Dalroy said not a word. He saw at once that some virus had changed Von Halwig's urbanity to bitter hatred. He was sure the Guardsman had been drinking, but that fact alone would not account for such an amazing _volte-face_. Could it be that Britain had thrown in her lot with France? In his heart of hearts he hoped passionately that the rumour was true. And he blazed, too, into a fierce if silent resentment of the Prussian's satyr-like smile at Irene Beresford. But what could he do? Protest was worse than useless. He felt that he would be shot or bayoneted on the slightest pretext. Von Halwig evidently resented the presence of a crowd of gaping onlookers. "No more talk!" he ordered sharply. "Do as I bid you, Herr Lieutenant of Reserves!" "Captain Dalroy!" cried the girl in a voice of utter dismay, "don't let them part us!" Von Halwig pointed to a door. "In there with him!" he growled, and Dalroy was hustled away. Irene screamed, and tried to avoid the Prussian's outstretched hand. He grasped her determinedly. "Don't be a fool!" he hissed in English. "_I_ can save you. He is done with. A firing-party or a rope will account for him at daybreak. Ah! calm yourself, _gnädiges Fräulein_. There are consolations, even in war." Dalroy contrived, out of the tail of his eye, to see that the distraught girl was led toward a ladies' waiting-room, two doors from the apartment into which he was thrust. There he was searched by the lieutenant of reserves, not skilfully, because the man missed nearly the whole of his money, which he carried in a pocket in the lining of his waistcoat. All else was taken--tickets, papers, loose cash, even a cigarette-case and favourite pipe. The instructions to the sentry were emphatic: "Don't close the door! Admit no one without sending for me! Shoot or stab the prisoner if he moves!" And the fat man bustled away. The station was swarming with military big-wigs. He must remain in evidence. During five long minutes Dalroy reviewed the situation. Probably he would be executed as a spy. At best, he could not avoid internment in a fortress till the end of the war. He preferred to die in a struggle for life and liberty. Men had escaped in conditions quite as desperate. Why not he? The surge of impotent anger subsided in his veins, and he took thought.