The discussion of the possibilities of rescuing Max by Dale, Dubec, and the latter's wife, soon took a certain shape. There was no chance of rescuing him while imprisoned in the governor's palace; that was clear at once, as they knew nothing of the whereabouts of his cell, and there was too little time to find out. There remained the opportunities presented while he was being conveyed from the palace to the gates of the Durend works, and during the execution within the yard. The latter seemed hopeless. The yards were bounded by high walls, or by the river, which was by this time well guarded, and the whole place was full of workmen, the majority of whom were well disposed towards German rule.
It was during the march from the governor's palace to the gates that the only hope seemed to offer, and upon this they concentrated their attention. The whole thing looked desperate in the extreme, but Dale was in such a state that either he must do something desperate or recklessly place himself by his friend's side. Eventually, mainly through the quick-wittedness of Madame Dubec, a plan that seemed to offer a chance presently began to take shape. This plan was to create so strong a diversion at some point of the route that Max might be enabled to make a dart away to safety, and to aid his further progress once the first part of the plan had been achieved. A diversion—strong, sudden, and terrifying—was what was needed, and to furnish this their united brains planned and planned until there emerged an idea that satisfied them all.
CHAPTER XV
The Dash
A curt command, and Max sprang to his feet. The last lap in the final of his life's race had been begun, and it was now for him to score a glorious win. For a win it was, even with his life sacrificed at the end of the race. Max well understood this, and it was with a proud, though steady, thoughtful air that he followed the non-commissioned officer who summoned him from his cell.
Through a fine marble hall, that had so short a time before echoed with the footsteps of Belgians, and was now thronged with Prussian officers and their servants, Max was led. Out at the wide portico and into the open square, full in view of a large crowd assembled to do silent honour to a patriot; but only for a moment, for a sharp word of command rang out and a score of men closed round him, and with short military steps marched him rapidly through the crowd.
Max was dressed exactly as he was when he gave himself up. He had had no opportunity to wash or to make himself presentable for that last hour; unkempt, bareheaded, but erect and outwardly serene, he strode along, conscious that he was not only an example from the German point of view, but an example, and a greater one, to the Belgians. He tried to tell himself that the unscrupulousness of the Germans should not have the effect they desired, that his execution should be a rallying-point for all true hearts in Liége and a turning-point so far as their little locality was concerned.
But though Max was outwardly calm and serene, inwardly he was deeply anguished. It was not a small thing to him to lay down, so to speak, his tools and to leave to others the continuance of the good work. His mother and sister, too—he could not think of them without many and bitter pangs. However, he strove hard to hold at bay such thoughts and to go down strongly to the parting of the ways.
With monotonous tramp his escort marched unmoved along. Max marched in the middle, unbound like a prisoner of war rather than the miscreant he had been called. Once away from the governor's palace the people were sparse—ones and twos and a few groups here and there—until the gates of the Durend works came in sight.