Produced by Al Haines.

[Illustration: Cover art]

                                  ————

[Illustration: THE SPY UNMASKED]

                            A HERO OF LIÉGE

                       _A STORY OF THE GREAT WAR_

                                   BY

                             HERBERT STRANG

                      _ILLUSTRATED BY CYRUS CUNEO_

                                 LONDON
                              HENRY FROWDE
                          HODDER AND STOUGHTON

                        _First Printed in 1914_

                      HERBERT STRANG’S WAR STORIES

SULTAN JIM: A STORY OF GERMAN AGGRESSION.
THE AIR SCOUT: A STORY OF HOME DEFENCE.
THE AIR PATROL: A STORY OF THE NORTH-WEST FRONTIER.
ROB THE RANGER: A STORY OF THE GREAT FIGHT FOR CANADA.
ONE OF CLIVE’S HEROES: A STORY OF THE GREAT FIGHT FOR INDIA.
BARCLAY OF THE GUIDES: A STORY OF THE INDIAN MUTINY.
THE ADVENTURES OF HARRY ROCHESTER: A STORY OF MARLBOROUGH’S CAMPAIGNS.
BOYS OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE: A STORY OF THE PENINSULAR WAR.
KOBO: A STORY OF THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR.
BROWN OF MOUKDEN: A STORY OF THE RUSSO-JAPANESE WAR.

                                  ————

CONTENTS

    CHAPTER I--THE OPENING OF THE GAME
    CHAPTER II--THE FIRST TRICK
    CHAPTER III--THE SECOND TRICK
    CHAPTER IV--IN NEUTRAL TERRITORY
    CHAPTER V--A CLOSE CALL
    CHAPTER VI--THE OLD MILL
    CHAPTER VII--A HORNET’S NEST
    CHAPTER VIII--A FIGHT IN THE MILL
    CHAPTER IX--IN THE TRENCHES
    CHAPTER X--BROKEN THREADS
    CHAPTER XI--THE CENTRE ARCH
    CHAPTER XII--A FIGHT WITH A ZEPPELIN
    CHAPTER XIII--THE GREAT GUNS
    CHAPTER XIV--HUNTED
    CHAPTER XV--HUNS AT PLAY
    CHAPTER XVI--THE CARETAKER
    CHAPTER XVII--A BARMECIDE FEAST
    CHAPTER XVIII--RUNNING THE GAUNTLET
    CHAPTER XIX--’A LONG, LONG WAY----’

                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

THE SPY UNMASKED
THE PEASANTS SCATTERED OUT OF ITS PATH
THE END OF THE ZEPPELIN
CLEARING THE ROAD

CHAPTER I--THE OPENING OF THE GAME

At nine o’clock on Tuesday morning, August 4, Kenneth Amory walked into
the private office of the head of the well-known firm of Amory &
Finkelstein, gutta-percha manufacturers, of Cologne.  Max Finkelstein,
the head of the firm, swung round on his revolving chair, moved his hand
backward over his brush-like crop of brownish hair, and looked up
through his spectacles at Kenneth, his stout florid countenance wearing
an expression of worry.

"I sent for you to tell you to pack up and get away by the first train,"
he said, in German.  "Things are looking very black; the sooner you are
home, the better."

"Our dear Max is jumpy," came in smooth tones from the third person in
the room, the ends of his well-brushed moustache rising stiffly as he
smiled.  He was tall and slim--a contrast to his cousin Finkelstein, who
had reached that period of life when good food, a successful business,
and Germanic lack of exercise, tend to corpulence.  "I tell him he need
not worry," the speaker went on.  "It will be as in ’70."

"Provided that England----" Finkelstein was beginning, but Kurt Hellwig
broke in with a laugh.

"Oh, England!  England will protest a little, and preach a little, and
take care not to get a scratch."

"Don’t you be too sure of that," said Kenneth, rather warmly.

"No?  You think otherwise?" Hellwig was smiling still.  "Well, we shall
see.  Perhaps you have private information?"

His mocking smile and ironical tone brought a flush to Kenneth’s cheeks.

"I don’t want any private information to know what England will do,"
cried the boy.

"True, the public information is conclusive.  England is helpless; she
suffers from an internal complaint; she is breaking up."

"That will do, Kurt," said Finkelstein, anticipating an explosive word
from Kenneth, who was quick-tempered, and apt to fall out with Hellwig.
"Really, Ken, you will be safer at home, and if you don’t go now you
will lose your chance; all the trains will be required for the troops."

"I’d rather wait a little longer," replied Kenneth.  "It’s all so
interesting.  I’ve never seen a mobilisation before."

"It will do him good to see how we manage things in Germany," said
Hellwig.  "And since England will remain neutral, he will run no risk."

Finkelstein, easygoing and indolent where business was not concerned,
yielded the point.

"Very well," he said.  "Do as you please.  But I recommend you to pack
up in readiness for a sudden departure.  For my part, I hope Kurt is
right; I think of my business."

"We all think of our business," said Hellwig, with a slight stress upon
the pronoun.

"Our business--yes," said Finkelstein.  "We shall all suffer, I fear.
But if it is as in ’70----"

Kenneth did not wait to hear further discussion on the chances of the
war.  Remarking that he would see the others at lunch, he hurried away
into the street.  Awakened very early that morning by the rumbling of
carts and the tramp of horses, he had got up and gone out, to watch the
continual passage of regiments of infantry and cavalry, batteries of
artillery, pontoon trains, commissariat and ammunition wagons, through
the streets and the railway station.  Everything was swift and
systematic; the troops, though a little hazy as to their destination,
were in high spirits; the war would soon be over, they assured their
anxious friends.

It was all very new and exciting to Kenneth Amory, who had only vague
memories of the English mobilisation for the South African war, when he
was a child of four.  His father had founded, with Max Finkelstein, an
Anglo-German business which had attained great dimensions.  Finkelstein
controlled the German headquarters at Cologne; Amory looked after things
in London.  The latter died suddenly in the winter of 1912, leaving his
son Kenneth, then nearly seventeen years of age, to the guardianship of
Finkelstein, in whom he justly placed implicit confidence.

Since then Kenneth had spent much of his time in Germany, learning the
business under Finkelstein’s direction.  He had a great liking for his
father’s partner, who was a keen man of business, scrupulously exact in
his duties as guardian, and a "good fellow."  Finkelstein had announced
that Kenneth, as soon as he came of age, would be taken into
partnership.  The firm would still be Amory & Finkelstein.

When Kurt Hellwig spoke of "our business," his use of the first personal
pronoun must be taken to have implied a commendable feeling: he had no
actual share in the business.  His connection with it was a proof of his
cousin Max’s kindness of heart.  Hellwig had brilliant abilities; in
particular, remarkable linguistic powers; but he had never been able to
turn them to account in the various careers which he had successively
attempted.  Finkelstein had more than once lent him a helping hand;
since Mr. Amory’s death he had employed him as occasional representative
in England.  Needless to say, he did not entrust any matter of
importance to his erratic cousin; and the salary he paid him was
proportionate rather to relationship than to services.

Kenneth returned to Finkelstein’s house for the midday lunch.  Neither
Finkelstein nor Hellwig was present.

"Father sent word that he was detained," said Frieda, Finkelstein’s
daughter, a little younger than Kenneth.  "We are not to wait for him."

"He seemed very worried when I saw him this morning," said Kenneth. "Of
course business will be at a standstill, especially if we come into the
war."

"It will be hateful if you do," said the girl.  "But you won’t, Kurt
says.  We have done nothing to you."

"Kurt knows nothing about it.  He thinks we are afraid to fight.  He’s
wrong.  Of course we are not concerned with your quarrel with Russia;
but when it comes to your attacking France, quite unprovoked, and
bullying Belgium to let you take the easy way, you can hardly expect us
to look on quietly.  But we won’t talk about that, Frieda; you and I
mustn’t quarrel."

Frieda and Kenneth were very good friends.  One bond of union between
them was a common dislike of Kurt Hellwig, whose sarcastic tongue was a
constant irritant.  Kenneth related what had passed at the office that
morning.

"Why has he come back?" said Frieda.  "He has been away for weeks; I
wish he would stay away altogether."

"Do you?"

"Of course I do.  What do you mean?"

"I fancy Kurt thinks you admire him--because he wants you to, I
suppose."

"Will you take me to Cousin Amalia’s after lunch?" asked Frieda, with a
disconcerting change of subject.  "I promised to spend the rest of the
day with her.  And you’ll fetch me this evening, won’t you?"

After escorting Frieda to her cousin’s, Kenneth strolled about, watching
the war preparations, then turned homewards to pack his bag, as he had
promised Finkelstein to do.  On the way he bought a copy of the _Cologne
Gazette_ containing a mangled version of Sir Edward Grey’s speech in the
House of Commons on the previous day.  When he had finished packing, he
sat down with the paper at the open window of his room.  Having risen
early, he was rather tired, and the heat of the afternoon soon sent him
to sleep.

He was wakened by voices near at hand.  There was no one but himself in
the room; after a moment’s confusion of senses he realised that the
sounds came up from the balcony beneath his window.  It was reached from
the drawing-room, and since it was shaded by a light awning, someone had
evidently gone there for the sake of fresh air.

The awning concealed the speakers from Kenneth’s view, but in a few
moments he recognised Hellwig’s voice.  The other speaker was a man and
a stranger.  Kenneth at first paid no attention to them; Hellwig had
many acquaintances, and was fond of entertaining them.  But presently he
caught a sentence that made him suddenly alert.

"The bridge has been mined."

It was the stranger speaking, in German.  Kenneth rose silently from his
chair, and leant out of the window, so that he should not miss a word.

"The train can be fired at any moment, thanks to our forethought in
tunnelling between the mill-house and the bridge."

"That is well," said Hellwig, in the tone of a superior commending the
report brought him by a subordinate.  "Get back as quickly as you can,
and tell them to be ready to act instantly on receipt of a marconigram."

"The stations are closed to private messages," remarked the visitor.

"Yes: but mine will get through.  What news have you?"

"When I left yesterday the Belgians were becoming alive to their danger.
They are mobilising feverishly.  The forts at Liége are fully manned.
But many people refuse to believe that we shall go to extremes and
invade their territory.  They say that its inviolability is guaranteed
by treaty."

Hellwig laughed.

"Keep in touch with London," he said.  "In a few hours I shall be cut
off from London except through Amsterdam, and I shall have to move my
headquarters there.  You remember the address?"

"As before?"

"Yes.  Send there any information that comes through from London, and
keep me informed of your whereabouts."

"There was talk, as I came through, of possible English intervention. I
learn that crowds clamoured for war in front of Buckingham Palace last
night."

"A mistake: they were shouting against war.  The British government will
not dare to strike: even if they do, they will be too late.  We are
ready: they are not.  Before they have made up their minds we shall be
across the Belgian frontier and into France."

The conversation continued for a few minutes longer, then the visitor
rose to go.  Acting on impulse, Kenneth ran out of his room, and was
nearing the foot of the staircase as the two men came from the
drawing-room.  He had the _Cologne Gazette_ in his hand.

"Have you read Sir Edward Grey’s speech?" he asked Hellwig.

"Not yet.  Is it worth the trouble?" replied Hellwig in his smooth
mocking tones.

"I thought you hadn’t, or you wouldn’t be so cock-sure," Kenneth
returned.  "I rather think the British government have already made up
their minds."

"So you have been eavesdropping?" said Hellwig quickly.

"You are a spy!" cried Kenneth--"you and your friend."

"Is that any concern of yours?"

"Only to this extent; that I’ll have nothing more to do with you," said
Kenneth hotly, conscious at the moment that it was a foolish thing to
say, and feeling the more irritated.

"That will kill me," sighed Hellwig.

"And Max shall know it," Kenneth went on.  "He doesn’t know that you’ve
been up to this sort of thing, I’m sure."

"Certainly; Max shall know that I am doing something for my country. You
are, no doubt, doing wonders for yours."

"I wouldn’t do such dirty work as yours," cried Kenneth, more and more
angry under Hellwig’s calmness.

At this moment the outer door opened, and Frieda came in from the
street.

"What is the matter?" she asked, looking from Kenneth’s flushed face to
Hellwig’s smiling one, upon which, however, there flickered now a shade
of embarrassment.

"The fellow is a spy!" Kenneth burst out.

"I was explaining, my dear cousin, that I am doing at least something
for my country," Hellwig said.

"We should have preferred that it were anything else," said Frieda
coldly.  "Come, Ken, I’ve something to say to you."

She hurried along the corridor, not heeding Hellwig’s bow as she passed.
Kenneth followed her.  Hellwig shrugged, and left the house with his
friend.

"How did it come out?" asked Frieda, when Kenneth was alone with her in
the drawing-room.

"They were talking under my window.  He accused me of eavesdropping.  I
couldn’t help hearing them at first; and when I found out what they were
at, of course I listened.  You have come back alone?"

"Yes.  I met Father.  He says that your government has sent us an
ultimatum, and war is certain.  You must go home at once.  Father sent
me to tell you."

"All right.  He sneered about my doing wonders for my country.  I’ll do
something better than spying.  I’ll volunteer for the Flying Corps."

"Oh, don’t do that!  It’s so dangerous."

"No more dangerous than being in the firing line."

"But why do anything at all--of that sort, I mean?  War is
horrible--horrible!"

"It is, for everyone.  I’m sure none of our people wanted it.  But if
we’re in for it, every fellow who can do anything will be required, and
you wouldn’t wish me to skulk at home while others fight?"

"I’d rather you should fight than spy.  You must make haste.  Martial
law is proclaimed.  Father called at the station, and found that there
will be a train at half-past nine to-night: it will probably be the
last.  And the stationmaster said that anyone who wanted to secure a
seat must be early, for there’s sure to be a great rush.  Have you done
your packing?"

"Yes; there’s only one bag I need take.  The less baggage the better.
I’ll run down to the station and get my ticket now, to make sure of it."

"Don’t be long.  Father will be back to dinner, and he wants to say
goodbye to you, and to give you some messages for business friends in
London."

