"What do you think of the prisoner, baron?" inquired Major Hoffer.
"Not much," replied Sylvester brusquely. "He looks to have the strength of a rat. He will be handy, however, with his experience, and he'll be made to work. What a droll situation! Making poison gas to be used against his own country. Oh, yes. Send two men with him. I'll take all responsibility. Now for the register."
Borrowing a blue pencil the bogus Eitel von Stopelfeld went through the list of prisoners' names, former occupations, and present employment, "ticking off" the required number.
"You will require a special train for that crowd, baron," observed Major Hoffer. "After all, would it not be better to send the Englishman with the others?
"Perhaps.... No; I think we will keep to our original plan. I have reasons. That is all, major. It will indeed be a pleasure for me to recommend you to my illustrious master, the German Emperor; so do not be surprised if in due course you receive l'ordre pour le Mérite. You deserve it, upon my word."
"I have already sent the prisoner on foot," explained the Austrian commandant. "The escort will arrive at Judenburg at the same time as your car, so there is no hurry. A bottle of wine?"
The Moke declined.
"My head aches already," he protested. "Perhaps it is the reek of the sulphur fumes. Let me see; there is a train for Salzburg at three?"
"That is so, baron. It arrives at Salzburg at seven, which means that you will be in Munich by nine."
At Judenburg station Sylvester found his chum standing between two heavily built, sullen-featured Magyars, with rifles and fixed bayonets, while a small crowd composed of old men, women, and children gazed in open-mouthed interest at the prisoner and his guards.