The Attack on the Munition-shops And Its Sequel

To Max Durend the successful raid on the coal-yards was only the prelude to the main performance. His mind was bent wholly towards one great object, and that was to prevent, by every means in his power, the exploitation of his father's great works by the enemies of his country. The coal-yard incident, as he termed it, was satisfactory so far as it went, but gave his mind no real relief such as had resulted from the recovery of part of the firm's monetary resources and the destruction of the power-house. The next affair, which, as has been hinted, was already well in hand, was more important and was an attempt to damage, if not destroy, some of the great machines installed for the production of rifles and machine-guns.

The largest workshop in the yard was devoted to this and a few other of the more delicate kinds of work, and it seemed to Max that the greatest amount of injury might be inflicted upon the Germans by an attempt on this shop. The works were still at a standstill, though it was fairly evident that they would not be so for much longer. The attempt ought, therefore, to be made within the few following days.

The plan was simplicity itself. It merely provided for Max and Dale to enter the workshop during the night and to work as much mischief among the machines as they could, consistently with the need for silence and the avoidance or silencing of the watchmen. For some days they had kept the place under close observation, and noted the hours and habits of the watchmen and the sentinels at either end of the building until they knew them as well as the men themselves.

Dubec they would not bring with them. He was eager to come, but the work required alertness and lightness of hand and foot rather than strength, and for this he would have been of no use. Besides, the two lads, keen as they were on their self-imposed tasks, were not unmindful of the fact that he had a wife and children to mourn him should the venture come to grief.

All, however, seemed to go well. Max and Dale succeeded in effecting an entrance into the ground floor of the workshop after they had seen the watchman, by the glint of his lamp, make his midnight round. The two soldiers—one at each end of the building—saw nothing and heard nothing, of that they were assured. Without delay, therefore, for in a little over an hour the watchman would be back from his rounds upon the upper floors, they proceeded to put out of action the more valuable and more complicated machines in the building. It was necessary, of course, that they should be almost silent; so their mode of procedure was to muffle up in an old blanket the most delicate and fragile parts of the machines before smashing them with a heavy hammer well swathed in flannel wrappings.

The machines dealt with first were those farthest from the route that would be taken by the watchman on his next round. Consequently, when he came, he passed along swinging his lantern in utter ignorance that anything was amiss, or that two men lay in ambush close at hand, ready to spring upon him should he suspect anything wrong and pause to investigate. As soon as he had passed out of ear-shot the two recommenced their work with redoubled energy, and some two and a half hours were thus consumed in work that utterly spoiled a large proportion of the valuable machines which filled the great workshop.

Skilful, vigilant, and almost silent as they had been, they were yet after all caught napping. How or by whom they never knew, until, some time after, Dubec told them of a tale that was going the round among the workmen to the effect that one of Schenk's hired ferrets had all the time been hidden on the upper floor. Strange to say, he had been there not so much to deal with disaffected workmen—the sentinels were expected to do that—as to spy upon the watchmen themselves. The story seemed to fit in well with what Max knew of Schenk's character, and he accepted it as in all probability true. At any rate, neither Max nor Dale dreamed that aught was amiss until the latter heard the sound of marching outside, and that upon an unusual scale. He slid quickly to the nearest window and peeped out.

"We're done, Max!" he cried soberly. "Scores of soldiers, and they look to be forming a cordon right round the building."

"Are you sure?" Max cried incredulously, hurrying to a window on the opposite side of the block. One glance was enough to show that a strong cordon of soldiers was being drawn—nay, to all appearances was already drawn—all round the workshop. The soldiers faced inwards, and stood with bayonets fixed, as though prepared for an attempt at escape from some body of men caught within their armed circle.

"We've been seen, Jack, old man!" cried Max, coming back to the side of his friend. "It's all up, I fear. They've made up their minds they've got us, and do not intend to let us slip. I'm so sorry, old man, you should have been mixed up in this. It's really not your quarrel, but mine."

There was a new note in Max's voice, one his friend had never heard before, and it was with something suspiciously like a break in his own that Dale replied as he seized and wrung his hand: "Don't say another word, Max. It's my affair too, and I won't have you blame yourself on my account. We've simply fought for our country, and have now got to die for it—that's all."

For a moment or two the friends stood silent, grasping one another's hands. That moment they were indeed friends, and each would cheerfully have given up his own life to save the other. Then the ruling thought which still swayed Max's mind asserted itself once more.

"It seems so, Dale. Well, then, let us die to some good purpose. Here we have under our hands the most valuable of the workshops filched from us. It is only partly out of action. Let us complete the good work, and we shall at least have deserved well of our country."

"Aye; but how so?"

"Let us burn it down."

"With us in it?"

"Aye, if need be. But if we will we can always sally out and exchange that fate for the bayonet's point."

Dale gazed at his friend in undisguised admiration. "You are a terror, Max," he said slowly. "These old works are your very life-blood, and I believe you would go through fire and water to keep the Germans out of 'em."

"So I would," replied Max with conviction, as he coolly reached down a great can of lubricating-oil and poured it over the floor and upon a pile of wooden cases close by. "Well, if you are game—and I know you are—let us scatter all the oil and stuff we can find about the place and set fire to it. They'll never get it out."

"Right you are, Stroke. It's the final, and we must make a win of it. What would Hawkesley's think if they could see us—or Benson's?"

"Dale," cried Max, with sudden and deeper earnestness, "d'ye know, I believe this is what we were really training for during all those gruelling races. It was not for nothing we slogged away there day after day, learning to conquer disappointment and defeat. No; it was to know how to serve our country here."

