Part 9 (1/2)

The majority of the inhabitants, their numbers augmented by hundreds of terrified refugees from the surrounding villages, had taken refuge in cellars, while crowds, under the mistaken belief in the immunity of the churches from sh.e.l.l-fire, had sought doubtful shelter in the sacred edifices. Others, again, fearful at the threat of von Emmich to begin a general bombardment upon the city unless the forts surrendered--a threat that the gallant General Leman treated with contempt--were boarding the last trains to leave Liege.

The day was excessively hot and close. The wind that had blown strongly during the preceding night had dropped. Several of the houses had taken fire, and the pungent smell of smoke filled the air.

Frequently, before the dispatch-riders reached their destination, they were compelled to slacken pace, owing to the clouds of smoke that drifted slowly across the almost deserted streets.

They found the commandant, with several of his staff, calmly engaged in his work, and heedless of the fact that several sh.e.l.ls had already burst in front of the Palace of Justice in which he had taken up his quarters.

Commandant Fleurus was a short, stocky man of about fifty, and rather inclined to corpulence. His head was as bald as an egg, with the exception of a ring of jet-black hair like a monkish tonsure. His eyes were small, resembling black beads, and rapid in their movements.

He was writing when Kenneth was shown in. Without moving his head, which was slightly inclined, he fixed the dispatch-rider with his piercing stare.

”Message, sir, from Major le Tourneur.”

The commandant took the letter and, with a swift movement, tore open the flap of the envelope.

”This is marked 7.15 a.m.!” he exclaimed. ”It's now a quarter to nine.

Why this delay?”

”We--that is, my comrade--crippled a Taube, sir.”

”Crippled a Taube? What, pray, has a dispatch-rider to do with Taubes?” demanded Commandante Fleurus sternly. ”Do you know that it is your duty to deliver messages at all costs, and in the least possible time, regardless of Taubes, Zeppelins, and the German Emperor himself?”

Kenneth did not reply. The fiery nature of the little Belgian literally consumed him. He had, however, the good sense to see that the rebuke was merited.

”Well, sir, what have you to say?”

”It was an error of judgment, sir, which I regret,” said Kenneth. ”We crippled the Taube as it was on the point of rising. Otherwise----”

”Were there no troops available?”

”Some lancers arrived while the Taube was burning.”

The commandant turned and took hold of a telephone that stood on the table at his side.

”Send Captain Planchenoit to me,” he ordered; then, leaning back in his chair, he again fixed the British lad with his beady eyes.

It was quite two minutes before the captain appeared, and the time seemed like two hours to the crestfallen Kenneth. He had yet to learn the lesson that cast-iron discipline demands, and it seemed galling that his part in crippling one of the aerial spies should be practically ignored by the man who ought to have gone into ecstasies over the news.

Presently Captain Planchenoit entered, clicked his heels and saluted, then waited his superior officer's pleasure. The captain was a smart-looking man of more than average height, with a pleasant, open countenance. He was on the intelligence staff, attached to the brigade that had been hurriedly brought up from Diest.

”Any information respecting the destruction of one of the enemy's aeroplanes?” demanded the commandant.

”Yes, mon commandant. It descended near the village of Jupille.

Before our lancers could approach it took fire. Our men found both pilot and observer wounded and brought them back. The captain of the troop reported that the Taube was set on fire by the pistol-shots of two dispatch-riders.”

”At any risk to themselves?”

”I know not, sir.”

”At any risk?” repeated Commandant Fleurus, s.h.i.+fting his glance from Captain Planchenoit to Kenneth.