"Right?" he questioned. "My dear fellow, it is simply a question of the force majeure. And besides you are not prisoners."
"Not prisoners?" we shouted in unison. "If we are not prisoners, then what are we?"
"You are not prisoners," the Colonel insisted. "You are simply detained. You can neither go forward nor back until I receive further instructions concerning you. For the moment you are my guests."
He bowed politely and gracefully.
"And the soldier with the rifle? And the dead line at the corner of the building?"
"Ah, quite so—quite so," murmured the Colonel; then bowed again to us and went out the gate.
"Consequential little cuss," sputtered one of our trio.
"Better play up to him," advised one of the Italians. "We have been here three days. Come see where we sleep—"
They led the way to a stone outhouse near one end of the stable. A soldier with loaded rifle sat in the door. We peered within. Two cow stalls heaped with filthy straw. One of the stalls was empty; in the other we could dimly discern some huddled forms.