"I believe you—and we will."

"Hark! I think I can hear soldiers on the floor below. Look out! I am going to set a light to this pile of cases. Get ready to run. I fancy it will spread like wildfire."

A match was applied, and flames leapt up and spread with a rapidity that would have terrified anyone less absorbed or less determined than our two heroes. The flames flew along the floor and benches, and Max and Dale retreated down the room, overturning all the cans of oil and grease they could find, and making it an easy matter for the fire to catch and hold. The smoke, driven along in front of the flames, quickly became so intolerable that they had to fly for relief to the staircase at the farther end of the building.

Outside the workshop the burst of flame was the signal for a loud yell of execration, mingled with cries of warning to the soldiers who had entered the building in search of the hostile workmen reported there. The soldiers trooped noisily out and joined the cordon still drawn about the burning building. Messengers were dispatched to the fire-stations, and in a few minutes a couple of engines arrived and set to work to fight the flames. But though they were expeditious in arriving, the firemen were not equally expeditious in getting their hoses effectually trained upon the building. For one thing, the river had been largely relied upon to furnish a water-supply, and no hydrants were close at hand. Consequently the hoses had to be carried a great distance, and as the yards were still in darkness, save for the lurid light shed by the burning building, the hoses were badly exposed to the attentions of any hostile workman who happened to be near the scene.

Dubec "happened" to be there, with two or three other men animated by out-and-out hostility to the Germans, and waged fierce war upon the hoses at every point at which they lay in shadow. By the time the officer commanding the troops had awakened to the situation, the hoses had been completely ruined, and the fighting of the flames delayed until fresh ones could be brought to the spot.

In the meantime Max and Dale had ceased their efforts to extend the fire, and had retreated to one of the stone staircases situated at each end of the building. There was, in fact, little more to be done, for the fire had got firm hold, and it seemed certain that the whole building was doomed. The end by the staircase was almost free from smoke, and Max and Dale lingered there while awaiting the moment when they should be compelled to choose between death by burning or by the bayonets of the German soldiers. They fell somewhat quiet during those moments, and when they talked it was of the good old glorious times they had spent together. Presently Max's ear caught the sound of someone ascending the stairs.

"Someone—a fireman, I suppose—is coming up the stairs, Dale."

"What shall we do with him? Give him his quietus? I still have my hammer."

"No—get in the corner here and watch what he's after. It won't help us to hurt him."

The man moved on up the stairs until he passed by the spot where Max and Dale were in ambush. He was a fireman, and his object seemed to be to find out at close quarters the extent and power of the fire. As the man passed him, Max had a sudden idea.

"We must attack him after all, Dale," he whispered. "Come—help me so that no alarm is raised. I will tell you why in a moment."

Sheltered by the fitful light and occasional gusts of rolling smoke, it was an easy matter to creep upon the fireman unawares and to bring him to the ground stunned and helpless. That accomplished, Max immediately proceeded to remove the man's tunic and helmet. Dale then understood—it was to be the ruse of the sham sentry outside the power-house over again.

"Now put them on, Dale," cried Max rapidly. "You can then go boldly down and out to the cordon of soldiers. They will let you through without question."

"Not I," replied Dale sturdily. "I'm not going to leave you like that. What will become of you, I should like to know?"

"I shall be all right. When the next fireman comes along I shall do the same. Now, go ahead, and don't delay."

"No," replied Dale decidedly. "I'll not do it, Max. We will wait for the next fireman together if you will not don the suit."

"Dale—you will do as you are told!" cried Max, roused to sudden anger by his friend's unexpected obstinacy. "I am Stroke of this crew—not you."

"I know you are, but you are asking too much when you want me to leave the boat. Besides, I should never get through. I can't muster up nearly enough German. You put them on, old man—it's no use staying here when you might escape."

"You shall suffer for this, Dale, upon my word you shall," cried Max angrily, as he savagely thrust himself into the tunic, buckled on the belt and axe, and donned the great helmet. "But if you think I am going without you you are badly mistaken. Come downstairs, near the entrance, and I will tell you what I propose."

The two lads descended the stairs, bearing the unconscious fireman between them—for they could not bring themselves to leave him there to burn—until they reached the entrance to the building. There they deposited him just inside the door, in such a position that the first man entering would be sure to stumble over him.

Outside several engines were now in full swing pumping water into the first floor, which was burning furiously from end to end. The fire had spread to the upper floors, and the ground floor had begun to catch in several places. The whole workshop, indeed, seemed doomed to complete destruction, for the fire had obtained such firm hold that the engines seemed to make little impression upon it. From the shouts of the Germans it was clear that they were greatly enraged, and it was perfectly certain that the shrift of the authors of the fire, if they were caught, would be an exceedingly short one.

"Halt here for a moment, Dale, while I tell you what I propose. It is a desperate venture, but if you are still going to be obstinate it is all I can think of, and we might just as well try it as throw our lives away."

"I'm absolutely obdurate, Max. I'm not going to be saved at your expense, so go ahead with your venture."

"Well—it's this. I am going to sally out, wearing the fireman's uniform and carrying you in my arms. You are to feign unconsciousness. The idea is that you have been badly hurt, and I am carrying you out of reach of the fire. I have some hope that in my fireman's garb and with my blackened face they will let me pass."

"All right—it sounds good enough, Max. At any rate, we shall keep together—whether we sink or swim."

