“Our commander wishes to talk with you,” he said.

“I’m honored,” said John, “but conversation is not one of my strong points.”

“The general will make the conversation,” said von Arnheim, smiling.  “It will be your duty, as he sees it, to answer questions.”

John’s liking for von Arnheim grew.  He had seldom seen a finer young man.  He was frank and open in manner, and bright blue eyes shone in a face that bore every sign of honesty.  Official enemies he and von Arnheim were, but real enemies they never could be.

He divined that he would be subjected to a cross-examination, but he had no objection.  Moreover, he wanted to see a German general of high degree.  Von Arnheim led the way through the woods to a little glade, in which about a dozen officers stood.  One of them, the oldest man present, who was obviously in command, stood nearest the fire, holding his helmet in his hand.

The general was past sixty, of medium height, but extremely broad and muscular.  His head, bald save for a fringe of white hair, had been reddened by the sun, and his face, with its deep heavy lines and his corded neck, was red, too.  He showed age but not weakness.  His eyes, small, red and uncommonly keen, gazed from under a white bushy thatch.  He looked like a fierce old dragon to John.

“The American prisoner, sir,” said von Arnheim in English to the general.

The old man concentrated the stare of his small red eyes upon John for many long seconds.  The young American felt the weight and power of that gaze.  He knew too instinctively that the man before him was a great fighter, a true representative of the German military caste and system.  He longed to turn his own eyes away, but he resolutely held them steady.  He would not be looked down, not even by an old Prussian general to whom the fate of a hundred thousand was nothing.

“Very well, Your Highness, you may stand aside,” said the general in a deep harsh voice.

Out of the corner of his eye John saw that the man who stood aside was von Arnheim.  “Your Highness!” Then this young lieutenant must be a prince.  If so, some princes were likable.  Wharton and Carstairs and he had outwitted a prince once, but it could not be von Arnheim.  He turned his full gaze back to the general, who continued in his deep gruff voice, speaking perfect English: 

“I understand that you are an American and your name is John Scott.”

“And duly enrolled and uniformed in the French service,” said John, “You can’t shoot me as a franc tireur.”

“We could shoot you for anything, if we wished, but such is not our purpose.  I have heard from a captain of Uhlans, Rudolf von Boehlen, a most able and valuable officer, that you are brave and alert.”

“I thank Captain von Boehlen for his compliment.  I did not expect it from him.”

“Ah, he bears you no malice.  We Germans are large enough to admire skill and courage in others.  He has spoken of the affair of the wireless.  It cost us much, but it belongs to the past.  We will achieve what we wish.”