CHAPTER XXI

Denounced

The morning of the 20th August--a fateful day in the history of Belgium--dawned, accompanied by a drizzling rain. The sky seemed to be shedding tears of sympathy at the impending fate of Brussels, for, according to the terms of the agreement made between the German commander, Sixtus von Arnim, and the Belgian burgomaster, the invading troops were to march in unopposed.

When the triumphant Prussians entered Paris after the siege of 1870, their pageant-like progress was witnessed only by a few exasperated Parisians from behind the shuttered windows of their houses. The streets along the line of route were practically deserted. Had the Bruxellois adopted a similar plan, much of the effect of the gaudy display of Germany in arms would have been thrown away.

But the citizens of Brussels acted otherwise. In spite of their fear and trembling they assembled in vast, silent throngs. Curiosity had got the better of their national pride. Those who had good reason to doubt the plighted word of a Prussian took courage at the high-spirited yet conciliatory proclamation of the debonair M. Max, the burgomaster:

"As long as I live, or am a free agent, I shall endeavour to protect the rights and dignity of my fellow-citizens. I pray you, therefore, to make my task easier by refraining from all acts of hostility against the German soldiery. Citizens, befall what may, listen to your burgomaster. He will not betray you. Long live Belgium, free and independent! Long live Brussels!"

Accordingly the citizens, amongst whom were few able-bodied men, assembled in crowds ten or twelve deep along the principal thoroughfares. Amongst them was Kenneth Everest, who, in his civilian garb, attracted no attention from those who stood near him. Since a dignified silence seemed to brood over the humiliated Belgians, Kenneth had no occasion to speak, and thus disclose his nationality. He knew, by reports from his hostess, that there were spies innumerable mingled with the throng; but he was unaware that he was already marked for denunciation to the German authorities as soon as the Prussian rule was established in Belgium's capital.

Presently a wave of dull expectancy swept through the heavy-hearted populace. It was now early in the afternoon. From the south-east and east came the faint discord of military bands playing one against the other. Louder and louder grew the noise, till the strident tones of "Deutschland ueber Alles", played by the leading regimental band, drowned the chaotic blare of the next.

Craning his neck in order to obtain a clear view through the forest of dripping umbrellas--for the rain was now falling steadily--Kenneth could discern the head of the procession--a general, swarthy and heavy jowled, who scowled under his heavy eyebrows at the crowd as he rode by. He was the personification of German brute force, a stiffly-rigid figure in grey. He reminded Kenneth of a cast-iron equestrian statue smothered in grey paint.

In close formation came the various regiments of the invaders, men whose fresh uniforms and faultless equipment gave the appearance of troops straight from their regimental depots rather than war-worn veterans. And this, in fact, was the case. The men who had learned to respect the courage and determination of the hitherto despised Belgian troops had not been permitted to engage in the triumphal pageant through the surrendered city. Others of the almost innumerable Teutonic legions had been sent forward to impress the remaining inhabitants of Brussels.

Suddenly a guttural order rang out. As one man the grey-clad ranks broke into the machine-like goose-step. Possibly this spectacular display was meant to seal the impression upon the onlookers. If so, those responsible for the order were grievously mistaken. Regarding the action as one of insulting triumph, the Belgians strengthened their resolutions to impress on their absent troops the necessity of resisting to the last cartridge.

With the troops came large transport sections, motor machine-guns, batteries, and siege-trains. During that memorable afternoon nearly fifty thousand German troops poured into the city. They were resolved to hold and bleed the luckless citizens to the last gold piece--an indemnity for non-resistance.

"So they're here?" asked Rollo of his companion upon the latter's return. "I heard the din and the terrific discord of their brass bands. Have they done any damage?"

"Not as far as I could see. It is too early to come to any conclusion. At any rate, we'll lie low for a few days. I don't suppose they'll trouble us. How's the ankle?"

For the whole of the next day Kenneth remained indoors with his partly-crippled companion. Perhaps the most galling part of his detention was the total absence of news from without, for none of the papers were permitted to appear.

Small detachments of Germans patrolled the side streets, and, generally speaking, order was well maintained. The conquerors evidently wished to impress the citizens of Brussels with their magnanimous conduct; but, with the record of their deeds against the unresisting villages of the provinces of Liege and Brabant, the Germans made very little headway in gaining the goodwill of the inhabitants.

About nine on the following morning the lads heard a furious hammering on the street door of the house. They exchanged enquiring glances. Kenneth rushed to the latticed window, opened it cautiously, and looked down into the narrow street.

