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

like a fairly good jumping-off place. I'm out of it, if we don't run against some of the smuggling lot there, and the best plan I can think of is to try and join up with some of them and get across in that way."

"Looks all right. If we can get there, that is."

"Needn't worry about that, young 'un. We can tramp it at night, at the worst; but we're not likely to be interfered with. We can always be going to a job just a few miles farther on. I always thought of Osnabrück as the place where we might have to start our tramp, and I've a road map. What we want at the moment is a place where we can rest for an hour or two."

We plodded on steadily, avoiding the roads as much as possible, until we had left Osnabrück well in our rear, and then Nessa pointed to a cottage on the fringe of a wood, which appeared to be deserted.

"Looks like the very spot for us, young 'un. Stop here and I'll go and have a squint at it."

"Look sharp about it, boss, I'm getting a bit leggy and could do with a doss for an hour or two."

I reconnoitred the place cautiously from the back, where there was an untilled garden patch, and first made enough noise to rouse a dog, if there was one. All remained quiet; so I slipped along the garden and flashed my torch lamp through a broken pane of a back window. The room was quite bare, and I opened the window and went over the cottage.

It was deserted right enough. A four-roomed shanty, dirty and dilapidated, but good enough for a shelter; so I fetched Nessa. "A rough shop, young 'un, but better than none."

"Better quarters than those English swine get in the concentration camps, I'll bet," she said as we went up the ricketty stairs to an upper room.

"Bare boards only. It's a good thing you can rough it."

"Nothing to what our brave fellows have to put up with at the front," she replied; and without more ado she lay down with the suit case as a pillow and was soon fast asleep.

I crept out of the room, lit a pipe, and strolled round the cottage trying to think out a definite plan of operations. The most practical question was that of supplies. There would not be any serious risk of trouble with the police even if we kept to the main roads; and this would both shorten the tramp and enable us to get food at out-of-the-way inns.

The one thing that offered difficulties was Nessa's disguise. She was overacting her part considerably and, what was much worse, involuntarily had dropped now and then into her own dear self. The boy business was a blunder. She must turn woman again. It would be much safer if she passed as my sister or even my wife, or perhaps both at turns, according to circumstances.

She would probably kick against it a bit, considering the trouble she had taken and the pride and pleasure she felt in the part. But safety must come first. There was another consideration. If we were stopped, I should be asked for my identification card; and the lack of it might mean trouble. As my wife she wouldn't need one. I must therefore be re-christened and become Hans Bulich.

Over a second pipe the prudence of the change became more obvious, and I regretted the hurry we had been in to get rid of her dress, realizing the difficulty of replacing it without rousing suspicion. We should come across plenty of places where such things could be bought; but for a man and a boy to buy such things were almost certain to lead to awkward questions, especially anywhere near the frontier.

It was broad daylight before I finished wrestling with these new problems, and, as it was better not to run a risk of being seen about the cottage, I went into a little shed belonging to it, propped myself in a corner and dozed off. I was tired and must have slept heavily, and was awakened by a kick and the angry shout of a man asking what the devil I meant by sleeping on his premises. "Get up and be off with you, you lazy tramp," he said, when I rubbed my eyes and blinked at him.

"I'm not a tramp, guv'nor," I protested, getting up.

"Then I'm no farmer, you skulker;" and he looked like repeating the kick.

"Steady, man, steady. Keep your temper. I'm a mechanic on my way to a job in Osnabrück. My boy and I lost our way in the wood yonder and came here to ask the road. Finding the place empty, we decided to doss it till daylight. My mate's only a youngster and was regularly done up."

"You look dirty enough for a tramp anyhow," he growled. "I'm pestered with them. Got any money on you?" A rough-and-ready test of his tramp theory.

"Hope so. More than enough to pay for this sort of bed. Times are pretty good with us chaps now;" and I pulled out a handful of money.

His surly look cleared. "I don't want any of it. What sort of a mechanic do you call yourself?"

"Motors and aeroplanes and that sort of thing."

"The devil you are!" he exclaimed, and, after a pause: "Care to earn a mark or two?"

"Don't mind if I do? How?"

"My motor's in the lane yonder, and something's gone wrong with it. Do you think you could patch it up?"

"I'll have a look at it for you. I'd better get what tools I have with me. They're with my lad."

He opened the front door of the cottage and I ran up to fetch Nessa, fastening her hair up tightly. I told her about the farmer, and found him waiting for us at the bottom of the stairs. He squinted so curiously at Nessa that I feared he suspected her sex.

"My name's Glocken," he said as we went to the car.

I didn't respond to the evident invitation. "Farmer are you?"