Kenneth hurried to the station.  There were signs of new excitement in
the streets.  Newsvendors were shouting that Belgium was invaded. People
thronged the beer-shops, eagerly discussing the situation. Already there
were cries of "Down with the English!"  Tourists of all nationalities
were flocking to the station and to the landing-stage for the Rhine
steamers.  Soldiers were everywhere.

At the station ticket office there was a long queue of people waiting.
Kenneth saw little chance of obtaining a ticket for some time; but being
well acquainted with the stationmaster, he sought his assistance and was
provided with a written pass.

"I can’t guarantee that you will get beyond Aix-la-Chapelle," said the
official.  "You must take your chance."

Kenneth set off to return.  Attracted by a crowd at the door of one of
the hotels, he went up to discover the cause of the assemblage.  A
mountain of luggage was piled on the pavement, and the distracted
owners, turned out of the hotel, were vainly seeking porters to convey
it to the station.  The riff-raff of the streets were jeering at them.
Kenneth turned away, feeling that the scene was ominous.

He had walked only a short distance from the spot when a hand touched
his shoulder from behind.

"You are under arrest, sir," said a police sergeant, who was accompanied
by two constables.

"Nonsense," said Kenneth, good-humouredly.  "You have mistaken your
man."

"Your name is Kenneth Amory?" said the sergeant.

"Something like that," said Kenneth, amused at the man’s pronunciation.

"There is no mistake, then.  You are arrested."

"Indeed!  On what charge?"

"As a suspect."

"Suspected of what?"

"Of spying."

This took Kenneth’s breath away.  Mechanically he walked a few steps
beside the officer, the two constables following.  Then realising the
nature of the charge against him, he stopped short.

"It is false!" he cried.  "I am no spy.  Where is your warrant?  What
right have you to arrest me?"

"No warrant is needed," replied the sergeant, courteously enough.  "You
will no doubt clear yourself if you are innocent."

"Of course I am innocent.  My friends will prove that.  Oh!  I won’t
give you any trouble: the sooner I get to the police-station, the
better."

"That is reasonable," said the sergeant.

They marched on.  Kenneth looked eagerly at all the passers-by in the
hope of finding a friend who would vouch for him; but he recognised no
familiar face.  On reaching the station he was searched, but deprived of
nothing except his pocket-book and the letters it contained.

"They are only private letters," he explained.  "The whole matter is
ridiculous.  You will let me write a note to a friend, who will speak
for me?"

"Certainly," said the officer, "provided I see what you say."

Kenneth quickly scribbled a note to Max Finkelstein, and handed it to
the officer, who remarked that it had nothing suspicious about it, and
placed it in an envelope which Kenneth addressed.

"I shall be released as soon as Herr Finkelstein comes?" asked Kenneth.

"That is doubtful," replied the officer.  "It will probably be necessary
to bring you before the magistrate to-morrow."

"But I am going to England to-night."

"To England!  That is suspicious.  Herr Finkelstein may have influence.
We shall see."

A short conversation, carried on in low tones, ensued between the
sergeant and his superior officer.  They were consulting as to where the
prisoner should be placed: the cells, it appeared, were full. Ultimately
Kenneth was taken to a room on the ground floor.  The window was barred
and shuttered on the outside, and light entered only by two small round
apertures in the shutters.

"A black hole, this," he said to the sergeant.

"It will not be for long, if you are innocent," replied the man.

Then he shut and locked the door; Kenneth was left to himself.

CHAPTER II--THE FIRST TRICK

With the door shut, the room was almost wholly dark.  It contained no
furniture but a plain deal table and a wooden chair.  Kenneth sat down
and ruminated.  His position was annoying, but also mildly exciting. It
would be something to tell his people when he got home, that he had been
arrested as a spy.

It was now five o’clock.  Dinner was at seven: his train left at
half-past nine, and the stationmaster had advised him to be at the
station at least an hour in advance.  He had addressed his note to
Finkelstein at the office, and expected that his friend would arrive
within half an hour or so and procure his release.  In the absence of
any evidence against him a prolonged detention would surely be
impossible.

Perhaps half an hour had passed when he heard footsteps on the passage;
the key turned in the lock, and he started up, expecting to see
Finkelstein.  But there entered a constable, bringing a mug of beer and
a piece of rye bread.

"My friend Herr Finkelstein has not come?" Kenneth asked.

"Nobody has come for you," replied the man.

"My note was taken to him?"

"If you wrote a note, I daresay it was."

"Aren’t you sure?"

"I have only just come on duty, sir."

The constable set the food on the table and went out, locking the door.

Anticipating dinner, Kenneth was not tempted to eat the coarse fare
provided.  He was still not seriously alarmed, though his annoyance grew
with the passing minutes.  Finkelstein never left his office until
half-past six; there was plenty of time for him to have received the
note--unless there had been delay in delivering it.  This possibility
was somewhat perturbing.

Kenneth began to wonder what had led to his arrest.  He was quite
unknown to the police; nothing in his appearance was aggressively
English.  So far as he knew he had no enemy in Cologne, so that it
seemed unlikely that anyone had put the police on his track out of sheer
malice.

His thoughts reverted to the incident of the afternoon.  The discovery
that Hellwig was in the German secret service, surprising as it was,
made clear certain things that had puzzled him.  During his frequent
visits to London, Hellwig was accustomed to stay at the Amorys’ house,
and had many callers who came to see him privately, on the firm’s
business, as Kenneth had supposed.  It seemed only too probable now that
they were agents in the work of espionage.

A sudden suspicion flashed into Kenneth’s mind.  Was it possible that
his arrest was due to Hellwig?  From what he had overheard it was clear
that Hellwig was a man of considerable authority in the secret service.
A word from him would no doubt suffice.  But what could his motive be?
Kenneth was under no illusion as to the man’s character.  He had always
thoroughly disliked and distrusted him, and felt instinctively that the
dislike was mutual.  Could it be that Hellwig, knowing himself
discovered, and fearing that Kenneth, on his return to London, would
inform the authorities, had taken this step to save himself?  It seemed
an unnecessary precaution, for if war broke out between Britain and
Germany, Hellwig would make no more journeys to London for some time to
come.

The more Kenneth thought over the matter, the more convinced he became
that Hellwig, whatever his motive might be, had caused his arrest.  The
conviction destroyed his confidence in an early release.  The man would
stick at nothing.  He would have foreseen an application to Finkelstein,
and taken steps to forestall it.  What if the note should never reach
Finkelstein?

Kenneth was now thoroughly alarmed.  The Germans had a short way with
spies, or those they regarded as spies, even during peace; it was likely
to be shorter and sharper than ever on the outbreak of war.  The
prospect of being taken out and shot sent cold thrills through him.

Contemplating this dark eventuality he heard heavy footsteps overhead.
He looked up, and for the first time saw a glint of light from the
ceiling in one corner of the room.  The footsteps passed: all was silent
again.

Kenneth sat thinking.  If his suspicions were well founded, he felt that
his doom was sealed.  It would be easy for a man like Hellwig to
fabricate evidence against him.  In default of Finkelstein’s assistance,
which Hellwig would take care to prevent, his only means of safety lay
in flight.  But what chance was there of escaping from this locked and
shuttered room?  An examination of the window showed the hopelessness of
it.

The faint streak of light above again attracted his notice. Noiselessly
drawing the table beneath it, he mounted to examine its source.  A
portion of the plaster had fallen away from the ceiling, and the light
filtered through a narrow crack in the flooring above.  This discovery,
under pressure of circumstances, gave him a gleam of hope. Taking out
his pocket knife, he began to scrape quietly at the plaster, gradually
enlarging the hole.  What there might be above he could not tell;
judging by the passing in and out of the footsteps the room was
unoccupied.

While he was engaged on this work he heard steps in the passage without.
Springing down, he swept on to the floor, and under the table, the
plaster he had scraped from the ceiling, then stood waiting eagerly.
Perhaps it was Finkelstein at last.

The door opened.  A man was thrust into the room, and the door again
locked.  The newcomer swore.

"You’re an Englishman?" cried Kenneth.

"Do I find a companion in adversity?" said the man.  "We can condole."

"Who are you?"

"What is your father?  How many horses does he keep?  Bless me, how this
reminds me of my innocent childhood!  ’More light,’ as Goethe said.  But
I can see well enough to know that you are a youngster. Sad, sad!"

Peering at the stranger, Kenneth saw a man of about thirty-five, with
hair _en brosse_, Germanic moustache, and a German military uniform.

"I should pass in a crowd, one would think," the man went on, smiling
under Kenneth’s scrutiny.  "But Fate is unkind."

"You are a spy?" said Kenneth.

"And you, my friend?"

"No.  They say so, but I’m not."

"They say so, and they will have their way.  Ah, well!  They say also,
that it is a sweet and comely thing to die for one’s country.  I always
thought I should die in my boots."

"Can they prove it against you?"

"A scrap of paper!  They can’t read it, but what matters that?  A note
in cipher is evidence enough.  But I shall not die unavenged: they are
crying in the streets that war is declared, and I fancy that Emperor
William has bitten a little more than he can chew.  What brings you to
this deplorable extremity?"

"I don’t know: a private enemy, I think."

"Well, the rain falls on the just and the unjust.  I’m sorry for you.
Haven’t you any friend, though, who can get this door unlocked?"

Kenneth explained briefly what had happened.  Then, feeling a strange
liking for his companion, he added:

"When you came in, I was wondering about the chances of escape."

"A waste of brain tissue, unless you have some talisman.  But tell me,
you have some definite idea?"

"You see that hole in the ceiling?  I was enlarging it."

"Ha!  A man of action!  Nil desperandum, eh?  Let me have a look at it."

He mounted on the table, and thrust his hand into the opening.

"I say, youngster," he said, a note of eagerness in his voice, "there is
a chance, on my life there is.  The boards above are not over firm. We
may be skipping out of the frying-pan into the fire, but one can only
die once.  Continue with your work; I’ll mount guard and warn you of
anyone approaching."

Kenneth scraped away with his penknife, until the hole was large enough
to admit his head and shoulders.  The light, coming through a single
crack, did not increase, so that the enlargement of the hole might
easily escape notice if a constable entered.  The stranger put the chair
on the table.

"Mount on that," he said; "put your back against the boards, and
shove--gently."

Kenneth did as he was instructed.  The pressure of his back started the
nails, and a plank rose, with an alarming creak.

"That won’t be heard through the rumble of traffic outside," said the
man.  "Wait a little.  You don’t know anything of the room above?"

"Nothing.  I heard somebody go in and out a while ago; I think it is
empty."

"Well now: let us keep cool.  We can get into the room: that is certain.
Can we get out of it?  We shall have to descend the stairs. Our chance
of life depends on one half-minute.  ’Can a man die better than facing
fearful odds?’  Look here: we’ll toss.  Heads: we’ll go up; tails--why,
hang it, we’ll still go up!  Fortuna fortibus!  Wait till we hear the
rumble of the next artillery wagon; then! ..."

They had not long to wait.  Heavy traffic passed at short intervals.

"Now!" said the stranger.

Kenneth gave a heave.  In a moment two planks were removed.  Resting his
arms on the edges of those on either side of the gap, he hoisted himself
up.  His companion quickly followed.  They stood in the room.

The next half minute was filled to breathlessness.  It was a bedroom. A
street lamp outside threw a little light into it.  Hanging from a peg on
the door was a policeman’s tunic and helmet.

"Fortune’s our friend," murmured the stranger.

In ten seconds he had helped Kenneth to don the uniform.  They crept out
of the room, and peeped over the stair rail.  The way was clear. All
sounds within were smothered by the noise in the street.  They stole
downstairs, past the closed door of the guardroom, through the outer
door, and into the open.  "War with England!" shouted a newsman at the
corner.

"We win the first trick!" chuckled the stranger, as they hurried along.

CHAPTER III--THE SECOND TRICK

"The first trick--yes: but what are trumps?" said Kenneth, in reply to
his companion’s remark.

"Toujours l’audace!" the stranger answered.  "But my life isn’t worth a
moment’s purchase.  I owe you a few minutes; ’for this relief much
thanks.’  Leave me now, and make for your friends.  They will look after
you.  I have none."

"Not a bit of it," replied Kenneth instantly.  "We stick together.  I
know a quiet place where we can consult.  Step out briskly, as if we
have important business on hand."

"There’s nothing hypothetical about that," murmured the other.  "On,
then!"

They hurried along the street, which was crowded with persons of all
ages, some talking excitedly, others cheering and singing patriotic
songs.  Now and then there was a cry of "Down with England!"  The two
fugitives walked quickly, dodging among the crowd to avoid the wearers
of military or police uniforms, their own uniforms clearing a way for
them.  As they passed a beershop, the outside tables of which were
thronged, the drinkers cheered them and broke lustily into the song of
Deutschland über Alles.

As soon as possible they turned into a side street, less populous; and
Kenneth, who knew the city well, directed his course towards the river,
to a little secluded nook, where he hoped it would be possible to hold a
quiet consultation.  In the hurry of escape and the anxious transit of
the streets he had been unable to devote a moment’s thought to their
future action.  It was clear that their safety hung by a thread; their
only chance was to lay their plans calmly, taking due account of the
present circumstances and future contingencies.

They reached their destination.  There was nobody about.

"We may have a few minutes to ourselves," said Kenneth.  He took out his
watch.  "It is nearly ten o’clock.  My train has gone, so that’s out of
the question."

"You were leaving?"

"Yes; my friends thought I had better go; that was before war with
England was certain.  I suppose it is true?"

"The time limit has not expired, certainly; but there can’t be any doubt
about it.  Germany can’t afford to yield about Belgium, and we can’t
afford to let her have a walk over.  We may be quite sure that no
Englishman of fighting age will get away now without trouble.  But your
friends will protect you; again I say, don’t consider me."

"That’s all right.  In any case I don’t want to get Max Finkelstein into
a row."

"Of Amory & Finkelstein?"

"Yes; I’m Kenneth Amory.  Do you speak German, by the way?"

"Like a native.  I was at school at Heidelberg."

