announced the burly Georg, producing a frayed sheet of
paper. "Let's see--there's six of 'em. Henri Joos, miller, aged
sixty-five, five feet three inches. Elizabeth Joos, his wife, aged
forty-five. Leontine Joos, daughter, aged nineteen, plump, good-looking,
black eyes and hair, clear complexion, red cheeks. Jan Maertz, carter,
aged twenty-six, height five feet eight inches, a Walloon, strongly
built. Arthur Dalroy, captain in British army, about six feet in height,
of athletic physique, blue eyes, brown hair, very good teeth, regular
features. An English girl, name unknown, aged about twenty, very
good-looking, and of elegant appearance and carriage. Eyes believed
brown, and hair dark brown. Fairly tall and slight, but well-formed.
These latter (the English) speak German and French. The girl, in
particular, uses good German fluently."

"Click!" ejaculated Franz, imitating the snapping of a pair of
handcuffs. "Shave that fellow, and rig out the lady in her ordinary
togs, and you've got them to the dots on the i's. Who are the first two
for patrol?"

A couple of men answered.

"Sorry, boys," went on Franz briskly, "but you must hoof it to
Oosterzeele, and lay Jan Maertz by the heels. You saw him, I suppose?
You may even pick him up on the road. If you do, bring him back
here.--Georg, ride into Oombergen, show an officer that extract from the
Argenteau notice, and get hold of a transport. These prisoners are of
the utmost importance."

Irene, who lost no syllable of this direful investigation, had recovered
her self-control. She turned to Dalroy. Her eyes were shining with the
light which, in a woman, could have only one meaning.

"Forgive me, dear!" she murmured. "I fear I am to blame. I was selfish.
I might have saved _you_----"

"No, no, none of that!" interrupted the corporal. "You go inside,
_Fraeulein_. You can sit on a broken ladder near the door. The horses
won't hurt you.--As for you, Mr. Captain, you're a slippery fellow, so
we'll hobble you."

Dalroy knew it was useless to do other than fall in with the orders
given. He did not try to answer Irene, but merely looked at her and
smiled. Was ever smile more eloquent? It was at once a message of
undying love and farewell. Possibly, he might never see her again. But
the bitterness of approaching death, enhanced as it was by the knowledge
that he should not have allowed himself to drift blindly into this open
net, was assuaged in one vital particular. The w