As soon as he had done so he hurried on, feverishly, taking a course that, while longer than necessary, was essential since he dared not go near Bray Park.  He realized thoroughly how much depended on his promptness.  It was essential that Colonel Throckmorton should learn of the wireless station, which was undoubtedly powerful enough to send its waves far out to sea, even if not to the German coast itself.

And there was Harry.  The only chance of rescue for him lay in what Dick might do.  That thought urged him on even more than the necessity of imparting what they had learned.

So, scouting as he went, least he encounter some prowling party from Bray Park silently looking for him, he went on hastily.  He was almost as anxious to avoid the village as the spy headquarters, for he knew that in such places strangers might be regarded with suspicion even in times of peace.  And, while the war fever had not seemed to be in evidence that afternoon, he knew that it might have broken out virulently in the interval.  He had heard the stories of spy baiting in other parts of the country; how, in some localities, scores of absolutely innocent tourists had been arrested and searched.  So he felt he must avoid his friends as well as his enemies until he had means of proving his identity.

Delaying as he was by his roundabout course, it took him nearly an hour to come to scenes that were familiar.  But then he knew that he had found himself, with the aid of the stars.  Familiar places that he had marked when they made the cache appeared, and soon he reached it.  But it was empty; motorcycles and papers —­ all were gone!

CHAPTER VIII

A FRIEND IN NEED

“As long as I can’t be at home, I’d rather be here than anywhere in the world I can think of!”

Was it little more than a week, thought Harry Fleming, since he had uttered those words so lightly?  Was it just a week since Grenfel, his English scoutmaster, had bidden the boys of his troop goodbye?  Was it just two days since father and mother had been so suddenly recalled to the States?  Was it just that very morning that he and his good chum Dick Mercer had been detailed on this mission which had led to the discovery of the secret heliographs so busily sending messages to the enemy across the North Sea?  Was it just a few hours since the two Scouts, hot on the trail, had cached papers and motorcycles and started the closer exploration of that mysterious estate outside the sleepy English village, leased, so the village gossip had it, by a rich American who eccentrically denied himself to all comers and zealously guarded the privacy of his grounds?

Was it just a few moments since he had urged, even commanded, Dick Mercer to leave him, caught in a trap set for just such trespassers as they?  Had he urged his chum to leave him in his agony, for the ankle was badly wrenched, and seek safety in flight?  The terrible pain in his ankle and the agonizing fear both for himself and his chum made moments seem like hours and the happenings of these same moments appear as an awful dream.