“I used to work there.”
Colonel von Gramm rang the bell.
“Give this man food and detain him,” said he to the sergeant.
“Why detain me, colonel? I can tell you no more.”
“We shall need you as guide.”
“As guide? But the count? If I were to fall into his hands? Ah, colonel—”
The Prussian commander waved him away. “Send Captain Baumgarten to me at once,” said he.
The officer who answered the summons was a man of middle-age, heavy-jawed, blue-eyed, with a curving yellow moustache, and a brick-red face which turned to an ivory white where his helmet had sheltered it. He was bald, with a shining, tightly stretched scalp, at the back of which, as in a mirror, it was a favourite mess-joke of the subalterns to trim their moustaches. As a soldier he was slow, but reliable and brave. The colonel could trust him where a more dashing officer might be in danger.
“You will proceed to Chateau Noir to-night, captain,” said he. “A guide has been provided. You will arrest the count and bring him back. If there is an attempt at rescue, shoot him at once.”
“How many men shall I take, colonel?”