sentence."

"The cold-blooded murderers!" cried Dale hotly.

"Yes," replied Max in a strained voice, as he began to pace slowly up
and down the length of their room. "Yes, they are; but shall not we have
really had a hand in their deaths?"

"Not one jot," cried Dale emphatically. "No particle of blame can be
laid at our door if they are foully done to death."

"Had we not so harassed the Germans, these men would not be under
sentence of death," Max went on, half to himself. "It seems hard that
they must die for our success."

"Bah! They die for Belgium and to proclaim to the world that the Germans
must be crushed," cried Dale contemptuously. "No, Max, we have nothing
to reproach ourselves with in this business."

"No, but still----" Then, rousing himself with an effort, Max went on:
"But we need not worry ourselves yet. Will you go into the streets and
find out anything else you can? I am going to find Dubec, and we will
then see if aught can be done."

The two parted, and in a few minutes Max was at the door of Dubec's
house. Here a rude shock awaited him, for Madame Dubec, white-faced but
tearless, told him, with a quietude and directness that somehow seemed
to make the news more terrible still, that her husband was one of those
lying under sentence of death.

The shock was a great one, although, in his heart, Max had half expected
it. He knew Dubec had been in the yard, and what more likely than that
he had been detained? Too upset to do more than mumble a few words of
sorrow, Max turned on his heel and hurried from the house.

Taking the road to the open hills, Max strode on and on, his mind filled
with serious and oftentimes conflicting thoughts. He had no doubts as to
the fate of the thirty-nine men if the Germans were unable to lay their
hands upon the real authors of the destruction of the workshop. They
would surely die, and with them Dubec, towards whom Max felt specially
drawn by his constant loyal aid and the memory of the day when he had
answered his mute appeal for succour.

And to Max the responsibility seemed his. These men had no part nor lot
in it. Why should they die? It did not help matters much to blame the
Germans--the worst might always be expected of them--for that would not
give back to Madame Dubec the husband for whom it seemed to Max she had
unconsciously appealed.

Supposing he gave himself up in order that they might go free? Ah, what
a triumph for Schenk! How he would rejoice!