Kenneth regained his feet.
"Let's shift," he said.
"Where?"
"Anywhere. Be steady; mind where you tread, and look out for brick-bats falling on your head."
The caution was well needed. Stumbling over the mass of shattered brickwork, the lads passed through the jagged gap and gained an open space to the rear of a long range of storehouses. Even as they did so another bomb exploded, this time some distance off, though the concussion was sufficient to complete the destruction of the room in which they had been but a few moments previously.
Not only in the square but all over the town a state of panic existed. The terrified horses stampeded; the German troops, temporarily thrown into disorder, ran for shelter; while those of the civil population who did not take refuge in their cellars poured out into the streets and fled towards the open country.
"Rollo, old man, let's make a dash for it."
The idea of taking advantage of the air raid in order to effect their escape had not until that moment entered Kenneth's head. Both he and Rollo, temporarily dazed by the explosion, had thought only of getting clear of the subsiding building.
Everything was in their favour. Scaling a low brick wall, they found themselves in the company of about forty panic-stricken inhabitants. In the confusion no one noticed the two hatless lads, for before they had gone fifty yards they ran past a squad of German troops, who, under the threats of their officers, were engaged in coupling up a hose to play upon a fire kindled by the explosion of one of the destructive missiles.
"Keep with the crowd," advised Rollo. "We're safe enough. The monoplane has made off by this time."
The street emerged into a wide thoroughfare, where the throng of people was greatly increased; but after a while, finding that there were no more detonations, the crowd began to thin, many of the townsfolk returning to their homes. A few, however, numbering perhaps forty, unable to control their fear, ran blindly towards the open country, and with them went the two British lads.
"It's about time we struck a line for ourselves," whispered Kenneth.
"Not yet; we'll stick to the main road," said his companion. "These people know their way; we don't, and it's no fun blundering across ditches and marshy fields on a night like this. I wish we had our coats."
"Being without them is an inducement to keep on the move," remarked Everest. "If we have to stand about or hide anywhere it will be a numbing business. The question is, what's our plan?"
"Keep as far as possible in a northerly or northwesterly direction after we find ourselves alone. That ought to land us in Dutch territory before morning. It's only a matter of twenty miles."
"And if we are held up?"
"Then we must hide during the day. It wouldn't be worth a dog's chance to fall in with any Germans."
The lads had been conversing in French, lest their whispers should be overheard by the hurrying crowd. Amongst that number of Belgians there might be a spy, and the incautious use of English would be fatal to the enterprise. But before two miles had been traversed the two British lads were alone. The rest of the crowd, finding that the explosions had entirely ceased, had either retraced their steps or had awaited possible developments.
Taking their direction by means of the position of the North Star, for the night was now quite cloudless, the fugitives pushed on. They had no fear of pursuit, since, by the demolition of their place of detention, the German authorities were bound to come to the conclusion that their prisoners had been buried under the ruins.
It was too hazardous to attempt to follow the road farther. From their local knowledge the lads knew that it led to Julimont and Visé, and that the valley of the Meuse, especially on the Dutch frontier, would be strictly guarded.
"Railway ahead!" whispered Kenneth.
Outlined against the starry sky was a low embankment, fringed with the characteristic telegraph poles of the Belgian state railways. Directly in their path was a culvert, on the top of which were the silhouetted figures of three greatcoated soldiers. On the other side of the embankment a fire was burning brightly, its glare alone betraying its position.
The fugitives promptly retraced their steps for nearly two hundred yards, then striking off at right angles kept parallel to, and at a fairly safe distance from, the railway line.
"We'll have to cross that line," whispered Kenneth. "It runs between Liége and Aix, I believe."
"Let's hope the whole extent of it isn't guarded."
"Only the bridge and culverts; but you can take it for granted that they patrol between the various posts of sentries. Carry on, old man; another half a mile and we'll try again."
A short distance farther the fugitives encountered the main road from Liége to the German town of Aix-la-Chapelle. It was quite deserted, but beyond it they had to turn slightly to the right to avoid the railway, which ran in a north-easterly direction.
"Why not have a shot at it?" asked Kenneth.
"Not yet. It will run in a northerly direction again. I noticed that in the map. We must cross, if possible, somewhere to the south of Aubel. It is still early in the evening. The nearer midnight we make the attempt the better."
