"By the gruesomeness of it I can imagine they were all killed," I replied.
By this time we had turned at right angles to our former path and entered another long avenue of trees. The white walls of an isolated mansion stood out in the distance against the black-green of the forest and the fading purple of the evening sky. The grounds about it were enclosed by a high pointed iron fence; it looked a veritable prison.
After tramping another mile we emerged into an open space between the trees and the rolling sand dunes of the coast, and saw before us a large limestone building, three stories in height and almost surrounded with broad, glass-enclosed balconies. The tracks of a disused tramway ran to the gate, and the rust upon the rails spoke more forcibly than ever of desolation and desertion.
We passed through the stone gateway and crossed the snow-covered lawn. Everything was as dark and dreary as the grave. Surely no one was within! We mounted the steps and rang the bell. Its peal reverberated strangely through the empty halls. After a few moments, however, a light appeared and a solitary man entered the rotunda; he turned the electric switch, flooding the room with a bright light. He came to the door, unlocked it, and rolled it back slowly upon its wheels.
"Gut evening, zhentlemen," he said in English, but with a peculiar Franco-German accent difficult to diagnose. "It iss fery kolt, iss it not?"
We acknowledged the fact.
"You are vrom the Canadian Hospital?" he queried.
"You were evidently expecting us," I replied. "We are the advance party from that hospital."
He pushed the door wide for us to enter. We didn't debate the propriety of accepting the hospitality of a German, but marched in at once.
"Your dinner vill be retty in a leedle vhile. I vill haf Alvred ligh'd you the grate, und you soon fery comfortable vill be."