"Come along, then," replied Max briskly, stooping down and lifting Dale in his arms. "Let your head fall back and look as lifeless as you can. It's now or never—absolutely."

The cordon of soldiers with fixed bayonets, outside, suddenly saw the fireman—apparently the man who had entered the building a few minutes before—reappear, bearing in his arms the limp figure of a man rescued from the flames. The fireman strode straight out towards them, and as he reached them the men opened to right and left and let him pass through. A non-commissioned officer followed him.

"What have you there, fireman?" he asked, as he endeavoured to catch a glimpse of the blackened face that hung so limply down. "Is the man dead?"

"No—he still lives," replied Max, moving on without checking his pace. Other people were coming up, and his one thought was to get beyond the circle of light cast by the great fire before taking action.

"Set the man down here while I give him a drain from my flask. You must not take him away until my officer has seen him."

"One moment—here is a bank against which I can lean him," replied Max, still moving steadily away. He could see the non-commissioned officer was getting impatient, if not suspicious, and whispered to Dale: "I am going to set you down. Directly your feet touch ground, bolt for the river. I will follow and be there as soon as you; but don't wait for me. Now!"

As he spoke, Max slowly lowered Dale to the ground. The soldier was close by, but none else was within some yards. They were beyond the circle of bright light cast by the fire, and a few yards would take them into darkness, which was pitchy to anyone coming from the vicinity of the fire. The chance of escape was good, and Max, the time for resolute action at hand, felt his heart bound with fresh hope and energy.

The moment Dale's feet were on the ground Max gave him a push in the direction of the river and off he flew. Almost simultaneously Max seized his helmet and dashed it in the face of the soldier, who had raised a shout of alarm and was on the point of chasing Dale. The sudden blow disconcerted the man, and he hung in the wind for a moment. The supposed injured man might be an enemy, but it was certain this aggressive fireman was one, and, as Max darted off, the soldier turned, lifted his rifle, and aimed a shot at him.

Max had little fear of the man's rifle. It was too dark, and he was moving too rapidly and erratically, for anyone to take good aim. The bullet passed wide of the mark, and the soldier, realizing his mistake in not pursuing at once, instead of wasting precious moments in firing, put his rifle at the trail and rushed madly after, shouting to his comrades and all who might be within hearing that a spy was on the point of escaping.

Max knew the ground and the soldier did not, so Max had no difficulty in increasing his lead. He could see Dale a dozen yards ahead, and by the time he reached the bank had caught him up.

"In at once, and dive down-stream, Dale!" he cried, and without a moment's pause they both tumbled in, anyhow, and struck out with all their strength down-stream.

The German Counter-stroke

The fury of the German military governor and his staff at the destruction of the largest workshop in the Durend concern could hardly have been greater had the town under their charge successfully revolted. For the fifth time at least the Durend works—which the Germans had looked upon as peculiarly their own—had been the scene of successful blows against their authority. These exploits were too extensive and too public to be hidden, and the Walloon workmen of Liége—never a docile race—had been progressively encouraged to commit similar acts elsewhere, or to resist passively the pressure of their German taskmasters.

In the view of the German governor it was imperative that a blow, and a stunning one, should be struck at this tendency among the Liége workmen. Had the authors of this latest outrage been captured, an example would have been easy. Unfortunately, they had again escaped, and in a manner so impudent and daring that the exasperation of the Germans was greatly intensified. Rewards had been offered before and had proved fruitless. On this occasion the governor resolved to sweep aside what he termed trifles, and to use firmly and pitilessly a weapon of terror already in his hands.

The Durend yards had been entirely closed the moment intelligence had reached M. Schenk that suspicious persons had broken into one of the idle workshops. After the fire all workmen found within the yard had been closely examined, and those definitely known to have Belgian sympathies placed under arrest. These men numbered thirty-nine, and it was by using them as hostages that the German governor intended to strike terror into the hearts of the Walloons. They were hurried before a military court, briefly examined, and found guilty of conspiring against the German military occupation. Sentence of death followed as a matter of course.

Max and Dale had reached their lodging without any particular difficulty, after again taking refuge in the waters of the Meuse. They were tired out with their all-night exploit, and, removing their wet garments, tumbled heavily into bed. It was thus late in the afternoon before they heard from the landlord of their house the news that the German governor intended to execute all the Belgian workmen caught within the precincts of the Durend yards. Even then they could hardly bring themselves to believe it.

"It's too rascally even for the Germans, Max," declared Dale at last. "It's probably only a threat to force one of them to give away his fellows."

"Maybe, Dale, but I know enough of the Germans to believe that if they don't succeed they will not hesitate to carry out the sentence."

"The cold-blooded murderers!" cried Dale hotly.

"Yes," replied Max in a strained voice, as he began to pace slowly up and down the length of their room. "Yes, they are; but shall not we have really had a hand in their deaths?"

"Not one jot," cried Dale emphatically. "No particle of blame can be laid at our door if they are foully done to death."

"Had we not so harassed the Germans, these men would not be under sentence of death," Max went on, half to himself. "It seems hard that they must die for our success."

"Bah! They die for Belgium and to proclaim to the world that the Germans must be crushed," cried Dale contemptuously. "No, Max, we have nothing to reproach ourselves with in this business."

"No, but still——" Then, rousing himself with an effort, Max went on: "But we need not worry ourselves yet. Will you go into the streets and find out anything else you can? I am going to find Dubec, and we will then see if aught can be done."

