“What is that thing and where did it come from?” questioned Ned.
“Search me!” declared Jimmie, excitedly. “Maybe this gink had it up his little sleeve and dropped it in there at the right minute!”
“He looks equal to it!” stated Jack stoutly. “He’s a villain!”
“Better be careful what you say!” cautioned Ned. “We are not out of the woods, and these fellows understand English pretty well!”
“I wish I had my automatic and about ten yards start!” stormed Jimmie, gathering up wearing apparel and jamming it into his kit. “I could beat that slow-footed camel in a straightaway without half trying!”
“Better wait and see it out,” advised Ned, replacing his own belongings. “It’s only a mistake and can surely be explained.”
“Maybe we can be examined and go ahead on this same train,” offered Jack consolingly. “Anyhow, we won’t gain anything by arguing with these fellows. They have no sense of humor and don’t want one!”
Following their two captors the lads trudged down the track toward the hut. Carefully they picked their way between groups of genuine refugees rearranging their meagre possessions in the coaches.
In a short time the boys were duly presented before a gray-haired officer seated at a table placed against the wall of the hut. It was darker in the room than out of doors. A single oil lamp served to dispel the gathering gloom of the early twilight.
Reporting volubly in German, with many gesticulations, the soldier presented the four boys. At the conclusion of his recital he laid the parcel upon the table. Drawing himself to his full height and assuming a tragic air he surveyed his captives with complacency.