"That’s a help.  But for the life of me I can’t think of a way of
getting out.  When they discover our escape they’ll watch the stations,
the piers, and the roads.  Our uniforms won’t be a bit of use."

"Oh! for the wings of a dove!--or an eagle would be more to the
purpose."

"By Jove! that gives me an idea.  I’ve done some flying; I was going to
try for a place in our Flying Corps.  If we could only bag an
aeroplane!"

"A sheer impossibility, I should say."

Kenneth stood silent in the attitude of one deep in thought.  Every now
and again his right eyelid twitched--a little involuntary mannerism
which came into play at such times.  His companion watched him
curiously.  At last a look of resolution chased the doubt from his face.

"It’s the only way," he said; "we must have a try.  There are plenty in
Cologne.  They’ve been using a new aviation ground lately; the regular
aerodrome was too small for them.  They don’t fly at night.  All the
machines will be in their hangars.  Of course they’ll be under guard;
but we might get hold of one by a trick.  Give me another minute or two
to think it out: I know the place well."

After a few minutes’ silence there ensued an earnest conversation
between the two.  The upshot of it was that they hurried by unfrequented
roads to the new aviation ground.  It was a large enclosure defended by
a wooden fence about eight feet high, with barbed wire along the top.  A
sentry stood at the gate near the sheds.  The whole place was in
darkness, but a little beyond it, on the far side of the road, shone the
lights of a beershop.

Leaving his companion in a dark corner, Kenneth hastened alone to the
beershop.  At the tables outside sat several men, mechanics in
appearance.  Kenneth slackened his pace to a policeman’s walk, and
passed by, throwing a keen glance at the men, who gave him a perfunctory
salute.  On reaching the remotest table he whispered a word or two to
the man drinking alone there.  The man left his bock, and rising, joined
Kenneth, who had drawn back into the darkness.

"You can be discreet?" he said.

"What is it, Herr Policeman?" the man replied, doubtfully.

"It is a question of a spy.  One of the mechanics is suspected.  Do you
know a short dark man who has recently come in?"

The question was a bait cast at a venture; Kenneth was elated at the
man’s reply.

"Yes, to be sure; there is a new fellow, mechanic to Herr Lieutenant
Breul.  None of us liked the look of him.  If he is a spy! ... Not that
he is particularly short."

"Well, not so very short."

"Nor more than common dark."

"Not a gipsy, perhaps; but still, rather dark and certainly not tall."

"That’s the fellow to a hair.  He’s a boor: why, he called me a stupid
pig only this morning.  That’s suspicious in itself; for I’m not a
stupid pig; I can prove it by my school certificates."

"Of course; you wouldn’t be employed here if you were a stupid pig. Well
now, Herr Lieutenant Breul ought to be warned."

"That’s true.  The Herr Lieutenant is not here now; he has gone for the
night with the other officers.  But it would be better to arrest the man
at once.  A spy!  We’ll do for him, me and my mates."

"Not so fast.  We must make sure of the man.  I ought to hold him under
observation.  But it is important to keep the matter quiet.  The
question is, can you manage to let me have a sight of the man without
attracting attention?"

The man scratched his head.

"You don’t want to enter by the gate, Herr Policeman?"

"No.  It would never do to let it get about that a spy was found here."

"Well, it’s not an easy matter, but I’ll go to the sheds and see what
can be done."

The man went away, Kenneth hastened to the spot where he had left his
companion.

"Things look possible," he said.  "But your uniform is a difficulty.  A
German officer mustn’t enter the enclosure like a thief, and without the
password you can’t go in by the gate."

"I must simply bluff it out.  I’m a friend of Lieutenant Breul.  I’ve
played many parts in my time--not without success."

"Come along then.  There’s no time to lose."

They hurried back to the dark corner in which Kenneth had interviewed
the mechanic.  In a few minutes he returned.

"This is a friend of the Herr Lieutenant’s," said Kenneth.  "I met him
just beyond the gate, and he agrees with me that this disgraceful matter
must be kept secret.  Have you had any success?"

"The fellow is overhauling the Herr Lieutenant’s engine in preparation
for a start to-morrow.  He is the only man at work."

"That’s very suspicious," said Kenneth.  "Don’t you think, Herr Captain,
that we had better climb the fence and keep a watch on the man?  Who
knows what mischief he may be doing?"

"I’ll go back to the gate and meet you inside," replied his companion.

"I think you had better come with me, Herr Captain," said Kenneth, "Your
presence would guarantee me if any soldier within chanced to suppose
that I was intruding."

"Very well," returned the other, with seeming reluctance.  "But you also
must guarantee me against damage to my clothes."

"That is easily done.  This man will throw his coat over the wire."

"Certainly, Herr Policeman," said the mechanic, whom the presence of an
officer had quite reassured.

They moved off to a spot beyond the sheds.  The mechanic laid his coat
upon the wire, and assisted the fugitives to mount.  Then he hurried
back to the gate, entered the enclosure, and met them near the furthest
shed.  The whirring of a propeller was audible.

"That’s the shed," he said, pointing to the half-open door through which
a bright light was streaming.  "He’s at work there, running the engine."

"Very well," said Kenneth.  "You had better get your coat and make
yourself scarce.  You won’t want to appear in this."

"Not I," said the man.

"The Herr Lieutenant will reward you," said Kenneth’s companion.  He
knew German officers too well to tip the man in the English way.

The mechanic slipped away into the darkness.  The Englishmen went to the
shed.  They opened the door and entered boldly.  A man was bending over
the engine, spanner in hand, adjusting a nut on the carburetter. He had
not noticed the opening of the door or the entrance of the strangers.
Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder, and looking up, was amazed to
hear an officer say, through the noise of the propeller:

"Villain, you are under arrest."

Dumbfounded, he stared stupidly at the officer, and feebly protesting,
stood back from the machine.  Meanwhile Kenneth had taken a tin of
petrol from a cupboard in the corner of the shed, and was filling up the
tank.  When this was done, he ran his eye rapidly over the monoplane,
tested the stays, and finding all in good order, said in English:

"We’ll lock this fellow in the cupboard.  Then you throw the door open,
come back quickly, and get into the seat beside me.  The engine is
running well, and it will only take a few seconds to get off."

At the first words of English the mechanic shouted with alarm; but his
cry was drowned by the whirring of the propeller, and before he could
repeat it he was locked into the cupboard.  Then the Englishman carried
out Kenneth’s instructions.  As soon as he was in his place, Kenneth
threw the engine into gear, and the machine glided forward out of the
shed into the dimly lit open space beyond.  In a few yards it began to
rise.  There were shouts of surprise from the few men about the grounds
and the mechanics in the beershop outside, scarcely heard by the airmen.

The monoplane soared up and up, unnoticed by the noisy multitudes in the
crowded streets below.  It was soon out of sight.  Suddenly a beam of
blinding light flashed upon it from some point high above the ground.

"The searchlight on the cathedral steeple," shouted Kenneth to his
companion.  "But there’s no danger; they’ll recognise it as a Taube."

The searchlight followed its course for a few minutes; then was shut
off.

"The second trick is to us!" cried the passenger.

But Kenneth did not hear him.  His whole attention was given to the
machine.

CHAPTER IV--IN NEUTRAL TERRITORY

The sky was clear; there was very little wind; and Kenneth realised that
the conditions could hardly have been more propitious.  For some minutes
he was too closely occupied with the mechanism to consider direction.
The monoplane was strange to him.  His experience of flying had been
almost wholly gained in the machines of his friend Remi Pariset, son of
the manager of the Antwerp branch of Amory & Finkelstein.  Pariset was a
lieutenant in the Belgian flying corps, and Kenneth had frequently
accompanied him in flights, at first as passenger only, afterwards being
allowed to try his hand in the pilot’s seat.  It had long been his aim
to gain the pilot’s certificate in England, and, as he had told Frieda
Finkelstein, he hoped on the outbreak of war to get a commission in the
Royal Flying Corps.

Though he had never before managed a monoplane of the type of that which
he had appropriated, he had often watched the German airmen, and after a
little uncertainty in his manipulation of the controls, he "felt" the
machine, and recognised that it would give him no trouble. Then he had
leisure to determine his course.

His first idea had been to make all speed to the Belgian coast, and take
ship for England.  But recollection of the conversation overheard
between Hellwig and his visitor suggested that he might possibly do some
preliminary service to the Belgians.  A bridge was to be blown up. There
could be no doubt that this operation was part of the German plan of
campaign, and if it could be frustrated, this would represent so much
gain to the defending force.  The river spanned by the bridge had not
been named, but there was a clue in the fact that the bridge was near a
mill.  His intention now, therefore, was to alight somewhere in Belgium
and communicate his discovery to the military authorities.

In the hurry of departure he was quite oblivious of the direction of his
flight.  Now that he had time to consider it, he saw by the compass that
he was flying towards the north-east.  Bringing the monoplane round, he
set his course for the south-west, hoping to pick up in half an hour or
so the lights of Aix-la-Chapelle.  He failed to locate the railway line
from Cologne to Aix, and the few scattered points of light in the black
expanse below gave him no landmarks.

After a while it occurred to him to switch on the electric light that
illuminated the dial of a small clock.  It was a quarter to eleven.  He
must have been flying for nearly half an hour, but neither to right or
left nor straight ahead was there any sign of the expected lights of
Aix.  The country over which he was passing seemed to be hilly; it was
possible that the lights of the city were hidden by the shoulder of a
hill.

Presently his companion shouted that he heard the sound of big guns away
to the left.  Kenneth listened, but could hear nothing through the
droning whirr of the propeller.

Every now and then he glanced at the clock, the only indication of the
distance he had covered.  When midnight was past, he felt sure that
unless he had completely miscalculated his direction he must by this
time have crossed the German frontier.  He was thinking of landing and
trying to discover where he was, when he caught sight in the starlight
of a broad river flowing immediately beneath him from south-west to
north-east.  This, he had no doubt, was the Meuse, but he knew nothing
of the course of the river, and could not determine whether he was in
Belgium or Holland.  At any rate he was out of Germany.

Dropping a few hundred feet, and seeing below him a broad expanse of
fields, apparently flat, he thought it safe to risk a descent.  No
lights were visible.  A rapid swoop brought the machine into a meadow of
long grass ripe for hay, and he came lightly to the ground.

"I make you my compliments," said his companion, as they climbed out of
their seats.  "It is my first aerial voyage, and I am pretty sure that
no one has ever tempted the empyrean under such exciting circumstances.
But why did you come down?  I hoped we should find ourselves at Ostend."

"I’ll tell you my reason.  I don’t know where I am, but we had better
camp here till morning, and then explore.  Keep a look-out while I
glance over the engine; we must be ready to get off again at a moment’s
notice."

He switched on the light and made a careful examination of the engine;
then, rubbing his dirty hands on the grass, he threw himself down beside
his companion.

"We’ve had uncommon luck," he said.

"You under-estimate the personal equation," returned the other.  "I
consider myself supremely lucky in having met you.  Your daring is as
great as your ingenuity, Amory.  By the way, I have the advantage of
you.  I have as many names as the chameleon has colours, but the names
given me in baptism were Lewis Granger.  Now we’re quits on that score."

"Thanks.  You are a spy, I suppose?"

"Well, that rather opprobrious term would cover me, I presume.  A
sensitive person might prefer to call himself a secret agent.  What’s in
a name?"

"It’s pretty dangerous work, anyhow, and I’m jolly glad you’re out of
the Germans’ clutches.  You asked why I came down.  It’s because I’m a
sort of secret agent too."

"You don’t say so!"

"Oh, it’s quite involuntary.  I happened to overhear a conversation a
few hours before I was nabbed.  I’ll tell you about it."

"Wait.  I have no credentials.  Do you think it wise to confide in a
stranger?"

"That’s all right," said Kenneth, who had taken an instant liking to the
man.  "We’re in the same boat.  What I overheard was a scheme for
blowing up a bridge somewhere in Belgium, and I thought that before
going on to England I might put the Belgians up to it."

"That’s worth a few hours’ delay.  What you say confirms my own
knowledge of the extraordinary minuteness of the German plans.
’Somewhere in Belgium,’ you say.  You don’t know where?"

"No.  The name of the river was not mentioned either by Hellwig or----"

"Hellwig!  Does his Christian name happen to be Kurt?"

"Yes.  Do you know him?"

"I have crossed swords with him--not literally, you understand, though
nothing would please me better than a bout with him with the buttons
off.  I have one or two scores to settle with him.  His Christian name
would be more truly descriptive with the loss of a T.  But how in the
world did you come across him?  He’s not the kind of man I should expect
to meet in your company."

"He’s the cousin of my poor father’s partner, Max Finkelstein.  Max
gives him a salary; he doesn’t earn a penny of it, but Max is a
kind-hearted beggar.  He wouldn’t do it if he knew that Hellwig was
a--secret agent."

"Don’t mind my feelings, my dear fellow," said Granger, with a laugh.
"We’re a very mixed lot, I assure you.  Do you mind repeating what you
overheard, as nearly as you can remember it?"

When the story was told, Granger acknowledged that ignorance of the
position of the bridge was an obstacle to forewarning the Belgian
authorities.

"Still, they ought to know every inch of the probable theatre of war,"
he said, "and may spot the place at once."

"We’ll see in the morning," said Kenneth.  "Meanwhile we had better take
watch and watch about during the rest of the night.  I don’t suppose any
one will come by while it’s dark, but it’s as well to be on the safe
side.  I’ll take first watch."

"Very well.  It will be light in less than five hours.  I’ll snooze for
a couple of hours; wake me then."

The night was warm, and Kenneth, in his policeman’s coat, suffered no
discomfort.  His watch passed undisturbed, and he was very sleepy when
he roused Granger.

About five o’clock he was wakened from a sound sleep by a nudge from his
companion.

"Sorry to disturb you," said Granger, "but there’s a group of peasants
approaching with scythes.  Evidently they are going to mow the meadow."

Kenneth started up.

"Belgians?" he asked.

"Or Dutch," replied Granger.  "We shall soon know."

