Other German soldiers were busily engaged in ransacking the room. The bed was uncovered, the mattress cut open in the vain hope of finding incriminating evidence; the contents of cupboards and drawers were turned out upon the floor, the Prussians taking care to retain "souvenirs" of their exploit as they did so.
Greatly to his disgust and disappointment, the lieutenant"s efforts to obtain proofs of the supposed spies" guilt were fruitless.
He gave an order. Soldiers surrounding the two lads urged them through the door and down the narrow stairs. Determined to make a good haul, the officer ordered the arrest of Madame Hirondelle, the concierge, and the two maid-servants; then, with much sabre-rattling, he led the prisoners through the streets.
A quarter of an hour later Kenneth found himself alone in a gloomy cell. The prospect was not a pleasing one. Even with a clear conscience as far as the charge of espionage went, the lad realized the terrible position in which he and Rollo were placed.
They were British subjects; they were not in uniform; they had no doc.u.ments to prove the truth of their statement that they were corporals in the Belgian army. There was no one, excepting the thoroughly-terrified Madame Hirondelle, to speak a word in their favour.
For half an hour he paced the limited expanse of floor, pondering over the difficulties of the situation. Then, without any thought of attempting an escape, he began examining the walls and floor of his cell. The place was roughly twenty feet in length and nine in breadth.
The walls were of brick, set in hard, black cement. They had, at some previous time, been coated with yellow limewash, but most of the colour had been worn off. The floor was paved with irregular stone slabs.
Eight feet from the ground was a small unglazed window, with two rusty and slender vertical bars. Opposite the window was the door of worm-eaten oak.
The floor was half a dozen steps lower than the level of the ground without. A sentry was posted outside the window. Although standing erect, the only part of him visible from within was from his knees to his belt, so Kenneth knew that on that side the ground was about five or six feet above the floor of his cell.
It also appeared likely that the room was not generally used as a place of confinement. It had no furniture. On the stone floor were wisps of straw and hay. It might, but for the steps from the doorway, have been used as a stable.
"The Germans don"t surely mean to keep me in this rotten hole," thought Kenneth. "It isn"t fit for a dog."
Slowly the morning pa.s.sed. At noon the sentry without was relieved.
The sergeant"s guard made no attempt to look through the window. The new sentry seemed ignorant of the presence of the English lad. There he stood, as rigid as a statue, while the minutes ran into hours. Not once did the grey-coated soldier "walk his beat". No one pa.s.sed by.
The sentry was to all intents and purposes posted in a totally unnecessary position.
Just as the clocks chimed the hour of two, the door of the cell was opened and a sergeant and file of Prussian infantrymen entered.
Silently the non-commissioned officer pointed to the open door.
Preceded and followed by the soldiers, Kenneth set out to be tried for his life.
CHAPTER XXII
The Sack of Louvain
Pa.s.sing along several gloomy pa.s.sages and ascending two flights of stairs, Kenneth was ushered into a large, well-lighted room overlooking the city square. From without came the noise and bustle of hundreds of troops. Several regiments, having recently arrived, were partaking of a meal in the open, the food being cooked in large portable kitchens, the smoke from which drifted in through the open windows of the room.
Seated at a ma.s.sive oak desk was an officer in the uniform of the German General Staff. Behind him stood a major and two captains. At a writing desk against the wall, facing the windows, sat a military clerk. The soldiers of Kenneth"s escort lined up behind him, the sergeant standing rigidly at attention on his right. Of Rollo there were no signs.
For some moments Colonel von Koenik, the president of the court, regarded the lad before him with a fixed glare. Kenneth met the president"s gaze unflinchingly, yet he realized that there was a menace in the German"s manner. It was a hatred of England and of all men and things English.
Finding that he could not browbeat the prisoner, von Koenik rasped out a few words to the major who stood behind him. With a stiff salute the latter advanced to the side of the president"s desk.
"What is your name, prisoner?" he asked in fairly good English, although there was a tendency to subst.i.tute the letter "b" for "p" in most of his words.
Kenneth told him. The major referred to a paper that he held in his hand.
"You are English? What are you doing in Brussels?"
"I am a soldier in the Belgian service."
"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."