Alphonse, as he was generally known, had dropped upon this part of the country as if literally from the skies. He had simply arrived there late one evening, when only a young man, and, having put up at a local cabaret for some few days, he presently blossomed forth as the owner of the local forge. Pierre, the man who had controlled the forge for many and many a year, had died, conveniently it seemed, and here was Alphonse installed in his stead—Alphonse, who charged such ridiculously low prices, who did his work so well, who was such a "hail fellow" with all the French farmers and their men—Alphonse, who seemed to have so much money jingling in his pockets, who was so curious about other people's affairs, who travelled now and again to the neighbouring cities, who, it was whispered, had more than once been met by strangers—yet, Alphonse, the shoesmith, who did good work and charged the most reasonable prices.
Years went by, and Alphonse grew older. Perhaps it was the lonely life; perhaps it was some secret grief which preyed upon him. In any case, Alphonse's visits to neighbouring cabarets became more frequent and lasted longer; and here was the result. A fine figure of a man at one time, he was now attenuated, horrid to look upon, while his face was that of a leering, cunning, crafty, and unscrupulous drunkard. Let us whisper more—in his cups, Alphonse spoke German with perfection.
"See!" he said hoarsely, pushing forward a gnarled finger and pointing out through the cracks between the tiles from which Heinrich the spy was peering. "They thought to take you so easily, these Americans! But it is you—no, it is I—who have outwitted them—outwitted them, you hear? and the wretch broke into a dry, echoing chuckle which reverberated from the tiles around him, and from the walls of the old tower, till Heinrich was startled.
"Peace, you fool!" he growled, turning upon him. Whereat the big, bony fingers of the other man assumed the shape of claws, his brow knitted, and for a moment he scowled at his companion; then he pointed again.
"Outwitted—yes!" he whispered hoarsely, as though fearful that the Americans down below, all unconscious of their presence, might overhear them. "And what a prize! How we shall still further upset their plans! In a little while—in a week or two perhaps—in less for all we know—the signal will come to us; we shall know that our comrades yonder are about to strike once more, and it may be for the last time, for the Fatherland. Then——"
The wretch broke again into that dry, creaking, rusty cackle which grated upon Heinrich's nerves so much.
"Then! What?" he asked abruptly, angrily.
"Then! I'll tell you," the man responded. "We—you and I—will see to it that it is here that our comrades break through. That it is we who discover ourselves to the great German general and claim our reward. Reward! Money, money, money in plenty; far more than the German Government has sent me in these past years that I have lived in this vile country amongst these vile peasants, and have done the bidding of the Fatherland—money with which to live. Ah, that will be worth while!"
Heinrich positively shivered. The man's face acted like a douche of cold water upon him, and then those huge, bony fingers positively gave him the creeps.
"Worth while!" he said rapidly. "Money for what? More visits to the cabaret? Well, we will see; but we must work, and work hard, together."