The peasants, more than a dozen in number, came straight towards the
aeroplane.  Recognising the German uniforms, as the two men rose from
the ground, they halted, consulted for a moment or two, then advanced,
holding their scythes threateningly.

"I fancy they’re Dutch," said Granger.  "My good friends," he called in
Dutch, "will you tell us where we are?"

On hearing their own tongue the men consulted again.  Then one of them
left the party, and hurried back by the way he had come.  The rest
advanced slowly, keeping close together, not replying to the question,
and wearing an air of suspicion and hostility.

"They have sent a man back to his village to warn the authorities," said
Granger.  "We must find out where we are."

The peasants halted at a little distance, and stood in an attitude of
watchfulness.

"We are not Germans, in spite of our dress," Granger continued.  "As a
matter of fact, we are Englishmen who have lost our way."

The stolid Dutchmen looked round upon one another with a knowing air as
much as to say "We have heard that story before."  Granger tried again.

"Come, come, it is the truth, I assure you.  All we want is to know
where we are; then we will pursue our journey."

There was again a consultation among the group.  Then one of them said,
pugnaciously:

"You are near Weert, as you know very well."

"Weert is some few miles north-east of Maestricht," Granger remarked to
Kenneth.  "We don’t want to know any more.  I think we had better be
off.  They don’t believe we are not Germans, and as neutrals they will
hold us up if we wait until the village authorities arrive.  I hope they
won’t show fight, for we are absolutely unarmed, and those scythes are
rather formidable implements."

"We’re in an awkward hole, certainly," said Kenneth.  "By the look of
them they’ll set on to us as soon as they see us making ready to go."

"The police took my revolver when they searched me," said Granger;
"otherwise we might intimidate them."

"I wonder--" began Kenneth, thrusting his hand into the inner pocket of
his coat.  "By Jove!  What luck!  Here’s the policeman’s revolver. Keep
them back with that while I start the engine.  I shall only be a minute
or two."

Granger took the revolver unobtrusively.  Kenneth went to the front of
the aeroplane and swung the propeller round, the peasants watching him
at first without understanding.  When the engine began to fire, however,
they realised the meaning of the movements, and came on brandishing
their scythes.  Granger, standing close by the seat, lifted the
revolver.

"Now, my good men," he said amiably, "we are going to leave you, as you
appear not to relish our company.  If any of you come within a dozen
yards of us I shall fire."

The men came to a halt, scowling at the little weapon pointed at them by
a steady arm.  Kenneth got into his seat.

"I’m ready," he said.

Granger slowly backed and handed him the revolver, with which Kenneth
covered the peasants as his companion clambered up beside him.  Even
before Granger was seated the aeroplane began to move.  The peasants
scattered out of its path, cursing the German pigs.  It rose into the
air; Kenneth swung it round to the south-west, and in half a minute it
was sailing away out of danger.  Glancing round, Granger smiled as he
caught sight of a half squadron of Dutch cavalry galloping into the
meadow behind them.

[Illustration: "THE PEASANTS SCATTERED OUT OF ITS PATH"]

CHAPTER V--A CLOSE CALL

Remembering that they had crossed the Meuse the night before, Kenneth
steered to the left until he sighted the river, then deflected
southward, and followed its course, keeping on the side of the left
bank.

There was no means of telling at what point he would cross the northern
frontier of Belgium.  Ascending to a great height, in order to escape
shots from either Belgian or Dutch frontier guards, he soon discovered a
town of some size extended on both banks of the river.  This could only
be Maestricht.  Within twenty minutes of passing this he came in sight
of a much more considerable town through which the river flowed spanned
by several bridges.

"Better land now," shouted Granger, "or they’ll be taking shots at us
from the forts.  This is Liége."

Almost before he had finished speaking the monoplane began to rock like
a ship at sea, and Kenneth had to exert his utmost skill to preserve its
equilibrium.  A shell had burst a few hundred yards below them. Some
seconds later they heard the dull thunder of the gun’s discharge.
Clearly it was no longer safe to continue the southward course. Kenneth
swerved to the right, and making a steep vol plane, swooped into the
cornfield of a farmhouse close by the high road.

The people of the farm, at the sight of the German uniforms, fled
precipitately for shelter.  Already "the terror of the German name" had
become a by-word in the countryside.

"We are in hot water, I’m afraid," said Granger.  "Strip off your coat;
you’re all right underneath."

Kenneth had hardly taken off his coat and helmet when there was a sound
of galloping horses.  A dozen Belgian mounted infantrymen dashed up the
road, leapt the low wall of the farm steading, and shouted to them to
surrender.  Granger whipped out his pocket handkerchief and waved it in
the air.  The Belgians dismounted, and part of them advanced, the
lieutenant at their head with revolver pointed, the men covering the
fugitives with their rifles.

"You are our prisoners," said the officer in bad German.

"Charmed, my dear sir," replied Granger in excellent French.  "Contrary
to appearances, we are not Germans, but Englishmen."

"Ah bah!" snorted the lieutenant.  "You wear German uniforms."

"L’habit ne fait pas le moine," said Granger with a smile.  "The fact is
as I state it: we are Englishmen who have escaped from Cologne."

"The aeroplane is German," the officer persisted.

"We commandeered it, there being no English machine available. Unluckily
we have no papers on us to prove our nationality; they were taken from
us by the Germans who arrested us as spies."

"Bah!" said the lieutenant again.  That two Englishmen arrested as spies
should have been able to escape on a German monoplane laid too great a
strain upon his imagination.  "You are my prisoners.  Hand over your
arms."

Granger at once gave up the revolver, and Kenneth allowed himself to be
searched.  The officer rummaged the aeroplane for plans and other
incriminating documents, then ordered two of his men to mount guard over
it, and marched the prisoners through the farmyard to the road, under
the gratified glances of the farm people at their windows. Kenneth
carried his policeman’s uniform.

After walking about a mile, they came to a regiment encamped in a field
beside the road.  The lieutenant led his prisoners to the commanding
officer, and explained the circumstances of their capture.

"You say you are English?" he said, scanning the two men.

"I assure you that is the truth," replied Granger.  "We were both
arrested as spies in Cologne, but by an ingenious stratagem of my friend
here we obtained possession of a German aeroplane, and are delighted to
find ourselves in Belgian territory, among a friendly people."

"You speak very good French."

"Which is not to our discredit, I hope," said Granger with a smile.

The Colonel was plainly even more incredulous than his subordinate.  A
man who spoke such good French must be a German spy!  He took up the
receiver of a field telephone.  Ascertaining that an aide de camp was at
the other end of the wire he said:

"Two men, one in police, the other in military uniform, German, have
landed from a Taube monoplane west of Liers.  They say they are English,
but they are clearly German spies.  I await orders."

The prisoners, who had heard all, watched his face grimly set as he held
the receiver to his ear.

"It’s extraordinary, the persistence of a fixed idea," said Granger in a
low tone to Kenneth.  "If he heard us speaking English I suppose he
would take it as a clinching proof that we are Germans!  The uniforms,
our salvation in Cologne, are here our damnation."

"They’ll send us to the General, won’t they?  He won’t be such an ass."

"We shall see."

A few minutes passed.  Then the look of blank expectancy on the
Colonel’s face gave way to a look of satisfaction.  He laid down the
receiver.

"Shoot them!" he said laconically, turning to the lieutenant.

Granger smiled at Kenneth, whose cheeks had gone red with indignation
rather than pale from fear.

"What rot!" said the boy.

"I said I should die in my boots," remarked Granger.  "My fate has been
hanging over me these ten years.  But there’s a chance for you.  Why not
tell them about the bridge?"

"They’d only think I was funking, and wouldn’t believe me.  I won’t do
it."

They were led away towards a clump of trees on the outskirts of the
camp.  The lieutenant was selecting his firing party.  A crowd of
troopers, some in uniform, others in their shirt sleeves, came flocking
around.  One or two officers moved more leisurely towards the scene.
Suddenly one of these started, and hurried forward with an exclamation
of surprise.

"Mon Dieu, it’s you, Ken!" he cried, seizing Kenneth’s hand.

"Hullo, Remi," said Kenneth, his face lighting up.  "Just tell your
colonel I’m not a German, will you?"

"Of course I will.  And your friend?"

"As English as I am.  This is my pal, Remi Pariset," he said to Granger.

"I am delighted to meet you," said Granger, bowing, "even though our
acquaintance should prove of the shortest."

Pariset, asking his fellow lieutenant to delay, ran to the Colonel, and
returned immediately with him.

"I beg a thousand pardons, gentlemen," said the Colonel.  "I am
desolated at the injustice I have unwittingly done you.  Pray accept my
apologies."

"Not at all, Colonel," said Granger.  "Appearances were against us. You
were quite justified in your suspicions; it was our misfortune that we
couldn’t change our dress on the way....  I’ve had many a close shave,"
he added in an undertone to Kenneth, "but was never quite so near my
quietus."

"I was feeling rather rummy," Kenneth confessed: "a queer feeling, not
exactly fear; a sort of emptiness."

When the troopers learnt the truth, they broke into cries of "Vivent les
Anglais!  Vive l’Angleterre!" and the prisoners found themselves the
idols of the camp.  They were invited to join the officers at lunch, and
ate with good appetites, having had no food but rye bread and beer since
the previous midday.  The officers drank their health with hilarity when
Granger had related the trick by means of which they had escaped from
Cologne, and Kenneth was toasted with embarrassing fervour.

"The bridge!  That will be a clincher," whispered Granger in his ear.

Kenneth’s French was not so good as his German, but he managed, even
though haltingly, to convey to his interested auditors the gist of the
scheme he had overheard.  The officers were much concerned.  None of
them was able to identify the place from the bare description which was
all that Kenneth could give them.  The bridge was clearly not in the
line of the Germans’ probable advance; its destruction could only be
meant to assist them.  But the clues, slight though they were, must be
followed up, and the Colonel declared that he would communicate with
headquarters about the matter.

After lunch he took Kenneth aside.

"I gather that you have not known your companion long?" he said.

"That is true," replied Kenneth.  "I met him for the first time
yesterday."

"You will pardon me, I am sure.  Lieutenant Pariset’s voucher for you is
sufficient; but in such times as these I should not be doing my duty if
I allowed Mr. Granger to be at large without enquiry.  Will you explain
that to him, and ask him to give me a reference to a British authority?"

"Certainly.  I am sure you will find things all right."

"The dear man!" laughed Granger when Kenneth told him this.  "He needn’t
have been so careful of my feelings as to ask you to break it to me.
I’ve no doubt I can satisfy him."

He mentioned the name of an official high in the British Foreign Office.

"A telegram to that address will bring me a character," he said.
"Meanwhile I am out of work, and a sort of prisoner on parole.  I am
sorry, because I fear it means that we shall be separated for a time.
You, I suppose, will want to be up and doing."

"Yes.  I’ve talked things over with Pariset, and he wants me to go with
him in his aeroplane in search of that bridge.  But we’ll meet again
before long.  I’m jolly glad we came across each other."

They shook hands cordially and parted.

Meanwhile Lieutenant Pariset had been in consultation with the commander
of the Belgian Flying Corps.  It had been decided that Pariset,
accompanied by Kenneth, should make a reconnaissance in his aeroplane
along the railway lines with a view to discover the bridge that was
threatened.  The German monoplane, though faster than his own, was
discarded: it would certainly have been fired upon as it crossed the
Belgian lines.  There was no clue as to the direction in which the
bridge lay, whether north, east, south or west of Liége.  But it seemed
certain that the Germans would not wish to blow up any bridges on the
east.  They would rather preserve them, in order to facilitate their
advance.  It was more probable that the bridge in question was on a
section of the railway by which reinforcements, either French or
Belgian, might be despatched to Liége.  It was therefore decided to
scout to the west and south.

Early in the afternoon Pariset and Kenneth started, working towards
Brussels by way of Tirlemont and Louvain.  Kenneth had been provided
with field-glasses, through which he closely scanned every bridge and
culvert, while Pariset piloted the machine.  Flying low, they were able
to examine the line thoroughly.  All that Kenneth had to guide him was
the knowledge that the bridge was near a mill.  There was a tunnel
between them.  It was therefore pretty clear that the bridge and the
mill could not be far apart.

They flew over the main line as far as Brussels without discovering any
bridge that fulfilled the conditions.  Then they retraced their course
and scouted along the branch lines running south from Louvain, Tirlemont
and Landen respectively.  Within a few hours they had examined the whole
triangular district that had Brussels, Liége, and Namur at its angles.
At Namur they descended for a short rest, then set off again, to try
their luck on the lines running from the French frontier.

Both felt somewhat discouraged.  To trace the many hundreds of miles of
railway that crossed the country between the Meuse and the Somme
promised to be work for a week.  Indeed, it was getting dark by the time
they had run through the coal-mining and manufacturing district between
Mons and Valenciennes.  Alighting at the latter place, they heard that
great numbers of German troops had already crossed the Belgian frontier,
and the forts of Liége were being attacked.  There was much excitement
in the town, and Pariset had some difficulty in getting petrol to
replenish his tanks.

Next morning they set off early along the line running eastward through
Maubeuge to Charleroi.  It seemed unlikely that they would find the spot
they sought in the midst of a manufacturing district, but if they were
to succeed, nothing must be left untried.

Towards ten o’clock they were crossing a stream to the south-east of
Charleroi when Kenneth suddenly gave a shout.  He had noticed on the
stream a water-mill, between which and a larger river, apparently the
Sambre, the railway crossed the stream on a brick bridge of four arches.
The mill was at least two hundred yards from the bridge, a distance that
seemed too great to have been tunnelled; but it was the first spot he
had seen that in any way conformed to the particulars he had overheard,
and it appeared worth while to examine the place more closely.

The importance of the bridge was obvious.  Its destruction would
seriously delay the transport of any French troops that might be sent
northwards to support Namur or Liége, and correspondingly assist the
Germans in an attempt to take either of those towns by a coup de main.

