No French force was within fifty miles of him,
and yet morning after morning he had to listen to a black report of
sentries found dead at their posts, or of foraging parties which had
never returned. Then the colonel would go forth in his wrath, and
farmsteadings would blaze and villages tremble; but next morning there
was still that same dismal tale to be told. Do what he might, he could
not shake off his invisible enemies. And yet it should not have been so
hard, for, from certain signs in common, in the plan and in the deed, it
was certain that all these outrages came from a single source.
Colonel von Gramm had tried violence, and it had failed. Gold might be
more successful. He published it abroad over the countryside that
500frs. would be paid for information. There was no response. Then
800frs. The peasants were incorruptible. Then, goaded on by a murdered
corporal, he rose to a thousand, and so bought the soul of Francois
Rejane, farm labourer, whose Norman avarice was a stronger passion than
his French hatred.
"You say that you know who did these crimes?" asked the Prussian
colonel, eyeing with loathing the blue-bloused, rat-faced creature
before him.
"Yes, colonel."
"And it was--?"
"Those thousand francs, colonel--"
"Not a sou until your story has been tested.
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