it was a glorious scrap, and dick gunter and i had the best of it right up to the last moment.
we were about 6,000 feet up and a mile or so inside the german lines when their two machines came out to drive us away.
"we'll take 'em on, jack," shouted dick, chortling like the rare old sport he was, and we began our usual manœuvre for position. our dodge was to let them believe we were novices at the game, and i messed about with the old bus as if we were undecided and in a deuce of a funk.
they fell in, all right, and at the proper moment i swung round and gave dick a chance which he promptly took, pouring in a broadside which sent one of the machines hurtling nose first to earth. this put the fear of god into the others, who tried to bolt; but we were too fast for them and, after a short running fight, dick got them. the pilot crumpled up and down went the machine like a stone to prevent the other from feeling lonely.
we were jubilating righteously over this, when the luck turned. a third machine, which, in the excitement of the scrap, we hadn't seen, swooped out of the clouds and gave us a broadside at close range, which messed us up pretty badly. we were both hit, the petrol poured out of the riddled tank, the engine stopped, and i realized that we could put up the shutters, as we were absolutely at the beggar's mercy.
i was wrong, however. dick had managed to let the other chap have a dose of lead, and either because we had had enough of it or his bus was damaged, he didn't stop to finish us off but scuttled off home to mother.
i was hit somewhere in the shoulder, but it wasn't bad enough to prevent my working the controls, and i pointed for home on a long glissade. there was a "certain liveliness," as the communiqués say, during that joy ride. the archies barked continuously as we crossed the lines, the shrapnel was all over us, dick was hit again, and the poor old bus fairly riddled; but we got through it somehow, although my pal was nearly done in by the time we reached the ground.
some pretty things were said about it and we each got the m.c. i was very little hurt, and came out of the base hospital a week or two later feeling as fit as a fiddle again, but as the chief decided i had earned a good spell of leave, i went off to old blighty to convalesce.
then it was that for the first time i heard of the trouble about nessa caldicott. both my parents had died when i was a kid, and mrs. caldicott, the dearest and sweetest woman in the world, had been like a mother to me, had taken me into her home, and thus i had grown up with nessa and her sister. nessa and i had been to school in germany; had travelled out and home together; i had spent my holidays in their home; and i can't remember the time when i wasn't in love with her.
mrs. caldicott was keen that we should marry, and a year or two after i came back to england for good from göttingen university we had been engaged. but there was a "nigger in the fence." i had plenty of money and preferred being a sort of "nut" to working; and nessa didn't like it. she urged me to "do something and make a career for myself"; but i was a swollen-headed young ass, and shied at it; so at last the engagement was broken off until, as she put it, i "had given up the idea of lounging and loafing through life."
she was right, of course; but like a fool i wouldn't see it; so we quarrelled, and she went off to germany to stay with an old school friend. she was still there when the war broke out, and thus did not know that i had found my chance and had joined up. there was nothing "nutty" about the army training and work, and when i went home, of course, my first thoughts were of her and what she would say when she knew i had taken her advice.
but i found poor mrs. caldicott in the very depth of anxiety and despair. nessa had never returned from germany, and there was nothing but the most disconcerting and perplexing news of her. during the first few months she had been able to write home that all was well with her, although she could not get out of the country.
then came a gap in the correspondence, followed by a short letter that her school friend was dead, and that she feared she would not be allowed to remain in the house. a month or so later another letter came, saying she had left hanover to go to another friend in berlin, and that her mother was not to worry, as she expected soon to be home.
"and that's the last letter i've had from her, jack, and that's three months ago," said mrs. caldicott, the tears streaming down her cheeks. "the only news i've had is these two odd communications."
they were odd, in all truth. the first was a sentence which had evidently been cut out of a longer letter in nessa's handwriting and pasted on a sheet of paper. "i am quite well, but cannot get away yet." that was all, and a very ugly-looking all too. the second was a postcard in a strange handwriting, like a man's fist. "your daughter is well and is going to be married. she will communicate with you after the war."
i did not let the dear old lady see what i thought of the matter, nor did i tell her how my months at the front and what i had seen there led me to put the most sinister interpretation on the affair.
"i've tried every means in my power, jack, to find nessa," she declared; "but with no result at all; and it's killing me."
i did what i could to reassure her, and then a somewhat harum-scarum idea occurred to me—that i should use my leave to go to berlin and make inquiries. she wouldn't hear of it at first, because of the danger to me; but i showed her that there would really be very little risk, as i had often passed for a german, and that the only real difficulty was getting permission from the authorities.
i set about that at once and succeeded—the result of having a friend at court in the war office; but before that was settled nessa's brother-in-law, jimmy lamb, an american manufacturer, came over on munitions business and wouldn't hear of my going.