At Kenneth’s shout Pariset turned his head, understood that some
discovery had been made, and nodded.  He did not at once prepare to
alight.  If Germans were in possession of the mill they would notice the
sudden cessation of the noise of the propeller, which they must have
heard, and might take warning from the descent of the aeroplane in their
neighbourhood.  Luckily he had been flying low, so that the course of
the machine could not be followed for any considerable distance.  Having
run out of sight beyond a wood, he selected an open field for his
descent, and alighted a few hundred yards from a farmhouse.

"Have you found it?" asked Pariset eagerly.

"I saw a mill and a railway bridge," replied Kenneth; "but we were going
too fast for me to be sure it’s the right place."

"Well, we shall have to find that out.  We’ll get the farmer to help us
run the machine into his yard, and then reconnoitre."

The farmer and a group of his men were already hurrying towards them. In
a few words Pariset enlisted their help.  The aeroplane was run into the
yard, and placed behind a row of ricks that concealed it from the
outside.

"We should like some bread and cheese and beer," Pariset said to the
farmer.  "May we come in?"

"Surely, monsieur," was the reply.  "Come in and welcome.  Ah! these are
terrible times.  I don’t know how long I shall have a roof over my head.
But they say the English are coming to help us.  Is that true?"

"Quite true.  My friend here is an Englishman."

"Thank God!  Oh! les braves Anglais!  All will be well now.  Come in,
messieurs; you shall have the best I can give you."

CHAPTER VI--THE OLD MILL

Sitting in the farm-kitchen, and eating the farmer’s homely fare,
Pariset talked a little about the war, and led the way discreetly to the
questions he was eager to ask.

"The mill, monsieur?  ’Tis twenty years since it was used.  I used to
send my corn to it, but nowadays I send it to Charleroi, where a
steam-mill grinds it more cheaply.  The old miller is a good friend of
mine, but he retired twenty years ago; he’s a warm man, to be sure.
That’s his house yonder:" he pointed to a cottage half a mile away
across the fields.  "We often have a gossip over a mug of beer."

"It’s just as well he made his money before steam-mills became so
common," said Pariset.  "I suppose it wasn’t worth any one’s while to
keep the water-mill going?"

"No; there’s no money in milling of the old sort now.  But it goes to my
heart to see the old mill idle.  Such a loss, too.  But the miller can
stand it; he’s a warm man, as I told you.  And after all, he has made a
little out of it lately.  But it’s a come-down, that’s what I say."

"It is idle, you said."

"Yes, to be sure, and always will be.  But the miller has let it for two
years past.  He makes a little out of it, and so do I, not so much as I
should like, for the gentleman is only there now and then.  He’s a Swiss
gentleman that keeps a hotel in Namur.  A great fisherman, he is; he’ll
fish for hours in the millpond, and I wonder he has the patience for it,
for there’s not much to be caught there since the grinding stopped.
Still, I don’t complain; he buys my eggs and butter when he comes there,
two or three times a year perhaps.  He’s there now, with a few friends
of his."

"I should like to have a chat with your friend the miller," said
Pariset.

"He’d like it too, monsieur.  He doesn’t have much company, and he’d
like to hear about things from an officer; you can’t believe what you
read in the papers.  I’ll take you across the fields."

In a few minutes they were seated in a cosy little parlour, opposite a
sturdy countryman, hale and hearty in spite of his seventy odd years. He
asked shrewd questions about the war, foresaw great trouble for his
country, but, like the farmer, was cheered by the news that "les braves
Anglais" were coming once more to her rescue.  When Pariset led up to
the subject of his mill he became animated.

"Ah! the old mill is a rare old place," he said with a chuckle.  "The
things I could tell you!  There was more than milling in the old days.
Times are changed.  We’re all for law now.  But in my grandfather’s
time--why, monsieur, he’s dead and gone this forty years, so it will do
him no harm if I tell you he was a smuggler.  Many and many a barrel of
good brandy used to get across the border without paying duty.  Why,
underneath the old mill there are cellars and passages where he used to
store contraband worth thousands of francs.  I used to steal down there
when I was a boy, and ma foi! it made my skin creep, though there was
nothing to be afraid of.  But ’tis fifty years since my old grandfather
closed them down, and they’ve never been opened up since."

"Your present tenant is a hotel-keeper, I hear.  He would be interested
to know about the smuggling."

"That he was, to be sure.  He laughed when I told him about it.  ’We
can’t get rich that way nowadays,’ said he.  He seems to have plenty of
money, though; pays me a good rent.  ’Tis strange what whims gentlemen
have.  A month’s fishing in the pond wouldn’t feed him for a week.  He
calls it sport; well, in my young days I liked something more lively.
But the fishing is just an excuse; he comes there now and then for a
change and quiet, though he’s not a solitary, like some fishermen.  He
has a party of friends sometimes; all Swiss like himself."

"French Swiss?" asked Pariset.

"No, German Swiss.  For my part, I’ve no great liking for German Swiss.
They’re only one remove from Germans.  But his money is good, and it’s
something to make a little money out of the old mill after all these
years."

The old man spoke quite frankly, and evidently had no suspicions about
his tenant.  Pariset thought it safe to disillusion him.

"Would you be surprised to learn that your fisherman is actually a
German?" he said.

"But that is impossible," said the miller.  "He would have gone back to
Germany, because of the war."

"Unless he is a spy!  We have reason to believe that he is, and that he
is using your mill for the benefit of the enemy.  That is what has
brought us here."

"Sacre nom de nom!" the old man ejaculated, and the farmer thumped the
table and swore.  "Is that the truth, monsieur?"

"We suspect him of intending to blow up the railway bridge at a given
signal."

"Ah! the villain!  And he will use the underground passages.  That is
why he pays me a high rent, parbleu!  But he has come to the end of his
tether.  You are here to arrest him?"

"No.  We have no men with us.  We came to learn whether our suspicions
were justified.  We are not sure of our man yet."

"Bah!" shouted the old man, red with fury.  "It is certain.  He has
fooled me.  I will raise the countryside.  We will fall on these
Germans.  Before night they shall lie in the dungeons of Charleroi."

"Do you think that is the way to go to work?" Pariset asked tactfully.
"They would hardly allow themselves to be caught napping; at the first
alarm they would no doubt blow up the bridge, and I take it that to
prevent that is even more important than to seize the men
themselves--though our aim should be to do both."

"It is true, monsieur.  I am an old man.  This is the day of young men.
Oh that I were forty years younger and able to serve my country!  But
you will not let them go?  You will bring some of our brave soldiers
here and capture the villains?"

"There may not be time for that.  We must meet craft with craft.  If we
could only reconnoitre the mill we might be able to hit upon a plan. My
uniform would give me away, if I approached the place as I am; you could
no doubt lend me some clothes to disguise myself?"

"Surely, monsieur; but----"

He broke off, eyeing Pariset’s face, with its small military moustache,
doubtfully.

At this moment they heard the rumble of a heavy vehicle on the road.

"It is the beer, compère," said the farmer, glancing out of the window.

"Ah! the beer!" repeated the miller.  "I might have known they were
Germans!  Every week they have a barrel delivered from Charleroi, and it
is not the local brew, but the Lion brew from Munich."

He had moved to the window, followed by his visitors.  A heavy dray
laden with beer was lumbering down the road.  As it came opposite to the
house the drayman hailed the miller, pulling up his horses.

"The Germans are shelling Liége," he said.  "Maybe ’tis the last time I
shall come this way.  Your good tenants had better clear out."

"Good tenants!" cried the old man explosively.

"Quiet!" said Pariset, touching him on the sleeve.  "Don’t tell him they
are Germans."

"Ah!  You are right, monsieur.  But my blood boils.  You are going to
the mill?" he asked the drayman.

"Yes.  ’Tis only a small barrel to-day--not the big one they usually
have.  There aren’t so many of them, seemingly.  I was just loading up
the usual nine gallons when the order came from the office to take a
four-and-a-half instead."

Pariset glanced quickly at Kenneth.

"They’re going to clear out soon," he said in a low tone.  "It looks as
though we’re only just in time."

They drew aside from the others while the miller gossiped with the
drayman.

"I say, you talked of disguising yourself," said Kenneth.  "Why
shouldn’t you take the drayman’s place and deliver the beer?  You could
then take stock of the place and the people."

"A capital notion!  I must take the drayman into my confidence.  Wait a
minute," he called out of the window, as the man was about to drive on.
In a few words he explained the plan to the miller.

"Parbleu, monsieur, but look at his size!" said the old man.

"Yes, that’s a difficulty, I admit," said Pariset ruefully.  "He would
make three of me.  The Germans aren’t fools, and if they saw me with his
smock flapping about me they would smell a rat."

"And your face and hands, monsieur--no, decidedly you could not pass for
a drayman."

Pariset bit his nails in perplexity.  Kenneth stared musingly at the
dray.

"I’ve an idea!" he said.  "Pretend that the drayman has been called up.
The brewer is short-handed, and has to send clerks out of the office to
deliver the beer: two clerks equal one drayman.  Besides, if I go with
you, I may catch sight of that fellow I saw with Hellwig, and make sure
he’s our man."

"The very thing!  Your clothes are all right; I must borrow a suit from
the miller.  But wait: won’t Hellwig’s man recognise you?"

"I’ll guard against that--smear my face with rust off the cask-hoops,
and borrow a slouch hat which I’ll keep well down over my eyes.  It’s
worth trying."

Delighted with the plan, the miller furnished them with the necessary
garments.  In a few minutes Pariset, got up passably as a clerk, went
out to the drayman, who was becoming impatient.  The man swore when he
learnt that his customers were suspected to be spies, and readily agreed
to remain in the miller’s house and await the issue of the stratagem.
Meanwhile Kenneth had rubbed his cheeks and hands with rust, and in the
low flopping hat lent him by the miller would hardly have been
recognised by his friends, much less, he hoped, by a man who had seen
him for only a few minutes.

"I had better drive," said Kenneth; "then I can keep in the background
while you are delivering the cask, if you can tackle it alone."

"That will be easy enough.  I see there’s a ladder or inclined plane or
whatever they call it on the dray.  I’ve only to roll the cask down and
trundle it to the door.  I don’t suppose they’ll let me carry it
inside."

Kenneth took the reins, and drove off, Pariset, who also had smeared
face and hands, dangling his legs over the tail of the dray.  They
jogged down the road, passed under the railway bridge, and came in due
course to the mill.

The premises were surrounded by an old and dilapidated wall, but they
noticed that along its top ran a row of formidable spikes, apparently of
recent date.  The front door of the mill-house faced the road.  It was
stoutly built of oak studded with nails, and was flanked on both sides
by barred windows.  The smuggling miller who built the place had
evidently made himself secure against surprise.

When the dray drew up before the door, Pariset sprang down and jerked
the iron bell-pull.  From the driver’s seat Kenneth saw a face appear
for an instant at one of the windows.  After a short interval the bolts
were withdrawn, the door opened, and a man stood on the threshold.
Kenneth tingled; he had recognised him instantly as the man who had been
in conversation with Hellwig.  He turned his head so as not to show his
full face, pulled his hat lower over his eyes, and hoped that the
recognition had not been mutual.  And he listened anxiously, wondering
how Pariset would acquit himself in his novel part, and wishing for the
moment that Granger was in his place.

Pariset, however, was cool and collected.  He took the bull by the
horns.

"I am sorry I am late, monsieur," he said, "but the fact is that all our
carters are called up for transport purposes.  Being anxious not to
disappoint a valued customer, my master has sent us out of the office.
We shan’t be able to come again, for we’re called up ourselves--all
through those pigs of Germans, who are said to be across the frontier.
We shan’t be able to deliver any more beer, I’m afraid.  It’s a wonder
we’ve any horses left."

The German merely grunted in answer to this.

"We’re in for a very bad time," Pariset went on, as he hoisted the end
of the cask on to the doorstep.  "Hadn’t you better go back to
Switzerland, monsieur?  Pardon the suggestion, but we don’t know what
may happen.  If these German pigs come south----"

"Just roll it into the lobby," interrupted the German.  "Here’s the
money.  By the way, have you seen an aeroplane in the neighbourhood?"

"Yes, we saw one an hour or so ago.  It was flying north-east.  I
shouldn’t be surprised if it was German.  The pigs are capable of
anything.  But they’ll get a reception that will surprise them.  Our
little army--but there!  You know what your own army would do, and your
turn may come in Switzerland sooner than you think.  Thank you: I am
sorry we shan’t be able to serve you again, by the look of things."

He laid the cask in the lobby, pocketed the money, and returned to the
dray.

Meanwhile Kenneth had seized the opportunity to take a careful look
around.  It was clear that it would not be easy to take the place by a
rush without giving the inmates sufficient time to fire the mine beneath
the bridge.  The fact that the German had come to the door himself,
instead of the deaf old countryman whom he was said to employ as a
man-of-all-work, showed that he was on the alert.  Nothing would be
easier than to overpower the man himself; but if any noise were made in
so doing his companions would instantly come to his assistance, and at
the first sign that the plot had been discovered the bridge would be
blown up.  It seemed that the ruse would prove fruitless after all.

In turning the horses for the journey back, Kenneth contrived to bring
the dray close against the wall, so that from his high seat he was able
to look over.  Through the open window of a room giving on the yard he
saw a party of four men playing cards at a table.  Close to the right
hand of each stood a tall beer glass.

"That explains why they are such good customers of the brewery," he
thought.

Pariset, sitting at the back of the dray with his face to the door,
began to hum a tune, and Kenneth caught the words "En avant!"  He
whipped up the horses, big Flemish beasts that were evidently
unaccustomed to go above a walking pace, and the heavy vehicle lumbered
away.

"Why did you want me to hurry?" asked Kenneth, when they were some
distance along the road.

"Because that fellow was standing at the door watching us," Pariset
replied.  "I wonder if he is suspicious?"

"I shouldn’t think so.  You played your part quite naturally.  But we
are right, Remi: that’s the fellow I saw with Hellwig."

"Ah!" was all that Pariset said then.

CHAPTER VII--A HORNET’S NEST

"I am not at all happy about this," said Pariset, after a brief silence.

"We haven’t learnt very much, certainly," said Kenneth.

