"That is the man!" shrilled the boy suddenly. "He drags his foot. He it was who came here, and who killed the orderly to make his escape."
Belinda, recovering her speech; cried aloud:
"Wicked boy! It could not be Erard. He was in the guardhouse."
The little Frenchman raised his hand in salute as he stepped forward a single pace, dragging that twisted foot, to face the scowling Herr Doktor. He smiled at Belinda, saying:
"It is quite true, Mademoiselle. They are asleep, those Boches at the guardhouse. It was I who came here in the night. I knew the Herr Lieutenant had money under his pillow and I tried to steal it. The boy misunderstood the nature of our conversation. The Herr Lieutenant, in his generosity, let me go; but I was observed by the orderly, and—so——"
"Never!" gasped Belinda.
The Herr Doktor pounded upon the floor with his cane. A file of soldiers entered with Corporal Baum at their head.
"Take this man to the cage, Corporal," commanded Doctor Herschall, pointing with his stick to Erard. "And leave two men to escort the Herr Lieutenant Gessler"—he lingered over the name in a sinister way—"to the military court as soon as he is dressed."
Erard, smiling still, was close to Belinda as he turned to go with the soldiers. His twisted lip writhed with the almost inaudible phrase:
"For France!"