VON EITELWURMER'S OPPORTUNITY
AT eight the following morning Siegfried von Eitelwurmer was
considerably surprised when the tenant of Ladybird Fold appeared at
The Croft, booted and gaitered and carrying his gun.
"You are two hours too early, Barcroft," he exclaimed. "What is
wrong? Couldn't you sleep after your involuntary bath?"
He spoke jocularly, yet in his mind there was a haunting suspicion
of doubt. Not that there was any reason for it as far as Peter
Barcroft was concerned, although--did he but know it--Philip
Entwistle was "speeding things up" in his work of investigating the
case of Andrew Norton otherwise von Eitelwurmer.
"I slept soundly," replied the unruffled Peter. "Notwithstanding
hot-water bottles and mustard poultices, cough-mixtures and various
bronchial remedies. It's one of the penalties of being married; but,
'twixt you and me, I like being made a fuss of in that direction.
Now, I wonder how you would fare, Norton, if you were taken ill,
living practically by yourself?"
"Make the best of it, I suppose," replied the spy hurriedly. He was
an arrant coward where illness was concerned. "But why this early
call? Thought you didn't rise much before nine?"
"I had a note from the parson this morning," exclaimed Barcroft. "I
happened to mention that I was going shooting and told him that I
would hand over the bag to the village soup kitchen. Personally I
loathe rabbits as food. However, the vicar informed me that the
soupkitchen opened at eleven-thirty, and asked if it would be
convenient for me to send the rabbits down by ten o'clock. Don't
suppose we'll get back in time, but we'll try."
"First get your rabbits," said von Eitelwurmer banteringly.
"Trust me," declared Barcroft with conviction. "But are you busy?
I'm afraid I've interrupted you."
"Only catalogues of early spring seeds," replied the spy. "They can
wait till to-night. I'll be ready in a couple of minutes."
So saying the _soi-disant_ Norton threw the books on the floor with
feigned unconcern, recorked a small bottle of lemon juice and pushed
it out of sight behind a pile of sporting papers. Then, getting his
sporting gun from the rack and stuffing a handful of cartridges into
his pocket, he signified his readiness to start.
"I wonder," mused the spy as the two men walked briskly down the
lane--"I wonder what Barcroft meant yesterday: 'You must have an
opportunity of making up for what you missed to-day.' Very strange
that he should say that. Yet can he know anything? I have been
careful enough, in all conscience."
His fingers came in contact with the loose cartridges. Grimly he
reflected that they were of English manufacture. Previous
acquaintance with sporting cartridges coming from the Fatherland had
made him chary of using ammunition of German origin. There must be,
he reflected, no misfires. An initial failure would upset his nerve.
He could not muster up courage to make a second attempt on the same
day.
"You're rather quiet to-day, Norton," remarked his companion, as the
two passed the scene of yesterday's adventure. "Not feeling quite up
to the mark, eh? Or have I turned you out of house and home too soon
after breakfast?"
"I wasn't aware that I was," replied von Eitelwurmer. "In fact I
feel remarkably fit. Those dogs of yours trained to the gun?"
"Quite, by this time," said Barcroft. "And as for turning a rabbit
out of cover they're great. You wait till we set to work."
"Powerful-looking animals," continued the spy. "I suppose they would
pull a man down?"
"They might," answered Peter cautiously. "But since an occasion for
testing their capabilities in that direction has not yet
occurred--and I hope it will not--I haven't any definite data upon
which to base my assumption. They were a bit of a handful as
puppies," he continued warming to his subject, for the two
sheep-dogs were practically part and parcel of Barcroft's existence.
"The predatory instinct was very strongly developed. They would go
to my neighbours' houses early in the morning and systematically and
deliberately steal the milk. I've known them to take a jug as well
and bring it back unbroken and deposit it as a kind of trophy on my
lawn."
"You might have cut down your milk-bills," remarked his companion.
"For a Biblical precedent you have the case of the prophet who was
fed by ravens. I presume they stole from his neighbours. Were their
efforts confined purely to the milk-business?"
