The trio stood in stubborn silence, the ex-navvies rather sheepish, the Cockney rogue watching the questioner with quick and knowing eyes. "No? Then you are spies." He turned to his men and uttered a brief order, pointing to Sam.
On the instant the ex-navvy found himself pushed with his back against the wall, looking into a grim row of rifle-barrels. The squad that menaced him stood equably waiting the word of command. The officer rose, walked across to him and smiled in his face. Once more he drew out his watch.
"One minute," he said pleasantly. "One minute to prove that you are a soldier and no spy."
Sam stood as erect as suddenly enfeebled knees would let him. He felt the bricks of the wall pushing against his back in the instinctive retreat of his body from the imminent danger. His eyes were fixed on the officer who stood calmly regarding his watch. He felt sick and dizzy and very cold. He shivered as in a mantle of ice. His mouth went dry. The panic-stricken part of his brain began an attempt to count the seconds without any revolt at the stubborn decision of his directing self. One, two, three—twenty—thirty—the minute seemed endlessly long. He moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue, striving desperately to bring himself to speech in the fraction of time which remained to him. He succeeded.
His voice came raucously, an agonised appeal.
"Mates!—Remember—the Ole Kent Road!"
The officer uttered a sharp sound and the windows shook with the loud report of the rifles. In a thin haze of smoke, the prisoners saw Sam lurch forward, his arms outstretched, swaying on his toes for one ghastly moment ere he pitched.
The officer calmly replaced his watch and brushed past Oswald. He seized Bill by the arm.
"You!" he said, with that sudden and disconcerting anger of his. "Will you speak?"
Bill stood sheepishly staring at him.