"It's the long chap who will cause trouble," mentally decided Malcolm. "The big-paunched fellow won't count. They're going to question me, that's evident. If I try to bamboozle them there will be trouble. By Jove! I'll give them a few choice New Zealand catch-phrases, and see what happens."
At a sign from the Lieutenant the sergeant in charge of the escort deftly removed the prisoner's identity disc and handed it to his superior officer for inspection. The cadaverous one jotted down something in a pocket-book, and exchanged a few words with his confrere.
"Now listen," began the Lieutenant in broken English; "der truth we must haf. If lies you tell it useless is. We vill haf you shot at vonce. Tell me where you come from?"
"Ask me?" replied Malcolm promptly.
The Lieutenant frowned.
"I haf asked," he rejoined. "Where you come from--what position?"
"Cut it out!" ejaculated the lad.
His questioner bent over a map spread out on the table in front of him. With a puzzled expression on his face he addressed the Major. Malcolm distinctly heard the words "Cut it out" mentioned more than once.
The lad smiled inwardly. The sight of the two Germans poring over a map to find this non-existent locality of "Cut it out" tickled his sense of humour.
Foiled in that direction, and attributing his discomfiture to the fact that the military map was quite inadequate to present needs, the Lieutenant wrote in his notebook again.