The Belgians to the Front | Page 9

heralded the approach of a man, and whistled at once, imitating the cry
of a quail, since he thought it better to take the chance of giving a false
alarm than of letting his chum be trapped inside. But it was already too
late, as it turned out. Paul had gone down into the cellar and let the
door fall behind him. So Arthur's warning fell on deaf ears.
The steps came nearer, and Arthur, wondering why Paul did not appear,
and only half guessing the reason, whistled louder. It was hard for him
to refrain from dashing at once to the rescue. But after a moment's
thought he realized that this would do Paul no good, and that it was all
important for him to remain free, so that, if Paul was made a prisoner,
he could carry the news to Liege and so serve not only Belgium, but
Paul, since that would be Paul's only chance of rescue. At least so it
seemed then.
Now the man whose approach had alarmed Arthur came in sight. He
was trudging along, looking like a veritable peasant. But, now, in the
light of the suspicions that had been aroused that day, Arthur could see
things about this man that distinguished him from the Flemish dwellers
in the neighborhood.
"He is a German!" he thought. "What shall I do?"
For the moment he could do literally nothing. He could only lie still
and watch the man go up to the front door of the cottage and unlock it.
But then, after the German had gone in, Arthur saw that there was still
a light--a light that became visible as soon as the pretended peasant
lighted his lamp. Plainly the door had not been quite closed; the little
streak of light showed that.

Arthur waited breathlessly for some sign that Paul's presence had been
discovered. But none came. He was close enough to the door to hear
the man in the cottage stamping about, and he could guess, of course,
that Paul was concealed in some fashion. He had even the idea of the
cellar but of course he could not be sure that Paul was not above--safe
as long as it did not enter the German's head to climb the stairs. At any
rate, Arthur was grateful for a respite, no matter how brief it might
prove to be. Almost anything was better than the actual knowledge that
his chum had been caught.
"While there's life, there's hope!" he said to himself, grimly.
But it was a good deal easier for him to determine that he would make
some sort of effort to release his chum than it was for him to discover a
practical way of doing so. He had the feeling that at any cost to Paul he
must secure his own freedom; that was the thing that Paul had
impressed most vividly on his mind. At last he determined to risk a trip
to the window by which Paul had made his entrance. He wanted to look
inside; to see, at least, what was going on. Then some means of helping
Paul might suggest itself.
Of course Arthur had seen nothing of the inside of the room, since it
had been dark when Paul had climbed in. Now the first thing he saw
after the man of the house himself, was the trap door that led to the
cellar. He understood at once that Paul must be down there.
"That's why he didn't hear me, of course!" he said to himself. "Now to
get him out!"
Suddenly, just as he was about to leave the window, Arthur was startled
into a stiff and rigid halt by the sound of a heavy knock on the door of
the cottage. The German inside, busy just then in cutting up a huge
sausage that was evidently to be his dinner, seemed to be almost as
startled as Arthur himself. He jumped up, upsetting his chair, and flung
the door open. At once his whole manner changed. He started back,
then stiffened himself and stood at attention. A young man, dressed in a
uniform of a greenish-gray cloth that Arthur had never seen before, and
covered now with dust, walked in. Arthur could scarcely believe his

eyes. Everything about the newcomer pointed to the fact that he was a
German officer, for if the color of the uniform was unfamiliar, its cut
was not. But a German officer in uniform here!
"Zu befehl, Herr Hauptmann!" said the man of the cottage.
"It's come, Froebel," said the captain. He stretched his arms, as if glad
of the chance. "I've had a fine trip from Aachen! The worst roads I ever
tried to push a motorcycle over! But I'm here--so that's even! There are
more coming. General