The Day of Wrath Part 23

"Go to the barn," commanded Franz. "And, mind, you pig of an Englishman, no talking till you're spoken to!"

Dalroy wondered why the man allowed him to a.s.sist Irene; but such pa.s.sing thoughts were as straws in a whirlwind. He bent his wits to the one problem. He was lost. Could he save her? Heaven alone would decide.

A poor mortal might only pray for guidance as to the right course.

Inside the tumbledown barn the light was bad, so the prisoners were halted in the doorway, and a score of troopers gathered around. They were not, on the whole, a ruffianly set. Every man bore the stamp of a trained soldier; the device of a skull and cross-bones worked in white braid on their hussar caps gave them an imposing and martial aspect.

"Here you are!" announced the burly Georg, producing a frayed sheet of paper. "Let's see--there's six of 'em. Henri Joos, miller, aged sixty-five, five feet three inches. Elizabeth Joos, his wife, aged forty-five. Leontine Joos, daughter, aged nineteen, plump, good-looking, black eyes and hair, clear complexion, red cheeks. Jan Maertz, carter, aged twenty-six, height five feet eight inches, a Walloon, strongly built. Arthur Dalroy, captain in British army, about six feet in height, of athletic physique, blue eyes, brown hair, very good teeth, regular features. An English girl, name unknown, aged about twenty, very good-looking, and of elegant appearance and carriage. Eyes believed brown, and hair dark brown. Fairly tall and slight, but well-formed.

These latter (the English) speak German and French. The girl, in particular, uses good German fluently."

"Click!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Franz, imitating the snapping of a pair of handcuffs. "Shave that fellow, and rig out the lady in her ordinary togs, and you've got them to the dots on the i's. Who are the first two for patrol?"

A couple of men answered.

"Sorry, boys," went on Franz briskly, "but you must hoof it to Oosterzeele, and lay Jan Maertz by the heels. You saw him, I suppose?

You may even pick him up on the road. If you do, bring him back here.--Georg, ride into Oombergen, show an officer that extract from the Argenteau notice, and get hold of a transport. These prisoners are of the utmost importance."

Irene, who lost no syllable of this direful investigation, had recovered her self-control. She turned to Dalroy. Her eyes were shining with the light which, in a woman, could have only one meaning.

"Forgive me, dear!" she murmured. "I fear I am to blame. I was selfish.

I might have saved _you_----"

"No, no, none of that!" interrupted the corporal. "You go inside, _Fraulein_. You can sit on a broken ladder near the door. The horses won't hurt you.--As for you, Mr. Captain, you're a slippery fellow, so we'll hobble you."

Dalroy knew it was useless to do other than fall in with the orders given. He did not try to answer Irene, but merely looked at her and smiled. Was ever smile more eloquent? It was at once a message of undying love and farewell. Possibly, he might never see her again. But the bitterness of approaching death, enhanced as it was by the knowledge that he should not have allowed himself to drift blindly into this open net, was a.s.suaged in one vital particular. The woman he loved was absolutely safe now from a set of licentious brutes. She might be given life and liberty. When brought before some responsible military court he would tell the plain truth, suppressing only such facts as would tend to incriminate their good friends in Verviers and Huy. Not even a board of German officers could find the girl guilty of killing Busch and his companions, and this, he imagined, was the active cause of the hue and cry raised by the authorities. How determined the hunt had been was shown by the changed demeanour of the corporal. The man was almost oppressed by the magnitude of the capture. Dalroy was convinced that it was not the monetary reward which affected him. Probably this young non-commissioned officer saw certain promotion ahead, and that, to a German, is an all-sufficing inducement.

The prisoner's hands were tied behind his back, and the same rope was adjusted around waist and ankles in such wise that movement was limited to moderately short steps. But Herr Franz did not hurt him needlessly.

Rather was he bent on taking care of him. Throwing a cavalry cloak over the Englishman's shoulders, he said, "You can squat against the wall and keep out of the rain, if you wish."

