Hydrofoil Mystery (19 page)

My thoughts turned to the door and then the stairs beyond. It would be just as impossible for me to get down without them groaning out a warning, a warning that
could be heard throughout the building. What if he had an accomplice still in the building, or the sound leaked out into the still night air?

What about the trellis? After the fires on the property I'd checked it out carefully to see if it could support me. It wasn't very strong, but it seemed secure enough to use in the event of an emergency, and this was an emergency.

I reached out and took hold of it. I shook it once—it seemed solidly anchored—and then climbed out. The thick foliage engulfed me and I was well hidden and felt safe. I reached with my left foot for the next foothold, stepped down and repeated the same procedure again and again until I stepped down onto the ground.

Anxiously I looked all around. No one had seen me, but now that I was out I realized there was no way I could still see the person who'd left before me. He'd disappeared into the darkness. I could stumble after him in the rough direction he'd headed, but there was no guarantee I'd find him, or that he wouldn't hear or see me coming first.

I had to think. Maybe I could wake up Casey and he'd help me … but help me do what, exactly? His room was on the third floor and there was no way to get him without risking waking the whole house. I didn't want to even attempt to explain any of this to Mr. Bell. Shoot! None of this mattered anyway. I'd forgotten, Casey had left this evening for Truro. He had to pick up some new equipment and wouldn't be back until late tomorrow or the next day. Maybe there was another way. You didn't need to follow somebody if you knew where they were going.

I started running across the meadow in a slightly different direction than that taken by the man. If I was right,
I knew his destination, and he'd taken a longer route to avoid being seen by anybody. I didn't care if I was seen, except by him and whoever he was going to meet. All I cared about was getting there before either he or the other man arrived, and taking up my position.

I
PUSHED MY BACK
against the blocks lining the back of the bench in the arbour and made sure my feet and knees were well out of sight, hidden by the seat. I didn't think I had anything to worry about; the shadows cast by the overhanging branches of the trees and bushes were even darker than the night sky. The blocks and ground felt cold right through my shirt and a shiver ran up my spine. I wasn't sure if it had anything to do with the cold, though.

There was no chance now of falling asleep. I felt more awake than I ever remembered being. I was still trying to control my breath. I was winded from my run, but I couldn't afford to have anybody hear me panting. I rubbed my right cheek. It was stinging badly from where I'd run headlong into a branch. I couldn't worry about that. I had two more important things to worry about: that they weren't going to meet here … and that they were. I wasn't sure which I feared more.

I heard a sound … again … maybe. This was the fourth time I'd thought I'd heard something. Each time it had only been my imagination, or maybe a small animal out looking for its supper. At least I didn't have to worry about Bruno the bear any more. The sound was getting louder. Too loud to be coming from inside my head. Somebody was coming along the path. I pictured polished leather boots against the gravel. Then there was
a whistle and my head jerked up in surprise, almost hitting the bottom of the seat. Within a few seconds an answering call came from the other direction and I knew which fear I was about to face: they were going to meet here again.

Within seconds of the second whistle I heard another set of footsteps coming toward me along the path. Louder and louder, closer and closer, until first one set of feet, the moonlight reflecting off the polished boots, and then the second pair stood directly in front of me. The two men began to talk. I could hear them, although they spoke in whispers, but couldn't understand the words. Once again they were speaking a foreign language. I didn't know for sure, but I thought it was German. That was just my mind playing tricks with me, though, because I didn't even really know what German sounded like.

They sat down on the bench. I allowed myself a silent smile. I knew I was invisible underneath their perch. Unfortunately if they couldn't see me I couldn't see them either, and I needed to know who they were. I perked my ears, hoping I would recognize the voice even if it was speaking a language I didn't understand.

As they continued to talk they seemed to be getting louder, and the tone became more tense, almost angry. Suddenly the man in the canvas shoes leapt to his feet.

“Why do you want to know that?” a voice called out in English. The voice was so familiar.

The answer was still in the foreign language.

“Just answer my question! Why do you want to know where Mr. Bell's bedroom is located?” he demanded.

I don't know what shocked me more, the question, or the realization that I did know the voice. It was Simon! He was one of the last people in the world I would have suspected.

The second voice responded again, and while the language was still foreign, the tone was unmistakable: anger.

“I need you to answer my question first. Why do you want to know where Mr. Bell's room is located?” Simon asked in a loud voice.

My God! What were they planning on doing?

“Be quiet!” the other man hissed back in a clipped English. He stood up, and now the two men stood directly in front of me. “Are you having a change of heart?”

“Please tell me,” Simon pleaded.

The other man laughed and it sent a chill through my body. It was an evil sound.

“We need to know how to find Mr. Bell's room because you have failed us. You have failed to destroy the hydrofoil.”

“I tried very hard, but—”

It was Simon all along! It was Simon who almost killed me!

“I do not wish to hear excuses. My superiors will not accept excuses or failures and neither will I. I did not bring my men all the way across the Atlantic Ocean to fail.”

His words struck me like a slap in the face. They were spies, and there were more than just one or two of them.

“Your bungling has caused them to put guards on the craft and it is now much more difficult to get to. That is
why we must find an easier target. Now tell me, in what part of the mansion does Mr. Bell sleep?”

“You can't mean to harm him, can you?” Simon asked. “It is of no concern to you.”

“But I have known the man for years and—”

“And you did not hesitate when it came to taking our money to set those fires and betray him!”

“That was different!”

“Different, hah! You betrayed him for a few dollars and now you have developed a conscience. Traitors are traitors!”

“I am not a traitor! I was doing it for my country! My mother was German!” Simon protested.

“A loyal German does not ask for money. Your loyalty was to your wallet. Now, for the last time, where in the mansion does Mr. Bell sleep?”

