His breathing was
heavy; it sounded almost like heavy snoring. He was very young, scarcely
more than a boy himself. His uniform was entirely new, as was his
equipment. He was very slight too, and his face was typical of a certain
sort of German. He looked, Fred thought, like a bird. It was a queer
idea, and he laughed as it came to him, but it did describe this German
absolutely.
"I'll risk it," Fred decided. He hesitated about the door. Perhaps he
ought to close it. But if he did, he couldn't open it again from this
side for that was a secret he hadn't learned. And, after all, the only
danger was that the soldier might come to his senses and go in--and if
he did that, Fred could follow him. So taking the rifle, he crawled
along the gully the rain had washed out, moving very cautiously. As he
neared the top, he lifted his head and saw, not more than fifty yards
away, a grey stone house, simple and unassuming. A flag pole had been
put up in front of this house, and a German flag drooped from it.
Soldiers were all about the place, and two automobiles stood before the
door. Motorcycles were lying on the ground. While Fred watched, two men
rode up on the snorting, crackling little machines and hurried into the
house.
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