Two Daring Young Patriots Part 15

The two parted, and in a few minutes Max was at the door of Dubec's house. Here a rude shock awaited him, for Madame Dubec, white-faced but tearless, told him, with a quietude and directness that somehow seemed to make the news more terrible still, that her husband was one of those lying under sentence of death.

The shock was a great one, although, in his heart, Max had half expected it. He knew Dubec had been in the yard, and what more likely than that he had been detained? Too upset to do more than mumble a few words of sorrow, Max turned on his heel and hurried from the house.

Taking the road to the open hills, Max strode on and on, his mind filled with serious and oftentimes conflicting thoughts. He had no doubts as to the fate of the thirty-nine men if the Germans were unable to lay their hands upon the real authors of the destruction of the workshop. They would surely die, and with them Dubec, towards whom Max felt specially drawn by his constant loyal aid and the memory of the day when he had answered his mute appeal for succour.

And to Max the responsibility seemed his. These men had no part nor lot in it. Why should they die? It did not help matters much to blame the Germans--the worst might always be expected of them--for that would not give back to Madame Dubec the husband for whom it seemed to Max she had unconsciously appealed.

Supposing he gave himself up in order that they might go free? Ah, what a triumph for Schenk! How he would rejoice! True, he did not know that Max was at the bottom of all the shrewd blows dealt him of late, but he probably had more than a suspicion of it. At any rate he was known to have traced much of the money and valuables, recovered from his room, to the bank at Maastricht which Madame Durend patronized. Knowing, then, the authorship of that most daring exploit, it would have been strange if he had not looked to the same quarter for an explanation of the similar blows dealt him so soon after.

Yes, it would be a great triumph for Schenk, and the end of that resolute opposition to the use of the Durend workshops for the benefit of the German army that had taken such a grip upon our hero's mind. That task he had made peculiarly his own. All the fixity of purpose he possessed, and it was not a little, was concentrated upon keeping his father's--his--works from aiding the projects of a brutal and unscrupulous enemy.

To give it all up would not only be a victory for Schenk but a bitter pill to himself--the uprooting of something that had taken deep root in the inmost recesses of his mind.

The struggle was a long one, but it came to an end at last, and Max returned to the town, scribbled a short note to Dale, which he left at their lodging, and then walked directly to the governor's house.

At the door the sentry's bayonet barred his entry, but the officer of the guard, on being informed that a man had applied to see the governor on urgent business, came out and spoke to him. A few words were sufficient, and Max was brought inside under a guard of two men while the officer sought the governor with the welcome news that the man who had destroyed the Durend workshops had given himself up. The governor directed that he should be searched to ensure that he was not in possession of firearms and then admitted to his presence.

The German governor of Liege was quite a typical Prussian officer, stiffly erect, with bullet-head covered with short bristling grey hair, well-twisted moustache, and fierce aggressive manner. He was the man who had called upon Schenk on the never-to-be-forgotten occasion when Max and Dale had been his uninvited guests underneath his office desk. To say the least of it, he was not a man who was afraid of being too severe.

"You are then this rascal who has burned the Durend machine-gun shop?"

he cried in a rasping voice as soon as Max had been led before him.

"Yes," replied Max, "but I am no rascal. The shop is mine, and I have burned it."

"Yours, impudent?" cried the governor angrily, raising a cane which lay upon his desk as though about to slash his prisoner about the face.

"Yours? And who are you?"

"I am Max Durend, the son of the owner of the workshops, and I would sooner see the place burned from end to end than of use to the Germans."

"Ah, that is good!" replied the governor in a voice of satisfaction, dropping his hand and turning towards the officer who had ushered Max into the room. "It will have a salutary effect if we execute the son of Herr Durend. It will aid our cause tremendously."

"Yes, General."

"I have given myself up that the innocent men you have seized upon may be released," Max interposed. "They know nothing of it. I am solely responsible."

"Ja, so. I have now no quarrel with them," replied the governor indifferently. "They are p.a.w.ns. Now I have the real miscreant I need them not."

