The guard tramped noisily into the room, under a big Feldwebel, or sergeant-major. He flashed his lantern down the long room, and uttered a sharp word of command that brought the sleepers to their feet, blinking and but half awake. Then he called the roll, pausing when he came to Jim.
“You sleep in a curious dress. Where is your shirt?”
“Drying,” said Jim curtly. “I washed it—I’ve only one.”
“Enough for an English swine-hound,” said the German contemptuously. He passed on to the next man, and Jim sighed with relief.
Presently the guard clanked out, and the prisoners returned to their straw mattresses.
“That was near enough,” whispered Baylis, who was next to Jim.
“A good deal too near,” Jim answered. “However, it ought to be fairly certain that they won’t spring another surprise-party on us to-morrow. And a miss is as good as a mile.” He turned over, and in a moment was sleeping like a baby.
The next day dragged cruelly.
To the eight conspirators it seemed as long as the weary stretch of months since they had come to the camp. For a long while they had avoided each other as far as possible in public, knowing that even two men who talked much together were liable to be suspected of plotting; on this last day they became afraid even to look at each other, and wandered about, each endeavouring to put as great a distance as possible between himself and the other seven. It became rather like a curious game of hide-and-seek, and by evening they were thoroughly “jumpy,” with their nerves all on edge.
They had no preparations to make. Scarcely any of their few possessions could be taken with them; they would find outside—if ever they got there—food and clothing. They had managed to make rough knives that were fairly serviceable weapons; beyond these, and a few small personal belongings they took nothing except the clothes they wore—and they wore as little as possible, and those the oldest and shabbiest things to be found. So there was nothing to do, all that last day, but watch the slow hours pass, and endeavour to avoid falling foul of any of the guards—no easy matter, since every German delighted in any chance of making trouble for a prisoner. Nothing but to think and plan, as they had planned and thought a thousand times before; to wonder desperately was all safe still—had the door been found in the cupboard under the stairs? was the tunnel safe, or had it chosen to-day of all days to fall in again? was the exit—in a bed of runner beans—already known and watched? The Huns were so cunning in their watchfulness; it was quite likely that they knew all about their desperate enterprise, and were only waiting to pounce upon them in the instant that success should seem within their grasp. That was how they loved to catch prisoners.