"I don’t mean that.  We have learnt enough if that is your man.  But I
see no means of preventing the destruction of the bridge."

"We might fly to Charleroi and send a squadron of lancers back.  There
are only five men to deal with, apparently."

"That’s not the difficulty.  The point is that at the first sign of
molestation they would fire the mine.  You may depend upon it that they
are picked men, with resolution enough to do their job, even at the cost
of their lives.  It would not be much use to capture them after the
mischief was already done."

"The mine is to be fired on receipt of a marconigram."

"You didn’t tell me that.  It may happen at any minute, then.  They must
have wireless rigged up in the mill-house.  We might have cut a wire,
but with wireless we are helpless."

"Unless we could get into the mill," Kenneth suggested.

"Ah, if we could!  But there’s no chance of it.  The fellow is on the
qui vive: I don’t like the way he looked after us."

"Wouldn’t the old miller, as the landlord, have a right to go in?"

"I daresay, but the old man couldn’t do anything.  Even if he knew
anything about wireless or mines, he would only get flustered; he
certainly would quite fail to do any damage."

"Perhaps he could tell us of another way into the mill, so that we could
do it ourselves."

"That could only be in the darkness, and they may fire the mine before
night.  I see nothing for it, after all, but to bring some cavalry from
Charleroi and take care the men don’t escape.  We can do that, if we
can’t save the bridge."

"Why not wait a little?  If the order to fire the mine comes suddenly,
any time before night, we can’t prevent it.  But if it doesn’t come
before night, we still have a chance.  In any case we ought to get some
lancers over, to be in the neighbourhood at nightfall.  It won’t take
long for one of us to get into Charleroi and back."

"That would be risky after that fellow’s question about the aeroplane.
The best course will be to send in a message by the drayman.  I’ll write
a note as soon as we get back."

The drayman readily agreed to carry Pariset’s note to the commandant of
the Charleroi garrison.  When he had departed, the miller was taken into
consultation.

"Is there any other entrance to the millhouse besides the front door?"
asked Pariset.

"There is a door to the stables, but that has long been nailed up," the
old man replied.

"Describe the interior as well as you can."

"Well, monsieur, I lived there fifty years, so I ought to know something
about it.  You go in by the door; well, first there’s the lobby; beyond
that, straight ahead, is the kitchen, and beyond that again, looking on
the stream, is the storeroom with the mill above.  To the left of that
is the hoist; and this side of it, overlooking the yard, is the big
room, dining-room and parlour in one.  There you have the ground-floor;
the bedrooms are upstairs."

"And the wall goes all round?"

"Yes, right down to the stream on each side, and along the bank, except
where the wheel juts out into the waterway.  The old wheel is dropping
to pieces; it hasn’t been used these twenty years."

"Couldn’t we get in that way?"

"Ma foi!  That’s an idea, now.  Many’s the time I got in that way as a
boy, when the wheel was stopped--just a boy’s devilry, you understand.
You could get in that way yet, if the woodwork isn’t too rotten to bear
your weight.  You would have to wade the stream, but that isn’t deep or
swift except in winter.  Old as I be I’ll show you the way myself."

"We could get in without being heard?"

"To be sure, if the woodwork doesn’t crack and give way.  The kitchen is
the nearest room; old Jules, the handy man, is as deaf as a post, and
his wife, who does the cooking, isn’t much better."

"And where is the entrance to the underground passages?"

"To the left of the kitchen, in the floor of the hoist."

As the miller answered his questions, Pariset sketched a rough plan of
the building.

"Is that something like it?" he asked, handing the paper over.

The old man put on his spectacles deliberately, and examined the sketch.

"Near enough," he said.  "Ma foi!  But I couldn’t have done that
myself."

"Now the question is, when shall we try to get in?" asked Pariset. "The
best time would be when the men are having a meal.  The Germans take
their meals seriously; if they are ever to be caught off their guard it
is when they are feeding."

"That’s true," said the miller.  "They have their supper somewhere about
seven o’clock.  I know that because one evening I met old Jules coming
back from the village all puffing and blowing.  I asked him why he was
in such a hurry for an old man; had to ask three times before he heard
me; and he told me he’d forgotten the vinegar, and the gentlemen were
very angry."

"Well, it’s dusk at seven; the lancers will be here by half-past. We’ll
make our attempt then."

"Better go a little earlier, while it’s light enough to see our way,"
suggested the miller.  "I’m not so young as I was, and I doubt whether I
could find my way in the dark."

"Very well.  It’s now nearly five; we have nearly two hours to wait.
You’ll give us a meal, miller?"

"To be sure; the best I have.  I’d feed a regiment to capture a German
spy."

Just before seven Pariset and Kenneth left the house with the miller.
Pariset had given the farmer a note addressed to the officer of the
expected lancers, asking him to leave the horses at the farm, and post
his men behind the hedge lining the road in the neighbourhood of the
mill, ready to break in if they were called upon, or to intercept the
Germans if they tried to escape.

The miller led the way across the fields, by a route which did not
expose them to view from the mill-house until they arrived within a few
yards of the bank of the stream opposite the wheel.  The last part of
the journey lay through a cornfield, the wheat growing so high that by
stooping they completely hid themselves.

All was silent in the mill-house.  Dusk was just falling.  A lamp had
already been lit in the kitchen, sending a ray of light across the yard
to the left.  The rear of the building, facing the stream, was dark.

Following the miller, the two young fellows stepped into the stream, and
waded across knee deep till they stood below the wheel.  It was an
undershot wheel.  The chains confining it were deeply rusted.  Some of
the floats had fallen away; others were broken; all were more or less
decayed.

"I’ve done my part," the miller whispered.  "You must squeeze through
into the wheel and slide along the axle.  Where it is let into the
brickwork you’ll find a hole big enough to crawl through.  Climb up, and
you’ll find yourselves in a little room that used to be the tool-shop.
Take care you don’t stumble over the tools on the floor. At the further
side there’s a door into the storeroom.  I can do no more.  Que le bon
Dieu vous protège!"

He shook hands with them in turn, recrossed the stream, and disappeared
among the wheat stalks.

With some difficulty Pariset squeezed his body between two of the
floats, hoisted himself up, and stood in the interior of the wheel. The
rotten woodwork creaked, and the wheel itself groaned slightly as it
moved an inch or two; but the movement was checked by the rusty chains.
Kenneth followed more easily.  They swung themselves on to the axle,
jerked their way along it, came to the hole of which the miller had
spoken, and clambering up through it, stood on the floor of the
toolroom.  Hands and clothes were coated with red rust.

The room was lit by a small window overlooking the stream.  To their
surprise, it was not empty except for a few rusty implements, as they
had expected from the miller’s description.  A new deal bench stood
against the wall, flanked by a turning lathe, and an elaborate
engineering equipment.

"Electrical!" Pariset whispered.

Treading very carefully, they gently opened the door, took a look round,
and passed into the capacious storeroom.  Here they found the plant of a
wireless telegraphy installation.  The antennae passed through holes in
the ceiling, emerging, as they guessed, under cover of the parapet, on
the flat roof of the mill.

In the fast-fading light they were just able to see a doorway on the
right, leading, as they knew from the miller’s description, to the hoist
and shoot.  In front of them was another door, now open, giving access
to a passage between the kitchen and the dining-room.  Pariset slipped
off his wet boots.

"Wait here," he whispered.

Stealing along the passage, he came to a door on the right.  He put his
ear against it, and heard the clink of knives and forks mingled with
guttural conversation.  Creeping back again, he whispered:

"They are feeding.  Come along!"

They passed from the storeroom into the chamber which had formerly
contained the hoist.  Here they noticed a tall heap of earth.

"They dug that out when continuing the underground passage to the
bridge," said Pariset.

"Here’s the trap-door," returned Kenneth.  "Look!  There’s a wire
running through it, connecting with the room behind."

"It’s all very thorough, confound them!" said Pariset.  "I hope the
trap-door won’t creak."

They lifted it gently, and found that it moved on a central axis, well
oiled.  Peering into the dark depths, Kenneth discovered a wooden
ladder.  They crept down this, into a large underground chamber flagged
with stone, and ventilated by narrow gratings in the brick walls, above
the level of the stream.

"We had better not both go on," said Pariset.  "I’ll go up and keep
watch.  You proceed, and cut the wires at the further end of the
passage."

"Why not here?" said Kenneth.  "It would save time."

"But if the word should come to fire the mine, and they find the
apparatus doesn’t work, they’d soon discover the cut here and repair it.
Much better do the damage at the other end."

"Very well.  You’ll use your revolver if they come before I get back?"

"Yes.  I’ll take my chance.  They probably won’t guess that there’s any
one below, if I shut down the trap-door.  You know what to do: cut the
wire, or disconnect the terminals."

With the trap-door closed, it was pitch dark in the chamber.  Kenneth
struck a match, and making his way carefully over the flagstones found
himself in a narrow passage, which led into another large chamber like
the first.  This again was connected with a third by a short passage.
The floor of the third was heaped with newly excavated earth, and the
sole outlet from it was a low tunnel, which a man could enter only by
bending low.

Kenneth crept into it, breathing with difficulty in the stuffy
atmosphere impregnated with the smell of earth.  It seemed endless, and
must have cost prodigious labour.  On and on he went, his back and legs
aching, his breathing more and more oppressed.  The thought came to him,
what if the tunnel were obstructed at the further end?  When the wire
had once been laid, the Germans would have no interest in keeping the
passage clear.  What if the roof fell upon him?  What if--direst
possibility of all!--the mine were fired while he was still in the
tunnel?  At this thought he felt a momentary "sinking," and dropped his
match-box.  Taking a grip upon himself he waited a few moments until his
nerves were steadied, groped for the match-box, struck another match,
and went on.

A few yards more brought him to an enlargement of the tunnel, where he
could stand upright.  And here he found that the wire, laid along the
floor, ended in a metal case, which he guessed to contain a detonating
apparatus, like the floating mines employed at sea.  It was the work of
a moment to sever the wire.  Then, turning his back on this terrible
agent of destruction, Kenneth hurried along as fast as possible towards
the open end of the tunnel.

CHAPTER VIII--A FIGHT IN THE MILL

Kenneth returned more quickly than he had gone.  He was consumed with a
feverish impatience to assure himself of Pariset’s safety.  Pariset had
been very confident; but it was at least within the bounds of
possibility that, if discovered by the Germans, he might be overpowered
before he had time to fire a warning shot.

When he reached the trap-door he tapped lightly on it.  It was raised at
once.

"Good!" whispered Pariset.  "Is it done?"

"Yes, the wire is cut."

"Capital!  You have only been twenty minutes."

"Has anything happened?"

"A minute or two ago there was a ring at the bell, and I heard someone
go to the door.  I was afraid that some friend of these fellows had
discovered the lancers and come to give warning; but it can’t be that,
because all is quiet."

"Still, he may be a friend, and that will mean that we have six men to
deal with instead of five."

"It doesn’t matter, now the wire is cut.  We had better creep out again,
go round by the field, cross the bridge, and join the lancers in an
attack on the house."

"Suppose the lancers haven’t come!"

"We have to reckon with that possibility, of course; but it’s not
probable.  I’ll just reconnoitre again; then we’ll get back.  If the
lancers have not arrived, we must get the assistance of some stout
fellows from the farm.  I’m determined that these Germans shall not
escape."

"Let me go," said Kenneth.  "You don’t know German; I do; and I might
overhear something worth making a note of."

"That’s a good notion.  We may get on the track of other operations of
theirs.  Take off your boots; I’ll tie them to mine."

A minute later Kenneth tiptoed in his stocking feet along the dark
passage.  Through the closed door of the kitchen on the left came the
sounds of some one moving about.  On the other side he heard the voices
of the men in the dining-room, the door of which was ajar.  Grasping his
revolver, he bent his ear towards the opening.  At the first words he
caught he started.  The voice was only too familiar to him.  It was the
voice of Kurt Hellwig.

Was he there before, Kenneth wondered, or was he the newcomer whose ring
Pariset had heard?  In a few seconds the point was cleared up.

"Yes," Hellwig was saying, "I had intended to give you the word by
wireless myself.  But the chief wanted me to come through and see that
all was ready.  The wire is fixed?"

"I guarantee that," was his friend’s reply.  "You don’t want to go along
the tunnel yourself?"

"No, I’ll take your word for it.  I’m very tired; thought I should never
get through.  Our friend Spiegel was caught in Liége before my eyes, and
taken away to be shot.  The soldiers could hardly save him from
lynching, the mob was so furious."

"The Belgians are going to be troublesome, then?" said another voice.

"It appears so.  We opened the attack on the forts yesterday, and the
fools had the audacity to reply.  They did some damage, too, worse luck.
Von Emmich is attacking again to-day in full force, and with his numbers
he’ll sweep the idiots away.  There’ll not be a man left.  The orders
are to spare nothing and nobody."

"When are we likely to get the word?" asked his friend.

"Probably not at all.  If our men are already in Liége, as I expect is
the case, we shall leave the bridge intact: the railway will be useful.
It is only to be blown up in case of a check, to prevent the Belgians
from being reinforced from France.  But that’s not at all likely."

"I suppose it is true that England has declared war?"

Hellwig’s ironical laugh made Kenneth’s blood boil.

"Yes, it’s true," he said.  "It’s the chance we’ve been waiting for for
years.  They’ve next to no army; they’re never ready; and within a week
there’ll be a rebellion in Ireland which will keep the whole of their
forces busy.  Within a month we shall have France under our heel; then
we’ll turn back and crush the Russians, who’ve no organization.  Then
with the Channel ports in our possession the rest will be easy.  By this
time next year the Kaiser will be dictating peace in London."

"Well, you ought to know the English; you’ve lived among them.  How they
got their empire I can’t understand....  Then we shall be leaving here
soon?  It’s quite time."

"What do you mean?"

