“You say that you know who did these crimes?” asked the Prussian colonel, eyeing with loathing the blue-bloused, rat-faced creature before him. “Yes, colonel.” “And it was--?” “Those thousand francs, colonel--” “Not a sou until your story has been tested. Come! Who is it who has murdered my men?” “It is Count Eustace of Chateau Noir.” “You lie!” cried the colonel, angrily. “A gentleman and a nobleman could not have done such crimes.” The peasant shrugged his shoulders. “It is evident to me that you do not know the count. It is this way, colonel. What I tell you is the truth, and I am not afraid that you should test it. The Count of Chateau Noir is a hard man, even at the best time he was a hard man. But of late he has been terrible. It was his son’s death, you know. His son was under Douay, and he was taken, and then in escaping from Germany he met his death. It was the count’s only child, and indeed we all think that it has driven him mad. With his peasants he follows the German armies. I do not know how many he has killed, but it is he who cut the cross upon the foreheads, for it is the badge of his house.” It was true. The murdered sentries had each had a saltire cross slashed across their brows, as by a hunting-knife. The colonel bent his stiff back and ran his forefinger over the map which lay upon the table. “The Chateau Noir is not more than four leagues,” he said. “Three and a kilometre, colonel.” “You know the place?” “I used to work there.” Colonel von Gramm rang the bell. “Give this man food and detain him,” said he to the sergeant. “Why detain me, colonel? I can tell you no more.” “We shall need you as guide.” “As guide? But the count? If I were to fall into his hands? Ah, colonel--” The Prussian commander waved him away. “Send Captain Baumgarten to me at once,” said he. The officer who answered the summons was a man of middle-age, heavy-jawed, blue-eyed, with a curving yellow moustache, and a brick-red face which turned to an ivory white where his helmet had sheltered it. He was bald, with a shining, tightly stretched scalp, at the back of which, as in a mirror, it was a favourite mess-joke of the subalterns to trim their moustaches. As a soldier he was slow, but reliable and brave. The colonel could trust him where a more dashing officer might be in danger. “You will proceed to Chateau Noir to-night, captain,” said he. “A guide has been provided. You will arrest the count and bring him back. If there is an attempt at rescue, shoot him at once.” “How many men shall I take, colonel?” “Well, we are surrounded by spies, and our only chance is to pounce upon him before he knows that we are on the way. A large force will attract attention. On the other hand, you must not risk being cut off.” “I might march north, colonel, as if to join General Goeben. Then I could turn down this road which I see upon your map, and get to Chateau Noir before they could hear of us. In that case, with twenty men--”