"Right away, please," the boy replied. "I'll go back to my room and be ready as soon as you come." The old maid got up hastily. Taking the still warm kettle from the stove and carrying a box of mustard, she passed by the wounded officers into the lad's room beyond. A whispered word or two cleared up the situation. As Horace had expected, she refused point-blank. "No," she said, "I'm not going, no matter what happens. I said I'd stay, and I'll stay. If they kill me they'll have to fight America. If they take me to Germany as a prisoner, I'll probably find something for my fingers to do there. But run--that I won't." "And the boy?" asked Croquier. "He's got to go," the old maid replied sharply, "that's quite different. Those beasts wouldn't hesitate to fire on him when, perhaps, their officers might succeed in preventing the murder of their nurse. "You're right, Monsieur Croquier, Horace must go." "It's a matter of minutes," the hunchback warned. "Then what are you waiting for?" she retorted testily. "Go, and go quick, both of you. And take that bird! I don't want it around here." "You don't think I'd leave that, do you?" the hunchback said emphatically, and, grabbing it, he swung himself out of the window. "Good-bye, Aunt," said Horace, and prepared to follow. His aunt looked at him sharply but there was affection, also, in her glance. "You'll need a wool shirt, wool socks, and your heavy boots," she said, "and if you break through the lines, send a cablegram to your father. Off with you, now!" As she spoke, a sound of riotous singing was heard in the village street. Horace did not hesitate. He dropped from the window-sill. He had hardly picked himself up when some clothing came flying out of the window and landed beside him with a thump. He hastily picked up the shirt, socks, and boots. "Follow me," said the hunchback, "and go quietly." His heart in his mouth, Horace dived after Croquier into the bushes back of the house. They climbed two walls and a hedge, the hunchback clambering as soft-footed as a cat in spite of his ungainly shape, and then passed through a hedge. Crossing a couple of gardens they came to an old well. There the hunchback swung over the well-head and disappeared. The hole was black, damp and uninviting, but a sound of hammering told that the soldiers had reached the house and the boy followed Croquier without hesitation. As he swung his legs over, his feet touched the rungs of a rough ladder. The hunchback gripped his arm and drew him sideways through a hole in the well-curb. Drawing breath, Horace found himself in a tunnel. "Where does this go?" he whispered. "It connects with the vaults under the church," Croquier answered. "How did you find out about it?" "I didn't," said the hunchback; "I made it." "When?" "Last week. The story of me and the eagle was all over the village and the Germans were looking for me everywhere. There wasn't a corner they didn't search.