"It may be all right, but thinking it over I can’t help feeling a little
suspicious.  The beer delivered to-day was brought by two clerks.  They
said the draymen had been called up, and they were doing duty in their
place.  It didn’t occur to me till they were driving off that the
clerks, well-set-up young fellows, were likely to have been called up
before the draymen.  The man who usually comes is a big fat fellow who
couldn’t march a mile without collapsing.  But nothing has happened, so
I suppose I was suspicious for nothing."

"They didn’t come into the house?"

"No; the fellow who brought the cask into the lobby didn’t seem at all
curious.  Ah!"

He was interrupted by the ticking of an instrument on a table at the far
end of the room.  There was silence for a moment as he read the message.

"The bridge is to be blown up," said the man, returning.  "At last!"

"Give me a few minutes to finish my meal," said Hellwig.  "I’ve had
nothing to eat for twelve hours.  A quarter of an hour, say; that won’t
make any difference.  I wish your cook would hurry up."

Kenneth turned to go back, anticipating a possible visit to the kitchen.
At the same moment the kitchen door opened, and an old woman bearing a
tray came into the passage.  The light from the lamp behind her fell on
an unfamiliar figure at the door of the dining-room--a bootless man with
a revolver in his hand.  The woman screamed; the tray fell from her
hand, and a pool of soup spread over the floor.  There was an outcry in
the dining-room; the man nearest the door flung it fully open, to find
the muzzle of a revolver within a few inches of his head.

In the moment allowed him for thought, Kenneth had realised that he
could not escape if he dashed past the old woman with armed men at his
back.  With an inward tremor he made up his mind to the bold course.

"Hands up!" he cried, as the startled man recoiled.

The German instantly flung up his hands.  But his companions realised
the position.  One of them sprang across the room to an electric push in
the wall.  Another, covered by the man who had flinched, whipped out his
revolver, and took a snapshot at Kenneth.  But a slight movement of the
man between them brought him in the line of fire, and he fell with a
bullet through his head.

It was no time for half measures.  Kenneth covered his assailant, fired,
and brought him down.  Through the shrieks of the old woman in the
passage there came to his ears a shout of encouragement, and immediately
after he had fired his shot Pariset rushed up to the doorway, reaching
over Kenneth’s shoulder to point his revolver.  At the sight of this the
three remaining men dashed to the open window and leapt out; the last of
them, pausing to close the window, was winged by Pariset’s flying shot.
Kenneth and his friend sprang across the room, threw the window open,
and jumped into the yard.  But the brief delay at the window had given
the fugitives time to make their escape in the darkness.  They were not
to be seen.

"The lancers will get them!" Kenneth panted.

"If they’ve come!" replied Pariset.

He blew his whistle.  There was no response.  They dashed across the
yard, wondering how the Germans could have escaped, for there was no
outlet on this side of the house, and the wall was high and spiked. But
after a minute or two they discovered a gap in the base of the wall,
large enough to admit a man crawling.  On the outside it was concealed
by long grass and weeds.  Wriggling through this they sprinted along by
the wall to the road.  And then they heard the distant galloping of a
troop of horsemen.  Pariset blew his whistle again, and in a few seconds
a half squadron of Belgian lancers reined up.

"Three men have escaped," cried Pariset.  "Round them up!"

The horsemen galloped off, some along the road, some along the grassy
bank of the stream, the rest into the field beyond the hedge.

"A pity they were late," said Pariset, walking slowly with Kenneth back
to the house.  "When I heard your shot I expected that they’d force the
door and rush in."

"I hope they will catch the Germans," said Kenneth.  "One of them--it
was the last comer, the man whose ring at the bell you heard--was
Hellwig.  I shall be particularly disgusted if he gets off."

"What led to the row?  You weren’t rash enough to attack them?"

"No; but I wasn’t so careful as I ought to have been, I’m afraid.  You
see, hearing no knives and forks going, I thought they had finished
their meal, and everything was cleared away, and didn’t expect any
danger from the kitchen.  As soon as I knew there was something
preparing for Hellwig I backed, straight into the old woman with a tray.
It was all up then, of course."

"You’ve had a lucky escape.  But we have saved the bridge."

"One of the fellows dashed to an electric push," said Kenneth, smiling.
"I was too busy to notice how he looked when the explosion he expected
didn’t happen, but I’ve no doubt it was the surprise of his life."

"We’ll have a look round.  I’ll give the old woman a soothing
explanation, and borrow a lamp."

Their investigation added little to their knowledge.  The luggage of the
spies contained no papers bearing on espionage.  But the wireless
installation, carried up inside the chimney, was very powerful.  The
electrical apparatus for firing the mine was in perfect order.

"There is nothing amateurish about it," said Pariset.  "This is spying
reduced to a science."

It was some time before the lancers returned.  They brought with them
the man who had been wounded as he sprang through the window.  The
others had got away.  The man who had fired at Kenneth was dead; his
comrade, to whom he owed his death, Kenneth had wounded.

After consultation with the captain of lancers, it was decided to leave
a dozen men to occupy the mill, pending the receipt of instructions from
headquarters.  Kenneth and Pariset begged a lodging for the night from
the old miller, who was delighted at the success of their scheme, and
lavishly hospitable.

CHAPTER IX--IN THE TRENCHES

Next morning the two friends flew into Charleroi.  The town was seething
with excitement.  People were laughing and singing, cheering every
soldier who passed along the street, congratulating each other on the
good news.  It had become known that the fierce German assaults of the
previous day on Liége had been beaten back by the guns of the forts and
the steady rifle fire of the men in the trenches, and that the Germans
had asked for an armistice.

"Splendid!" said Pariset, when he learnt the news from a brother
officer: "though we mustn’t crow too soon.  The cessation of the attack
gives us the chance I wanted, then.  We can take advantage of it to get
into Liége.  I should like to report our little coup in person."

"There will be no difficulty in my getting away, I suppose?" asked
Kenneth.

"What do you wish to do?"

"Get to England and join the Flying Corps."

"They would take you?"

"Well, my chest measures thirty-six inches, my teeth are sound, and I’ve
no varicose veins.  The only doubt is about my sight: my right eye is a
trifle astigmatic.  But I think I should pass the doctor."

"I wish you could stay with us.  But I understand your wish to serve
with your own army.  As soon as we get back I’ll ask the commandant if I
can be spared to carry you to Ostend."

Kenneth agreed to this, and they started eastward.  It was nearing
midday when they swooped down from a great height on to an open space
some three miles west of Liége.  Pariset had pointed out the positions
of the forts as they descended; but Kenneth had been able barely to
distinguish them while in the air, and when he came to the ground they
were quite out of sight.

But the intervening space had been carefully prepared for infantry.
Trenches had been dug, barbed wire entanglements stretched from point to
point, every natural feature adapted to the purposes of defence.  At the
present moment the trenches were not manned.  Pariset learnt from a
comrade in the flying corps that though the armistice had been refused,
the Germans had not as yet renewed the attack.  Their losses on the
previous day had been very heavy, and the garrison were confident of
their ability to repulse any further assaults if the Germans persisted
in attacking in the same dense masses, and were not supported by heavier
artillery than that which they had employed hitherto.

Kenneth listened eagerly to the conversation between the two airmen. He
learnt how the German infantry, covered by artillery, had advanced again
and again in close formation, only to be hurled back by the fire from
the forts and the trenches, followed up with the bayonet.  The Belgians
were amazed at the doggedness with which their enemy had pressed on,
careless of cover, though great gaps were torn in their packed columns.
Such a wastage of men pointed to a vast confidence in the ultimate
superiority of numbers, the crushing of the defence by sheer weight
rather than skill.

Pariset explained, when Kenneth questioned him, the importance to the
enemy of the capture of Liége.  Encircled by its twelve forts,
constructed by the engineering genius of General Brialmont, the town
stood as a formidable obstacle to the advance of the Germans through the
valley of the Meuse, the easiest way into France.  Every day it could be
held was a day’s delay in the prosecution of the enemy’s plan of
campaign, which, as everybody knew, was to crush France before Russia
had time to threaten Germany on her eastern border.

"The Germans have, they think, a very perfect military machine," Pariset
continued; "I daresay they have, though perhaps they are a little too
cocksure about it.  They’ve had no experience of war for forty years,
and their easy victory in 1870 has possibly produced what you call
swelled head.  Anyhow, the most perfect machine may be dislocated by a
little grit, and Liége, we hope, will be the little grit for the
occasion.  Now we had better get some lunch; then we’ll fly north.  I’ll
report myself to my commandant, and ask for leave to carry you to
Ostend."

They walked away to the rear of the lines, towards a cottage on which
the canteen flag was flying.  Before they reached it they met a general
officer on horseback, cantering along accompanied by an aide-de-camp.
Pariset saluted, the officers touched their hats and passed.

"General Leman, commanding the forts," said Pariset.

"He looked just like an Englishman," Kenneth replied.

Pariset smiled, and was beginning a chaffing remark when he was hailed
from behind.  Turning, he saw that the officers had reined up, and
turned their horses’ flanks towards him.  He hurried back, Kenneth
taking a step or two in the same direction.

"Lieutenant Pariset, I understand?" he heard the general say.  "I
compliment you on your little exploit.  You did very well; thank you!"

Pariset murmured something, saluted again, and the officers rode off.

"He didn’t give me time to tell him about you," said Pariset, rejoining
his friend.  "He is evidently in a hurry to get back to Fort Loncin."

"It doesn’t matter about me," said Kenneth.  "How did he know about it
at all?"

"He must have got the news by telegram or wireless from Charleroi.  But
really it was your doing, you know.  I must make that clear."

"Don’t talk rubbish!  I only gave you the information.  I liked the look
of him.  What keen eyes he has!"

"He’s a splendid fellow.  But come along!  Our men are a hungry lot, and
I don’t want to find the board cleared."

They were sitting at lunch among a group of cheery young officers when a
bugle rang out.  The officers sprang up, seized their arms, and rushed
out of the cottage.

"The Germans are coming on again," cried Pariset.  "Come and see."

They ran back towards the trenches, which were already filling with
riflemen.  A deep boom sounded from some distant spot.

"A German gun!" said Pariset.

"I don’t see the shell," said Kenneth, looking round.

"My dear fellow, it had fallen somewhere before we heard the sound. Ah!
the forts are replying."

In a few minutes the silence of the summer noon was shattered by the
continuous thunder of artillery.  With the deep slow booms of the big
guns was mingled the quicker, sharper bang of machine guns somewhere out
of sight.

"Get down, you asses!" cried an officer, as they drew near to the
trenches.  "Do you want to be marked?"

They took cover behind a hedge.  Kenneth tingled from top to toe as he
heard the crash of the guns, and felt the earth and the very air shake
with the concussion.  Presently a shrill whistle sounded; it was
followed almost instantaneously by a prolonged crackle, which had hardly
died away when from above them came a zip, zip, zip, like the notes of
some tuneless bird.

"The Germans are firing anyhow," said Pariset in an involuntary whisper.

Round the hedge came swiftly two men in blue coats with the red cross on
their sleeves, carrying an ambulance.  A groan rose from it.

"I can’t stand this," said Pariset.

He dashed along the hedge and into the open.  Kenneth instinctively
followed him, not doubting for a moment what it was that Pariset could
not stand.  Pariset, with Kenneth close at his heels, made straight for
the nearest trench, heedless of the shot and shell whistling, singing,
crashing around them.  They flung themselves into the trench, and
Kenneth, without understanding how it had happened, found himself
leaning forward, rifle in hand, listening to a droning monotone from
Pariset a yard to the left of him.

"Mark your man....  Don’t be in a hurry....  Keep your head as low as
possible....  You’ll soon get used to the noise."

It was a minute or two before Kenneth realised that the rifle had been
thrust into his hand for use.  Looking over the parapet of the trench he
was still confused and bewildered.  Pariset expected him to fire, but
where was the enemy?  He saw the long grass waving in the breeze, a few
scattered trees in the field beyond, wisps and cloudlets of smoke--and
then, as the range of his vision increased, in the far distance a
bluish-grey mass rolling like a billow towards him.

At last he understood.  That bluish-grey mass was the enemy.  It
represented brute force, broken faith, merciless tyranny.  It was the
devastating flood which these brave soldiers about him were giving their
lives to check.

Presently he distinguished individuals in the mass.

"Mark your man!"

The words, coolly spoken by Pariset on his left, set his imagination on
fire.  It was his privilege to have a share in their fight for freedom.
He laid the rifle to his shoulder, marked his man along the sight, and a
touch of his finger sped a bullet on its way.

For the next half-hour Kenneth lost account of everything but the task
so suddenly thrust upon him.  The deafening din of bursting shells and
rifle fire, the quick silent activity of the ambulance bearers, the
shouts and groans of men, were unnoticed by him in his constant
preoccupation.  He learnt afterwards how the Germans had pressed on with
marvellous passive courage under the hail of lead and shell from the
forts and trenches; how the gaps cleft in their close-packed ranks had
been instantly filled up, as if men had sprung out of the earth. He
fired until the chamber was empty, refilled and fired again, every now
and again hearing Pariset’s monotonous cry, "Mark your man!"

Presently there was a shrill whistle.  Instantly, in the trench on
either side of him, the men who had been lying flat sprang to their feet
and dashed forward with a joyous shout.  He was up and after them,
running across the field, with bayonet out-thrust, towards the stalwart
men in blue-grey, who had hitherto come nearer and nearer like the
irresistible tide.  But now he became suddenly conscious that the tide
was receding.  These stout warriors whom shot and shell had failed to
daunt had turned tail at the sight of gleaming steel.  Their ranks
broke; they wavered, spun round, and fled in panic disorder across the
field.

As Kenneth, with parched lips and trembling limbs, returned with Pariset
from that victorious charge, an officer of the general’s staff met them.

"This will never do, lieutenant," he said to Pariset; "we have plenty of
brave fellows to man the trenches, but we haven’t too many airmen, and
we can’t afford to risk them in field operations.  You have no business
here, you know."

"But wasn’t it glorious, colonel?" said Pariset, glowing.

"They are men to be proud of.  But I am quite serious; get back to your
corps; there will be plenty of work for you.  Has this man no uniform,
by the way?"

