"You rotter!" exclaimed Kirkwood. "It's gone nine. Why didn't you turn me out? And what are you so interested in? Come, now, you were very keen on ordering me to turn in. Try this luxurious _salle-à-coucher_." "Before I do so," replied Barcroft pointing to the abandoned barge, "I'm going to do a bit of burgling if there's anything in the food line. Keep a sharp look-out, old man--towards that bridge especially. I won't be long." It was a comparatively simple matter to board the deeply-laden craft. Almost the whole of the space amidships was covered by huge tarpaulins, leaving a narrow gangway on either side. Making his way aft Barcroft boldly descended the short ladder leading into the cabin--a somewhat spacious compartment with the small "cuddies" on barges working British canals. "Black bread and cheese," said the flight-lieutenant to himself. "Well, that's better than nothing. Bacon, too: useless when one cannot light a fire." He had no qualms about despoiling the Philistines. Before the food would be missed the barge would doubtless have resumed its voyage. When the theft was discovered the Germans would to a certainty blame the men who came to their assistance. "Wonder what the cargo is?" continued Billy as he regained the deck. Unfastening one corner of the tarpaulin he made the discovery that the contents of the hold consisted of bales of old clothes packed tightly and labelled in large lettering with typical German thoroughness. They were commandeered Belgian civilian articles of clothing, those of cotton being kept apart from those of wool. Their destination was Aachen (Aix-la-Chapelle) via Wuestwezel, Turnout and Tongres, and at Wuestwezel they were to be transferred to the railway. "I think I see the move," thought Barcroft. "The stuff is to be converted into cloth for the Huns. The cotton gear, perhaps, will be utilised in the manufacture of explosives, since they cannot get the raw material. By Jove! The very thing. I'll collar a bale of this gear. We'll have to be in mufti of sorts when we cross the frontier, otherwise it means internment." A low whistle from the barn warned the flight-sub to a sense of danger. It was too late. Riding at a steady trot along the river bank was a German officer. CHAPTER XXXI THE FRONTIER RESISTING his first impulse to rejoin his companions Barcroft crouched upon the unsavoury bundles and drew the corner of the painted canvas cover over his head. In breathless suspense he waited. The clatter of the horse's hoofs ceased. He heard the rider dismount as his boots struck the ground. "You there, Corporal Pfeil?" he shouted. "Donnerwetter! what do you mean by getting your charge in this fix?" Receiving no reply the German began cursing volubly, at the same time expressing his belief that Pfeil and Co. were dead drunk in the barge cabin and that those rascally Belgians had given them the slip.