elf."

"I'll tell you all about that afterwards," said Dennis grimly. "I'm
going to save you now." And, cutting the cord, he threw the knife into
the basin and proceeded to make a slip-knot. "We must make this old
ruffian secure first."

"Look out!" exclaimed Laval. And Dennis raised his eyes just in time,
for the cunning German had made a spring for the table, and already his
unwounded hand had clutched the knife-handle. It was a huge thing, such
as a butcher might use, and sharp as a razor.

"You _will_ have it, will you?" said Dennis grimly, and he shot the man
through the heart. "It has saved me the trouble of binding him, and that
makes the third Boche I have accounted for this morning. By Jove, old
chap! you've got it pretty badly. Whatever happens, I must stop that
bleeding."

The knife with which the woman had cut the sleeve of the leather jacket
had revealed a terrible jagged wound in the Frenchman's shoulder, from
which the blood welled through his fingers as he grasped it; but Dennis,
tearing some linen that the woman had brought into strips, improvised a
couple of tourniquets, utilising the spindles of a chair which he
smashed to pieces for the purpose, and to his intense satisfaction he
found the haemorrhage considerably reduced.

"Now, do you think you can walk?" he said anxiously. And Laval got up,
reeling from the enormous quantity of blood he had lost.

"Half a mo!" said Dennis quickly. "This noose I had meant for Karl there
will make a first-rate sling for that arm of yours. Another pull at the
flask--that's good--and now we absolutely _must_ make a move."

"One moment!" exclaimed Laval, pointing across the room. "There is a
French flag yonder. Will you do me the goodness to tear it from the wall
and bring it with you? I cannot leave that trophy in the hands of these
hogs. Besides, it may be useful to us later on."

Dennis ran across the room and lifted the silk tricolour from the hooks
on which it hung, reading as he did so an inscription in faded gold
letters on the shot-riven folds.

Von Rudolfstein's father had captured that colour in the war of 1870 at
the head of his Cuirassiers, and it had hung there ever since.

"Look at all that remains of my beloved decoration!" murmured Laval,
pointing to the floor.

"They shall give you another for last night's work," said Dennis.

Leaning on the boy's strong arm, the _pilote aviateur_ set out gamely,
crossed the entrance hall, and had almost