“Where did you get this car?” asked the officer, sternly.
“In Cologne, or rather near there, buying it from a man we met. I have the bill of sale here. It is a terrible car, and has broken down with us many times. That is why we were allowed to keep it.”
“But if, as you say, you were in Germany when the Kaiser’s troops crossed over into Belgium, how happens it you are here? They would not let you come by way of Aachen, where the glorious army crossed the border?”
Thad, of course, did not mean to tell how they had been hotly chased by German troopers, and just managed to elude them by reaching the Dutch guards in time. He fancied that such an account would hardly be likely to influence this stern looking Uhlan leader in their favor.
“We figured that there would be all sorts of difficulties in trying to cross at that point, sir,” the boy explained, simply; “and so we arranged to pass over into Holland where it is very narrow, and from there reach Belgium. That is what we have done.”
“Yet you have been allowed to proceed this far in peace, it seems?” observed the Prussian, as though he considered this a very significant fact.
“Oh! we have had all sorts of troubles besides our poor car breaking down,” Thad continued. “Yesterday from a hilltop we witnessed the fight for a bridge that was defended by a Belgian battery. The Germans charged bravely, and would have carried the bridge, but it had been mined, and was blown up just as they reached it.”
The Uhlan officers exchanged glances. Thad was of the impression that possibly they may have been having a tragic little experience themselves in connection with the ingenuity shown by the Belgians in setting traps at bridge-heads. He remembered how he and his chums had been told by those Belgian soldiers that they had fixed it so the bridge they guarded would fall as soon as troopers started to swing across it, carrying some of them down in the ruins.
He heard them talking among themselves in German. Giraffe was listening eagerly to what he could catch, and when he found a chance he whispered to Thad what he was able to make of it.
“They say a breathing spell for the men will do no harm, and you can see their horses are sweating something fierce, Thad. But somehow all you’ve said doesn’t seem to have convinced that head officer. He must hate everything English like the mischief, for some reason or other. He’s telling them that perhaps we’re cunning spies after all, smart Britishers playing a game, and pretending to be neutral Americans. I’ll keep on listening and see what they mean to do, Thad.”