It was now bitterly cold. A hard frost made the ground like iron. Since it was too hazardous to proceed at a rapid pace, the lads felt the piercing air accordingly. With their shoulders hunched and their ungloved hands thrust deeply into their pockets, they kept on, shivering in spite of the fact that in the excitement of regaining their liberty—temporarily, at any rate—their nerves were a-tingle and the blood surged rapidly through their veins.
"What's that ahead?" whispered Kenneth. "Men?"
The lads peered through the darkness. Fifty yards ahead were several upright objects at regular intervals, looking exactly like an extended line of soldiers.
"Germans!" whispered Rollo. "Lie down."
They threw themselves upon the frozen ground and kept the objects under observation. Before long the effect of their recumbent positions in contact with the earth became painful. Rollo got to his knees.
"I'll go a little nearer," he whispered. "You stay here. They don't seem to be moving."
"I'll come too," whispered Kenneth in reply.
"No, you don't. One might escape notice where two might not. I'll be very cautious."
Kenneth remained. He could just discern the form of his chum as he slowly and carefully approached the line of mysterious objects. Presently he saw Rollo regain his feet and walk towards him.
"It's all right," announced Harrington. "They are a row of alders."
His companion arose, slowly and stiffly. He had to swing his arms vigorously for some minutes to warm his chilled body.
"Let's get on," he said.
"Getting on" was not an easy matter, for upon arriving at the row of trees the lads found that they lined the bank of a sluggish stream, too broad to leap across and too deep to wade. Already thin ice had formed upon its surface. Swimming under these conditions might be performed, but the undertaking required a lot of pluck on a night like this. Furthermore, there was the after-effect to take into consideration.
"Now, what's to be done?" asked Kenneth. For once, at least, he realized that his impetuosity failed him, and that he must rely upon the calmer, deliberate, and perhaps over-cautious counsels of his chum.
"Cross dry-shod," replied Rollo. "We must follow the bank up-stream until we find a means of crossing. Not a recognized bridge—that would almost to a certainty be guarded—but a plank thrown across for the use of some farmer. It's no use wasting time here."
He stopped suddenly. From behind the shelter of one of the trees a tall, dark figure advanced swiftly and unhesitatingly.
The fugitives' first impulse was to take to their heels, but before they had recovered sufficiently from their surprise a voice exclaimed:
"What cheer, mates! What might you be doing here?"
Arrested by the sound of an unmistakable English voice, the lads held their ground. Kenneth, with studious politeness, said: "We are pleased to make your acquaintance," and then felt inclined, in spite of his physical discomforts, to laugh at the absurdity of his remark.
The man held out his hand. Kenneth grabbed it cordially. As he did so he noticed that the stranger was dressed almost in rags. He wore a battered slouch hat, a cloak that reached to his knees, and trousers so short in the leg that there was a gap between the foot of them and his grey socks. On his feet he wore a pair of sabots.
"What might you be doing here?" he repeated.
"Trying to regain our regiment," replied Rollo.
"Same here. What's yours?"
"The 9th Regiment of the Line."
The man glanced suspiciously at his informant.
"Never heard of it," he declared. "Mine's the Northumberland Fusiliers—'Quo Fata Vocant' is our motto, and strikes me Fate has led me a pretty dance. The 9th Regiment of the Line?"
"Of the Belgian army," explained Kenneth, for the man's declaration sounded like a challenge. "We're British volunteer dispatch-riders—corporals."
"Same here; I'm a corporal, unless I'm officially dead. But that's neither here nor there. Question is, where am I?"
"In Belgium, not so very far from Liége."
"That's a blessing. It's a relief to know I'm not on rotten German soil. But it's a long, long way to Tipperary."
"What do you mean?" asked Kenneth in astonishment.
The Northumberland Fusilier also betrayed surprise.
"You've not heard that song? Well, where have you been to? But let's be on the move. It's cold enough, in all conscience, without standing still to be frozen. Where are you making for?"
"The Dutch frontier—it's only about five or six miles off," replied Rollo.
"Not this child," declared the man vehemently. "So we part company, chums."
"Why?" asked Kenneth.
"I'm trying to rejoin my regiment. As for being interned in Holland, I'm not having any."
"You won't be interned; you're in mufti. Have you any idea how far you'll have to tramp? Across Belgium and a part of France—every mile of the way held by the enemy. Where are the British now?"
"Pushing the Germans back from Paris, chum; that's what they were doing when I got copped."
"We were told that the British army was annihilated."