The two parted, and in a few minutes Max was at the door of Dubec's house. Here a rude shock awaited him, for Madame Dubec, white-faced but tearless, told him, with a quietude and directness that somehow seemed to make the news more terrible still, that her husband was one of those lying under sentence of death.

The shock was a great one, although, in his heart, Max had half expected it. He knew Dubec had been in the yard, and what more likely than that he had been detained? Too upset to do more than mumble a few words of sorrow, Max turned on his heel and hurried from the house.

Taking the road to the open hills, Max strode on and on, his mind filled with serious and oftentimes conflicting thoughts. He had no doubts as to the fate of the thirty-nine men if the Germans were unable to lay their hands upon the real authors of the destruction of the workshop. They would surely die, and with them Dubec, towards whom Max felt specially drawn by his constant loyal aid and the memory of the day when he had answered his mute appeal for succour.

And to Max the responsibility seemed his. These men had no part nor lot in it. Why should they die? It did not help matters much to blame the Germans—the worst might always be expected of them—for that would not give back to Madame Dubec the husband for whom it seemed to Max she had unconsciously appealed.

Supposing he gave himself up in order that they might go free? Ah, what a triumph for Schenk! How he would rejoice! True, he did not know that Max was at the bottom of all the shrewd blows dealt him of late, but he probably had more than a suspicion of it. At any rate he was known to have traced much of the money and valuables, recovered from his room, to the bank at Maastricht which Madame Durend patronized. Knowing, then, the authorship of that most daring exploit, it would have been strange if he had not looked to the same quarter for an explanation of the similar blows dealt him so soon after.

Yes, it would be a great triumph for Schenk, and the end of that resolute opposition to the use of the Durend workshops for the benefit of the German army that had taken such a grip upon our hero's mind. That task he had made peculiarly his own. All the fixity of purpose he possessed, and it was not a little, was concentrated upon keeping his father's—his—works from aiding the projects of a brutal and unscrupulous enemy.

To give it all up would not only be a victory for Schenk but a bitter pill to himself—the uprooting of something that had taken deep root in the inmost recesses of his mind.

The struggle was a long one, but it came to an end at last, and Max returned to the town, scribbled a short note to Dale, which he left at their lodging, and then walked directly to the governor's house.

At the door the sentry's bayonet barred his entry, but the officer of the guard, on being informed that a man had applied to see the governor on urgent business, came out and spoke to him. A few words were sufficient, and Max was brought inside under a guard of two men while the officer sought the governor with the welcome news that the man who had destroyed the Durend workshops had given himself up. The governor directed that he should be searched to ensure that he was not in possession of firearms and then admitted to his presence.

The German governor of Liége was quite a typical Prussian officer, stiffly erect, with bullet-head covered with short bristling grey hair, well-twisted moustache, and fierce aggressive manner. He was the man who had called upon Schenk on the never-to-be-forgotten occasion when Max and Dale had been his uninvited guests underneath his office desk. To say the least of it, he was not a man who was afraid of being too severe.

"You are then this rascal who has burned the Durend machine-gun shop?" he cried in a rasping voice as soon as Max had been led before him.

"Yes," replied Max, "but I am no rascal. The shop is mine, and I have burned it."

"Yours, impudent?" cried the governor angrily, raising a cane which lay upon his desk as though about to slash his prisoner about the face. "Yours? And who are you?"

"I am Max Durend, the son of the owner of the workshops, and I would sooner see the place burned from end to end than of use to the Germans."

"Ah, that is good!" replied the governor in a voice of satisfaction, dropping his hand and turning towards the officer who had ushered Max into the room. "It will have a salutary effect if we execute the son of Herr Durend. It will aid our cause tremendously."

"Yes, General."

"I have given myself up that the innocent men you have seized upon may be released," Max interposed. "They know nothing of it. I am solely responsible."

"Ja, so. I have now no quarrel with them," replied the governor indifferently. "They are pawns. Now I have the real miscreant I need them not."

"I am no miscreant. They are miscreants who would slaughter thirty-nine innocent men because the right one had slipped through their fingers."

The governor glared at Max with eyes that goggled with rage. He was clearly unaccustomed to such plain speaking. "I remember that Herr von Schenkendorf once told me that Monsieur Durend had married an Englishwoman. You are half a mad English dog, and your manners proclaim it."

"It is true," replied Max steadily.

"Ja, you and your countrymen are half barbarian. You know naught of Kultur."

"Thank God!" cried Max with an emphasis that caused the governor to spring to his feet, seize the cane anew, and slash the prisoner heavily across the cheek. Max flinched—he could not help it—but he moved neither hand nor foot.

This outburst seemed to calm the Prussian, for he dropped back into his chair and in a judicial manner, though with a very vindictive and unjudicial scowl upon his face, he passed judgment.

"The prisoner has pleaded guilty. You will take him to-morrow morning to Monsieur Durend's works, and at midday you will shoot him there."

"In public, sir?" enquired the officer.

"Yes, as an example to all his late workmen. A placard announcing the impending execution will be posted outside."

"Yes, sir."

Max was led away. Indignation at the brutality of the Prussian was strong within him, and he held his head erect, and answered look for look the hostile glances of those about him. The hot blood still coursed through his veins, and the sacrifice he had made did not loom over large in his imagination.

It was not until he had been conducted to a gloomy, ill-lit room in the basement of the building, and there left in solitude to think and think upon his impending fate, that things grew different, and his fortitude partially left him. The end seemed so merciless and hard, and, leaning heavily against the wall, he fell a prey to unhappy reflections. At times he went farther than this, and shed a few furtive tears at this end to all his hopes and secret boyish ambitions.

