In his inmost heart, Horace never expected to reach the threshold. At every step he seemed to feel the bullet in his back. None the less, he did not falter or look around and he reached the house in safety, without any further action from the soldiers. Swift examination showed that little Jacques had no chance for life. He lingered until late in the evening and then breathed his last, one more of the thousands of children wantonly killed by the Germans during their occupation of Belgium. Late that night, Horace was wakened by a light tapping at his window. He darted out of bed on the instant, knowing well that this cautious signal could not come from Germans, who, instead, undoubtedly would have battered the door with the butt-ends of their rifles. Peering out, he saw the hunchback, still carrying the caged eagle. "Croquier!" he gasped, in astonishment, for the hunchback's disappearance had been a matter of the most intense curiosity and mystery in the village. "Wait a second, I'll open the door." The hunchback shook his head and lifted up the cage. "Take hold of this," he directed. Horace took the cage and set it on the floor in his room. The amber eyes glittered as evilly as ever. "Now," said Croquier, still in that same strained whisper, "give me a hand up." Bracing himself firmly, Horace leaned down and held out his hand. The hunchback grasped it in his terrible grip and with a jerk which almost pulled the boy's arm out of its socket, he clambered to the window and climbed in. Then, moving so quietly that he made absolutely no noise, he squatted down on the floor beside the cage. "Where in the name of wonder have you been?" asked Horace. The hunchback brushed the question aside. "I've doubled on those fiends a dozen times," he said. "They haven't caught me yet, and they never will. Now, listen to me closely. Those pigs of Germans have found a keg of brandy and they're drinking themselves courageous so as to be brave enough to attack this house. You and your aunt must leave and leave now!" "Aunt won't go," said Horace, "there's no use asking her. I spoke about it, again, this evening." "She has got to go or there's no saying what will happen," the hunchback answered. "I'm not telling what I think, but what I know. Bring her here at once, but do it, if you can, so that none of the wounded suspect anything." The boy thought for a moment. "I'll try," he said. Slipping on some clothes, the boy went stumbling noisily through the next room where two wounded German officers were lying. He knew, if he stepped softly, it might arouse suspicion. Reaching his aunt's room, he said loudly, as he knocked and was bidden enter, "Aunt Abigail, I'll have to have that mustard poultice put on, after all." The woman looked at him shrewdly. Knowing that nothing had been said that evening concerning a poultice, she realized that there was a meaning hidden behind the words. "Do you need it now?" she asked.