"Yes, I'm an American," he said, quietly. "I'm not English. I've no
English blood in me."

He had intended to try to get a place to sleep in the village, but now
he decided that it would be better to get away as soon as he could. If
there had been soldiers about, or any really responsible police
officials, he would not have been at all disturbed. But these people
were nervous and ignorant; the best men of the place had gone, the ones
most likely to have a good understanding. So he paid his little
reckoning, and started to walk on.

They followed him as he started. As soon as he was in the open road
again, a new idea came to him. Why not try the great house on the hill?
There certainly someone would know the difference between an American
and an Englishman. He was very tired. He knew that, even if he went on,
he would have to stop at some village sooner or later. And if he was
suspected here, he would be at the next place.

And so, trying to ignore the little crowd that was following him, he
turned off and began climbing toward the mansion above the village.

It was like a signal. From behind him there rose a dull murmur. A lad
not much older than himself raced up and stood threateningly in his
path.

"If you are an American and honest, why are you going there?" asked this
boy, a peasant, and rather stupid in his appearance.

"None of your business!" said Fred, aroused. He didn't think that the
advice of his friend Lieutenant Ernst to answer questions covered this.