. They saw the
name Henri Joos on a cart.

"Good egg!" cried Dalroy confidently. "I'm glad Joos spells his
Christian name in the French way. It shows that he means well, anyhow!"

CHAPTER IV

THE TRAGEDY OF VISE

Early as was the hour, a door leading to the dwelling-house stood open.
The sound of feet on the cobbled pavement of the mill-yard brought a
squat, beetle-browed old man to the threshold. He surveyed the strangers
with a curiously haphazard yet piercing underlook. His black eyes held a
glint of red. Here was one in a subdued torment of rage, or, it might
be, of ill-controlled panic.

"What now?" he grunted, using the local argot.

Dalroy, quick to read character, decided that this crabbed old Walloon
was to be won at once or not at all.

"Shall I speak French or German?" he said quietly. The other spat.

"_Qu'est-ce que tu veux que je te dise, moi?_" he demanded. Now, the
plain English of that question is, "What do you wish me to say?" But the
expectoration, no less than the biting tone, lent the words a far deeper
meaning.

Dalroy was reassured. "Are you Monsieur Henri Joos?" he said.

"Ay."

"This lady and I have come from Aix-la-Chapelle with your man, Maertz."

"Oh, he's alive, then?"

"I hope so. But may we not enter?"

Joos eyed the engine-cleaner's official cap and soiled clothes, and his
suspicious gaze travelled to Dalroy's well-fitting and expensive boots.

"Who the deuce are you?" he snapped.

"I'll tell you if you let us come in."

"I can't hinder you. It is an order, all doors must be left open."

Still, he made way, though ungraciously. The refugees found themselves
in a spacious kitchen, a comfortable and cleanly place, Dutch in its
colourings and generally spick and span aspect. A comely woman of middle
age, and a plump, good-looking girl about as old as Irene, were seated
on an oak bench beneath a window. They were clinging to each other, and
had evidently listened fearfully to the brief conversation without.

The only signs of disorder in the room were supplied by a quantity of
empty wine-bottles, drinking-mugs, soiled plates, and cutlery, spread on
a broad table. Irene sank into one of half-a-dozen chairs which had
apparently been used by the feasters.

Joos chuckled. His laugh had an ugly sound. "Pity you weren't twenty
minutes sooner," he guffawed. "You'd have had company, pleasant company,
visitors from across the frontier."

"I, too, have crossed the fro