Malcolm's latest jailers were four stolid-looking Prussians, who, badly wounded in Flanders, had been retained as guards at the camp. By them the New Zealander was conducted to a building just within the second or inner gate. Here he was registered and given a number, and afterwards subjected to perfunctory examination by a doctor, who, finding that the prisoner exhibited no trace of infection or contagious disease, passed him as a fit inmate of the camp. In an adjoining room he was given a large sack and a filthy horse-cloth. The former, when filled with straw, was to serve as a bed; the latter was his one and only blanket. A printed list, in English, of the numerous rules and regulations was then handed to him, and the initiation ceremony of the new member of the Düren Prison Camp was completed.
Escorted by an armed orderly, Malcolm was taken down the broad central road. A few prisoners in khaki rigs were standing disconsolately at the doors of the huts. Most of them shouted a rough but well-meaning greeting to the new arrival, to which Malcolm, understanding the purport of the unheard words, replied by a wave of his hand. In vain Rifleman Carr looked for a New Zealand uniform: these were mostly Tommies and Jocks, a sprinkling of Canadians, and two West Indians; Anzacs seemed to be unrepresented in the motley throng of captives.
Presently Malcolm's escort halted, pointed to one of the numbers on the prisoner's card, and then to a corresponding number on the door of a hut. It was an intimation to the effect that, during the pleasure of the All Highest, Rifleman Carr was to be his guest in hut No. 7 of the Düren Detention Camp.
"What's the latest, chum?" enquired a Tommy as Malcolm entered. "Blow me if 'e ain't barmy!"
"Rot!" ejaculated another. "He's deaf. What's his regiment, I wonder? Come on, chaps, let's make the poor beggar comfortable."
"A jolly hard thing to do in this rotten hole," added a third. "Who's got a pencil?"
A stump was presently forthcoming, and, writing upon a piece of brown paper, the last speaker, a sergeant of an English line regiment, contrived to get in touch with the new arrival.
"He's a New Zealander," he announced to his companions. "Isn't there one of their chaps in No. 4? I'll give him the tip."
So saying, the good-natured non-com. left the hut, to return with a tall, bearded man, whose uniform was sufficiently intact to indicate that he belonged to the New Zealand Rifle Brigade. Even his hat was tolerably well preserved, even to the encircling red cord.
For a few minutes the two men from "Down Under" stood facing each other, astonishment and incredulity written in their faces. Then, with a loud bang, something seemed to give way in Malcolm's ears. With a vehemence that surprised himself, Malcolm Carr almost shouted the name of "Peter!"