frame illuminated by the torches flaring down below him, was Max--Max,
that sinister, dried-up, snappy German officer, who had already on more
than one occasion given Henri and Jules some indication of his brutal
nature. The man was gripping a heavy bag--a bag which undoubtedly
required some effort to lift and handle--and, as he stood with his eyes
glued upon the men down below, was slowly extricating some object from
the bundle he carried.

"What on earth is it? What's he up to?" Jules asked breathlessly.
"He's taking something out of the bag, and is fumbling. Look! He's
put the bag down now, and has lifted the something so as to take a good
look at it. It--it's----"

"A bomb--a hand-grenade of sorts. The beggar's got a whole bag of 'em!
He's----"

They watched, rooted to the spot, as the German lifted that object in
one hand till the light from the room below fell upon it. And then,
fumbling at its base, presently extracted something. Then they saw him
stoop over the heavy bag placed on the floor, lift the flap, and
commence to insert the object. It was just then that Henri realized
the villainy intended by this ruffian. Perhaps you will say that "all
is fair in love and war", and that Henri himself had but a little while
before given the Germans an exhibition of bomb-throwing. But that was
in order to save his friend about to be executed, about to be murdered,
indeed, by this selfsame ruffian. Now, taking a leaf from his book as
it were, this Max was preparing a load of bombs to thrust down among
the Bretons.

One grenade alone might be expected, exploding amongst them, to kill
numbers, but what would happen if the whole bag of them, detonated by
the one he had just prepared, fell into the crowded room below and
exploded? It would mean death to every man there; death to many of
those outside; and might easily break down the work already done by
those gallant Frenchmen, and enable the Brandenburgers to push on again
into the fort and eject them. Even Henri and Jules might not escape
unscathed, and Max, too, might be injured. It was, indeed, a moment
for action, for swift decisive action, and, though Henri had felt
rooted to the spot a moment before, any hesitation there might have
been was gone in an instant. His whirling brain cleared, as it were,
as need for swift movement came, and, at once bounding forward, he
gripped the German by the nape of his neck and seized the hand which
was lifting t