"I am no miscreant. They are miscreants who would slaughter thirty-nine innocent men because the right one had slipped through their fingers."

The governor glared at Max with eyes that goggled with rage. He was clearly unaccustomed to such plain speaking. "I remember that Herr von Schenkendorf once told me that Monsieur Durend had married an Englishwoman. You are half a mad English dog, and your manners proclaim it."

"It is true," replied Max steadily.

"Ja, you and your countrymen are half barbarian. You know naught of Kultur."

"Thank G.o.d!" cried Max with an emphasis that caused the governor to spring to his feet, seize the cane anew, and slash the prisoner heavily across the cheek. Max flinched--he could not help it--but he moved neither hand nor foot.

This outburst seemed to calm the Prussian, for he dropped back into his chair and in a judicial manner, though with a very vindictive and unjudicial scowl upon his face, he pa.s.sed judgment.

"The prisoner has pleaded guilty. You will take him to-morrow morning to Monsieur Durend's works, and at midday you will shoot him there."

"In public, sir?" enquired the officer.

"Yes, as an example to all his late workmen. A placard announcing the impending execution will be posted outside."

"Yes, sir."

Max was led away. Indignation at the brutality of the Prussian was strong within him, and he held his head erect, and answered look for look the hostile glances of those about him. The hot blood still coursed through his veins, and the sacrifice he had made did not loom over large in his imagination.

It was not until he had been conducted to a gloomy, ill-lit room in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the building, and there left in solitude to think and think upon his impending fate, that things grew different, and his fort.i.tude partially left him. The end seemed so merciless and hard, and, leaning heavily against the wall, he fell a prey to unhappy reflections. At times he went farther than this, and shed a few furtive tears at this end to all his hopes and secret boyish ambitions.

Shortly after Max had been led away to his cell, the thirty-nine workmen were released. No reason was vouchsafed for this sudden change of front, but the curt notice already affixed to the gates of the governor's palace soon supplied it. Max Durend had been taken, and found guilty of the deed for which they had been seized, and he was to pay the penalty.

M. Dubec was one of the men released, and at the news he hurried home.

Naturally his wife was overjoyed at seeing him, but he was too preoccupied by doubt and concern at the fate of his master's son to stay with her more than a few minutes. From his home he hurried to the lodging of Max and Dale, and at the door met the latter coming slowly out. One glance at his face was enough to tell even M. Dubec that he knew of his friend's terrible position.

"You have seen the notice, sir?" he asked.

"No, I have seen no notice," replied Dale heavily. "I do not want to know of any notice, thank you, Dubec."

"But you know of Monsieur Max----?"

"Yes."

"Then you must have heard from him or seen him taken. I first knew by the notice on the gates of the palace."

Dale threw off a little of his lethargy. "What was this notice?" he said.

"That he is to be shot at noon to-morrow in the Durend yard."

"Ah! And I shall join him there!" cried Dale in so wild a voice that Dubec looked at him in wonderment. Then Dale told him what had happened.

That Max had not been captured by the Germans, but had voluntarily surrendered himself to save the imprisoned workmen. The note which Max had left, and which had told him all, was read aloud to the wondering man, who, somewhat slow-witted as he was, managed to grasp the one awe-inspiring fact that his master's son had offered up his own life to save his and his comrades' lives.

The note which Dale read to him was as follows:--

"DEAR JACK,

"I can't stand it. I cannot bear that those thirty-nine men should die for my affairs. I know that their blood would not lie at my door, but at the door of their unscrupulous judges; yet I cannot feel that this removes from me all responsibility. No; and I must yield myself up in their place. Do not grieve for me, old man.

Return to England, and, if you will, take a more direct part in the war. Leave the Durend affairs alone; they must, for the war, die with me.

"Good-bye, old man, good-bye! Remember me to all at Hawkesley. Tell them I lost upon a foul, and not in fair fighting.

"Ever your old comrade,

"MAX."