"Certainly," replied Sylvester gravely. "It occurred to me almost as soon as we left the farm. You'll have to be deaf and dumb through shell-shock. I'll do the explaining."
The chums relapsed into silence, which was for them a fortunate circumstance; for on gaining the outskirts of a small wood they ran up against a block-house.
The levelled bayonet of a sentry brought them up all standing. Flight was practically impossible, for the starlight was so bright that there was an almost certainty of being shot down before they could run half a dozen yards.
"It's all right," declared the Moke. "I am a German officer on special service, bound for Trieste, but my car has broken down."
The sentry made no effort to recover his arms. Without replying he whistled softly, and a sergeant and half a dozen men issued from the outpost.
"Your papers, Herr Offizier?" demanded the non-com.
"Certainly, if your instructions require you to see them," replied the pseudo German major.
The sergeant inspected them by the light of the lantern. He made no attempt to read them, for the simple reason that he was one of the Austrian army's high percentage of illiterates.
"These are quite in order, Herr Major," he exclaimed. "But this man —who is he?"
"My servant," replied the Moke, high-handedly. "He is deaf and dumb, having been, I understand, an artillery man at the Skroda Works. Donnerwetter! Why such a dolt was foisted on to me I cannot imagine."