Shutliffe was still standing uncertainly in the dusk, mildly
concerned as to whether he should lock up the pigs or obey
the German gentleman.

The three soldiers halted behind the church wall.

"That was a fine start!" mocked Herbert. "Of course, you had
to pick out the Village Idiot. If they are all going to take
it like that, we had better pack up and go home."

"The village inn is still open," said Ford. "We'll close It."

They entered with fixed bayonets and dropped the butts of
their rifles on the sanded floor. A man in gaiters choked
over his ale and two fishermen removed their clay pipes and
stared. The bar-maid alone arose to the occasion.

"Now, then," she exclaimed briskly, "What way is that to come
tumbling into a respectable place? None of your tea-garden
tricks in here, young fellow, my lad, or --"

The tallest of the three intruders, in deep guttural accents,
interrupted her sharply.

"We are Germans!" he declared. "This village is captured. You
are prisoners of war. Those lights you will out put, and
yourselves lock in. If you into the street go, we will
shoot!"

He gave a command in a strange language; so strange, indeed,