"Germans in bushes!"
Pariset had seen them almost as soon as Granger. Before the car had come to a standstill within a dozen yards of the obstruction, the machine gun began to spit bullets in reply to the fusillade that rattled on the armoured sides of the car and the shield of the gun. A few seconds of brisk firing; then the deadly hail from the machine gun crashing through the foliage into the ranks of the ambuscaders made their position hopelessly untenable, and a remnant of the Horse Grenadiers who had lain in hiding there fled helter skelter over the adjacent fields.
The three men sprang out of the car, and tried to drag the carts out of the way. They failed to move them, and Granger discovered that they were chained together.
"A hammer!" he cried.
But the hammer snatched from the toolbox proved useless. The links of the chain had been flattened by some heavy instrument. After repeated blows it was evident that the chain was unbreakable.
"What on earth is to be done?" cried Kenneth, looking helplessly at the carts, while Pariset and Granger kept on the watch for any sign of the enemy returning. A shot from the machine gun would probably be ineffective, even at short range; the bullet would hardly dent the chain, much less shatter it and release the carts.
At this critical moment the transport wagon which they had passed some way back appeared on the crest of the hill behind them, and sounded its horn. Kenneth had a flash of inspiration.
"Look out for the Grenadiers, Remi," he cried. "There's no sign of them, but they may come back. If they do, turn the gun on to them."
"What are you going to do?" shouted Pariset, as Kenneth ran up the incline towards the halted wagon.
"Commandeer the wagon for a battering ram. There's apparently no escort. Back the car well away to the right."