"They have run short, colonel," said Pariset instantly.  "We will rig
him up in a day or two."

"See to it.  If the Germans capture a man in civilian dress they will
shoot him at sight.  Now, get back at once."

"I thought it better not to go into particulars," Pariset remarked to
Kenneth as they went on.  "There might have been a row."

"It’s just as well," said Kenneth.  "But, I say, I think I’ll go into
the infantry after all."

CHAPTER X--BROKEN THREADS

On returning to his headquarters, some eight miles west of the town,
Pariset asked permission of his commandant to convey Kenneth to Ostend.
He met with a peremptory refusal; he could not be spared.

"You’ll have to go by train," he said to Kenneth.  "It will take you a
long time, the railway is so congested with troops and refugees.  Must
you go?"

"What else can I do?"

"Well, we’re short of men.  I’d like to keep you.  If I get you a sort
of appointment, will you stay?"

"Rather!  It might be months before I got a job at home."

"Then I’ll see the commandant again and try to arrange it."

When he returned half-an-hour later, Kenneth knew by his expression that
he had been successful.

"It was easier than I expected," he said.  "He was good enough to say
that you’re just the man we want.  He told me, too, that we have already
accepted the services of two English airmen who have volunteered, so
everything is quite in order.  We’ll go into Liége and get you a suit of
overalls.  I am delighted."

After the necessary purchases had been made, they went into the Hôtel de
l’Europe for dinner.  The dining-room was crowded, and Kenneth, as he
entered, glanced somewhat confusedly around the tables.  Suddenly he
heard his name, uttered in a low tone, and turning round in surprise,
saw Granger beckoning him to a small table at which he sat alone.

"There’s room here for you both, at a squeeze," he said.  "I’m glad to
see you again."

"It’s all right, then?" asked Kenneth as they sat down.

"Oh yes!  They got a reassuring telegram from my chief this morning.
What’s more, I am to stay in Liége for the present; I am lent to the
Belgians."

"That’s capital.  I have lent myself."

"’Loan oft loses both itself and friend.’  I hope it won’t be so in our
case!  Well, what have you been doing?"

Kenneth plunged into an account of the affair at the mill.  Granger
interrupted him when the waiter came for orders, and again when the man
returned with the dishes.  At the conclusion of the story, which Kenneth
gave only in outline, Granger said:

"Hellwig is in Liége.  My own stay here is not unconnected with him. He
is one of the most resourceful, ingenious and dangerous of the thousands
of spies in the German service....  They were all County Kerry men, and
when they stood at attention you might have heard a pin drop."

His companions stared at him in amazement.  His last sentence,
apparently unconnected with what had gone before, had been spoken
without change of voice or expression, and he imperturbably sucked his
lemon squash through a straw before he went on:

"He has a marvellous command of languages; is Protean in his disguises;
and in nimbleness of wit outdoes any other German I have ever come
across....  They mixed the salad with engine oil, and when Lady Barbara
took a mouthful of it, she swallowed it without blinking, and remarked
to me, ’The chef is a perfect marvel in inventing new flavours.’ ...
Waiter!"

"Monsieur?" said the waiter, smiling and bowing.

"Another lemon squash."

When the waiter had gone, Granger said:

"I must have that fellow arrested."

"What on earth for?" asked Pariset.

"And what are you driving at, with your County Kerries and your Lady
Barbaras?" said Kenneth.

"The waiter has been hovering round a little more closely than the most
officious garçon need do.  You didn’t notice him, perhaps?  He speaks
pretty good French, with a strong Belgian accent.  Did you see what
happened when I called him?"

"What was it?" asked Kenneth.

"I put something of the parade ground tone into my voice, and the fellow
brought his heels together in the correct German style.  One could
almost hear the click.  Well greased as his hair is, you can see it
trying to rise _en brosse_, and I caught him just now twirling an
invisible moustache."

"A spy?"

"Unless my instinct and my judgment are equally at fault.  But here he
comes; don’t be surprised if I break off into irrelevancies; answer in
kind."

The waiter placed the glass on the table, and withdrew, to attend to a
man at the next table.

"As I was saying," Granger went on, "Hellwig is here, in what shape I
don’t know, but I hope to catch him yet.  Your friend Finkelstein, by
the way, has been arrested in Cologne and thrown into prison."

"Good heavens!  Not through me, I hope," said Kenneth.

"On a charge of espionage, at any rate.  I have no doubt he owes that to
...  Yes, it was a very dark night, and he didn’t recognise me until I
was as near to him as I am to you.  Then ... he owes it to Hellwig."

"But what can his motive be?  He’s his cousin."

"The nearer the bone ... Finkelstein has a daughter, I believe?"

"Yes."

"Well, what more natural than that Hellwig should be appointed trustee
to his cousin’s daughter and manager of the business?"

"I did suspect that he wants to marry Frieda."

"Ah!  Motive enough! ... Waiter!"

The others watched the man.  His manner was a strange compound of two
servilities--the waiter’s and the German private’s.

"Monsieur?"

"Bring coffee."

The waiter departed.

"I must certainly have him arrested," said Granger.  "So you see, my
dear fellow, that if I manage to lay Hellwig by the heels I shall
perhaps be able to make you some return for what I owe you."

"But that won’t release Max Finkelstein."

"I confess I was at that moment thinking of the daughter," said Granger
with a whimsical look at Kenneth.  Pariset glanced at his friend and
smiled.

"The idea of her marrying that cur!" said Kenneth.

"It won’t bear thinking of, will it?" said Granger.  "That fellow is
rather long with the coffee."

They waited, discussing the probable course of the war.  After a while
Granger summoned the head waiter.

"Our waiter has been over long fetching our coffee," he said.  "Will you
stir him up?"

In a minute or two the head waiter returned, carrying the coffee
himself.

"Pardon, messieurs," he said.  "Gustave was suddenly taken sick, and is
not able to serve at present."

"I have lost this trick," said Granger ruefully, when they were again
alone.  "While I had my eye on the German, he evidently had his eye on
me.  And for once the German was the quicker to act.  Well, we all have
our ups and downs--I might have said our exits and our entrances: exit
spy, enter staff-officer, who is looking for you, Monsieur Pariset, if I
am not mistaken."

A Belgian captain was threading his way across the room, looking quickly
from table to table, here and there acknowledging or returning a
greeting, but briefly, in the manner of one preoccupied.  His glance
suddenly falling on Pariset, he smiled, and came directly towards him.

"I heard that you were here," he said.  "Have you finished?"

"Yes."

"Then give me a minute privately."

His eyes rested for a moment on Kenneth and Granger, whom he did not
know.

"Certainly," said Pariset.  "Let me introduce my friends."

The introduction made, the officer’s manner changed.

"Let us all go into the smoking-room together," he said.  "The matter
I’ve to speak about need be no secret among us four."

"You’ll excuse me," said Granger, whose tact never failed.  "I have one
or two things to attend to; I hope I may have the pleasure some other
time."

He left the others, and they made their way to the smoking-room.

CHAPTER XI--THE CENTRE ARCH

"You know the railway bridge over the Ourthe, at Sy, just south of
Hamoir?" the captain began, lighting a cigarette.

"Yes," said Pariset.

"A section of our sappers were told off to blow it up this morning.
Their work was only half done when they were surprised and cut up by a
patrol of Uhlans.  The Germans very quickly repaired the damage, and are
now using the line to bring up troops and material against the Boncelles
and Embourg forts."

"Well?" said Pariset, as the officer paused.

"It occurred to the Chief that you who had saved one bridge might
perhaps destroy another.  It is a mere suggestion, not a command.  The
work would be very risky; it is not your job, and all that part of the
country is in German hands.  But when the matter was mentioned I said I
thought you would at least make a reconnaissance and learn what prospect
there is of a successful attempt."

"Of course," said Pariset at once.  "You don’t know exactly how much
damage was done?"

"No.  Perhaps a bomb or two would complete it."

"That is rather doubtful," said Pariset musingly.  "The chances of
hitting the bridge at the right spot from an aeroplane flying very high
at speed are slight, and we should have to fly high to escape the German
shot."

"Unless we flew in the Taube," suggested Kenneth.  "In that we might get
low enough to smash the bridge before they suspected us."

"The objection to that is that you would be in almost as great danger
from our own guns as from the German," said the captain.  "The forts
would certainly fire on you.  But stay: if you decide on that, I will
’phone the southern forts to pass a Taube showing the Russian flag. That
would protect you until you are clear of our lines."

"Very well," said Pariset.  "We will start early in the morning.  Do you
mind getting us a Russian flag while I talk over things with my friend?"

"Not at all.  I will bring it to you here."

He left them.

"It is frightfully risky," said Pariset, "but we must make the attempt.
We must wear German uniforms.  Your friend Granger’s will come in
handy."

"You have practised bomb-dropping, of course," said Kenneth.

"Yes, but, as I said, it’s a most uncertain thing.  Besides the
difficulty of hitting the vulnerable spot, the bombs sometimes do little
damage.  We might drop a dozen, and yet fail to destroy the bridge.
It’s essentially a job to be done on terra firma."

"It’s not likely we should be able to land.  Even if there is at the
moment no considerable force in the neighbourhood the bridge is sure to
be guarded."

"That’s certain.  Still, it’s just as well to be provided for the off
chance, so I’ll take, along with the ordinary bombs, a small case of
gelignite and a little electric battery--a pick-axe, too: that may be
useful."

"How far is it?"

"About twenty miles.  The bridge is at a narrow gorge by the village of
Simon’s Inn.  There’s a tunnel beyond, and the banks of the river are
steep.  The railway crosses the river several times, but I’m pretty sure
of the particular bridge they have tried to destroy."

They waited nearly an hour before the captain returned.

"I have had the greatest difficulty in getting the flag," he said,
placing a parcel in Pariset’s hands.  "I tried several shops in vain,
then it occurred to me to apply at the Russian consulate, and they
happened to have a spare one.  I wish you luck.  Report to me at
head-quarters."

At seven o’clock next morning, equipped with the needful apparatus, they
ascended from their headquarters in the Taube monoplane, took an
easterly course, then swung southward and passed between the Flemelle
and Boncelles forts.  It was a beautiful summer morning.  The country
was bathed in sunlight, and no warlike sounds disturbed the still air.
But south of the town clouds of dust hung over every road, and they
caught sight of masses of men moving northward, the sun glinting on
weapons and the spikes of helmets.  Pariset, in the observer’s seat,
felt sick at heart.  How was it possible for the little Belgian army to
resist these immense hordes?

The well-known shape of the aeroplane (they no longer showed the Russian
flag) purchased immunity.  They flew over the railway, then over the
Meuse north of Huy, then sweeping to the east soon came in sight of the
Ourthe winding between meadows and precipitous cliffs, and the railway
to Neufchâteau.  The valley broadened out.  Instructed by Pariset,
Kenneth steered the monoplane over the village of Hamoir on the left
bank.  Almost immediately afterwards they came above the cluster of
houses at Sy, and the bridge crossing the gorge, beyond which the
railway entered the tunnel.

On the north side of the bridge stood a long goods train, apparently
waiting the signal to proceed.  On the south side, part in, part out of
the tunnel, was a train of passenger coaches, gaily bedecked with leafy
branches of trees.  A few soldiers had got out of the train, and were
sitting smoking in the meadow.  At each end of the bridge four guards
were posted.

The aeroplane passed over the cliff through which the tunnel ran, then
bore to the left in the direction of Werbomont and was soon out of sight
from the bridge.  Choosing a lonely field sheltered by a wood, Kenneth
brought the machine to the ground.

"We can’t destroy the bridge with bombs," said Pariset, "but it’s just
possible to do it with the gelignite if you are game."

"What’s your idea?" asked Kenneth.

"There’s clearly a block on the line somewhere to the north.  It may be
a long time before it is cleared, giving us just the opportunity we
want.  There’s a path through the fields on the left bank, leading to
the bridge.  It seems fairly covered.  My idea is that you should go
down to the bridge with the gelignite."

"But it is guarded," Kenneth interrupted.

"Don’t be impatient.  I was going on to say that I will fly over the
bridge and stampede the guards.  That will give you a chance to creep
up.  Your uniform will protect you long enough for the purpose, I hope.
The Germans won’t suspect you until the explosion occurs.  Then it will
be a ticklish moment.  The fellows who have got out of the train may
fire at you; but they are a good distance away, and you ought to have
time to rush back under cover before they can do any damage.  I’ll be
ready to pick you up.  Or, if you like, I’ll take the gelignite and you
drop the bombs."

"No.  I’ve had no practice at that.  I’ll take my chance.  But we’re
about two miles from the bridge, I fancy.  It will take me at least half
an hour to get there, not knowing the way.  Anything may happen in that
time."

"I’ll come with you until we find a guide.  There will be plenty of time
for me to come back to the aeroplane and still reach the bridge before
you.  I will give you half an hour from now before I fly off."

They set off together, walking rapidly over the fields.  Turning into a
lane, they came suddenly face to face with a farm boy of about sixteen
years.  His jaw dropped, and a look of terror showed in his eyes when he
saw the German uniforms.  Pariset spoke to him rapidly in Walloon, and
gave him money.  Thus reassured, he agreed to conduct Kenneth across the
hill to the path which Pariset had mentioned.

"Good luck!" said Pariset, as they parted.  "Don’t risk too much.  If
the stratagem fails, make your way back to the same spot."

Kenneth carried the gelignite and the battery.  He gave the pick-axe to
the boy.  Pariset had learnt from him that no Germans had been seen on
the lanes and roads, but they walked across the fields under cover of
the hedgerows in case patrols or foraging parties should appear.

Their course brought them within half an hour to a field some little
distance above the bridge.  Kenneth dismissed the boy, and keeping under
cover to avoid observation from the trains, which were stationary in the
places where he had seen them forty minutes before, he crept as near to
the bridge as he dared, and waited.  He heard the water lapping the
piers, the voices of the guards at the nearer end, the distant hiss of
the locomotive of the troop train blowing off steam--and then a faint
deep _burr_, growing louder moment by moment.

The guards raised their voices.

"Another Taube," said one.