"see here, jack, this is my show, not yours. for one thing i can do it better than you, as i'm a bit of a hustler and have a good friend, greg watson, in our berlin embassy. more than that, i can go safely, while if you were found out, you'd be shot as a spy;" and he wouldn't listen to my protests.
but the scheme fell through at the last moment. on the very day he was to have started, he had a cable that his father was dying; and he had to catch the first boat home.
"i'm real sick about it, jack, but there's nothing else for it. i've booked a berth in the slavonic to-day."
"then i shall go, jimmy. i can't bear the thought of nessa being in those beggars' hands. i'm certain there's some devilment at the bottom of it;" and i told him a few of the items i had seen with my own eyes.
"well, what price your going in my name? much better than the german stunt; and you can actually see about the business that i meant to do. here are all the papers needed, my passport and ticket, a bunch of german notes i've picked up at a good discount, and you can see greg watson—i'll give you a letter to him—and you'll find him a white man right through, ready to do his durndest to help you."
a few minutes clinched the job; an hour or two sufficed for all the preparations i needed to make for the trip; and that night i left harwich for rotterdam in a little steamer called the burgen, as jas. r. lamb, an american merchant, equipped with all the credentials necessary to keep up my end.
it was all plain sailing enough, but it didn't turn out so simple as it looked. there was another american on board and i kept out of his way at first, but when he had heard me talking to a waiter in german, he came sidling up and scraped acquaintance. he soon let out that he was as genuine an american as i was, and the best of it was that he took me for what he was in reality—a german.
"you speak german well for—an american," he said suggestively. "you know germany, perhaps?"
"i was at school there and afterwards at göttingen."
he was cautious enough to test this, and i let him have some choice specimens of student slang which strengthened his opinion.
"i was also at göttingen. need we pretend any longer?" and he held out his hand. he was very much my own build and colouring, but i hoped the resemblance stopped short there, for i didn't like his looks a bit.
"pretend what?" i asked as if on my guard.
"that we are americans."
"you needn't, but i didn't say i wasn't one."
he made a peculiar flourish with his left hand which was one of the membership signs of a secret society among the students, and i answered it. it was enough, and he let himself go then. he was a good swaggerer; told me that he had come from america to england, where he had been ferretting out every possible scrap of information, having represented himself as the agent of an american firm of munition makers; that he had sent his report to berlin and had been summoned to go there at once on the strength of it; and that he was to join the secret service.
he was so full of his self-importance and seemingly so glad to have some one to listen to him, that, with a very little prompting, he told me a whole lot about himself, and the great things he had done. he only stopped when he got sea-sick, and before he went below he told me his real name was johann lassen, and scribbled his address in berlin on his card, so that we might meet again there.
i was a little worried by the business. it might be awkward if we did run against one another in berlin; but there was no need to look for trouble before it arrived, so i dismissed the thing and went on thinking out my own plan of campaign. but the affair had very unexpected results.
we were nearing the dutch coast and i was considering how to avoid lassen on landing, when there was the very dickens of an explosion. as if the lid of hell itself had lifted!
what happened i only learnt afterwards, for the next thing i knew was that i was lying in bed somewhere, with a grave-eyed nurse bending over me.
"herr lassen!" just a whisper. after a pause the name was repeated with slightly more solicitous emphasis.
i was too weak and exhausted to reply or feel either surprise or curiosity at the mistake about my name; and with a sigh of utter weariness i closed my eyes and fell asleep. when i woke it was in the dead stillness of the night.
i was far less exhausted and my mind was beginning to work again. i was lying alone in a small bare-walled room, lighted by one carefully shaded electric light. there were two other beds in the room, both unoccupied; and i was not too dazed to understand that it was a hospital ward. then i remembered the nurse had addressed me as "herr lassen"; and was puzzling over the mistake when the remembrance of nessa and her peril flashed across my mind and stirred a confused jangle of disturbing thoughts.
i was still too weak to clear the tangle then, however, and fell asleep again, and did not wake until the morning.
i was much better and the nurse was very pleased at my improvement. "you will soon be yourself again," she said, speaking german with a quaint accent. "you were so exhausted that at one time we feared you would not recover from the shock."
"you are very good," i murmured, with a feeble smile.
"do you think you could eat some solid food? the doctor said you could have some when you recovered consciousness."
