ho searched us did not notice the compass, and handed
the shaving-stick back to me, and I breathed easier. But the gendarme
had probably done more searching than the soldier, and asked me for
it. He immediately let the stick fall out, and found the compass,
which he put in his pocket, with a wink at the others... and it was
gone.

All our little articles were taken from us and put into two parcels,
which we were allowed to carry, but not keep, and which were
eventually returned to us, and, whether it was done by carelessness
or not I do not know, but by some fortunate circumstance my maps were
left in my pay-book case and put in the package, but I did not see
them until after my punishment was over.

[Illustration: Map made from Paper which came in a Parcel, wrapped
around a Fruit-Cake / Notice the stain caused by the cake. This is
the map that was hidden in the cigarette-box]

My notebook attracted the attention of the gendarme, and he took
it from me. I had made entries each day, and these he read aloud,
translating them into German as he went, much to the apparent
entertainment of the two women, who laughed at him, with a forced
gaiety which confirmed my diagnosis of their relationship. I think
he was crediting me with entries I had never made, for the central
figure seemed to be one "Rosie Fraeulein," whom I did not have the
pleasure of meeting.

We could see that although the privates were friendly, there was no
semblance of friendliness in either the gendarme or the Sergeant
Major. I think they would have gladly shot us on the spot--if they
had dared. They were pronounced cases of anglophobia.

The gendarme at last broke out into English, cutting his words off
with a snarl:

"What do you fellows want to get back for anyway? England is no good!
England is a liar, and a thief."

When he said this, I could see Edwards's face grow white and his eyes
glitter. He was breathing hard, like a man going up a steep hill, and
his hands were opening and closing. He walked over to the gendarme
and glared in his face,--"What do I want to get back for?" he
repeated in a steady voice, stretched tight like a wire, "I'll tell
you--this is not any ordinary war, where brave men fight each other.
This is a war against women and children and old men. I have fought
with the Boers in Africa, but I bore them no ill-will--they fought
like men and fought with men. I've been through Belgium--I've seen
what you have done. I have boys