"It's—gee!—it's Heinrich the spy caught by a Frenchman," he muttered.
"A Frenchman! not it!" came bluntly from Nobby. "He's a-talkin' German now. It's two spies in the midst of a ruction."
As for Bill, Jim could feel him straining forward already, and heard his breath coming in deep gasps, and knew well that his young friend had recognized the wretch so near him who had been the cause of his father's death. A little more and Bill would have torn himself from Jim's grip and hurled himself upon the spy; but Alphonse intervened—Alphonse, now crazier than ever, Alphonse driven to desperation by the thought and the knowledge that Heinrich had hoodwinked him, and had dragged him here to the Marne only to dispose of him.
It was but ten minutes ago that he had suddenly detected Heinrich in the act of lifting a heavy stick with which to brain him, and thereupon Alphonse had cast himself upon the traitor. For those ten minutes the two had been locked in a deadly struggle, but now, as Bill and his friends looked on, it ended. For with a superhuman effort the madman suddenly freed his hands and gripped Heinrich by the neck. He lifted him upward, and then suddenly dashed him back, breaking his head upon the brick-lined floor as though it were an egg shell.
"And so—and so you are dead!—wretch! villain! spy!" Alphonse gasped, his rusty voice echoing in the cellar. "You, who enticed me to agree to your plans to lead you safely through the American lines so as to join our comrades. Ha! You—you were to slay me, and then, free of me, were to join the Germans, forgetting the reward I was to have, forgetting Paris and the loot to be obtained there. Well, you are dead—dead, you dog!"
The huge form of the pseudo-Frenchman was erected to its full height—the huge, bony frame standing out gaunt in the rays descending from the skylight above, the hands clenched, the blue uniform of a poilu skin-tight upon him—for there was never found a Frenchman requiring such a suit of clothes as Alphonse needed—he stood there leering, grinding his teeth, staring at the dead man. He kicked the inanimate body, and then, turning, glared up at the skylight, while Bill and his friends, horrified by the scene of which they had been the silent witnesses, crouched backwards into the passage which had led them to it, moved back from the entrance, waiting there, wondering what they should do.
It was then, within a few seconds, as Alphonse made ready to depart, his crazy mind still fixed upon looting some house in Paris, that there came a terrific crash above. Clouds of dust and bits of brick and dirt were projected into the passage, and then there was an appalling detonation, which shook these subterranean workings, which dislodged blocks and stones from the roof of the gallery, and which brought the roof of the cellar in upon Alphonse and the dead body of Heinrich, the German spy—the roof and the mass of wrecked dwellings above it. Indeed it was only by a miracle that Bill and his friends escaped destruction. They crept off through the dust-clouds to their comrades, and there sat down, moody at first, and then telling their story curtly, for it had moved them deeply. An hour later the sounds of conflict waned, and soon afterwards, peering up from the cellar which sheltered them, they found the Germans in rapid retreat and Allied troops approaching.
"It's an American lot!" shouted Bill at the top of his voice.
"Sure!" gurgled Larry, and Jim was certain that the diminutive little fellow's legs positively shook. Perspiration was dropping from his forehead, and though Larry made every effort to appear nonchalant as of yore, and tipped his helmet farther forward, and even searched involuntarily, by force of habit, for that long-departed stump of cigar, yet he could not deceive Jim. Larry was upset—greatly so. The sight of those Americans had set him shaking, while it brought tears to Jim's own eyes. And then, who should suddenly accost the party? It was Dan—magnificent Dan—a true type of American manhood. Do you wonder that they fell upon each other, gripping hands? If they had been Frenchmen they would have embraced each other; as it was, even the stoical Nobby was gulping as Dan took his huge hand and shook it forcibly.
"Fine, fine!" was all that gallant soldier could say. "Fine! I'm glad to meet you."