Rollo mentally pulled himself together. Another ten or twenty seconds would decide the fate of his plan—and of himself.
Suddenly the subdued daylight of the room was pierced by a dozen simultaneous flashes. The rattle of musketry sounded like the discharge of a twenty-one-inch howitzer. The place was filled with the haze of smokeless powder.
Instinctively the lad ducked. There was a tremendous crash above his head. A thousand lights danced before his eyes, and he lost consciousness.
CHAPTER IX
A Midnight Retirement
When Rollo opened his eyes he found himself lying in the open air. He was in one of the courtyards of the Palace of Justice. The thunder of the bombardment still roared. The noise of the guns recalled his scattered thoughts to the event that had almost cost him his life.
A Belgian army doctor was kneeling by his side, while Kenneth supported his head. Around him stood a number of soldiers, some of whom had paused in the act of cleaning their rifles in order to watch their English comrade's return to consciousness.
"Hello, Kenneth!" exclaimed Rollo, somewhat vacantly. "What has happened? Ah, I know—those Germans!"
"They won't trouble us again, old man," replied Kenneth. "You're in luck again. It was your suspicions that put the commandant on his guard. But I'll tell you more about it later on."