“I don’t believe it,” declared the girl.  “They’re too good sportsmen to bear grudges.”

“All the same,” persisted Uncle John, “the English have never favored us as the French have, or even the Russians.”

From Dunkirk to Ostend, by the coast line, is only some twenty-five miles, yet although they started at a little after eleven o’clock it was three in the afternoon before they finally landed at the Belgian seaport.  Interruptions were numerous, and although they were treated courteously, in the main, it was only after rigid questioning and a thorough examination that they were permitted to proceed.  A full hour was consumed at the harbor at Ostend before they could even land.

As they stepped upon the wharf a group of German soldiers met them and now Captain Carg became the spokesman of the party.  The young officer in command removed his helmet to bow deferentially to Patsy and then turned to ask their business at Ostend.

“He says we must go before the military governor,” said Carg, translating.  “There, if our papers are regular, permits will be issued for us to proceed to Charleroi.”

They left the sailor in charge of the launch, which was well provisioned and contained a convertible bunk, and followed the officer into the town.  Ostend is a large city, fortified, and was formerly one of the most important ports on the North Sea, as well as a summer resort of prominence.  The city now being occupied by the Germans, our friends found few citizens on the streets of Ostend and these hurried nervously on their way.  The streets swarmed with German soldiery.

Arriving at headquarters they found that the commandant was too busy to attend to the Red Cross Americans.  He ordered them taken before Colonel Grau for examination.

“But why examine us at all?” protested Mr. Merrick.  “Doesn’t our sacred mission protect us from such annoying details?”

The young officer regretted that it did not.  They would find Colonel Grau in one of the upper rooms.  It would be a formal examination, of course, and brief.  But busy spies had even assumed the insignia of the Red Cross to mask their nefarious work and an examination was therefore necessary as a protective measure.  So they ascended a broad staircase and proceeded along a corridor to the colonel’s office.

Grau was at the head of the detective service at Ostend and invested with the task of ferreting out the numerous spies in the service of the Allies and dealing with them in a summary manner.  He was a very stout man, and not very tall.  His eyes were light blue and his grizzled mustache was a poor imitation of that affected by the Kaiser.  When Grau looked up, on their entrance, Patsy decided that their appearance had startled him, but presently she realized that the odd expression was permanent.

In a chair beside the colonel’s desk sat, or rather lounged, another officer, encased in a uniform so brilliant that it arrested the eye before one could discover its contents.  These were a wizened, weather-beaten man of advanced age, yet rugged as hickory.  His eyes had a periodical squint; his brows wore a persistent frown.  There was a broad scar on his left cheek and another across his forehead.  A warrior who had seen service, probably, but whose surly physiognomy was somewhat disconcerting.