"Some rotten German yarn," exclaimed the corporal contemptuously. "Take it from me, as one who knows, the Germans have bitten off more than they can chew. But is that right that the Dutchmen won't keep us till the end of the war?"
"Certainly, provided you are not in uniform."
"That settles it, then," declared the man. "By the right—slow march. There's a plank bridge a little way farther up-stream."
This obstacle having been surmounted, the three fugitives made in a northerly direction. Only once in half an hour did the Northumberland Fusilier break the silence.
"Got any tommy?" he asked. "Any grub?"
"Not a crumb."
"Rough luck! I haven't had a bite for sixteen hours or more, and my belt's in the last notch."
"How far have you come?" asked Rollo.
"Goodness only knows. Aching's the name of the show."
"Aching?" repeated Kenneth in perplexity.
"Yes, Aching," replied the man vehemently. "A fitting name, too. A-a-c-h-e-n, it's spelt, so there!"
The lads understood. He had spelt the German name for the town of Aix-la-Chapelle. His progress, then, had been very slow—sixteen hours to cover about twelve miles.
"That's Aubel," whispered Kenneth, pointing to a group of houses showing up against the sky. "We must cross the line here."
A hurried consultation followed, in which it was decided that Kenneth should take the lead, the others following at twenty paces interval.
As they approached the line of telegraph posts Kenneth made his way ahead and dropped on his hands and knees. In this position he covered the hundred yards that separated him from the railway. He listened. There was no mistaking the sound he heard. The noise of heavily-nailed boots treading slowly upon the frosty permanent-way was drawing nearer.
The lad crawled back to his chum, and both threw themselves flat upon the ground. The Northumberland man did likewise.
Presently two greatcoated figures came into view; German soldiers with rifles on their shoulders. The pale light glinted on the fixed bayonets. When opposite the spot where the fugitives were hiding, the guards stopped, grounded their weapons, and swung their arms. In spite of their heavy coats they were chilled to the bone.
The Germans showed no haste in proceeding on their patrol. To the shivering Englishmen it seemed as if they were deliberately prolonging their stay.
In spite of his frantic efforts the Northumberland Fusilier gave vent to a half-smothered cough. Almost simultaneously the Germans recovered their arms and fired in the direction of the hiding trio.
Suppressing an insane desire to break away and run for dear life, the three lay still. If the patrol had heard any suspicious sound they did not act further upon it, for after a few more minutes they sloped arms and tramped stolidly in the direction of Aubel.
Once again Kenneth crawled towards the railway. The way was now clear. Without being challenged he crossed the rails, and dropped down the embankment beyond. Here he was speedily joined by his companions.
A little later, to their consternation, clouds began to gather. It was no longer possible to follow a course by the stars. It became darker, and prominent objects could not be distinguished. All around there were untilled fields, as like each other as peas in a pod.
Half an hour's wandering convinced the fugitives that they were hopelessly out of their bearings, for the wind had fallen utterly, and even that means of keeping a rough course failed them.
"Ten to one we're walking in a big circle," declared Rollo. "The best thing we can do is to slow down till dawn."
"Another seven hours," objected the Fusilier. "We'll be dead with cold by that time. Let's step out and trust to luck."
"There's a barn or something, right ahead," announced Kenneth after they had traversed two fields. "I vote we make for that and take shelter."
The building was a detached one. Closer investigation showed that it was deserted. The door had been wrenched from its hinges and lay about five yards from the wall. In one angle of the brickwork was a gaping hole. The walls had been loopholed for rifle-fire, but the thatched roof was practically intact.
"Steady!" cautioned the British corporal. "There might be somebody inside."
He led the way, shuffling noiselessly with his feet and holding his arm in a position of defence. Having completed a tour of the interior, he announced that it was safe to enter.
The floor was dry, but destitute of hay or straw. Taking off his peasant's cloak the corporal spread it upon the ground, and on it the three huddled together for mutual warmth. Already Kenneth and Rollo were weak with hunger, cold, and fatigue. Their companion's chief regret was that he had no tobacco. Hunger, although severe, was with him a secondary consideration.
In this position they remained in a semi-dazed condition until the Northumberland man announced that dawn was breaking.
With difficulty regaining their feet, the two lads moved their cramped limbs till they were conscious of the sense of touch. Then out into the bitterly cold air they went.
"That's our course," said the corporal. "This time of year the sun rises in the north-east, so this is about north."
"Then it's exactly the opposite direction to which we were going last night," remarked Rollo. "You can tell that by the position of the barn."
