'All this is highly irregular,' he said harshly. 'Captain Hartmann, it is our duty to interrogate these prisoners.'
'What's the use of interrogating us if you have already made up your mind to shoot us?' retorted Ken.
Von Steegman glared at him.
'Because,' he answered in his harsh German English, 'it is bossible that, by giving us certain information, you may yed save der lives which you haf justly forfeited.'
Ken stared back, and there was something in his face which made even the German's bold eyes drop.
'I don't advise you to say any more,' he answered grimly. 'You'd better proceed at once with your firing party, you miserable German murderer.'
Von Steegman's hand dropped to his sword hilt, his face went the colour of a ripe plum, for a moment Ken thought—hoped that he was going to have a fit.
Before he could speak there came a stir behind, the door leading from the house to the yard opened sharply, and a stout, coarse-looking man in the uniform of a colonel in the Prussian Army, strode heavily in.
Hartmann and Von Steegman rose like two ramrods, and saluted him. They stood at the salute while he came across to the table.
'So these are the two prisoners,' he said in a thick guttural voice, as he seated himself, 'the two who were captured spying behind our lines.'