them of everything of value they possessed.

These thieves are _practical_ too. At Dinant, safes were opened with
oxy-hydrogen blow-pipes, brought expressly for that purpose. They have a
partiality for safes, and in this connection the story of Lunéville
deserves recording. A house near the station, belonging to M. Leclerc,
was set on fire; the walls alone remained standing, and in one of them
(on the second floor) a safe was left intact. A non-commissioned
officer, named Weill, with a party blew up the wall with dynamite, and
the safe was extricated from the rubbish, carried to the station, put on
a truck, and sent to Boche-land. This man Weill, before the war, often
came to Luneville on business with hops, was always well received there,
made himself agreeable and knew everybody. When the Germans settled in
the unfortunate town he played a very important part, in spite of his
low rank, in acting as agent, confidential clerk and guide to the
Commanding Officer.

The robbers are also business-like in their transport arrangements as to
carriages, military waggons, lorries, and motor cars. At Compiègne,
where the home of the Orsetti family was sacked, silver plate, jewellery
and articles of value were collected in the courtyard of the château,
then classified, registered, packed and "put into two carts, upon which
they took care to place the Red Cross flag." We read in the note-book of
a wounded German soldier, under medical treatment at Brussels, "A car
has arrived at the hospital, bringing war booty, a piano, two sewing
machines and all sorts of other things."

In 1870, our clocks were in most demand; now, pianos form the
attraction, and an immense number have been sent to Germany. They are
the article particularly favoured by the Boche ladies. In a château