"
"The general will make the conversation," said von Arnheim, smiling. "It
will be your duty, as he sees it, to answer questions."
John's liking for von Arnheim grew. He had seldom seen a finer young
man. He was frank and open in manner, and bright blue eyes shone in a
face that bore every sign of honesty. Official enemies he and von
Arnheim were, but real enemies they never could be.
He divined that he would be subjected to a cross-examination, but he had
no objection. Moreover, he wanted to see a German general of high
degree. Von Arnheim led the way through the woods to a little glade, in
which about a dozen officers stood. One of them, the oldest man present,
who was obviously in command, stood nearest the fire, holding his helmet
in his hand.
The general was past sixty, of medium height, but extremely broad and
muscular. His head, bald save for a fringe of white hair, had been
reddened by the sun, and his face, with its deep heavy lines and his
corded neck, was red, too. He showed age but not weakness. His eyes,
small, red and uncommonly keen, gazed from under a white bushy thatch.
He looked like a fierce old dragon to John.
"The American prisoner, sir," said von Arnheim in English to the
general.
The old man concentrated the stare of his small red eyes upon John for
many long seconds. The young American felt the weight and power of that
gaze. He knew too instinctively that the man before him was a great
fighter, a true representative of the German military caste and system.
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