Shortly after Max had been led away to his cell, the thirty-nine workmen were released. No reason was vouchsafed for this sudden change of front, but the curt notice already affixed to the gates of the governor's palace soon supplied it. Max Durend had been taken, and found guilty of the deed for which they had been seized, and he was to pay the penalty.

M. Dubec was one of the men released, and at the news he hurried home. Naturally his wife was overjoyed at seeing him, but he was too preoccupied by doubt and concern at the fate of his master's son to stay with her more than a few minutes. From his home he hurried to the lodging of Max and Dale, and at the door met the latter coming slowly out. One glance at his face was enough to tell even M. Dubec that he knew of his friend's terrible position.

"You have seen the notice, sir?" he asked.

"No, I have seen no notice," replied Dale heavily. "I do not want to know of any notice, thank you, Dubec."

"But you know of Monsieur Max——?"

"Yes."

"Then you must have heard from him or seen him taken. I first knew by the notice on the gates of the palace."

Dale threw off a little of his lethargy. "What was this notice?" he said.

"That he is to be shot at noon to-morrow in the Durend yard."

"Ah! And I shall join him there!" cried Dale in so wild a voice that Dubec looked at him in wonderment. Then Dale told him what had happened. That Max had not been captured by the Germans, but had voluntarily surrendered himself to save the imprisoned workmen. The note which Max had left, and which had told him all, was read aloud to the wondering man, who, somewhat slow-witted as he was, managed to grasp the one awe-inspiring fact that his master's son had offered up his own life to save his and his comrades' lives.

The note which Dale read to him was as follows:—

Dale's voice shook as he read the letter. He was obviously much upset, and, seeing it, Dubec, in his uncouth but good-hearted way, persuaded him to return with him to his home for a little while. There Madame Dubec was called to their aid, and as soon as Dale had recovered himself a little the situation was anxiously discussed. In his desperation Dale was for interrupting the execution and compelling the Germans to execute him by the side of his friend. Such an idea as that was quite foreign to Madame and Monsieur Dubec, and they refused to entertain it. As the former said, if Monsieur Dale was determined to die, it would be better to do so in trying to liberate his friend rather than in attempting to share his fate.

The reasonableness of this struck even Dale, distraught as he was, and the three settled down to discuss the possibility of rescue, of reprieve, or whatever seemed likely to put off the evil hour, if only for a day.

Schenk at Work Again

Max did not long allow himself to give way to weak and bitter reflections. As soon as he properly realized how much he had fallen below himself, he exerted himself to throw off all weakening thoughts and to take a better and higher view of his unfortunate position. He was about to die for his friends and for his country. Well, had he not oftentimes thought that it would be a grand and good thing so to do? Was he now going to go back on those cherished ideals, and regret the heavy blows he had inflicted upon a brutal enemy and the succour he had given to his friends?

Indignant with himself, Max braced himself to a more wholesome frame of mind, and tried to prepare himself for the last scene of the drama of the Durend workshops—a drama in which he had been one of the principal actors since the war began. He would, he told himself, do his best to finish worthily the last and greatest task destiny had set him.

His self-uplifting efforts had met with a considerable measure of success, and he had almost completely regained his usual quiet, steady frame of mind, when his thoughts were interrupted by the sudden challenge of the sentry outside. The challenge was apparently answered satisfactorily, for the door was almost immediately unbolted, and a man entered. It was with very mixed feelings that Max recognized the manager, M. Schenk.

"You do not seem pleased to see me, Monsieur Max," observed the manager, smiling in an ingratiating manner that to Max was more objectionable at that moment than open triumph.

"Have I reason to?" queried Max shortly.

"I think so. But that depends as much upon you as upon me. You are aware that you die to-morrow?"

The almost casual manner in which the manager spoke struck Max as being doubly horrible. He seemed to think nothing at all of the execution of a fellow-creature, and one who had been closely associated with him for a good many years.

"I am aware of it," replied Max as quietly as he could.

"Well, it seems a pity. Such a young fellow, and one so energetic and keen in his business, and with a brilliant future before him," said the manager in a smooth, velvety voice that Max had known him use to influential business men when he was specially anxious to gain his point. "I have, in fact, Monsieur Max, been talking your unfortunate case over with the governor. I have told him that, serious as this offence of yours undoubtedly is, you are really the tool of others. He is, of course, much incensed against you for the destruction of so important a workshop, but is ready to be merciful—upon conditions."

"Ah! and what conditions?"

"Not hard ones," replied M. Schenk, obviously pleased by the eagerness with which Max spoke. "You stole some plans of mine a month or so ago——? Yes? I thought it must be you, and I am ready to go to some lengths to get them back."

"They have left my hands, Monsieur Schenk."

"Where are they?"

"In the hands of the English Government."

"You rascal!" shouted M. Schenk furiously, his smooth, easy manner utterly giving way. "You—you—but, after all, I thought as much; and they were really of no great value," he ended lamely, recovering himself with an obvious effort.

"I thought they were," replied Max coldly.

"No; but what I want to know is about the other papers. Did you hand over all you took to the English Government?"

Max thought a moment. Should he give Schenk the information he so evidently desired? So far as he knew, the papers had no particular value, though he had not really examined them with any care; but they might have. Still, they were safe enough, he thought, for he had seen them handed over into the possession of the bank.

"No—only the plans. The others seemed only business papers, and I had them put away in safety against the time when the Durend works should again be mine."