"where am i?" i asked after thanking her.
"this is the nazareth hospital in rotterdam. you were brought in by the fishermen who found you in the sea when the burgen went down."
i did not ask any more questions then, as i wanted to think matters over; and during the day i succeeded in getting it all clear. the only point that bothered me was why i should be mistaken for lassen; but i got that at last. i remembered the card he had given me and how i had shoved it in my pocket.
but why hadn't my pocket-book with my passport and papers and all the rest of it been found? it had been in my jacket pocket. it looked as if it must have been lost. that set me thinking and no mistake. how was i to get on to berlin without the passport? it looked as if i must either give up the search for nessa, when every minute might be invaluable, or go back to england for fresh papers. that wouldn't do, as too much of my leave would be used up.
it was the dickens of a mess, and then an idea occurred to me. lassen must have gone down with the steamer, for they wouldn't take me for him if he had been saved. and then i soon had a plan—to drop the jimmy lamb character and continue to be lassen as long as necessary. i might get across the frontier in that way, and must trust to my wits for the rest. there might be a bit of risk in it, but that needn't stop me; and then a very pretty little development suggested itself which offered a promise of safety even if i was found out.
why shouldn't the "shock" of which the nurse had spoken have destroyed my memory? the more i considered it the more promising it looked. it was the easiest of parts to play; i had done a lot of amateur theatricals; and any one could look a fool and act one.
i had a first rehearsal of this stunt—as jimmy would have called it—with the nurse; and the result quite came up to expectations. i reckoned that she would tell the doctor, and it was clear she had done so when he came to me next morning.
he was tremendously interested in the case now, and, after telling me how much better i was, began to question me about the loss of the burgen.
i looked as vacant and worried as i thought necessary.
"you remember being on her, don't you?"
"the nurse told me so. was i?"
"yes, of course. she struck a mine; you remember that?"
i affected to try to remember, stared round the room, and then helplessly at him and gestured feebly.
"you were picked up at sea. does that help you?"
it wasn't likely to, and i shook my head.
"she came from harwich—england, you know, and was blown up."
"harwich, england," i murmured, as if the words had no meaning for me.
he muttered something in dutch under his breath. "does your head trouble you much?" and he smoothed my hair, feeling my head all over carefully.
i looked as stupid as a sheep. "it—it——" and i frowned and gestured to suggest what i could not express.
he looked rather grave for a second or two and then smiled reassuringly. "it will be all right in time, quite right. you are suffering from shock; but you needn't worry. no worry. that's the great thing. a day or so will put you all right, herr—let's see, what's your name?"
but i didn't bite. "is it lassen? the nurse said so."
"don't you know it yourself?" he asked very kindly.
"no." that was true at any rate. "how did you find it out?"
"from the card in your trousers' pocket. you are the only survivor from the burgen and had a very narrow escape. even most of your clothes were blown off you. doesn't anything i say suggest anything to you?"
i lay as if pondering this solemnly. "it's all so—so strange," i muttered, putting my hand to my head. "so—so——" and i left it at that; and he went away, after giving me one more item of valuable information—that my belt which contained my money had also been saved.
i played that lost memory for all it was worth and with gorgeous success. i became a "case" for the doctors who trotted along to interview me as a sort of interesting freak and held learned discussions over me. all this gave me such ample practice that i became perfect in the part.
but there was a fly in the amber. as the only survivor from the burgen the dutch authorities regarded me as a person of quite considerable importance. officials came to visit me, pouring in regular broadsides of questions; and as they got no satisfaction, and the doctors differed about my recovering my memory, the official verdict was that i should remain in rotterdam until i did recover it.
this threatened complications; but i had no intention to remain, so i prepared to get away, sent out for a ready-made suit of clothes—ye gods, what a beautiful misfit!—and was going to leave the hospital to see what i could do at the german embassy about a passport, when my luck propeller snapped and i saw myself nose-diving to the ground.
a nurse brought me a card and said some one was waiting to see me in the doctor's room. the card told me it was a certain herr heinrich hoffnung, 480b, ugenplatz, berlin!
it was just rotten luck, for it meant the collapse of the lassen show. the instant he clapped eyes on me he'd know i wasn't the real simon pure; and it might be the dickens of a job to get across the frontier.
as i thought of nessa and what the delay might mean to her, i was mad. but i couldn't shirk the meeting; so after giving him time to learn all about my "case" from the doctor, i went down, wondering what ill wind had blown the fellow to rotterdam at such a moment, and what the dickens would happen when i was no longer lassen.
