The next instant the brothers were shaking hands and rapping out questions, to the surprise of the other occupants of the hut, who had suspicions that they were the victims of a practical joke.
"I don't know that it's so very remarkable after all," declared the Sergeant. "Plenty of fellows, deaf and dumb through concussion, have recovered speech and hearing by a shock of some sort. My word, those Diggers can talk!"
He crossed the room to where the brothers were exchanging experiences.
"Look here," he said. "I'm in charge of this hut, and my pal Jeffson is responsible for No. 4. After roll-call I'll arrange for you (indicating Malcolm) to doss in No. 4, and get another man from there to take your place here. Only, if you don't want to get me into a regular row with the camp commandant, take care to slip back before morning roll-call."
Peter Carr's greatest concern was the fact that he had never received a letter or parcel from New Zealand. He had written several times, but Malcolm was able to inform him that, up to a comparatively recent date, their father had not heard anything about Peter beyond the official statement that he was wounded and missing.
"I say," remarked the elder Carr in the course of the evening, "we'll have to make a change--a shift round. I've a Canuk for my linked man."
"Linked man?" echoed Malcolm. "What's that?"
"We're expecting and hoping for a raid," explained Peter. "Only three nights ago we heard bombs dropping on Julich, which is but a few miles away. So if some of our airmen do make a stunt, we'll take our chances of being blown up and make a dash for liberty. Since it would be madness for the whole crush to keep together, we've arranged to separate, if we do get clear, and work in pairs. Everything's all cut and dry, and we are told off in twos; but I'll push the Canadian on to the previous odd man out, and we'll stick together."
It was long after midnight when the reunited brothers ended their conversation. Nor did sleep follow quickly as far as Malcolm was concerned. It was not the constant clatter of machinery and the rasping of dozens of circular saws in the adjoining factories that kept him awake, but the excitement of the day, culminating in the discovery of his elder brother, whom he had regarded as dead for months past.
Early next morning the prisoners were served with a meagre and ill-nourishing meal, consisting of turnip soup and a dirty-coloured liquid that was supposed to be coffee. This was supplemented by food sent from home, the men putting the edible contents of all their parcels into a common stock. At six they were told off in gangs for work either on the roads or in the fields. The Huns had tried hard to compel them to labour in the mines, but such was the indomitable spirit of the luckless sons of the British Empire that the attempt ended in failure.