"It hardly looks as though they ever will be, does it, Monsieur Max? But I am going to make you an offer. Among those papers are letters that passed between the Imperial Government and myself in the days before the war. They are valueless, really, but I do not wish them to get into enemy hands, as they will damage me in the eyes of my Imperial master. You see, I am frank with you. Get me, then, all those papers and you shall go free—free, that is, on condition you join with me in running the Durend works to its fullest capacity during the war. I will not ask you to work on war material—you shall manage the shops manufacturing railway material and farming machinery. I need you and your influence with these obstinate Belgian workmen, and am ready to pay a heavy price to get you."

"A heavy price?" muttered Max. His head was beginning to whirl, and he caught confusedly at the last words.

"Ja. Think you it has cost me nothing to beg your life from the governor? He is madly enraged with you, I can tell you. These, then, are the terms: those papers and your active assistance, or your life."

Max sat slowly down in the chair and put his face between his hands. Life was sweet, and he could not disguise from himself that he was ready to do the utmost he honourably could to save his life. But here, it seemed clear, dishonour was too surely involved. To give up the papers, if they were really private, might not be so hard, but to join Schenk in running the works, even on non-war material, was a thing he shrank from instinctively. Would the workmen understand the distinction? Would they not conclude he had turned traitor, and some revile him, and others—worse still—follow his dubious example?

Max was not very long in doubt. After all, he reasoned finally, anything proposed by Schenk must needs be bad, however plausible his tale. The only really safe line to take with a man of that kind was to have naught to do with him in anything.

"No, Monsieur Schenk, I cannot accept your offer," said Max in a steady voice, getting up rather suddenly from his chair and facing the manager resolutely.

"What? You——But why not, Monsieur Max?" he cried eagerly. "It is all nothing. But there, if you do not like to join with me in running the works I will not press that point. Get me the papers. Write for them to your mother, and as soon as they come you are free."

"No," replied Max at once. "No, Monsieur Schenk, I am going to have nothing to do with all this. I have fought and worked hard for Belgium since the outbreak of war, and I am not going to do aught to betray her now."

"Then die to-morrow—I shall at least have done with you!" cried M. Schenk, with a bitter hate that told Max how much his blows had shaken him. "Your temerity in stealing my papers and in burning the machine-gun shop will be amply avenged."

"Have you then forgotten the power-house and the coal-yard?" asked Max with a secret satisfaction that made him forget, for the moment, even his approaching fate.

"Those too—were those your handiwork?" gasped the manager. "You villain—you nearly destroyed my power and reputation with them. 'Tis well you die. My only risk of further disaster will perish with you."

"Maybe. But I have the consolation of knowing that your treachery is known to many, and that when the war is over, and the Germans are driven out of Belgium, you will go with them."

"Bah! Belgium is German territory for all time. I tell you, Max Durend, that, were it not so, I would see to it that before our armies left not one stone of the Durend factories remained upon another. Take this with you to the grave: in memory of what you have done, the trouble and worry you have caused me, these works shall never more pass to your family. If Germany win, they will remain mine. If the impossible happen, and we lose, then I will blow the whole up to the sky and leave to your family naught but the smoking ruins."

The vindictive earnestness with which the manager spoke left no doubt upon Max's mind that he meant every word he said. The Durend works, then, were as good as lost to his mother and sister, and it was with additional thankfulness that he recollected that the large sum of money and valuables he had managed to rescue from Schenk's clutches would be ample, and more than ample, for their needs.

"You will not be able to remove the memory of duty done for our country," replied Max quietly. "And it may be that if Germany lose—as all in Belgium believe she will do—she may have to build up all that she has destroyed. It may be that there are great factories across the border in which you have an interest, and it may chance that they will be called upon to replace the machines and buildings you destroy here."

Too enraged to speak, the manager made a gesture expressive of his complete rejection of such an idea, and turned abruptly away. Max also turned his back, and, in a silence expressive of bitter hate on the one hand and chilling contempt on the other, the two parted.

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.

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.

Here there was a larger crowd. There always was a small crowd about the gates, for the number of Belgians who still refused to work was considerable, and these men passed much of their time outside, gloomily scanning the many evidences of abounding work, and discussing in low tones the progress of the war.

It wanted only twenty minutes to noon, and at that hour Max knew he would take his last look upon the things of this world. It was hard, he could not help thinking, but——

"Get ready!"

Those words, spoken in English, sounded in his ears. They seemed uttered in the sing-song tones he knew so well, in which the starter of a rowing contest prepared to send off the crews waiting in eager readiness before him. Max looked curiously about him. He knew he must be dreaming, and yet he had not been conscious at that moment of dreaming of the old days at Hawkesley. How far away they seemed—and how jolly—he would never know such glorious times again. A fresh wave of new regrets passed through his mind. It was——

"Are you ready?"

This time Max looked more sharply about him. He was not dreaming, he was sure now. The words had certainly been uttered, and again in the sing-song of the Hawkesley starter. No one but Dale could have uttered them, and Dale it must be. Where was he?

A man carrying a big packing-case was at the side of the road on his right a dozen yards or so ahead. The packing-case hid his face, but his gait seemed somewhat familiar even while moving under his burden. He was slanting towards the prisoner's escort, the foremost of whom had now reached the outer edge of the big crowd assembled outside the gates.

What did the words mean? What but that he was to act as though the greatest contest of his life was before him—aye, one with his very life for the prize! The zest for life, the deep-rooted objection to give up his task half done, the old sporting instinct to battle to the very finish, all combined to brace Max's nerve to a point at which nothing was impossible. Ready?—aye, he was ready and more than ready—all he waited for was the signal he knew was close at hand.

