Accordingly the prisoners spent half an hour in writing to their respective parents. The epistles were couched in guarded terms. There was nothing to indicate that they had been harshly treated; no mention of the manner of their arrest. Nor was there a word about the destructive fire in Louvain.
When the Colonel reappeared the unsealed envelopes were handed to him. Without a word or a gesture he read them through, then wrote something on the envelopes.
"These are in order, gentlemen," he remarked. "You may now seal them, and they will be carefully forwarded."
But months later the chums learnt that the letters had never been delivered. There was a good reason, for von Koenik took the first opportunity of destroying them.
"There is some news for you," remarked the Colonel. "Yesterday our armies occupied Namur. The forts were helpless against our wonderful siege guns. Our Zeppelins have destroyed nearly the whole of Antwerp; our fleet has signally defeated the British in the North Sea. Your flagship, the Iron Duke, is sunk, together with seven Dreadnoughts. Jellicoe is slain, and the rest of the English fleet is bottled up in the Forth. Your little army in Belgium is already on the retreat; it will be hopelessly smashed before it reaches Maubeuge. Our troops will be in Paris within a week—and then?"
The Colonel paused, expecting to see dismay painted on the faces of his listeners. Instead, Kenneth coolly raised his eyebrows.
"Indeed?" he drawled. "Do you, Herr Colonel, really believe all that?"
Von Koenik suppressed a gesture of annoyance.
"Certainly," he replied. "It is in our official reports. If you possessed sufficient culture to be in a position to read and speak our language, you could see it with your own eyes. We are winning everywhere. Now, perhaps, to save further unpleasantness you will tell me the actual reason why you were in the Belgian service?"
"Merely our inclination to help in a just cause. We happened to be on the spot, the opportunity occurred, and we took it."