"You must not unduly excite your friend," cautioned the doctor. "He has no bodily injury, but his nerves are stricken. He must rest until to-morrow. I will have him taken into a safe cellar, where he need fear nothing from those German shells."
"Won't you come with me, Kenneth?" asked Rollo.
"Sorry, old man, but I'm warned for duty at five o'clock—seventeen hours, they call it. All being well, I'll look you up in the morning."
"See that my bike is all right."
"Rather!" replied Kenneth cheerily. "Don't worry about it. I'll look after it."
Later on in the evening Rollo heard of the circumstances under which the supposed British officers were shot down.
The room in which they had been asked to wait was, years ago, used as a place of observation for prisoners awaiting trial. The carved oak panelling terminated about six inches from the heavily-raftered ceiling. At one end was a space between two parallel massive beams, through which, from a gallery without, it was possible to observe all that was taking place, although the watchers were themselves unseen.
Upon his attention being called to the error on the pseudo British major's visiting-card, the commandant's suspicions were aroused. As soon as Rollo was dispatched with his message, a file of skilled riflemen ascended the observation gallery. Noiselessly they took up their positions, and having witnessed the holding up of their British comrade, they delivered a volley that instantly exterminated the treacherous Germans.
Rollo had, indeed, a narrow escape, for his captor in falling had convulsively pressed the trigger of his revolver. The bullet missed the lad's head by a couple of inches, but the blast from the muzzle had scorched his temple.
Barrington was in the midst of a deep slumber, in spite of the thunder of the guns, when he was awakened by someone shaking him by the shoulder.