"Yes, we must have been circling," agreed Kenneth. "We may yet be miles from the frontier."
On and on they trudged, guided by the gleam of light that was gradually growing in intensity. Detached farm-houses were now visible, affording landmarks which, although serviceable, had to be avoided.
"I'd do a burglaring job without a moment's hesitation," declared the corporal, "only it's too jolly risky. Liberty isn't worth chucking away for the sake of a chunk of bread; at least, I don't think so. Yet dozens of Germans have given themselves up to our chaps because they felt a bit hungry."
His companions agreed, but half-heartedly. Hunger, the ally of despair, was pressing them hard. They missed the plain but substantial meals that their captors had provided them with at Verviers.
Suddenly, from behind them, came a hoarse shout.
Turning, the three fugitives saw, to their consternation, that about a dozen German soldiers were following them and were now about four hundred yards behind.
"Cut for it!" exclaimed the corporal.
They broke into a steady run. The action was a relief after hours of slow trudging and sleepless, comfortless rest. Their pursuers also increased their pace, shouting for them to stop.
"We're holding our own," exclaimed Kenneth after a while.
"Can't keep it up, though," panted the corporal, who, to give himself greater freedom, had discarded his cloak. "But why don't the beggars fire?"
It seemed remarkable that their pursuers made no attempt to use their rifles. Some had already given up the chase, but others held on, streaming out into an irregular procession.
Ahead was a broad ditch. Kenneth, who was leading, braced himself to plunge through the coating of ice, but instead his feet slipped and he rolled sideways to the farthermost bank. His companions crossed more easily, for owing to the severe frost the water was covered with two inches of ice.
Rollo and the corporal assisted Everest to his feet. He was unhurt, but wellnigh breathless. During this episode the leading Germans were within fifty yards of them; but unaccountably they slackened their pace, stopping at the edge of the frozen ditch and shouting frantically at the fugitives.
"That's done it!" exclaimed the Fusilier.
In extended order a number of soldiers, some mounted, emerged from the shelter of a row of trees on the opposite side of the field, and stood waiting to receive the exhausted Englishmen. Escape was impossible. There was no cover either to the right or the left. Behind them were their pursuers; in front the troops, including cavalry.
"We've had a run for our money," remarked the corporal, as he raised his arms above his head in token of surrender. His companions noticed that, in spite of his dejection, the man never blamed them for suggesting a course that ended in recapture.
The Germans behind them still made no further attempt to advance. They stood in a row at the edge of the ditch, bawling unintelligibly.
"Hurrah!" suddenly shouted Kenneth.
His companions looked at him in amazement.
"We're all right," he continued. "We've crossed the frontier. These fellows are Dutch soldiers."
The detention of Rollo Barrington and Kenneth Everest on Dutch soil was of comparatively short duration. Well before the end of September they were allowed to recross the frontier within a few miles of the strong fortress of Antwerp.
The Northumberland Fusilier—his companions in peril never learnt his name—did not accompany them. At the first available opportunity he got into communication with a British Consul, and, through that official's instrumentality, was sent back to England. Here he reported himself at the nearest regimental depot, and, greatly to his satisfaction, was again sent across the Channel to rejoin his comrades-in-arms.
Upon gaining Dutch territory, almost the first act of Kenneth and Rollo was to communicate the news of their safety to their anxious parents, at the same time stating their intention of proceeding to Antwerp to continue their work as dispatch-riders to the Belgian forces.
Upon arriving at the great Belgian fortress the lads found, to their huge satisfaction, that the 9th Regiment of the Line—or rather the remains of it—formed part of the garrison, their duty being to man the trenches between Fort de Wavre Ste Catherine and Fort de Waelhem—posts that, owing to their strategical position, seemed likely to bear the brunt of the threatened German attack.
"Dieu soit loué!" exclaimed Major Planchenoît. He was captain no longer, having gained well-merited promotion. "It is messieurs the English dispatch-riders. What has befallen you?"
As briefly as possible Kenneth related their adventures from the time of their ill-starred ride to Cortenaeken.
"And now we wish to report ourselves again for duty, sir," concluded Everest. "Ought we to see Major Résimont?"
Major Planchenoît shook his head sadly.
