AT THE POINT OF DEATH.
Two of Chester's pursuers approached him warily with leveled revolvers,
apparently fearing a trick. Coming within striking distance, one of them
dealt the lad a heavy blow with his fist. Chester fell to the floor
without so much as a groan, unconscious.
When the lad again opened his eyes he was once more in the council
chamber of the conspirators. In the dim light he could discern the masked
circle of faces that had gazed at him when he had entered the room for
the first time. The only difference being that there was here and there a
vacant chair.
Chester recovered consciousness fully alert to what was going on about
him. He took in the situation at a glance, and a grim smile lighted up
his face as his eyes fell upon the vacant chairs.
"Looks like I had done a fair job, at any rate," he told himself.
His gaze turned toward the chief's platform. The chief was there, but his
head was swathed in bandages.
"Too bad I missed him!" Chester muttered. "He is evidently the
ring-leader, and to have downed him would have been the proper thing."
Any further reflections the lad might have had were interrupted by the
booming voice of the chief, who now rose to his feet.
"Prisoner, stand up!" he commanded.
Chester arose from the chair in which he had been seated. His arms were
bound behind him and his feet had been tied together; still he found that
he could stand.
"Prisoner," continued the chief, "your name!"
"Chester Crawford," was the lad's firm reply.
"And what are you doing in Belgium in these troublous days?"
"I am attached to the staff of the Belgian commander at Liège," was the
boy's prompt response.
"But what are you doing in Louvain?"
"I came here with dispatches."
"So? And yet you are not a Belgian, I take it; nor yet, French. What,
then? An Englishman?"
"No; I am an American," said Chester proudly.
"An American! Then how comes it that you are fighting for the enemies
of Germany?"
"I am proud to be fighting for what I consider the right," said
Chester simply.
"The right!" exclaimed the chief, in a loud voice. "Well, you shall soon
see that you would have been better off had you stayed on the other side
of the Atlantic."
Chester did not reply.
"Do you know what we are going to do with you?" continued the chief.
"No, and I don't care," was the lad's reply.
"We are going to kill you," said the chief calmly. "But first you will
be given a hearing. We do not put even our enemies to death without a
fair trial."
Chester laughed mockingly.
"A fair trial by such as you?" he exclaimed. "That is a joke. But go
ahead with the farce, and let's have it over with as soon as possible."
The reply was a subdued growl.
"Why are you here, in this room?" he demanded, at length.
"To learn the details of a plot that would deliver Louvain into the hands
of its enemies," replied Chester calmly.
"How did you learn our rendezvous?"
"By listening to the conversation of two of your members who were so
indiscreet as not to remember that the walls of their room might
have ears."
"So? That shall be looked into. Such indiscretion is not to be tolerated.
But how comes it that you were able to discover the knock of admittance;
how comes it that you have a mask exactly like the rest of us?"
"You are asking a good many questions," said Chester, "but as this
probably is my finish, I don't mind telling you. I followed one of your
members here, and overheard him knock. Then I waylaid the other and took
his mask, clothes, and credentials away from him."
The chief looked at him in surprise.
"And you a mere boy," he exclaimed. "You are a bold lad and 'tis a pity
you have fallen into our hands. But that is enough. You admit, then, that
you entered here to spy upon us?"
"Certainly, with the greatest of pleasure," said Chester. "Why shouldn't
I admit it?"
"Enough!" cried the chief, and turned to his men.
"You have heard the confession of the prisoner," he said. "Number One,
what is your verdict?"
"Guilty!" replied Number One, in a solemn voice.
"Number Two?" called the chief.
"Guilty!" was the reply.
And so on all down the line. Each answer was the same. And when each
plotter had given his verdict, the chief addressed them all in a
loud voice.
"And the penalty?" he questioned. "What shall the penalty be?"
And each man answered as with one voice:
"Death!"
"Good!" said the chief. "So be it."
He turned to Chester.
"Prisoner," he said, "you have heard the verdict. Have you anything
further to say?"
"Nothing," said Chester quietly. "What's the use?"
"Then," said the chief, turning to the rest of the conspirators, "you
shall draw lots to determine the executioner."
