“No. The poor creature remains a ‘woman unknown, found dead.’ The Germans don’t worry about such trifles. But, by a strange coincidence, Madame Stauwaert practically takes her place for identification purposes. By the mercy of Providence, no German soldier was in this house last night, or he would now be the richer by a thousand marks. The notice is placarded at the Kommandantur, and is being read by the multitude.”
“We shall not bring further trouble on a family which has already run grave risk in our behalf,” vowed Dalroy warmly. “We must scatter at once, and, if caught, suffer individually.”
“I was sure you would say that, monsieur; but sworn allies carry friendship to greater lengths. Now, let us take counsel. Madame Stauwaert can remain here. Fifty people in Huy will answer for her. My sister can hire a servant, Léontine. If Joos is tractable he can lodge in safety with some cottagers I know. Maertz wishes to join the Belgian army, and you the British; while that charming young lady will want to get to England. Well, we may be able to contrive all these things. I happen to be a bit of an antiquary, and Huy owns more ruined castles and monasteries than any other town of similar size in Belgium, or in the world, I imagine. Follow my instructions to the letter, and you will cheat the Germans yet. They are animals of habit and cast-iron rule. When searching for six people they will never look for one or two. Yet it would be folly if you and mademoiselle wandered off by yourselves in a strange country. Then, indeed, even German official obtuseness might show a spark of real intelligence; whereas, by gaining a few days, who knows whether your armies may not come to you, rather than you go to them?”
The good-hearted Frenchman’s scheme worked without a hitch. The cart was broken up for firewood, the harness burnt, and the dogs taken a mile into the country by Maertz, who sold them for a couple of francs, and came back to a certain ruined priory by a roundabout road.
Irene and Dalroy had gone there already. The place lay deep in trees and brushwood, and was approachable by a dozen hidden ways. Although given over to bats and owls, its tumbledown walls contained one complete room, situated some twenty feet above the ground level, and reached by a winding staircase of stone slabs, which looked most precarious, but proved quite sound if used by a sure-footed climber.
Here, then, the three dwelt eleven weary days. During daylight their only diversion was the flight of hosts of aeroplanes toward the French frontier. Twice they saw Zeppelins. For warmth at night they depended on horse-rugs and bundles of a species of bracken which throve among the piles of stones. They were well supplied with food, deposited at dusk in a fosse, and obtained when the opening bars of “La Brabançonne” were whistled at a distance. The air itself was a guarantee that no German was near, because the Belgian national anthem is not pleasing to Hun ears.
A typed note in the basket formed their sole link with the outer world. And what momentous issues were conveyed in the briefest of sentences!
“Namur has fallen after a day’s bombardment by a new and terrible cannon.”
“Brussels has capitulated without resistance.”
“After a fierce battle, the French and English have retired from Charleroi and Mons.”