"No, Sam," replied Bill, even more huskily. "Wot'll they do to us, d'yer think?" "Nuffink," was the answer. "We're soldiers--they don't shoot prisoners." Oswald drew a long breath of relief at this. Sam looked at him sharply. "Mind--not a word, you little skunk--or I'll bash yer 'ead in." "All right, mate," said Oswald. "I ain't goin' to peach." The good-humoured officer on the bench spoke a couple of sharp words. Immediately the prisoners were pushed in front of him. A pair of very blue eyes looked over them, seemed to smile at them, they thought and hoped. "What are you?" he asked sharply in English. "Soldiers, sir," replied Sam quickly. Not very confident of the discretion of his companions, he was anxious to make himself the spokesman of the party. "Indeed? What corps?" The blue eyes smiled on Sam. He felt them dangerously fascinating. It was with an effort that he kept himself from a reply and remained silent. His dull faculties were desperately on the defensive. "What corps?" No answer. The officer drew out a heavy gold watch. He smiled outright at them. "I give you five minutes. If you do not reply, you will be shot against that wall." "We're soldiers--prisoners of war, sir," said Sam. "You can't shoot prisoners of war." "Indeed!" The blue eyes above the fair moustache looked innocently amused. "You call yourselves soldiers--to what corps do you belong? To what regiment? Where are your shoulder-straps?" He got angry suddenly. "Tell me at once what regiments--what time they passed here, or you go against that wall!" Sam set his teeth and went pale. The consequences of their anonymity became plain to him. He met the eyes of the quick-witted little Cockney rogue. The cunning, ill-shaped face was lit with a feverish excitement. "Don't yer see, mate?" he whispered eagerly. "Our chaps 'ave give 'em the slip. 'E wants to find out wot corps passed through 'ere----" "Silence!--Answer, you!" The fascinating blue eyes looked at Sam, almost mesmerised him. "We're soldiers--prisoners o' war," he repeated doggedly. "Soldiers! Soldiers without regiments--without corps! Prove it then, my man. Quick! I have no time to waste. Where are your shoulder-straps? Your identification papers?" The trio remained silent. The officer adopted a more cajoling tone. "Come, come, my man. You don't want to throw your lives away on a trifle. I am willing to treat you as prisoners of war if you prove to me that you are soldiers. Tell me your regiments." The trio stood in stubborn silence, the ex-navvies rather sheepish, the Cockney rogue watching the questioner with quick and knowing eyes. "No? Then you are spies." He turned to his men and uttered a brief order, pointing to Sam.