He opened a small box that was on the table, rose to his feet, and held
the box out at arm's length.
"You will come forward, one at a time," he told his fellow-plotters, "and
let not one of you look at the ball you have drawn until each man has
taken a ball and returned to his seat. Number One!"
Number One stepped forward, reached in the box and extracted a ball,
which he carefully concealed in his hand, and returned to his seat. Each
man stepped forward in turn, and then returned to his chair, with a ball
in his hand. Then the chief spoke again.
"Who has the red ball?" he demanded.
Each man looked at the ball he had drawn, and then a voice at the
opposite end of the room from Chester rang out:
"I have it!"
"Good!" exclaimed the chief once more. "Then the prisoner's fate shall be
left in your hands. You may dispose of him in whatever manner you desire.
But"--and he raised a warning finger--"see that you make no slip." He
turned to the rest of the conspirators. "The rest of you may go."
Slowly the conspirators, at intervals of perhaps a minute each, filed
from the room, and soon there was no one left save Chester, his
executioner, and the chief.
"Remember," said the chief to the one remaining conspirator, as he
prepared to take his departure, "remember that a failure to carry out the
command of the court-martial means your own death."
"Have no fear," replied the executioner. "He shall not escape."
The chief nodded and left without another word.
A moment the executioner stood, looking after the chief's retreating
figure. Then he drew a revolver from his pocket and approached Chester.
Chester's heart began to thump loudly, and, try as he would, he could not
but tremble.
"This is the finish, all right," he told himself.
He closed his eyes and uttered a short prayer.
A hand fell on his shoulder and shook him, The lad opened his eyes. The
executioner stood over him, revolver in hand.
"You are an enemy of my country," said the executioner, "and I should
kill you. But I can't do it. You spared my life once, and it is
impossible that I kill you now."
Chester's heart beat rapidly. Could it be that he was once again to
escape death when he was sure that his last moment had come? But he
replied in a steady voice:
"I saved your life? Where? When?"
With a quick move the man lifted his mask from his face.
"Do you remember now?" he demanded.
The face was that of the man with whom Hal had fought in the
farmhouse--the home of Edna Johnson--some days before. Chester recognized
him immediately as the German officer who had led his men to the attack
in the farmhouse.
But Chester had not spared the man's life. He had not even fought with
him. It was Hal who had refused to give the German his death-thrust when
the latter was at his mercy. Chester thought quickly.
"He has mistaken me for Hal," he told himself, "and if he knew it he
would probably kill me at once. I must keep up the game."
He replied to the German's question:
"Yes, I do remember you now."
"Then you see why it is I cannot kill you," said the German; "but neither
can I let you go free. For if I did you would consider it your duty to
inform the Belgian commander of what you have learned and thus frustrate
our plans. I don't know what to do with you."
Chester made no reply, and the captain continued:
"I can think of but one thing, and that is to keep you with me until the
Germans have taken Louvain, after which, in some manner, I shall see that
you reach the Belgian lines safely. But we shall have to be very careful
as we leave here. The chief may have stationed a guard, and if he should
learn that I have not killed you, my own life would pay the forfeit. But
come, we must act quickly."
So saying, the German stooped over Chester and cut his bonds. The lad
rose to his feet and stretched himself. For a moment he considered the
advisability of leaping upon his captor-friend, wrenching his revolver
from him, and making his escape. But this plan he immediately put aside
as unwise, for his captor still held the weapon ready, and the boy knew
that a single false move and the German would fire. Therefore, he did as
his captor bade him.
The German raised his revolver in the air and fired a single shot.
"If anyone remained to see whether the execution was carried out, that
will probably convince him," he said. "Now I will go out the door, and do
you follow in sixty seconds. I shall be watching, and if you try to
escape I shall kill you."
The German peered out through the door, and a moment later was on the
outside. For a moment Chester debated whether he should make a dash in
the other direction. A little reflection, however, and he decided he had
better not. His limbs were cramped from being tightly bound, and he knew
that should he not make his appearance as commanded by the German within
sixty seconds, the latter would come after him--and the latter was armed
and Chester was not.
Slowly he counted off the sixty seconds, and then stepped through the
door.