"It is impossible--that way," cried Rowland in Tanya's ear. "Come."
A few had escaped by a rear window which let upon the roof of an adjoining house. Outside, too, above the roar of the thunder, came the sharp note of firearms. But there was no other chance. Rowland went first, stumbling over a figure that had fallen just outside and as he reached the roof there was a flash in the darkness and a bullet crashed into the woodwork of the window. He stood still, sheltering Tanya with the black suit-case, while she descended, his weapon in line, waiting for the flash of lightning to reveal the whereabouts of the sniper. A gleam of light. A German officer at the top of the slanting roof above him, deliberately reloading his weapon. Fortunately the roof had a low pitch. Rowland waited a moment until Tanya was behind him and then clambered upward, the suit-case clasped in front of him, firing as he went. The officer toppled, caught at the chimney-breast beside him, missed it, and falling, slid head first down the slippery roof and disappeared. Rowland gained the top, a flat space buttressed by chimneys which adjoined a larger building upon the right, hauled Tanya up beside him and then hurried along toward its further end, hoping to find a roof adjoining. But as he did so, his toe struck a projection and he fell sprawling, just as two soldiers clambered up and began firing. Rowland heard Tanya's cry of dismay.
"All right," he cried reassuringly. "The other chimney--hide."
She obeyed. And Rowland waited until the nearest soldier had almost reached him when with the last shot in his weapon he fired point blank into his body. The man crashed down, his rifle falling just beside Rowland's hand. With a cry of joy he seized it and rose. The other man fired. Rowland felt the bullet pass through his clothing somewhere and was surprised that he felt no pain and did not fall. Instead he found himself erect, standing quite firmly upon his feet, his keen gaze seeking the point of the bayonet of his adversary. This was a game he knew. He aimed at the approaching figure and pulled the trigger of his rifle but there was only a harmless click. The chamber was empty. But the other man had not fired again. A flash of lightning revealed him--a mere boy, very pale and uncertain. It seemed a pity--he was so young.
And then he heard the boy's voice.
"Kamerad!" it said. "Kamerad!"
And Rowland waited a moment.
"Hold up your hands."
The boy obeyed, whimpering.
"I do not want to kill my own people," he said.