McKay looked up at that, baring his teeth in a swift snarl: 

“No—­you see her clipped hair—­and the thin body....  In her blouse she passed for a boy, unquestioned, unnoticed.  There were thousands of us, you see....  Some of the insane women were badly treated—­all of the younger ones....  But she and I were together....  And I had my pistol in reserve—­for the crisis!—­always in reserve—­always ready for her.”  Recklow nodded.  McKay went on: 

“We fought the Staubbach in shifts....  And all through those months of autumn and winter there was no chance for us to get away.  It is not cold under ground....  It was like a dark, thick dream.  We tried to realise that war was going on, over our heads, up above us somewhere in daylight—­where there was sun and where stars were....  It was like a thick dream, Recklow.  The stars seemed very far....”

“You had passed as inmates of some German asylum?”

“We had killed two landwehr on the Staubbach.  That was a year ago last August—­” He looked at the sleeping girl beside him:  “My little comrade and I undressed the swine and took their uniforms....  After a long while—­privations had made us both light-headed I think—­we saw a camp of the insane in the woods—­a fresh relay from Mulhaus.  We talked with their guards—­being in Landwehr uniform it was easy.  The insane were clothed like miners.  Late that night we exchanged clothes with two poor, demented creatures who retained sufficient reason, however, to realise that our uniforms meant freedom....  They crept away into the forest.  We remained....  And marched at dawn—­straight into the jaws of the Great Secret!”

Recklow had remained at the telephone until dawn.  And now Belfort was through with him and Verdun understood, and Paris had relayed to Headquarters and Headquarters had instructed John Recklow.

Before Recklow went to bed he parted his curtain and looked out at the misty dawn.

In the silvery dusk a cock-pheasant was crowing somewhere on a wheat-field’s edge.  A barnyard chanticleer replied.  Clear and truculent rang out the challenge of the Gallic cock in the dawn, warning his wild neighbour to keep to the wilds.  So the French trumpets challenge the shrill, barbaric fanfares of the Hun, warning him back into the dull and shadowy wilderness from whence he ventured.

Recklow was awake, dressed, and had breakfasted by eight o’clock.

McKay, in his little chamber on the right, still slept.  Evelyn Erith, in the tiny room on the left, slept deeply.

So Recklow went out into his garden, opened the wooden door in the wall, seated himself, lighted his pipe, and watched the Belfort road.

About ten o’clock two American electricians came buzzing up on motor-cycles.  Recklow got up and went to the door in the wall as they dismounted.  After a short, whispered consultation they guided their machines into the garden, through a paved alley to a tiled shed.  Then they went on duty, one taking the telephone in Recklow’s private office, the other busying himself with the clutter of maps and papers.  And Recklow went back to the door in the wall.  About eleven an American motor ambulance drove up.  A nurse carrying her luggage got out, and Recklow met her.