He nodded. "Got a couple. One here; the house is just over the hill yonder;" jerking a thumb in the direction; "and one out Lingen way."

"That's where we're padding it, ain't it, boss?" asked Nessa.

A nasty slip, but my fault, for I had not told her I had said I was going to Osnabrück. The farmer noticed it, of course. "Thought you spoke of a job at Osnabrück?" he said meaningly.

"Did I? Must have been half asleep, I suppose. It's Lingen we're bound for."

"No concern of mine. Here we are. Now let's see what you can do."

It was a curious composite; a cross between a touring car and a delivery van. The seats of the tonneau had been taken out to make room for goods, and there was a moveable arrangement for raising the sides at need. There were a few swedes and a tiny truss of hay in it, suggesting the use to which it was put; but there was something else which prompted very different thoughts.

"They've taken all my horses, so I have to fall back on this, to carry the fodder round," he said, noticing my curiosity.

I nodded and threw back the bonnet to find the trouble. It was a splendid engine, 40 h.p. but very dirty; and the dirt had caused the stoppage. Half an hour would put everything right; but I tinkered and fussed over it, as I wished to investigate what I had noticed in the tonneau.

The farmer watched me for a time; then talked to Nessa, who made great play with the Hans impersonation; and I found my chance. I was right. The farmer fed his cattle on very original diet; coffee, sugar, and cocoa seemed to be considerable ingredients, judging by the evidences I found under the swedes and hay. And his other farm was at Lingen! And Lingen was close to the Dutch frontier!

If circumstantial evidence went for anything, this meant that the chief use of the car was for smuggling, and that the agricultural produce was to pull the wool over the eyes of the curious.

I finished my work quickly, trying to see how to turn the knowledge to the best account. It looked like the chance of chances for us, for he might be the very man we wanted to find near the frontier.

"She'll do now, farmer," I called, and started the engine to prove it.

"You know your job, I see," he said, highly pleased, and gave me five marks, which I pocketed.

"She wants cleaning badly if you don't want to have her break down in running to and from that farm of yours at Lingen."

"No fear of that, is there?" he asked in concern.

"I wouldn't answer for her any time in the state she's in."

"Could you do the job for me?"

"Not now; but I may have a bit of spare time when I get to Lingen. I reckon you pack some weight into her at times, too. Groceries tot up, you know. Which is our road for Lingen?"

"What d'ye mean by groceries?"

I gave him a smile and a wink. "No concern of mine, farmer. I never talk about other men's business."

"I'll come along the lane and show you a short cut," he said and went off. "What are you two after?"

"Grub," exclaimed Nessa promptly. "Ain't had a bite since yesterday forenoon, 'cept some berries I picked to give my belly something to do." It was very naturally said, but a blunder, of course.

"Funny. You must have been off the track a lot," he said. "There's plenty of places everywhere. Which way did you come?"

"It's which way we've got to go, that matters now, farmer," said I.

"That's true, and here's the footpath. You strike me as the sort of man one could work with. Come and see me when you get to Lingen;" and he told me how to find the farm and offered his hand.

He let us get a few yards and then called me back. "It's no concern of mine, but that's a delicate youngster of yours; any one would more likely take him for a wench than a lad, when he's off guard. Anyhow, come and see me at Lingen;" and without waiting for my reply, he walked off.

"What did he want?" asked Nessa.

"Spotted you for a girl."

"Jack! He couldn't!" she protested indignantly.

"He did;" and I used the fact as a text to urge the change I had in my thoughts. She did kick at it, as was to be expected; but a little later we had a powerful practical proof of its necessity.

We turned into the first inn we came to for some breakfast, and I was talking to the woman of the house, a very kindly-looking motherly person, about it when there was a commotion outside. I ran out to find Nessa being rough-handled by a man who was trying to snatch her cap off. A word or two stopped any mischief, but it also drew the woman's attention very pointedly to Nessa.

"You can have your breakfast in my room, if you like," she said, and, when I thanked her, led the way to it, and closed the door and stood with her back to it. "You've taken your cap off, can't the lad do the same?" she asked very meaningly.

"Got a sore place on it, mum; 'fraid of a chill," said Nessa.

"I'm good at curing places of that sort, let me have a look at it."

"No, thank you, all the same, I don't take kindly to coddling," replied Nessa, colouring.

The woman smiled. "You do it very well, my girl, but I'm a woman myself and know my own sex," she replied drily. Then to me: "You're an honest man, I'll wager, by your looks. Hadn't you better tell me what it means?"

"She's my wife," I said. "She's English and——"

"Glory be to God!" she interposed excitedly, in English, with a strong brogue. "If I didn't guess it the instant I