Suddenly something dark flew through the air. Ere it touched the ground another and another followed. Three tremendous explosions took place at the very feet of the men of his escort in front of him. The officer and four of the men fell to the ground, and escort and crowd surged back and away in all directions.

"Go!"

Like a shot from a gun, Max dived into the crowd on his right. Not a man of his escort put out a hand to stop him. The surprise was complete, and in an instant Max was in the midst of the crowd of men already on the move, flying in terror from the scene of the fearful explosions which had killed five of the soldiers and injured others as well as some of the nearest of the crowd. Four more explosions followed hard on his heels, just behind him, and he guessed they had occurred in the middle of the rearmost of his escort.

The crowd scattered in all directions. Max followed those who fled towards the open country, and in a few minutes he was on the outskirts of the town. Hardly turning to right or left, he sped on at top speed. It was his own safety he had now to look to, his own race to win, and he put out all the energy he possessed.

Out of the town and up the heights into the open country he ran, and it was not until he was practically beyond pursuit that he slackened and looked about him. Only one solitary figure was in sight, a quarter of a mile behind, and he was clearly not a soldier. In fact, as Max slowed down and looked back, the man waved a hand. It was Dale, and with a feeling of tremendous joy and gratitude Max dashed back to meet him.

"By George, Max—you are no end of a sprinter!" Dale gasped as they met. "I had no idea—you were such a hot man on the track."

"Ah! Wait until you are under sentence of death and see what speed you can work up to. I am glad—I can't tell you how glad—to get away from there. And you are a brick, Dale, a real brick."

"Nonsense, old man, the boot is on the other leg altogether. I am still fathoms deep in your debt."

"Come out of the road into the wood here where we shall be safer. What about Dubec—he was in it, of course?"

"Yes; and he has been a brick, if you like. It was he that got us the hand-grenades—Schenk has just started making them—and he was one of those who pitched them into the middle of the Germans. Ha! Ha! Schenk will know that they were his own grenades when he hears about it. I guess it will not improve his temper."

"Is Dubec following?"

"No, he is safe at home, I expect, by now. He will be all right. They have nothing against him, and he is not going to the Durend yard again. He is going to apply for work at the mines instead."

"Good! then we can be off?"

"Aye—though we haven't fixed up where we are to go. We were too busy over the rescue to think about anything else."

"Well, we ought to give Liége a rest. Let us go for another trip into the Ardennes until this affair has blown over and we can return to the attack once more. We have earned a rest, and I for one feel I need it."

"Hear! hear! I've got my wind again, so let us make tracks before the Germans send out patrols to hunt about the countryside. It would be too bad to be captured after hoodwinking them so thoroughly."

"Not to mention killing and wounding an officer and several men."

Chatting gaily together, but nevertheless keeping a sharp look-out, the two friends strode along out into the open lands southward of the town, and then on towards the wide stretch of broken highlands known as the Ardennes. They had no clear idea of what they would do when they got there, the one thought in their minds being to find some quiet rural spot where they could remain in safety and quietude for a little while.

It was certainly as well for them to do so, for the daring and successful rescue of the prisoner under sentence of death stirred the city of Liége to its very depths. To the people it was an example of courage and self-sacrifice joined to determined and skilful leadership; to the Germans it was most exasperating evidence of their inability to crush this people notwithstanding their many and varied methods of repression. The affair was hushed up by the governor so far as he was able to do so, but it eventually became known that it had been the cause of a violent altercation between him and the manager of the Durend works, Herr von Schenkendorf, who was said to have made a strong complaint to the Imperial Government at the bungling of the military.

Be that as it may, it was certain that no stone was left unturned to recapture the prisoner and to find out who were the workmen participating in the rescue. Nothing was ever discovered, but the manager of the Durend works from that time forward refused to employ any Walloon workmen anywhere save in the Durend colleries, where they were supposed to be incapable of doing any serious damage.

In the Ardennes

After two days' steady tramping Max and Dale arrived at La Roche, a little town on the Ourthe, well in the broken country of the Ardennes. They had had no such easy and uneventful journey as they anticipated. The whole country was in a very unsettled state, the people ready to be startled and alarmed by every rumour—and they were not few—and viewing strangers with the utmost suspicion as probably German spies on the look-out for more victims.

Half the population of the villages passed on the way had gone. Houses stood unoccupied, with doors wide open, although the furniture of those who had so lately tenanted them was still within. The whole countryside bore evidences of a great panic, and some places the more sinister signs of rough and brutal treatment. Many houses had been burned down and others had been plundered in a most barbarous manner, property that could not be carried off having been wantonly destroyed. The fields and farmlands seemed deserted, as though no one dared to work at a harvest that was likely to be reaped by the enemies of their country.

The authors of all this mischief were said to be the Uhlans. It appeared that these formidable horsemen, after the fall of Liége, had spread in small parties all over the Ardennes and had carried terror and destruction wherever they went. Their principal motive was, no doubt, to gather information of the enemy's whereabouts, but, while doing so, they seemed to throw themselves heart and soul into another task—that of making their name known and dreaded throughout the length and breadth of Belgium.

La Roche had so far suffered little. Parties of Uhlans had passed through from time to time, but they had usually been in a hurry, and had had no time to do more than seize supplies for themselves and their horses. This was the kind of place Max and Dale were looking for, and, finding no troops there at the moment, and none expected, they sought out (avoiding the hotels) a café in the most out-of-the-way spot they could find, and settled down for a long stay.