Dalroy obeyed without a word. He felt inexplicably weary. In that unhappy hour body and soul alike were crushed. But the cloud lifted soon. His spirit was the spirit of the immortals; it raised itself out of the slough of despond.

The day was closing in rapidly; lowering clouds and steady rain conspired to rob the sun of some part of his prerogatives. At seven o'clock it would be dark, whereas the almanac fixed the close of day at eight. It was then about half-past six.

Resolutely casting off the torpor which had benumbed his brain after parting from the woman he loved, Dalroy looked about him. The hussars, some twenty all told, reduced now to seventeen, since the messengers had ridden off without delay, were gathered in a knot around the corporal.

Some of their horses were tethered in the barn, others were picketed outside.

Sc.r.a.ps of talk reached him.

"This will be a plume in your cap, Franz."

"A thousand marks, picked up in a filthy hole like this! _Almachtig!_"

"What are they? Spies?"

"Didn't you hear? They stabbed Major Busch with a stable fork. Jolly old Busch--one of the best!"

"And bayoneted two officers of the Westphalian commissariat, wounding a third."

"The devil! Was there a fight?"

"Some of the fellows said Busch and the others must have been drunk."

"Quite likely. I was drunk every day then."

A burst of laughter.

"Lucky dog!"

"_Ach, was!_ what's the good of having been drunk so long ago? There isn't a bottle of wine now within five miles."

"Tell us then, _Herr Kaporal_, do we remain here till dawn?"

Dalroy grew faintly interested. It was absurd to harbour the slightest expectation of Jan Maertz bringing succour, but one might at least a.n.a.lyse the position, though the only visible road led straight to a firing-party.

"Those were our orders," answered Franz. "Things may be altered now. You fellows haven't grasped the real value of this cop. It wasn't stated on the notice, but somebody of much more importance than any ordinary officer was interested in the girl being caught--she far more than the man."

"Well, well! Tastes differ! A peasant like that!"

"You silly a.s.s, she's no peasant. That's the worst of living in a suburb. You acquire no standard of comparison."

These men were Berliners, and were amused by a sly dig at some locality which, like Koepenick, offered a b.u.t.t for German humour.

"h.e.l.lo! isn't that a car?" said one.

There was silence. The thrumming of a powerful automobile could be heard through the patter of the rain.

"Attention!" growled Franz. A few troopers went to the picketed horses.

The others lined up. A closed motor-car arrived. Its brilliant head-lights proclaimed the certain fact that the presence of Belgian troops in that locality was not feared. Dalroy recognised this at once, and forthwith dismissed from his mind the last shred of hope.

The chauffeur was a soldier. By his side sat the usual armed escort.

Georg galloped up. Oombergen was only a mile and a half distant, and the road through the wood was in such a condition that the car was compelled to travel slowly.

A cloaked staff-officer alighted. The hussars stood stiff as so many ramrods. The new-comer took their salute punctiliously, but his tone in addressing the corporal was far from gracious.

"What's this unlikely tale you've sent in to headquarters?" he demanded harshly.

"I don't think I'm mistaken, _Herr Hauptmann_," was the answer. "I've got that English captain and the lady wanted at Vise. They've practically admitted it."

"Where are they?"

"The man is sitting there against the wall. The lady is in the barn.--Stand up, prisoner!"

Franz s.n.a.t.c.hed away the cloak. Dalroy rose to his feet. He was smiling at the ruthlessness of Fate. He was still smiling when Captain von Halwig, of the Prussian Imperial Guard, flashed an electric torch in his face. It was unnecessary, perhaps, to render thus easy the task of recognition. But what did it matter? That lynx of a corporal was sure of his ground, and would refuse to be gainsaid even by a staff-officer and a Guardsman.

Von Halwig's astonishment seemed to choke back any display of wrath.

"Then it is really you?" he said quietly in English.

"Yes," replied Dalroy.