"Anything for a respite," thought Kenneth. Even in this moment of peril the Belgian speaker's idea of a fair trial tickled his sense of humour. The man who had intervened was a short, thickset fellow, with lowering eyebrows and a crop of closely-cut hair. He was dressed in black, while round his waist was a shawl, evidently intended for a badge of office. He had donned it in such a hurry that the loops of the bows had come undone and were trailing in the dust. Grasped by a dozen toil-hardened hands, and surrounded by the rest of the survivors of the justly exasperated inhabitants, the two lads were hurried towards the village. "I wish we had kept on our uniforms under these, old man," said Rollo. "We've nothing to prove our identity." "They're speaking in German. That proves their guilt," announced one of their captors. Neither Kenneth nor Rollo attempted to deny the statement--somewhat unwisely, for their unsophisticated guards took silence as an expression of assent to the accusation. The military passes provided by the Belgian Government had been destroyed--Rollo's, when captured at Cortenaeken; Kenneth's, when the lads made their hitherto beneficial exchange of uniforms. As Rollo had remarked, they possessed nothing that they could produce to prove their identity. Happening to look over his shoulder, Kenneth saw a peasant kicking his motor-cycle. Unable to wheel it, since its owner had slipped in the clutch previous to placing it under cover, the Belgian was venting his annoyance upon the machine. "Stop!" shouted Kenneth. "That's an English motor-cycle. Would you do harm to anything made by your friends the English?" He used the word "English" advisedly, for experience had taught him that the term "British" is hardly known to the peasantry of Belgium. Even the educated classes make use of the expression "English" more frequently than "British". "Aye; do not injure it, Henri," called out the man who evidently held the office of Mayor. "When the English soldiers arrive to help us to drive back the Bosches it may be useful to them. Parbleu! It is useless to us." In front of the ruined church the villagers held a most informal trial upon their captives. From the Belgians' point of view the evidence was absolutely conclusive against the prisoners. They were in German uniforms. In vain the lads mentioned the names of Major Résimont, Captain Planchenoît, and other officers of the 9th Regiment of the Line. The peasants knew nothing of them; besides, they declared, it was an easy matter to invent names. Again, the prisoners spoke French with a foreign accent; they had been caught whilst coming from the direction of the German lines. They were, no doubt, scouts of the Uhlan patrol, bent upon completing the work of massacre and destruction that the guns had begun against the unresisting village. "Hang them: powder is too good to waste upon canaille such as these," suggested one of the peasants.