"My gallant comrade, alas! has been severely wounded. There is, however, one consolation; he is safe in England, enjoying the hospitality of your incomparable fellow-countrymen. If we had not an assured refuge in England, where would we be? But, messieurs, it will be necessary to provide you with uniforms and equipment. I will give you an order for the Quartermaster. When you are fitted out, report yourselves at the divisional staff office."
Obtaining new uniforms was out of the question: there were none to be had. So, in place of their motor-cyclists' kit, the lads had to be content with second-hand infantryman's uniform—heavy blue coat, loose trousers tucked into black-leather gaiters, and a blue, peakless cap similar to the British "pill-box" of half a century ago, but worn squarely on the head instead of being perched at a rakish angle. To render their head-gear more conspicuous it was adorned by a band of dark-red cloth.
The Quartermaster was deeply apologetic.
"But, after all, messieurs," he added, "a uniform is a uniform all the world over. It entitles, or should entitle, its wearer to the courtesies of war."
The lads agreed on this point, although they realized that the heavy clothing was not at all suitable for dispatch-riding, where agility on the part of the cyclist and a near approach of invisibility in the matter of his uniform were essential conditions to efficiency.
Nor were revolvers served out to them. Instead, they were given Mauser rifles and short bayonets, the ammunition for the former being kept loosely in two large black-leather pouches attached to the belt.
"As regards your motor-cycles," continued the Quartermaster, "you may choose for yourselves. Believe me, we have a large and varied assortment."
As soon as Kenneth and Rollo had donned their cumbersome uniforms and equipment they were handed over to the care of a sergeant, who was told to escort them to the store where the reserve motor-transport vehicles were kept. This building, formerly a brewery, stood at a distance of two miles from the advanced line of trenches, and on the banks of the River Nethe.
In the brewery yard were nearly two hundred motor-cars and lorries arranged in various grades of efficiency; while in the cellars were rows and rows of motor-cycles and ordinary bicycles in all sorts of conditions.
"Voilà, messieurs!" exclaimed the sergeant with a comprehensive wave of the hand.
In spite of the fact that the lads were but corporals the sergeant invariably addressed them as "messieurs". From the staff officers downwards, all with whom the British lads came in contact paid this courteous tribute to their devotion to Belgium's cause.
Kenneth and Rollo were some time making their selection. They realized that their lives might depend upon the reliability of their mounts. Finally they decided upon two motor-cycles of British make, very similar to their own, although of an earlier pattern. Examination showed that the tyres were in excellent condition, and that with a slight overhauling the machines ought to prove most serviceable.
There was petrol in abundance, more than was likely to be required during the impending operations around Antwerp. Having filled up the tanks of their motor-cycles, the lads started back to the lines, the sergeant being perched upon the carrier of Rollo's mount.
The English lads were warmly welcomed by their new comrades of the motor section. Not one of the Belgian dispatch-riders who had taken part in the operations between Liége and Brussels was left. All of them had either been killed or wounded in the execution of their duty. Of the seven motor-cyclists now serving, one was in civil life an advocate, two were diamond merchants, a fourth a professor of languages, and the others railway mechanics. Yet, in spite of the great variations of social grades, the men were excellent comrades, united by a common cause.
There were twenty ordinary cyclists as well, while the section also manned an armoured motor-car mounting a machine-gun. This travelling fortress had already gained a reputation as a hard nut for the Germans to crack. Up to the present they had not succeeded, while the machine-gun had accounted for several of the invaders.
Kenneth and Rollo were not allowed to be idle. Eager to get to work again, they were taken in hand by a captain, who by the aid of a map pointed out the position of the various forts forming the outer and inner lines of defences. The lads had also to memorize the principal roads of communication between the city and the advanced works, as well as the chief thoroughfares and public buildings of Antwerp itself. Until they had a fair topographical knowledge they could be of little use as dispatch-riders, but, owing to the comparatively narrow limits of the Belgian forces, this information could be mastered after a brief concentrated effort.
Major Planchenoît took good care to put the rejoined dispatch-riders to a practical test. Although glad of the help of the two British subjects, he was not an officer likely to employ them on important work until they knew the locality. Of their courage and sagacity he already had proof, but these qualifications were almost of a negligible quantity unless they knew the "lay of the land".
Next morning the lads had their instructions.
"You will proceed with the dispatch to the officer commanding the outpost at Lierre," ordered Major Planchenoît. "This done, go on to Vremde. There you will find a detachment of the regiment. This packet is for the company officer. This done, proceed to the city, seek Commandant Fleurus, and deliver this dispatch. Await further instructions from him, and report to me."
