Part 10 (1/2)

”Our message is of great importance and for only the ears of General Leman,” said one of them at last. ”We will not trouble the commandant except to give us permits to enter Fort Loncin and to telephone to the General that we are about to arrive.”

Suddenly a hand grasped Rollo's shoulder in a vice-like grip, and the muzzle of a revolver was clapped against his temple.

”One sound and you are dead!” exclaimed a stern voice.

The lad was already convinced that the so-called British army officers were Germans in disguise. Not only was he sure that the pseudo Major Duncan-Dean was an impostor; the peculiar phraseology of the man who had replied to the commandant's message confirmed his conclusions. To crown everything, there was the conviction carried by the muzzle of that revolver.

Rollo spent a nasty minute. His mind was working furiously, weighing up the factors of the situation. To raise the alarm meant death to himself; to fail to do so might result in the cold-blooded ma.s.sacre of Commandant Fleurus and several of the staff; while, with the head-quarters telephone at their disposal, the four Germans might play havoc with the plans of the Belgian Commander-in-Chief.

The Germans were talking rapidly in a low tone. The one who held Rollo prisoner still kept the revolver against the lad's temple; the rest had each drawn an automatic pistol, and were evidently about to force their way into the presence of the commandant.

”I'll wait till those fellows go out into the corridor,” thought the lad, ”then I'll try the effect of a sudden blow in this gentleman's wind. It may do the trick; if not, my number's up. Anyway, it's better than being snuffed out without making an attempt to fight for it.”

Although he kept as quiet as he possibly could, Rollo could feel his heart thumping violently, while his temples throbbed until the muzzle of the German's revolver seemed to be beating a tattoo.

”Keep steady!” hissed his captor. ”This pistol has hair-trigger.

Might go off if you shake.”

It was on the tip of Rollo's tongue to reply that he was not shaking by reason of fear; but realizing that such a statement might put the German additionally upon his guard, the lad kept silent.

Presently one of the conspirators replaced his revolver, and with his free hand grasped the handle of the door. The other two stood behind, ready to sally forth on their murderous and treacherous work.

Rollo mentally pulled himself together. Another ten or twenty seconds would decide the fate of his plan--and of himself.

Suddenly the subdued daylight of the room was pierced by a dozen simultaneous flashes. The rattle of musketry sounded like the discharge of a twenty-one-inch howitzer. The place was filled with the haze of smokeless powder.

Instinctively the lad ducked. There was a tremendous crash above his head. A thousand lights danced before his eyes, and he lost consciousness.

CHAPTER IX

A Midnight Retirement

When Rollo opened his eyes he found himself lying in the open air. He was in one of the courtyards of the Palace of Justice. The thunder of the bombardment still roared. The noise of the guns recalled his scattered thoughts to the event that had almost cost him his life.

A Belgian army doctor was kneeling by his side, while Kenneth supported his head. Around him stood a number of soldiers, some of whom had paused in the act of cleaning their rifles in order to watch their English comrade's return to consciousness.

”h.e.l.lo, Kenneth!” exclaimed Rollo, somewhat vacantly. ”What has happened? Ah, I know--those Germans!”

”They won't trouble us again, old man,” replied Kenneth. ”You're in luck again. It was your suspicions that put the commandant on his guard. But I'll tell you more about it later on.”

”You must not unduly excite your friend,” cautioned the doctor. ”He has no bodily injury, but his nerves are stricken. He must rest until to-morrow. I will have him taken into a safe cellar, where he need fear nothing from those German sh.e.l.ls.”

”Won't you come with me, Kenneth?” asked Rollo.

”Sorry, old man, but I'm warned for duty at five o'clock--seventeen hours, they call it. All being well, I'll look you up in the morning.”

”See that my bike is all right.”

”Rather!” replied Kenneth cheerily. ”Don't worry about it. I'll look after it.”