“Yes!”
“In war-time that means death,” said Velo.
“Yes, but I am not going to be caught,” answered Zaidos.
“Then you must hurry,” declared his cousin. “Wait here just a moment, and I will see that the car is ready and get a cloak to cover you. I almost fear you have waited too long, cousin,” and hurried from the room with a last sidelong look at Zaidos’ bent head.
Five minutes passed; then with a last look at his father’s closed door, Zaidos went down and found Velo standing beside the automobile, talking to the chauffeur. Already the intense blackness of the night was lifting. Zaidos felt a chill of apprehension.
“You will have to hurry,” said his cousin. “I will come down later and look you up. Hope you get back.” He stepped back, and the car shot forward, but only for a short distance. With a queer grinding noise the engine stopped. The driver leaped out and examined it with a flashlight. He uttered an exclamation of dismay.
“Someone has put sand in the engine!” he exclaimed. “Yet I have been in it all night long!”
“You must have left it,” said Zaidos. “Or did you go to sleep?”
“Yes, yes!” stammered the driver excitedly. “I was called away just now, when Velo Kupenol sent me to my master to tell him that I was to take you back to barracks. Ah, what shall we do?”
“How far is it?” demanded Zaidos. The night was lifting. He shivered.