There was a long pause. I held my breath and waited. Ever so slightly I shifted myself. I still couldn't see their faces but I could see almost all of their bodies.

“And if I don't tell you?” Simon asked.

“It makes our job only slightly more difficult. We will be going into the house tonight and finding him, with or without your help. And when we do …” He let the sentence fade away into silence.

“I won't let you!” Simon said loudly. “I'll alert the authorities!”

“The operation will be underway in a matter of minutes. No one can be summoned in time to save Mr. Bell. All you would be doing is signing your own death warrant. They hang spies and traitors, or didn't you know?” He laughed again. It was like this was just a game, and he seemed to be enjoying it.

“I do not believe you have the courage to go to the authorities. But I cannot take chances. Here is the final payment you so richly deserve!”

He leaped forward and the light flashed off something in his hand which streaked toward Simon. Simon cried out in pain and every hair on my body stood on end. He collapsed in a pile onto the gravel right in front of my face, so close a cloud of dust swirled under the bench. I forced one of my hands over my mouth to stifle a gasp. Simon was lying on the ground, right in front of me, his head only a few inches from mine. He looked at me and his eyes widened in surprise. He'd seen me! His mouth curled in a smile, and a soft chuckle seemed to escape. Then his whole body shuddered, he took a deep breath, and he closed his eyes.

A shiny boot rolled him forward until he was partway under the bench. The man offered a few more words, words I couldn't understand, and then started walking away. I heard his footfalls recede down the path until I knew I was all alone. All alone except for Simon.

Chapter Eighteen

“S
IMON,” I CALLED OUT SOFTLY
.

There was no answer. I didn't really expect there to be one.

“Simon …”

He didn't answer or move, and I strained my ears to try to hear breathing. There was nothing.

“Are you all right?” Of course he wasn't all right. The question was whether he was even alive. But somehow the sound of my voice seemed to calm me.

“I have to get up, so I'm going to have to squeeze by you.”

The only thing less likely than Simon answering was me getting through the little space between him and the top of the bench.

“I'm just going to move you a little.”

I put my hand against his chest and gently pushed against him. He didn't budge. I drew up my other hand and with both shoved him hard. He rolled over, freeing me from the bench. As I drew myself up I realized my hands were all sticky and ... they were covered in blood! His chest was covered in blood! I leaped backwards, practically tripping over the bench, furiously rubbing my hands against my shirt. Somehow his death seemed
much more awful now that I had seen, and felt, the bloodleaking out of his body. I felt a rush of nausea, started to gag, doubled over and threw up into the bushes behind the bench. Then I stumbled forward and almost tripped over Simon. I gagged a second time, heaved, but nothing came out. My head was reeling. I had to sit down, but I couldn't do it there, with Simon bleeding at my feet.

I staggered down the path, pushed out through some bushes and collapsed on the grass of the meadow. The grass, wet with the dew, felt cool and refreshing against my head, and my stomach settled back down into my body. I took a deep breath … and then another … and then a third. I felt better with each breath. I sat up. I knew I didn't have time to sit there any longer.

I had two choices: run to the boathouse and get the soldiers to come back to the house with me to protect Mr. Bell, or go to the house directly by myself and get him and everybody out before the spies arrived. The man in the boots had a head start on me, but I knew the grounds, and even on shaky legs I was sure I could move faster than him. As well, I figured he had to go and meet up with the others who were probably waiting by the shore in a boat.

My first impulse was to go to the boathouse and get the guards. But then I realized that even if I did tell them what was happening there was no guarantee they'd believe me or come with me to the house. They might just figure I was trying to make them abandon their post, the way the guards had before to see the fire at Sheepville, and they might refuse to go, or even worse, they might
stop me from leaving. I couldn't take the chance. I stood up and set out for the main house.

I
PUSHED OPEN THE BACK DOOR
. The whole house was sleeping in silent darkness. I felt my way around the kitchen. I couldn't turn on any lights. I didn't know how close they were, but even from a distance they'd be able to see the lights, and I couldn't risk it.

“Ouch!” I cried out as I stubbed my toe on something. I grabbed my foot and hopped around the room.

A light flashed on and I brought my hands quickly up to my face to block my eyes.

“William, what are you doing in here in the middle of the night? Couldn't you wait until morning to get a snack?” Mrs. McCauley-Brown asked as she stood sleepily in the doorway. “And what is that all over your shirt?”

I lunged across the door and flicked the light switch off. “William, what in the name of goodness—”

“We can't turn on the lights. You have to listen to me.

There are men, I don't know how many, but they're going to come in here and do something to Mr. Bell!”

“William, slow down, slow down!”

“There isn't time! They're coming to get Mr. Bell!” “Who's coming to get him?”

“Spies, German secret agents!”

“Oh, William, you must be dreaming! This is nonsense, now wake up and—”

I grabbed her by roughly by the collar of her nightgown. “This is no dream, it's a nightmare, and if we don't hurry nobody is going to wake up. Those stains on my
shirt are blood … Simon's blood … he's dead, and Mr. Bell is next.”

A strange gurgling sound came out of her mouth but no words.

“We have to get Mr. Bell, and everybody else, out of the house. How many people are here tonight?”

“Um … um …” she stammered.

“How many? How many?” I demanded.

“There's Mr. Bell and Mrs. Bell … and … Casey …” “Casey's gone away!”

“Oh, yes, that's right. There's nobody else here tonight.

Everybody's—”

Her words were stopped by the sound of a door being shoved open and feet hitting the wooden floor of the front hallway.

“Go around the back and get Mr. and Mrs. Bell and get them out through the window. I'll hold them off.”

“But, how can you—”

“Never mind, just go,” I whispered, and I pushed her toward the back way to the Bells' bedroom by the sunroom.