Standing outside the house were a dozen Prussian infantrymen. A sergeant was about to hammer again upon the door. Beside him stood a lieutenant, drawn sword in hand. A crowd of inquisitive civilians stood at a respectful distance; while, from the windows of the houses on the opposite side of the street, the frightened inhabitants peeped timorously at the display of armed force outside the dwelling of the highly-respected Madame Hirondelle.

"What's up?" asked Rollo.

"Prussians. They're after us, old man."

"Nonsense! Why should they be?"

"Someone's given us away," declared Kenneth savagely. He realized that they were trapped. There was no means of escape along the roofs of the adjoining houses, no place in which to hide without being easily and ignominiously hauled out. Even had there been a chance of getting clear, Rollo's injured ankle had to be taken into consideration.

They heard the door being opened; the harsh voice of the German lieutenant interrogating Madame Hirondelle in execrable French; then the tramp of heavy boots as the file of soldiers entered the house and began to ascend the stairs.

Rollo sat up in bed. His companion stood by the side of the alcove, gripping the back of a chair.

Then came a heavy knock at the door of the room, as a harsh voice shouted:

"Englischemans, surrender; if not, we shoots!"

Then the door was pushed open a little way, and a spiked helmet thrust forward on the muzzle of a rifle. Finding that this emblem of German militarism was not the object of an attack, the lieutenant plucked up courage and dashed into the room, brandishing his sword and revolver like an eighteenth-century melodramatic pirate.

After him crowded the sergeant and most of the men, two privates being left to guard Madame Hirondelle, in order that she would not be able to communicate with the supposed spies.

Kenneth was roughly seized by the throat. His hands were grasped and tied behind his back. The sergeant then proceeded to ransack his pockets, without discovering any documents, incriminating or otherwise. The unexpended portion of Dick Dacres's loan was taken possession of by the lieutenant, whose avidity in grabbing the money seemed to suggest that there was but slight possibility of it finding its way into the coffers of the Imperial treasury.

Meanwhile Rollo had been ordered to get out of bed. His clothes, after being searched and examined, were handed to him.

Other German soldiers were busily engaged in ransacking the room. The bed was uncovered, the mattress cut open in the vain hope of finding incriminating evidence; the contents of cupboards and drawers were turned out upon the floor, the Prussians taking care to retain "souvenirs" of their exploit as they did so.

Greatly to his disgust and disappointment, the lieutenant's efforts to obtain proofs of the supposed spies' guilt were fruitless.

He gave an order. Soldiers surrounding the two lads urged them through the door and down the narrow stairs. Determined to make a good haul, the officer ordered the arrest of Madame Hirondelle, the concierge, and the two maid-servants; then, with much sabre-rattling, he led the prisoners through the streets.

A quarter of an hour later Kenneth found himself alone in a gloomy cell. The prospect was not a pleasing one. Even with a clear conscience as far as the charge of espionage went, the lad realized the terrible position in which he and Rollo were placed.

They were British subjects; they were not in uniform; they had no documents to prove the truth of their statement that they were corporals in the Belgian army. There was no one, excepting the thoroughly-terrified Madame Hirondelle, to speak a word in their favour.

For half an hour he paced the limited expanse of floor, pondering over the difficulties of the situation. Then, without any thought of attempting an escape, he began examining the walls and floor of his cell. The place was roughly twenty feet in length and nine in breadth. The walls were of brick, set in hard, black cement. They had, at some previous time, been coated with yellow limewash, but most of the colour had been worn off. The floor was paved with irregular stone slabs. Eight feet from the ground was a small unglazed window, with two rusty and slender vertical bars. Opposite the window was the door of worm-eaten oak.

The floor was half a dozen steps lower than the level of the ground without. A sentry was posted outside the window. Although standing erect, the only part of him visible from within was from his knees to his belt, so Kenneth knew that on that side the ground was about five or six feet above the floor of his cell.

It also appeared likely that the room was not generally used as a place of confinement. It had no furniture. On the stone floor were wisps of straw and hay. It might, but for the steps from the doorway, have been used as a stable.

"The Germans don't surely mean to keep me in this rotten hole," thought Kenneth. "It isn't fit for a dog."

Slowly the morning passed. At noon the sentry without was relieved. The sergeant's guard made no attempt to look through the window. The new sentry seemed ignorant of the presence of the English lad. There he stood, as rigid as a statue, while the minutes ran into hours. Not once did the grey-coated soldier "walk his beat". No one passed by. The sentry was to all intents and purposes posted in a totally unnecessary position.

Just as the clocks chimed the hour of two, the door of the cell was opened and a sergeant and file of Prussian infantrymen entered. Silently the non-commissioned officer pointed to the open door. Preceded and followed by the soldiers, Kenneth set out to be tried for his life.