"Yes."

"I believe he's a spy. He is really looking more at the men than at the benches. We must be very careful, or one of those fellows will get in our way."

"It will be the worse for him," muttered Dale under his breath, as he went on with his work with redoubled energy.

"And for us too," replied Max, lifting a heavy sh.e.l.l with an ease that many of the regular workmen, practised though they were, could not have excelled.

The man stopped when he reached the bench on which Max and Dale were working. "Where are you from?" he enquired sharply, in very indifferent Walloon.

"Yonder," replied Max, nodding towards the poorer quarter of the town.

"Back of Rue Gheude."

"You're a Belgian, eh?"

"Yes," admitted Max with an appearance of reluctance.

"Why do you come here to work? Many of your countrymen refuse to work."

"One must live," replied Max sullenly. Then he went on in an angry tone: "We have been deserted and left to starve. Why shouldn't we work? They should protect us, these French and English, if they want us to remain on their side. Are we to let our little ones perish for their sakes?"

"You are right, my friend," replied the man approvingly. "These English and Frenchmen care naught so long as their country is safe. Why should Belgians fight their battles for them? No, no, my friend."

Max nodded and turned back to his work. The man watched him for a minute or two and then continued on his way along the shop, scarcely glancing at Dale, who was to all appearances too engrossed in his work to pay much attention to what was going on about him.

"End of round No. 1," whispered Max to his friend. "We've got the better of Mr. Ferret so far, but I fear we shall have trouble in getting many live sh.e.l.ls away from under the noses of him and his tribe."

"We shall do it," replied Dale confidently. "We may get the job of loading them up on the lorries presently and find an opportunity. If the worst comes to the worst we must carry medium-sized ones away one by one in our folded coats."

"H'm!" grunted Max. "We must find a safer way than that I fancy. I doubt if our ferret friends would let us do much of that sort of thing."

Dale shrugged his shoulders in contempt of the whole of the spy crew, and the conversation dropped.

For some two weeks Max and Dale worked in the filling-shops, observing the routine and making careful note of every circ.u.mstance that seemed to offer a chance of making off with supplies of finished sh.e.l.ls. They soon found that they had reason to congratulate themselves upon having joined the night shift. Max had accepted the foreman's offer of the night shift for two reasons: first, because he thought that their disguises were less likely to be penetrated in artificial light, and, secondly, because they might reasonably expect to be quite safe during their journeys to and fro in the dark. But he found that an even greater advantage to their projects lay in the fact that the shop was only half manned at night, the work, and especially the supervision, were less efficient, and the yards, while well lighted, contained plenty of deep shadows suited to shelter those on dubious errands.

As soon as he could, Max got into touch with his friend Dubec and the workmen who had remained faithful to their country's cause. He had brought ample funds with him from the moneys recovered from the firm, and hoped to relieve any who might be in acute distress. He soon found plenty of outlet for his funds, for the men who refused to work in the shops were drawing terribly near the edge of starvation.

As Max had expected, the knowledge that their employers were standing by them, and were ready to aid them at every opportunity, greatly heartened the men, and a small but loyal band steadily refused to work, and fought a gallant battle with starvation in the cause of their country's freedom. Between Max and these men an unbreakable, unforgettable bond of union was gradually forged; and several times, to their unbounded delight, he was able to use them in furthering his projects. He found them particularly useful in obtaining information and in keeping watch over the movements of M. Schenk and his numerous spies. Patriotism, resentment at their sufferings, and hatred of Schenk, all combined to render them zealous auxiliaries, and lightened, in some measure at least, the heavy task fate seemed to have cast upon Max's own shoulders.

CHAPTER XI

The Attack on the Power-house

Some three weeks after Max and Dale had so un.o.btrusively re-entered the Durend works, their plans were laid and their preparations complete.

Eight large sh.e.l.ls had been carried off one by one and secreted in a hole in the bank of the Meuse, at a spot where it was well shaded by thick bushes. The power-house had been carefully reconnoitred, and the times and habits of the men and of the sentries carefully noted. The bulk of the great engines which provided the power required to run the various workshops were underground, and all the approaches to the building were commanded by two sentries stationed at opposite corners.

The success of their enterprise was dependent upon one of these sentries being put out of action for some minutes. This was no easy matter, but by dint of much discussion and careful observation they reached the conclusion that it could be done; and, better still, done so that no alarm need be given.

A Sunday night was fixed for the attempt, because Max and Dale had never worked on Sundays, and their absence would not therefore be likely to arouse any subsequent suspicion that they had had anything to do with the matter. Moreover, all departments of the works were run on reduced staffs, and the staff of the power-house was reduced proportionately.

The loss of life which both Max and Dale feared might ensue from the realization of their plans was thus brought to a minimum.

