TRACKED
AT the sight of the lean, cadaverous features of the Belgian Barcroft had to exercise a tremendous lot of restraint to control his desire to utter some sort of exclamation. He had no wish to harm the fellow, who, as he knew, was acting under compulsion, with overt bribery thrown in. In fact he felt sorry for the man, whose pathetic eyes and drawn features portrayed both hunger and misery.
Yet in an instant the climber turned his face aside and resolutely hauled himself upon the branch on which Billy was lying. He was now in full view of the other officers. Fortunately neither of them spoke nor moved, yet the mental tension was acute.
Standing upright upon the bough and carefully preserving his balance the Belgian outstretched his arm to grasp the branch above.
"The bounder doesn't want to take unnecessary chances," thought Barcroft. "He wouldn't shout while he was only holding on by his fingers. Now he's able to get a firm grip in case he thinks we'll heave him out of it."
But no. The flight-sub was totally wrong in his surmise. The man, deliberately ignoring the presence of the three fugitives, climbed still higher, until he gained the topmost branch capable of supporting his weight.
Then, having leisurely scanned the surrounding tree-tops, he shouted something to the Germans standing at the foot of the British officers' hiding-place.
For a moment Barcroft and his companions were again plunged into the throes of suspense. "The pig says that there are no signs of the Englishmen," interpreted Karl.
"Donnerwetter!" grunted the corporal. "So much for the bloodhound, and Herr Major is ever boasting of what the brute can do. He's wrong for once at least, only I dare not tell him so. Tell the Belgian to come down. I'll soon send him up another tree a little further on."
"That's right," agreed Max. "Make the fellow work till he drops. If he breaks his neck there's one of the rabble the less."