Part 29 (2/2)
”In the Belgian service perhaps; but a soldier--no, never.”
”Pardon me, sir,” protested Kenneth; ”I am a corporal of the 9th Regiment of the Line.”
The Major waved his hand contemptuously.
”You are not--what you call it?--ah!--bluffing an English magistrate this time. You have a Prussian officer to deal with. If what you say is true, why are you not in uniform? Where are your ident.i.ty papers?
Say rather that you are in the employ of that arch-plotter Grey; tell us exactly the truth, then perhaps we will be merciful.”
”Of what offence am I accused, sir?”
”Espionage--surely you know that without asking an unnecessary question.”
”It is not true. I have never attempted to spy. Who, sir, is my accuser?”
”It is undesirable to mention names. Our informant states that you have been several days in Brussels, always in civilian clothes. You frequented public buildings; you were seen watching the arrival of our troops.”
”That I admit,” said Kenneth. ”There was no secrecy about the ceremonial parade of the German army through the streets.”
”Then perhaps you would tell your friends in England how the victorious Germans will march through London, hein?” asked the Major mockingly.
”I'm afraid they won't,” retorted Kenneth, throwing discretion to the winds. ”Your troops have to reckon first with our army and then with our fleet.”
”Your army? Faint-hearted mercenaries. Englishman, in less than a fortnight our troops will march right through the English and their friends the French, and be in Paris. After that, London.”
”No fear!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Kenneth.
The German major shrugged his shoulders.
”It is wasting the time of the court,” he remarked. ”To return to the business in hand. You, an Englishman, have been caught red-handed.
You admit you are interested in military matters, although your claim to be a corporal in the Belgian army does not hold. Again, you admit that you took up arms against us?”
”Certainly--as a soldier, and strictly in accordance with the code of war.”
”Your code is not our code,” sneered the Major. He then turned and addressed the president. Colonel von Koenik inclined his head, and gave an order to the sergeant of the guard.
Three men filed out, returning after a brief interval with Rollo.
Limping badly, young Barrington was marched across the room and placed by the side of his chum.
The president stood up and removed his helmet. The other officers also uncovered.
”Accused,” he said, speaking in English, ”you are found guilty on a charge of espionage. The sentence is death.”
Von Koenik sat down and resumed his head-dress. He scanned the faces of the two lads, as if to detect signs of fear. But there were none.
Beyond an almost imperceptible tightening of the lips, the young Britons received the grim intelligence unflinchingly.
”But on account of your youth I am going to make what you English call a sporting offer. You”--addressing Rollo--”expressed an opinion that our armies would never reach Paris.”
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