y hands were not tied."

"Oh, no heroics, please. We have no time for nonsense of that sort. Is
the light irritating you? I'll put it here."

Von Halwig stooped, and placed the torch on the broken ladder. Its
radiance illumined an oval of the rough, square stones with which the
barn was paved. Thenceforth, the vivid glare remained stationary. The
two men, facing each other at a distance of about six feet, were in
shadow. They could see each other quite well, however, in the dim
borrowed light, and the Guardsman flicked the ash from his cigarette.

"You're English, I'm German," he said. "We represent the positive and
negative poles of thought. If it hurts your feelings that I should speak
of Lady Irene, let's forget her. What I really want to ask you is
this--why has England been so mad as to fight Germany?"

CHAPTER XIII

THE WOODEN HORSE OF TROY

The question struck Dalroy as so bizarre--in the conditions so
ludicrous--that, despite the cold fury evoked by Von Halwig's innuendoes
with regard to Irene, he nearly laughed.

"I am in no mood to discuss international politics," he answered curtly.

The other, who seemed to have his temper well under control, merely
nodded. Indeed, he was obviously, if unconsciously, modelling his
behaviour on that of his prisoner.

"I only imagined that you might be interested in hearing what's going to
happen to your damned country," he said.

"I know already. She will emerge from this struggle greater, more
renowned, more invincible than ever."

"_Dummes zeug!_ All rubbish! That's your House of Commons and music-hall
patter, meant to tickle the ears of the British working-man. England is
going to be wiped off the map. We're obliterating her now. You've been
in Belgium a month, and must have seen things which your stupid John
Bulls at home can't even comprehend, which they never will comprehend
till too late."

He paused, awaiting a reply perhaps. None came.

"It's rough luck that you, a soldier like myself, may not share in the
game, even on the losing side," went on Von Halwig. "But you would be a
particularly dangerous sort of spy if you contrived to reach England,
especially with the information I'm now going to give you. You can't
possibly escape, of course. You will be executed, not as a spy, but as a
murderer. You left a rather heavy mark on us. Two soldiers in a hut near
Vise, three officers and a private in the mill, five soldiers in the
wood at Argenteau--