He started off, but Trudchen came beside him, panting, one hand touching his arm.
“Herr Captain, will you listen? Will you have pity on us?” she entreated, her fluent German, in her breathless haste, almost too much for Bob’s unaccustomed ears.
“Listen to what?” he asked impatiently. “I know all about it.”
Trudchen began to wring her hands in her desperation. “Oh, Herr Captain, my children! What will become of us? Franz has obeyed Herr Johann like a dumb slave! It was he who took us out of starving poverty, after we had to leave the Reichsland. It was he who promised to support us if Franz would—if he would——”
“Take charge of the munitions stored here and get them safely over the river,” put in Bob.
“But oh, Herr American, Franz did not want to! And I, God knows I did not want to have anything to do with it. But it was that or all starve together. Franz persuaded me that he was serving Germany, and that we would be rich and happy. In two weeks more it was all to finish, our shed would be empty and the danger over. I don’t half understand.”
“Herr Johann employed other men, too, didn’t he?”
“Oh, yes, many. All along the Rhine, north and south, where stores of munitions are hidden. From long ago, before the war ended, they are hidden. Oh, what am I telling you!” In her misery and bewilderment poor Trudchen buried her face in her ragged shawl and sobbed.
Moved with pity, harden his heart as he would, Bob touched her arm, saying, “Don’t cry, Frau. Look here—we’ll help your children. It’s not their fault.”
“Oh, kind Herr Captain, have pity on us! Don’t betray Franz to your officers!”