Kenneth and Rollo saluted, and hastened to the shed where their motor-cycles were stored. As they were giving them a final overhaul, Private Labori—formerly a diamond merchant and now a dispatch-rider—hailed them.
"Are you going into the city, camarades? You are? Good! Bring me some cigars, and I will be eternally indebted to you. I smoked my last yesterday, and without cigars I am as a man doomed to perdition. Of your charity, camarades, do me this favour."
Private Labori pressed a ten-franc piece into Kenneth's hand, and with a hurried expression of gratitude returned to his task of peeling potatoes for the midday meal.
"He's taken it for granted that we get the cigars," remarked Kenneth. "I suppose it would not be a breach of discipline to get them."
"Almost like old times," declared Rollo, as the riders sped side by side over the tree-lined road. "Pity we haven't our own motor-bikes, though."
He spoke with the same sort of affection as the huntsman has for his favourite horse, but Kenneth was more practical and unimaginative.
"We're lucky to be riding at all," he said. "After all, this jigger gets along pretty well. We're doing a good twenty-five."
The three dispatches were delivered in quick time. Commandant Fleurus greeted the lads warmly, and questioned them at great length on the subject of their adventures.
"It is not possible to give you a reply at once," he said at the close of the interview. "Come back at three o'clock, and the dispatch for Major Planchenoît will be handed you. Meanwhile it will not be necessary for you to return to Wavre Ste Catherine. You are at liberty to amuse yourselves until the hour named."
"Jolly considerate of him," remarked Kenneth after the lads had withdrawn from the Commandant's presence. "We'll put up the bikes and have a stroll round. It wouldn't be half a bad idea to call at the post office. There may be something for us, but we had better not reckon too much on it."
They were not disappointed, for on making application at the post office they were each handed quite a bulky packet of correspondence. There were letters from their respective parents and relatives, and a number from old school chums. These had been written when a part of their adventures in Belgium had been related by their proud parents to the head of St. Cyprian's. He, in turn, had passed on the news to the rest of the school, and the result was a swarm of congratulatory letters, sent to Mr. Everest and Colonel Harrington, who, upon receiving news of their sons' safety, had promptly forwarded the batch of correspondence.
"By Jove!" exclaimed Kenneth, "the pater's written to say that Thelma is a nurse in one of the hospitals here—St. Nicholas is the name. He wants me to keep an eye on her, so to speak, and pack her off to England if there's danger of the city being taken by the enemy."
"Let's find out where St. Nicholas Hospital is, and go there at once," suggested Rollo. "Only I hope we'll have better luck than when we tried to see your sister at Madame de la Barre's."
"We do look like a couple of brigands," said Kenneth as they hurried through the crowded streets; for their uniforms were far from being smart, while their rifles slung across their backs gave them a truly ferocious appearance.
"Think so?" asked Rollo with considerable misgivings. "Then I think I'll wait outside, if you don't mind."
"Nonsense, man," rejoined his companion heartily. "We're like the rest of the troops. It's an honour to wear a Belgian uniform, after what these fellows have done to delay the German advance and to upset the Kaiser's time-table. Only I'll bet that Thelma doesn't know me."
Kenneth was wrong in his surmise, for on calling at the hospital, Thelma happened to be passing through the hall. She recognized her brother at once, but he hardly knew the tall, graceful girl in the neat and becoming nurse's uniform as his sister.
"So you are my brother's chum," she remarked quite unaffectedly when Kenneth had introduced the bashful Rollo. "I've heard a lot about you from Kenneth when you were at St. Cyprian's, you know. And now you are soldiers fighting for brave little Belgium."
"And what are you doing here?" asked Kenneth with a display of fraternal authority. "There are at least three British hospitals in Antwerp, I believe. I wonder why you didn't join one of these."
"I wonder why you didn't join the British army instead of enlisting in the Belgian one," retorted Thelma in mock reproof.
"For one thing, we weren't old enough," explained her brother. "For another, we saw most of the fun before our troops landed in France. It's been a rotten time, but it's well worth it."
"Yes, I am glad you were able to do your bit," agreed Thelma. "And now I'll tell you why I'm here. My friend Yvonne Résimont and I both entered as nurses, so as to be together."
"Yvonne Résimont here?" asked Kenneth.
"Yes—do you know her?"
"No; but I might have done, had Madame de la Barre not been so confoundedly pigheaded. But it's not too late now," he added.
