"Stop, Henri!" cried Frank, suddenly. "We can't get away. We surrender!"
They stopped. Frank was obeying the order Major Cooper had given him. Perhaps, had he been alone, he would have risked a further attempt to escape. But there was no doubt that the German meant to shoot, and he could not expose Henri to the risk.
They stopped full in the path of light that came from the open door of the inn. Behind them, in the road, voices were raised. It was plain that their wires had been followed, and that others were in pursuit. And, after all, Frank felt they could afford to grin at being made prisoners now. They had accomplished a great feat. Even if they were caught, that was to their credit.
And then suddenly he gave a cry of horror. Henri was a little ahead of him for he had not been able to stop as abruptly as Frank. And the German officer, too furious, perhaps, to think of what he was doing, raised his pistol and fired point-blank at the French boy! He fired—but there came from his pistol not a sharp report, but only the dull click as the hammer fell. Twice more he pulled the trigger. But something was wrong. He had made a fatal error—his revolver was unloaded.
But it was only by the luckiest of accidents that Henri was still alive. Frank had seen the murderous attempt, and now rage mastered him for the moment.
"You coward!" he shrieked. He flung himself at the German officer, who was trying frantically to get at his cartridges. So sudden was the attack that he was taken utterly by surprise. Before he could defend himself, Frank was wrenching his arm. A moment more, and the German officer squealed like a frightened pig, for Frank had succeeded in getting a hammer lock on him. He pulled at the revolver with his other hand, and at last the German, to escape a broken arm, had to loosen his grip. Even a weakling can cripple the strongest man if he once gets that hold. And Frank, in his rage at the cowardly thing he had seen, was almost a match for the full grown man in any case.
As soon as he got the revolver he let go of the German's arm. But before the officer could move, Frank had clubbed the pistol and struck him sharply on the head. He went down like a log.
"Run, Henri, run!" he cried. "They're coming up behind us! Run for the car!"
Behind them, indeed, the footsteps of running men were plainly to be heard. A shot rang out, but both boys had turned instinctively to the side of the road and were running low in the ditch beside the highway. They could not be seen, and the firing ceased. It seemed that most of the men were unarmed, or carried revolvers at the most. Had there been rifles behind them, they would have had no chance. But as it was, they reached their car and leaped in. Henri threw the switch of the electric starter, the motor leaped into throbbing life, and they were off.
Behind them more shots were fired, but the aim was wild. And they sped away, at fifty miles an hour, pursued only by a few vain revolver bullets, and by a chorus of shouts and yells of rage and execration.