They filed in to their meagre supper, as did all the prisoners, and, hungry as they all were, each one managed to smuggle away a small piece of bread, or what passed for it, and some other food. For some days past they had been hoarding such victuals as they could, for, once escaped, they must hide in holes, live the best way they could, and subsist on what they found until they could reach Holland or get back to the American lines. And they all hoped to be able to do this, rather than reach the neutral Netherlands, where they would be interned.
It may well be imagined that none of those in the plot to escape slept that night. The hour for the trial was set at two o'clock in the morning, that being the time when the guards would be least on the alert.
And, much as rain was hated, everyone was glad when it began to drizzle shortly after midnight. This meant that the guards would seek such shelter as was available on their posts, and not be quite so alert as they would be were the night fine.
"So far so good!" whispered Franz to Bob, as the time drew near. "I'm going to start now."
He slipped from his hard bed and silently made his way to the door. Franz knew the habits of the guard there. He generally was dozing off at this hour, though it was against the rules. But as no escape had been attempted in a long time, a little carelessness had crept into the iron discipline.
As silently as a cat Franz crept up on this guard. In his hand the Khaki Boy carried a file that had been worn down to what constituted a dagger with a needle point. There was so slight a struggle and commotion at the entrance of the barracks that Bob and the others, breathlessly waiting, hardly heard it. Franz shuddered at the deed he had been obliged to commit, but it was either his life or the guard's.
The lifeless body was dragged out of the way, and then Franz crawled from the building. It was raining harder than ever now, and he was glad of it. Quickly he made his way through the darkness to the clothing shop. He was not stopped, and for this he was also glad. For though he might have got past a sentry in the blackness by giving some excuse, in German, for walking around, there would have been grave danger of discovery. But, as it was, Franz found himself at the clothing depot, and then he began to look for the guard.
"The most likely place he'll be will be in the shelter of the doorway, out of the wet as much as possible," mused Franz. "I'll tackle him there."
As he approached the door to the shop a figure stepped from the doorway, just as he expected.
"Halt! Who comes?" demanded the under-officer in German, as he brought his rifle around ready for instant use.