The old man spoke quite frankly, and evidently had no suspicions about his tenant. Pariset thought it safe to disillusion him. "Would you be surprised to learn that your fisherman is actually a German?" he said. "But that is impossible," said the miller. "He would have gone back to Germany, because of the war." "Unless he is a spy! We have reason to believe that he is, and that he is using your mill for the benefit of the enemy. That is what has brought us here." "Sacre nom de nom!" the old man ejaculated, and the farmer thumped the table and swore. "Is that the truth, monsieur?" "We suspect him of intending to blow up the railway bridge at a given signal." "Ah! the villain! And he will use the underground passages. That is why he pays me a high rent, parbleu! But he has come to the end of his tether. You are here to arrest him?" "No. We have no men with us. We came to learn whether our suspicions were justified. We are not sure of our man yet." "Bah!" shouted the old man, red with fury. "It is certain. He has fooled me. I will raise the countryside. We will fall on these Germans. Before night they shall lie in the dungeons of Charleroi." "Do you think that is the way to go to work?" Pariset asked tactfully. "They would hardly allow themselves to be caught napping; at the first alarm they would no doubt blow up the bridge, and I take it that to prevent that is even more important than to seize the men themselves--though our aim should be to do both." "It is true, monsieur. I am an old man. This is the day of young men. Oh that I were forty years younger and able to serve my country! But you will not let them go? You will bring some of our brave soldiers here and capture the villains?" "There may not be time for that. We must meet craft with craft. If we could only reconnoitre the mill we might be able to hit upon a plan. My uniform would give me away, if I approached the place as I am; you could no doubt lend me some clothes to disguise myself?" "Surely, monsieur; but----" He broke off, eyeing Pariset’s face, with its small military moustache, doubtfully. At this moment they heard the rumble of a heavy vehicle on the road. "It is the beer, compère," said the farmer, glancing out of the window. "Ah! the beer!" repeated the miller. "I might have known they were Germans! Every week they have a barrel delivered from Charleroi, and it is not the local brew, but the Lion brew from Munich." He had moved to the window, followed by his visitors. A heavy dray laden with beer was lumbering down the road. As it came opposite to the house the drayman hailed the miller, pulling up his horses. "The Germans are shelling Liége," he said. "Maybe ’tis the last time I shall come this way. Your good tenants had better clear out." "Good tenants!" cried the old man explosively. "Quiet!" said Pariset, touching him on the sleeve. "Don’t tell him they are Germans."