“Le brave Belge knows when to clear out,” grinned one of the younger men, giving Dalroy an odiously suggestive wink.
Somehow, the fact that Dalroy took command abated the women’s terror; even the intractable Joos yielded. Soon the two were in the yard with the dispossessed Bavarians, these latter being in the worst of temper, as they had now to search for both bed and supper. They strode away without giving the least heed to their presumed prisoners.
Joos, like most men of choleric disposition, was useless in a crisis of this sort. He gibbered with rage. He wanted to attack the intruders at once with a pitchfork.
Dalroy shook him to quieten his tongue. “You must listen to me,” he said sternly.
The old man’s eyes gleamed up into his. In the half-light of the gloaming they had the sheen of polished gold. “Monsieur,” he whimpered, “save my little girl! Save her, I implore you. You English are lions in battle. You are big and strong. I’ll help. Between us we can stick the four of them.”
Dalroy shook him again. “Stop talking, and listen,” he growled wrathfully. “Not another word here! Come this way!” He drew the miller into an empty stable, whence the kitchen door and the window were in view. “Now,” he muttered, “gather your wits, and answer my questions. Have you any hidden weapons? A pitchfork is too awkward for a fight in a room.”
“I had nothing but a muzzle-loading gun, monsieur. I gave it up on the advice of the burgomaster. They’ve killed him.”
“Very well. Remain here on guard. I’ll go and fetch a rifle and bayonet. Nothing will happen to the women till these brutes have eaten, and have more wine in them. Don’t you understand? The younger men have made a hellish compact with their senior. You heard that, didn’t you?”
“Yes, yes, monsieur. Who could fail to know what they meant? Surely the good God sent you to Visé to-day!”
“Promise, now! No interference till I return, even though the women are frightened. You’ll only lose your life to no purpose. I’ll not be long away.”