An Australian added quietly, “You’d best come down, Mercadet, and tell Jim!”
A few hurried calls in Franco-English and laconic Australian replies, and a French interpreter climbed, an Australian soldier slid, down the ladder.
“Well, sir,” demanded the Baron of the former, “you have large views of your duties!”
“Sir,” replied the interpreter, “the place is officially evacuated. We have a right here. You have not!”
“I have said I will not budge,” replied the Baron, folding his arms, “and budge I will not!”
“Monsieur le Baron,” interposed Madeleine, “all these will be very useful if the Bosche come!”
The Baron strode to the heavy kitchen door and struck a succession of blows with his stick, shouting at the top of his voice, “Placide, open then, you are as lazy as stupid!”
Very shortly a light glimmered and the bolts shot back. The door turned, and Placide barred the way, as an old-fashioned clothes-horse covers a blazing fire. It took her a moment or two to understand.
“Ah, it is you, Monsieur le Baron!”
“Did you think it was the devil?”