Shortly after midnight, Max, Dale, and Dubec made their way silently to the little cache of sh.e.l.ls in the river bank, and began transporting them to a point as near the power-house as they could expect to get without attracting notice. There was a bright moon, but there were also clouds, and they patiently bided their time, and moved only when the moon was obscured. It was one o'clock before the whole of the sh.e.l.ls had been transported within easy reach of the power-house.

The sentries were changed at two o'clock, and Max and Dale waited only until this had been completed. Then they drew near, and took a long look at the sentry upon the least-exposed corner of the building. He was a young fellow, and while not looking particularly alert, yet seemed fully alive to his duties and determined to carry them out. As has already been explained, he was posted at a corner of the building, and could command a view of two sides. One of these sides was flooded with the light of the moon, but the other was in shadow, except at intervals where it was cut by the light from the windows of the power-house, which were here on a level with the ground.

After a whispered word or two, Dale left Max and worked his way round until he was near the side of the building which was in shadow. Watching his chance, he slipped into the shadow at a moment when the sentry was gazing the other way. Max now retreated some distance, and then began boldly advancing towards the building, his feet crunching heavily into the gravel and giving the sentry every warning of his approach. The sentry watched him with lazy indifference, but, as he drew near, lifted rifle and bayonet and challenged.

"Who comes there?"

"A workman with message to the engineer," responded Max in a casual voice, slackening his pace and coming to a stop a few paces away.

"Pa.s.s," replied the sentry indifferently, letting the b.u.t.t of his rifle drop again to the ground. Max slouched on again, directing his steps so that he would pa.s.s just in front of the young soldier.

The sentry idly watched the supposed workman, who slouched along gazing at the ground in front of him in the most stolid fashion. Just as he was on the point of pa.s.sing the sentry, however, he shot out a hand, seized the man's rifle, and tore it from his grasp.

Simultaneously a hand appeared from behind, and a cloth was clapped over the soldier's nose and mouth and held firmly in position, while another hand and arm grasped him round the middle.

[Ill.u.s.tration: A CLOTH WAS CLAPPED OVER THE SOLDIER'S NOSE AND MOUTH]

Noiselessly grounding the captured rifle, Max in his turn sprang upon the sentry and wound both his arms about him, crushing his arms to his side and preparing to subdue his wildest struggles. Almost immediately, however, the man's muscles relaxed, as the chloroform, with which the cloth had been sprinkled, took effect, and Max and Dale lowered him to the ground.

"Now, Dale, off with his tunic and helmet and put them on," cried Max rapidly. "Then take his rifle and stand on guard. All is well, and I believe we shall win through without a hitch."

Dale did as he was bidden. The soldier's tunic and helmet were removed, and his body was dragged into the shadow close to the wall of the building. Then Max walked quickly back to the spot where the sh.e.l.ls had been deposited. Here Dubec crouched in readiness.

"Bring them along," whispered Max. "The sentry is disposed of, and we ought to meet with no interruption."

"'Twas splendidly done," replied Dubec with enthusiasm. "The man seemed to be overcome as though by magic, and I heard scarce a sound."

In three trips the sh.e.l.ls were transported to the power-house and laid along the wall. Then Max went to one of the windows and looked in.

The power-house was largely underground, and the windows, which ran around all sides on a level with the ground at intervals of about six feet, were high above the great boilers. In fact, as Max gazed down he had a bird's-eye view of the interior, and could see workmen flitting to and fro, stoking the great furnaces in blissful ignorance of the fact that a bolt which might destroy them with their engines was on the point of being shot.

Drawing back his head, Max drew a bomb of his own manufacture from his pocket and lit the fuse. Then he leaned through the window, and, shading his mouth with his hands so that his words might carry downwards and be heard above the roar of the engines, cried in quick, urgent, warning tones:

"Fly for your lives--the engine-house is being blown up! Fly! fly! fly!"

The workmen looked up, startled, and into their midst Max flung his bomb. The men scattered to right and left, and a second or two later it burst with a splutter, sending out a great puff of white, pungent smoke.

It was quite harmless, but the men did not know that, and a great cry of alarm went up and a terrific stampede began towards the nearest exit.

"Now, Dubec," cried Max energetically, "light the fuses and fling them in. It matters little where they fall so long as we cover a wide area."

In a few seconds the sh.e.l.ls had been flung down into the power-house, right in among the boilers and machinery. Then the two men took to their heels and fled, followed by Dale, who had already divested himself of his borrowed plumes and donned his own.

The success of their enterprise was complete. Hardly had they got clear of the building before a series of heavy explosions occurred in the interior of the power-house, followed by the upward burst of great clouds of smoke and steam. Instantly all the lights in the whole of the Durend workshops and the great lights in the yard went out, and the roar of machinery slackened and gradually ceased. The entire works were at a standstill, and the whirr of lathes and clink of hammers were succeeded by shouts of alarm from the thousands of workmen as they poured excitedly out into the open air.