Amos could see that the old man, greatly moved, had to wet his lips before he was able to speak. It was as though his emotions almost overpowered him; and when he did manage to find his voice his words came as from a distance. “Yes, but, M’sieu, I do not understand. Do you mean that I, François Bart, would inform the enemy of things that must cause the death of Belgian soldiers?” “Do you deny it then?” demanded Jack, frowning so as to impress the other with the fact that he and his companion were serious in all they said and did. “But, M’sieu, that would make me a traitor, you see, and surely I would sooner have my right hand burned off than lift it against my king, whom we madly worship. You cannot mean that, young M’sieu?” “Listen,” Jack continued, “all these things which we have seen are suspicious. It is none of our business which army wins in a square stand-up fight; but it does concern us when treachery is employed to stab in the back. You deny that you mean anything that is wicked and wrong. Then convince us of your innocence, and we will be only too glad to go back again to our bed and sleep.” The man exchanged pitiful looks with his wife. They conferred together in whispers and Amos knew they were speaking in French, as most Belgians in the lower tier of towns did, while those toward Holland and Germany were as a rule accustomed to talking in German when not in Flemish. “Tell me what you want me to do, young M’sieu?” implored the old man, turning once again toward the chums. “You have secreted a stranger down below. Even now I can hear him knocking with his knuckles on the floor, as though he has heard what we are saying, and wants you to move the heavy table so as to allow him to come up; but you will, of course, not think of trying anything like that.” “But--who do you suspect him of being?” faltered the man, still wringing his hands as though greatly stirred up. “He spoke German words,” said Jack, sternly, “and it made us believe he might be a German spy!” At that the woman gave vent to a gasp. She threw herself forward on her knees and held up her clasped hands to Jack. “Not that, it is not that, I say to you!” she moaned. “It is bad enough, Heaven knows, but nothing could tempt us to have communication with the hated enemies of our country. Our hearts are sore, almost breaking with the shame; but if my man was younger and had his sight he would be there in the line, with a gun in his hands. It is not as bad as that, oh! M’sieu, believe me!” Amos had been deeply stirred by all this. He readily saw that the pair were in deadly earnest, and he awaited the summing up of the whole matter with the most intense eagerness. “Then you must tell us just who that stranger is we saw come in here, and who is now hidden under the floor. If not a German spy what is he, François Bart?” The peasant turned to the woman, as though he dared not take the responsibility of disclosing their great secret on his own shoulders.