Thelma laughed.
"I'll find her," she said.
"One moment," exclaimed Rollo, who had hitherto held his tongue but had made good use of his eyes. "Does Mademoiselle Résimont know about her father?"
"No; she has not heard anything of or from him for weeks. He is not dead?"
"Badly wounded, and now somewhere in England. I don't know where; but perhaps Major Planchenoît could give further particulars. And Madame Résimont?"
"She is in Holland—at Bergen-op-Zoom. The doctors ordered her to go, otherwise she would have remained here and helped with the wounded. I'll find Yvonne."
In less than a minute Thelma Everest returned, accompanied by her Belgian chum.
Yvonne Résimont was a girl of medium height and well-proportioned. Her features were dark and clear, her hair of a deep brown. Notwithstanding the grimness of her surroundings she had a natural vivacity that could not fail to charm all with whom she came in contact.
"You, then, are Kenneth," she exclaimed in good English, with a slight foreign accent. "I know much about you from Thelma, but I did not expect to see you in the uniform of our brave Belgians."
Kenneth coloured slightly.
"I wish to goodness the uniform were a little better fitting," he thought; but it would not have mattered in the slightest degree. Yvonne was a patriot to her finger-tips. Every man in the uniform of her beloved country was to her a hero. The uniform, ill-fitting or otherwise, was in her eyes an emblem of right against might.
"Tell me, Kenneth," she continued, using his Christian name quite as a matter of course. It was excusable, since Thelma had never spoken of her brother by any other name, and Kenneth had not the faintest objection. "Tell me, how came you to be fighting with us in Belgian uniform?"
"Time, old man," announced Rollo, for during the animated conversation the minutes fled with astonishing rapidity. "It's nearly three o'clock."
"You'll both come to see us again whenever you have the chance, won't you?" asked Thelma, as the two chums bade the girls farewell. "For the next ten days we are on night duty, so you can call at any hour between eight and eight."
"And if we are asleep," added Yvonne, "tell them to awaken us. I will not be cross at being disturbed, and I do not think Thelma will be."
"Ripping girl, your sister, old man," remarked Rollo enthusiastically, as the twain hurried towards the staff office.
"Is she?" asked Kenneth absent-mindedly. He was thinking deeply of someone else.
"We've a few minutes to spare," observed Kenneth, "so I'll get those cigars for Private Labori. There's a swagger shop just across the road."
In spite of the threatened bombardment of Antwerp the population was calm. It was a case of "business as usual". The cafés and shops were doing a good trade; the price of provisions, notwithstanding the great influx of refugees, was but a little above the normal. Were it not for the military element in the street, and the occasional visit of a Zeppelin or hostile aeroplane, it would have been difficult to realize that the city was almost within range of the German siege guns, and that day by day those guns were slowly yet steadily advancing.
Kenneth entered the tobacconist's first. As he did so he momentarily forgot that he carried his rifle across his back. In passing through the narrow doorway the muzzle of the weapon struck the plate-glass window of the porch and cracked it.
Alarmed by the crash the shopkeeper rushed out, but before Kenneth could offer any apologies the man gave a howl of terror.
"Mercy, monsieur Englishman!" he exclaimed. "Indeed I could not help it. Von Koenik compelled me to disclose your name."
Kenneth, ever quick-witted, grasped the situation instantly. The tobacconist was none other than the spy who, under the name of Jules de la Paix, kept a similar establishment at Brussels. There his dirty work had been completed; at Antwerp it was just beginning.
The fellow had also recognized Kenneth as the Englishman he had basely denounced to his paymasters, the Germans. Seeing him in uniform and armed, with a fully-accoutred companion, the spy jumped at the hasty and erroneous conclusion that Kenneth had discovered his duplicity and had come to arrest him.
His panic at seeing the man whom he supposed to be dead amounted to a superstitious terror. Hardly knowing what he said, he let fall the damning admission that he was at least partly responsible for Kenneth's arrest at Brussels.
"You are my prisoner!" exclaimed Kenneth sternly.
Momentarily recovering his courage, the fellow drew back. His hand flew to his pocket, but before he could produce a concealed weapon the British lad grasped him by both arms.
Meanwhile Rollo, guessing by the crash of the broken glass that something was amiss, had sauntered leisurely into the shop, fully expecting to hear his chum apologizing profusely to the tobacconist for his clumsiness. To his surprise, he found Kenneth and the shopkeeper swaying to and fro in a desperate struggle. Chairs had been overturned, cases of pipes and packets of tobacco were being thrown in all directions.
