"Your army? Faint-hearted mercenaries. Englishman, in less than a fortnight our troops will march right through the English and their friends the French, and be in Paris. After that, London."
"No fear!" ejaculated Kenneth.
The German major shrugged his shoulders.
"It is wasting the time of the court," he remarked. "To return to the business in hand. You, an Englishman, have been caught red-handed. You admit you are interested in military matters, although your claim to be a corporal in the Belgian army does not hold. Again, you admit that you took up arms against us?"
"Certainly—as a soldier, and strictly in accordance with the code of war."
"Your code is not our code," sneered the Major. He then turned and addressed the president. Colonel von Koenik inclined his head, and gave an order to the sergeant of the guard.
Three men filed out, returning after a brief interval with Rollo. Limping badly, young Barrington was marched across the room and placed by the side of his chum.
The president stood up and removed his helmet. The other officers also uncovered.
"Accused," he said, speaking in English, "you are found guilty on a charge of espionage. The sentence is death."
Von Koenik sat down and resumed his head-dress. He scanned the faces of the two lads, as if to detect signs of fear. But there were none. Beyond an almost imperceptible tightening of the lips, the young Britons received the grim intelligence unflinchingly.