had undoubtedly ridden far into hostile country, and, getting behind the enemy, had blown up bridges, and generally damaged their lines of communication.

But in the South African war a line of trenches did not stretch from sea to sea.

And so, seated one evening at the door of his commodious residence talking things over with his colonel, he did not lay any great stress on the bridge idea. Brent had not referred to it again; and in the cold light of reason it seemed too foolish to mention.

”Of course,” remarked the C.R.E., ”he's bound to take it soon. No man can go on running the fool risks you say he does without stopping one.

It's a pity; but, if he won't see by himself that he's a fool, I don't see what we can do to make it clear. If only that confounded girl--” He grunted and got up to go. ”Halloa! What the devil is this fellow doing?”

Shambling down the road towards them was a particularly decrepit and filthy specimen of the Belgian labourer. In normal circ.u.mstances, and in any other place, his appearance would have called for no especial comment; the brand is not a rare one. But for many months the salient of Ypres had been cleared of its civilian population; and this sudden appearance was not likely to pa.s.s unnoticed.

”Venez, ici, monsieur, tout de suite.” At the Major's words the old man stopped, and paused in hesitation; then he shuffled towards the two men.

”Will you talk to him, Colonel?” The Major glanced at his senior officer.

”Er--I think not; my--er--French, don't you know--er--not what it was.”

The worthy officer retired in good order, only to be overwhelmed by a perfect deluge of words from the Belgian.

”What's he say?” he queried, peevishly. ”That d.a.m.n Flemish sounds like a dog fight.”

”Parlez-vous Francais, monsieur?” The Major attempted to stem the tide of the old man's verbosity, but he evidently had a grievance, and a Belgian with a grievance is not a thing to be regarded with a light heart.

”Thank heavens, here's the interpreter!” The Colonel heaved a sigh of relief. ”Ask this man what he's doing here, please.”