At least they hoped it might be a long stay. They had had so busy a time of late that neither felt any inclination to go out of his way to meet trouble. If only the enemy would leave them alone, they were prepared to welcome a long period of peace and tranquillity.

But somehow peace and tranquillity seemed to have turned their backs upon Max and Dale. Only the second night after their arrival they were awakened in the middle of the night by the clatter of horses' hoofs upon the cobbled pavements, loud shouting, and the insistent hammering of doors.

"Ask the proprietor what's the row, Max," growled Dale sleepily, as he heard Max get up and look out of the little window of their bedroom.

Max did so, and learned that a strong body of Uhlans had just ridden in and demanded shelter and supplies.

"Are we in any danger?" he asked.

"I do not think so," the innkeeper replied. "But you must not leave the town, for they have posted men to intercept all who try to go."

"And what is that for?" cried Max, more perturbed by this than if he had been told that a house-to-house search for suspected persons was already being made.

"Why, you must know that the Uhlans are rounding up escaped English and French soldiers. Everyone knows that. They have been doing so for weeks past."

"Ah! Of course. And they will not let anyone leave the town to give the soldiers information of their coming?"

"No, Monsieur. They are making a special effort this time. They have caught one or two, but the rest seem to grow in numbers, and are getting more audacious owing to hunger. I have heard that they stopped and plundered two army wagons full of provisions only a week ago. It is this that has made the commandant at Marche determined to kill them all this time."

"Well, I think we will dress, in case they come here and want to search the house."

"You must not hide here, Monsieur, if that is what you want," replied the innkeeper quickly. "I could not have that, for if they found anyone in hiding they would burn the house down."

"What for?" asked Max in some astonishment.

"I know not, but they have done so. No doubt it is to make us all afraid of harbouring fugitives. But you are a Belgian, Monsieur? You speak like a Walloon."

"Aye; but I do not want to have aught to do with Uhlans if I can help it. They so often make mistakes, and then it is too late to explain. I think we will leave your house, Monsieur, and then you will run no risks."

Max called Dale, and they put together their very slender belongings and sallied out into the night. The innkeeper was certainly pleased to see them go, and gave them as much help in the shape of information as it was in his power to bestow. He told them, with a warning to them to be careful to avoid the locality, the general position of the fugitive soldiers and the villages in which cavalry patrols had lately taken up their positions.

"It seems to me, Dale," remarked Max, as they left the inn and crept along in the shadow of the houses towards the little bridge which spanned the Ourthe, "that in leaving Liége we have jumped out of the frying-pan into the fire. There we could hide in the lower quarters of the town and pass as Walloon workmen easily enough, but here we are strangers, and strangers are always objects of suspicion."

"Yes; we did not bargain for all this chasing around by German cavalry. However, it will be good fun while it lasts, old man."

"Yes, but how long will it last? Here's the bridge. We can't cross it in this moonlight; we should be sure to be seen and challenged. We must get into the river and cross in the shadow of the bridge."

"What's the game, Max? Why cross at all? Why not cut straight away into the open country?"

"Wrong direction. The innkeeper was so careful that we should get away from the district on which the Uhlans were closing in that he told me exactly where it was. And that's where we are going, of course. We can't let these Germans make a grand sweep of English and French fugitive soldiers without at least giving them warning, can we, old man?"

"You beggar!" cried Dale, with a note of admiration in his voice. "No, of course not. Won't it be jolly if we find some English soldiers, and manage to pilot them away to a safe place?"

"Not bad. Now here we are; climb over this wall, and lower yourself into the bed of the river. Then creep along in the shadow of the wall until you reach the shadow of the bridge. Then we can cross, and shall stand a good chance of getting away. Most of the Germans are quartered on this side of the town."

Max and Dale were by this time experts in eluding observation, and had no great difficulty in getting out of the town without raising an alarm. Once well away, they strode at a good pace straight across country towards the wooded region south-west of the town, where the fugitives were popularly supposed to be. They knew that by their action they would be placing themselves inside the zone about to be swept by converging bodies of Uhlans, and that all persons found there, who could not give a good account of themselves, would almost certainly be shot or speared out of hand. But they took no heed of that, for the thought that some members of the gallant little English army which had, they knew, from the gossip of the countryside, fought so splendidly against overwhelming odds might be caught unsuspecting, and probably killed, made them ready to face even greater risks than that. Besides, they had, in their many successful encounters with the Germans in Liége, gained a self-reliance and confidence in themselves that made them look upon the affair as one by no means certain to go against them.

An hour or two after daybreak Max and Dale had reached the woods in which the fugitives were said to be, and were slowly traversing them, keeping a sharp look-out on all sides. The trouble, they now realized, was how to get in touch with them. It was highly probable that they would keep out of sight, and avoid contact with everybody they were not forced to have dealings with in the way of purchasing or begging food. Fortunately the difficulty was solved very suddenly and unexpectedly.

"'Alt!" came a hoarse command just as they were about to enter a somewhat thick belt of timber well supplied with undergrowth. Simultaneously a rifle protruded from the bushes right in front of them, and a wild, famished-looking face followed it.

Max and Dale stopped dead.

"What d'ye want poking about 'ere?" the man demanded in Cockney English in a surly tone. "I don't understand your lingo, but say something, or I'll let go."

The man had a fierce and reckless look, and fingered his rifle as though ready enough to keep his word. Hastily Max replied:

"It's all right; we're friends. Put down your gun, there's a good fellow."