the candle at the
fire, looked serenely about him, and entered the little storehouse at
the end of the kitchen.

Perhaps three minutes later he emerged from that place with two baskets
more than fully laden; for, be it mentioned, if the towns and cities of
Germany at these times were feeling the pinch of war, if the blockade
of the British Fleet had deprived the Kaiser's subjects of many
food-stuffs and other commodities, and if, indeed, as undoubtedly was
the case, there was shortage in many parts of Germany, there was still
without doubt, abundance in many a farm and homestead, abundance, that
is to say, of home-produced articles. Thus, there were strings of
sausages in that larder, ready for the hand which sought to take them,
there were hard-baked biscuits and bread, and home-brewed beer in
abundance. It was indeed with provisions and drink enough to last for
several days that Henri struggled from the larder into the kitchen,
and, having blown out the candle and replaced it where he had found it,
went to the door that led to the yard and made ready to emerge from it.
It was indeed in that precise position that his further progress was
suddenly arrested; for, as he pulled the door open and prepared to step
into the yard, a gang of men came to the corner of the building, and,
thrusting their way through that gate which gave admission to the yard,
suddenly accosted him in the doorway. They were Germans; they were a
party of guards sent from Ruhleben; and beyond them, secured to
leashes, were a couple of dogs, sent with them to hound down the
prisoners who had escaped from the camp.

CHAPTER V

Eluding the Pursuers

If a picture could have been taken of the astonished and nonplussed
Henri at the precise moment when, as he stood half within and half
without the door of the farmhouse from which he had been purloining
food and drink, he was accosted by that German party from Ruhleben, his
own devoted mother would have undoubtedly had the utmost difficulty in
recognizing her offspring. To begin with, having discarded his
drenched clothing and left it in that room which had provided such
warmth and comfort to himself and Stuart and Jules, Henri had, because
no other change was possible for the moment, borrowed an old pair of
trousers hanging on the wall, which, from their dilapidated and
mud-stained appearance, may well have belonged to the farm hand--the
usual occupant of the building. An equally tattered c