"I suspected as much," commented the General. "Kindly touch that bell on the mantelpiece behind you."
Bertram touched it; it was as cold as ice.
"See if it will ring," suggested the General.
Bertram seized it by the handle and shook it violently. In a moment or two it rang. A sentry entered.
"Einzweidreivierfünf," said the General, "and riddle him with bullets at eight to-morrow morning."
III.
Early the next morning a knock sounded on the door of Bertram's cell. The doomed man crossed the room and shot back the bolt. An officer armed with a howitzer entered.
"I am instructed to inform you," he said, "that as you are shortly to be shot you are entitled, according to custom, to choose whatever you wish for breakfast."
"Thank you," replied Bertram, "a cup of weak tea and a rusk. Unfortunately I am a chronic dyspeptic, or I would take fuller advantage of your kind hospitality."
A devilish gleam shot from the other's eyes as he heard those words.