"Hardly," replied Peter. "In one instance they brought home a boot."
"Only one?"
"Only one," declared Barcroft solemnly.
"It was in an almost new condition. I made inquiries all over
Alderdene but without success. No one had lost a boot. Quite a month
later I discovered that a parson living at Barcroft, a village three
miles away, had missed one of his boots, and sure enough the one
Ponto and Nan brought in was the missing article. Apparently they
had walked into the parson's scullery, and finding nothing in the
edible line, had picked up the boot as a souvenir of the visit."
"They showed a total lack of common sense," said von Eitelwurmer.
"Now, if they had carried off the pair----"
"I should have had to return two boots instead of one," added his
companion. "But here we are. We'll work up against the wind and keep
the dogs to heel."
The sportsmen had gained the gently-sloping rise of Windyhill. It
was the only side on which the ascent could be described as easy.
The ground was grass-grown and interspersed with clusters of bushes,
although the cover was by no means extensive. At the foot of the
rise flowed a small brook, which was crossed by a single plank.
Beyond a hedge somewhat of a rarity in the North--through which was
a gap with a stile. From this point to the summit of the hill, a
distance of nearly a mile, the only obstructions consisted of two
rough stone walls running athwart the slope.
"We'll load after we're over the stile," said the cautious Peter.
"Be careful, there's quite a lot of snow under this hedge."
Von Eitelwurmer's answer was to slip and measure his length in the
soft snow.
"Donner--dash it all!" he exclaimed, hastily checking the natural
yet hitherto carefully avoided habit of forcibly expressing himself
in the language that came easiest to the tip of his tongue-that of
the Fatherland. "You're right, Barcroft. It is confoundedly
slippery."
Picking up his gun that had fallen from his grasp the spy followed
Barcroft over the stile. Here the two men loaded and Peter called
the dogs to heel.
"Plenty of evidence that the bunnies are about," he remarked. "We'll
keep twenty yards apart. I don't suppose we'll catch sight of a
rabbit until we get to the bushes."
Stealthily and in silence the sportsmen approached the nearmost
patch of cover. Suddenly, a startled rabbit broke away and ran down
wind. Up went Peter's gun, and the next instant bunny was kicking on
the ground.
"Why didn't you fire?" inquired Barcroft, as the two converged upon
the spoil. "The animal was across your path."
"Why didn't I?" repeated von Eitelwurmer. "I did. That was my shot.
You didn't fire."
"But I did," declared Peter.
Both men ejected a still-smoking cartridge from their respective
guns. They had fired simultaneously and the report had prevented
each sportsman from hearing the other's shot.
"Honours even," cried the spy. "It was certainly remarkable."
"Very," agreed Barcroft as he reloaded.
The first enclosure produced no further trophy. Scaling the low wall
the two men gained the second stretch of grazing land. Here the
cover was slightly greater in extent.
"That's a favourite warren," said Barcroft, pointing to an irregular
line of bushes. "You take the left side and I'll work round to the
right. Ten to one you'll get a rattling good shot there. I'll keep
the dogs with me."
The sportsmen separated. Von Eitelwurmer, treading softly and
crouching under the bushes, allowed three rabbits to bolt almost
under his nose. It was not through preoccupation of mind but by
deliberate intent.
Once he stumbled over an exposed rock, and dropped his gun.
"That's the second time. This snow is dangerous," he muttered with a
curse. "Is it an omen? And on the last occasion I nearly gave myself
away."
He stopped to wipe some melting snow from the stock of his gun,
wiping the walnut wood carefully in order to ensure a good grip;
then still crouching, he continued his way.
Two shots rang out in quick succession on his right, then, after an
instant, he saw Barcroft emerge from behind a bush and make for the
next patch of cover.
"Twenty yards--absolutely safe, shots will hardly have time to
spread," soliloquised the spy, giving a quick glance over his
shoulder to see that there was no possibility of being overlooked
from behind.
Then, setting his jaw firmly, he deliberately raised his gun to his
shoulder, took careful aim at the back of the unsuspecting Peter and
pressed the trigger.