Passing along several gloomy passages and ascending two flights of stairs, Kenneth was ushered into a large, well-lighted room overlooking the city square. From without came the noise and bustle of hundreds of troops. Several regiments, having recently arrived, were partaking of a meal in the open, the food being cooked in large portable kitchens, the smoke from which drifted in through the open windows of the room. Seated at a massive oak desk was an officer in the uniform of the German General Staff. Behind him stood a major and two captains. At a writing desk against the wall, facing the windows, sat a military clerk. The soldiers of Kenneth's escort lined up behind him, the sergeant standing rigidly at attention on his right. Of Rollo there were no signs. For some moments Colonel von Koenik, the president of the court, regarded the lad before him with a fixed glare. Kenneth met the president's gaze unflinchingly, yet he realized that there was a menace in the German's manner. It was a hatred of England and of all men and things English. Finding that he could not browbeat the prisoner, von Koenik rasped out a few words to the major who stood behind him. With a stiff salute the latter advanced to the side of the president's desk. "What is your name, prisoner?" he asked in fairly good English, although there was a tendency to substitute the letter "b" for "p" in most of his words. Kenneth told him. The major referred to a paper that he held in his hand. "You are English? What are you doing in Brussels?" "I am a soldier in the Belgian service." "In the Belgian service perhaps; but a soldier--no, never." "Pardon me, sir," protested Kenneth; "I am a corporal of the 9th Regiment of the Line." The Major waved his hand contemptuously. "You are not--what you call it?--ah!--bluffing an English magistrate this time. You have a Prussian officer to deal with. If what you say is true, why are you not in uniform? Where are your identity papers? Say rather that you are in the employ of that arch-plotter Grey; tell us exactly the truth, then perhaps we will be merciful." "Of what offence am I accused, sir?" "Espionage--surely you know that without asking an unnecessary question." "It is not true. I have never attempted to spy. Who, sir, is my accuser?" "It is undesirable to mention names. Our informant states that you have been several days in Brussels, always in civilian clothes. You frequented public buildings; you were seen watching the arrival of our troops." "That I admit," said Kenneth. "There was no secrecy about the ceremonial parade of the German army through the streets." "Then perhaps you would tell your friends in England how the victorious Germans will march through London, hein?" asked the Major mockingly. "I'm afraid they won't," retorted Kenneth, throwing discretion to the winds. "Your troops have to reckon first with our army and then with our fleet."