In spite of being encumbered with his rifle and kit, Kenneth succeeded in throwing the spy to the floor and kneeling on his chest.
KENNETH SUCCEEDED IN THROWING THE SPY TO THE FLOORKENNETH SUCCEEDED IN THROWING THE SPY TO THE FLOOR
KENNETH SUCCEEDED IN THROWING THE SPY TO THE FLOORKENNETH SUCCEEDED IN THROWING THE SPY TO THE FLOOR
"Get a strap, a rope, or something, old man," he exclaimed breathlessly. "We've collared a spy."
Rollo obeyed. It was one of those rare instances when he acted on the spur of his chum's orders and argued the situation afterwards. He could not understand how Kenneth had effected the capture without any previous warning. To him, a lad brought up in a country where law and order moves with slow and majestic deliberation, it looked like a case of illegal arrest. Nevertheless he found a length of packing-cord, and deftly secured the arms of the now exhausted spy, tying them at the wrists behind his back.
The two female assistants—Belgian girls—had fled screaming at the commencement of the struggle. Two or three customers at the other end of the long shop had watched the scene without attempting to interfere; but directly the shopkeeper was secured they rushed into the street, yelling that a spy had been captured.
The utterance of the word "Espion" was sufficient instantly to attract a huge crowd. Civil Guards and soldiers found their way through the press, and kept the curious onlookers from the door.
"Who denounces the accused?" demanded a sergeant of the Civil Guard.
"I do," promptly responded Kenneth, at the same time producing his identity papers.
The sergeant glanced at the documents, and entered Kenneth's name in a book.
"You must come with me," he added; "you and your witnesses."
"Sorry I cannot," said Kenneth.
The sergeant pricked up his ears.
"I order you," he declared.
"Tell me where you are taking the prisoner, and we will be there as soon as possible. At three o'clock I have an appointment with Commandant Fleurus, and it is nearly that hour now."
The sergeant acquiesced, but took the precaution of discreetly sending a couple of men to watch the movements of the two corporals in Belgian uniform who were stated to be English. Experience had taught him that there were such things as forged documents, and that Germans had masqueraded as English officers and men.
"You are slightly after time," was Commandant Fleurus's remark as the dispatch-riders presented themselves.
"We arrested a spy, sir," announced Kenneth. "He gave himself away."
"How was that?" asked the Commandant.
Kenneth reported the details, and how Jules de la Paix had rashly declared that he was compelled to denounce the English lads to von Koenik at Brussels.
"Good!" ejaculated Commandant Fleurus. "It is indeed a fine service to trap such carrion. We have suffered greatly from these pests, but I fear one the less will make but little difference. Antwerp shelters a horde of them. But here is your dispatch. See, I have endorsed it: 'Bearers detained upon special service'."
By the time that Kenneth and Rollo arrived at the head-quarters of the Civil Guard a court martial had already been constituted. The presence of the principal witnesses made it possible for the trial to open.
The proceedings were brief, but with every semblance of fairness. The accused, having had time to consider his position, tried to deny his statements; but there were several witnesses who had overheard the prisoner's terrified confession to Kenneth.
Members of the Civil Guard reported that they had searched the accused's premises. In a garret with a well-concealed trap-door they discovered a powerful wireless installation, the aerials being hidden from outside view by being placed between two rows of chimney-pots. In the garret were also found plans and documents of great official value, besides a copy of a code, several flash-lights, and arms and ammunition. On the face of this evidence the prisoner was doomed.
In addition the Civil Guards discovered that at the end of the garden was a shed abutting on a canal that communicated with the Scheldt. In this shed was a large sea-going motor-boat, painted a dark-grey, and completely equipped for a voyage. It was presumed that, should the spy find himself compelled to leave Antwerp hurriedly, this craft would enable him to reach Dutch territory, whence he could easily regain the ground held by the invaders.
Within an hour from the opening of the Court the spy was condemned to be shot, and the sentence was put into execution forthwith.
"A rotten business," remarked Kenneth as the two lads rode towards Wavre Ste Catherine. "I feel as if I have that fellow's blood on my head."
"He jolly well deserved what he got," rejoined Rollo.
"Undoubtedly; but, all the same, I wish I hadn't a hand in it. Trapping spies is hardly a soldier's game. What I should like to have done would be to have given him a thundering good hiding."