"He's dead!" he whispered.
"Dead?" echoed the others.
"Come on—let's go into the other room," suggested Jimmy.
There was another room opening out from the kitchen. Into this the
Khaki Boys filed silently.
"Do you suppose the Germans killed him?" asked Roger.
"Very likely. Or he may have died from old age, fright or shock. We'll leave him where he is."
"And stay here?" asked Bob.
"Sure! Why not? We're out of the rain. The poor dead man can not harm us, and we have seen enough of death, in worse forms than this, to be afraid now."
"Oh, it isn't that I'm afraid!" exclaimed Bob. "But if the Germans did that to—him—they may come back and—"
"I fancy not," said Jimmy. "I believe they think they have cleaned out this place. It's the safest spot for us with the old man as a silent sentry. Come, fellows, well spend the night here with the dead to guard us."