Also, in the event of success in the matter of gaining Dutch territory there was the almost certainty of being interned unless he could discard his uniform and procure civilian clothes. Much, then, had to be done before dawn.
Although by order of the German authorities the Belgians in the occupied territory were obliged to be within doors at sunset, the roads were far from being unfrequented. Motor-cars, bearing excited and furious German staff officers, rushed to and fro, for the destruction of the Zeppelin sheds was a severe blow to the Teutonic organisation. There was no rest that night for the Huns at Limburg.
It was unsafe for Athol to keep to the highway. For hours he pressed on, stopping frequently to take shelter while parties of Germans hurried along the tree-lined roads. It was not half so dark as the lad would have liked, and now that his eyes were accustomed to the starlit night he found he could see with tolerable clearness for a distance of several hundred yards. Conversely it was equally possible for a German sentry to spot him from a like distance. Vainly he hoped that it would rain, or that heavy clouds would obscure the star-spangled sky.
He was becoming very hungry. His latest meal was but a reminiscence. Water, of which he found plenty, assuaged his thirst, but it was a sorry substitute for the wholesome fare to which he was accustomed.
Three times he had to make a detour to avoid various compact hamlets. Once a dog began barking, rousing all the other canines in the neighbourhood, with the result that the lad had to retrace his steps, throw himself down and lie perfectly still until the clamour had subsided—a loss of half an hour's precious time.
"I can't be so very far off the frontier now," thought Athol. "Now comes the crucial test."
He found himself on the point of crossing a fairly broad highway, unfenced but lined with gaunt trees. Almost before he was aware of the fact he nearly collided with two German officers.
Fortunately for Athol their backs were turned to him. They were standing on the edge of the road close to a large tree that had effectually prevented the lad from noticing their presence. They were muffled in long cloaks through which the hilts of their swords protruded. Their spurs shone dully in the starlight as they impatiently shuffled their feet. In silence they stood, their gaze fixed intently down the highway.
With his heart in his mouth Athol backed with the utmost caution. As he did so his foot broke a dry twig. He dropped lying face downwards in the dewy grass, not daring to stir hand or foot until the Huns moved away. They were officers, he knew, and not sentries. Consequently there was no reason why they should stop there indefinitely. At the same time Athol felt curious to know why a couple of cloaked cavalry officers should be standing mutely on the highway at the hour of midnight.
Athol's fingers closed on the butt of his Webley. For the first time he realised the companionship of his Service revolver. Without it his whole attention would have been getting away unperceived; thanks to the knowledge that he had a reliable weapon at his command he could run the risk with comparative equanimity of tackling the pair of Huns. But only should occasion arise. For the present he was content to keep watch upon the mysterious inaction of the silent twain.