All this Phil gleaned with little more than a sweep of the eye, for he was not left in leisurely contemplation of the scene more than a minute or two. He was suddenly aroused from his spell of enchantment by a new order from “Mr. Boaconstrictor.”
“Come on,” said the latter; “no time to waste.”
Phil accompanied his captor to the foot of the hill behind the front line trench, and there “the count” held a short consultation with a superior officer. They conversed in German, and the prisoner was unable to understand much that they said. However, he did glean this from several disgruntled remarks: that very few prisoners had been taken in the recent engagement, due, no doubt, to the boches’ heavy defeat, and there seemed to be no others in the vicinity to corral with Phil.
“Am I the only prisoner in the hands of these badly defeated boches in this sector?” the boy mused. “I feel very much honored, also considerably ashamed of myself. Well, it’s some consolation to realize that I wouldn’t be here if a side of a house hadn’t fallen on top o’ me.”
A peculiar circumstance in this interview struck Phil so forcibly that the impression remained with him almost constantly as long as the mystery surrounding “Count Boaconstrictor Topoff” was unexplained. This was the manifest attention and deference shown the oddly shaped lieutenant by the superior officer, whose insignia indicated that he bore the rank of major.
“I can’t understand it,” Phil mused with a puzzled confusion. “From the way everybody bows and scrapes before him, one might think he’s the kaiser himself. The officers all seem to know him at sight, and if it weren’t contrary to military form, I believe they’d bend before him in the middle like jackknives. He must be something more than a count. Maybe I ought to feel honored at being his prisoner.”
The interview developed remarkable characteristics more and more as it progressed. “The count” became more and more demonstrative and finally was giving unmistakable orders to the major, who apparently acquiesced to everything the second lieutenant said. Finally the subservient superior officer scribbled a few words on a bit of paper and delivered it to an orderly with instruction as to what to do with it.
The orderly jumped onto a motorcycle and dashed away on his errand. Phil did not watch him after his departure, as he would have done if he had suspected that the note had any bearing on what was to be done with him as a prisoner of war. He was considerably surprised when, a few minutes later, the messenger returned, followed by an automobile driven by a soldier in uniform. It was a large closed limousine, hardly the kind one would expect to see on a battlefield.
“Pile in,” ordered Topoff, taking hold of his prisoner’s arm and half dragging him toward the machine.
Phil obeyed the order literally. He was so astonished he could do nothing with any degree of grace. He “piled into” the automobile and stumbled and fell onto the rear seat. “Mr. Boa” also squeezed into the car and sat down beside the boy, taking up so much room that he pushed the Yank against the upholstered side hard enough to render breathing difficult. Then he gave an order through a speaking tube to the driver, and they were whirled away to the rear of the Prussian lines.