The explosion was well muffled by the burying of the muzzle in the clothing of the desperately vicious fellow, who probably was bent on having a full revenge for the treatment he had received at the hands of the Yank prisoners. Doubtless none of the other guards in the vicinity could hear the sound of the discharge of the weapon, in spite of the vent afforded by the tunnel. Phil felt not the least uneasiness on this score after hearing the dull thud against the body of the man on top of him.
The latter collapsed with scarcely a groan. Phil rolled him off and got up, returning the firearm to his pocket and saying to himself:
“Awful sorry for you, boche, but I couldn’t help it. Maybe you weren’t so much to blame after the kind of training you fellows ’ave had. I wonder what Tim would say about me now—would he think I’m a mollycoddle? Really I’m beginning to believe that he was right when he predicted that I’d be successful in my mission. I feel at this moment as if I could lick the whole boche army all alone.
“But I mustn’t stop to philosophize or Tim ’u’d call me a worse fool than ever. First I must have that belt o’ yours. It probably holds pistol cartridges for me and gun cartridges for Tim. Yes, there it is and off it comes—and—around me it goes. Now, what next? I wonder if I ought to take it. Yes, I believe I will. He’s a bigger fellow than I am and his uniform’ll go over mine very snugly. That’ll camouflage me for immediate purposes, and when I don’t want it any longer I can skin it off. So here goes.”
Twenty minutes later Phil was creeping out of the cellar again “super-clad” with the guard’s uniform which he had removed from the apparently lifeless form and transferred over his own khaki.
“I wonder how he ever freed himself of those bonds,” the boy muttered as he moved crouchingly toward the bushes at the head of the descending pathway. “I suppose we didn’t tie his wrists as securely as we thought we did and he worked loose. Anyway, I don’t believe he’ll ‘work loose’ again. But I’m sorry for him and hope he’s only wounded enough to keep him helpless till he can’t do us any more harm. Say, wouldn’t it be glorious if everybody shot in this war were only wounded and would get well again after it’s all over? But war ’u’d be only a game o’ ten pins then, wouldn’t it?
“Gee! I’m a bum soldier. If I confessed such a sentiment as that to Tim, he’d shoot me on the spot for a Prussian propagandist.”
CHAPTER XXIV
ANOTHER CAPTURE
“Now, what next?”
Phil stopped a minute or two and considered. First, he must find out where some of the other prisoners had been housed or corralled. Then he must devise means of access into their presence without being challenged by the guards.