ONE CARTRIDGE LEFT
"AN accident," declared Peter confusedly. The appalling event had
completely unnerved him. He hardly seemed to realise that his son
had turned up at a most opportune moment. "An accident. His gun
burst, goodness only knows why. By Jove, he'll bleed to death if we
don't look sharp!"
Von Eitelwurmer's injuries were ghastly at first sight. His left
hand and wrist were simply a mass of scorched and lacerated flesh,
his right hand was badly cut, while his face, ashy grey with a
dreadful pallor, was pitted with embers from the smokeless powder.
By his side were the remains of his gun, the barrel completely
fractured for a distance of more than six inches.
For a brief space the spy opened his eyes. He saw the two officers
in naval uniform.
"_Gott in himmel!_" he gasped, and straightway fainted.
Entwistle glanced knowingly at the two chums and nodded
significantly. Peter, in his agitation, had not grasped the
significance of the exclamation uttered in the injured man's native
tongue.
"There's a gate yonder," remarked Entwistle, while he and young
Barcroft were engaged in checking the flow of arterial blood. "You
two might fetch it. It will be just the thing to carry him to the
village."
Pulling himself together Peter hurried towards the gate, followed by
Kirkwood, but not before the latter had been again warned by
Entwistle to keep a discreet silence on the subject of the injured
man's identity.
"We'll take him to his house," declared Entwistle. "I don't think
the injuries are dangerous, although they are bad enough. The
correct course would be to run him into Barborough and put him in
the infirmary, but I have good reasons for the steps I propose
taking. Excellent, Barcroft," he exclaimed when the gate was
forthcoming. "Now, together, lift."
"What happened, pater?" asked Billy during the journey down the
hillside.
"Hanged if I know exactly," replied Barcroft Senior. "I was ahead of
him when it happened. Heard a fearful bang, turned round and found
Norton on the ground."
"Frozen snow in the barrel, most likely," remarked Entwistle. "I've
known guns to burst before to-day through that reason."
"He did slip when we crossed the stile," admitted Peter, "and plenty
of snow had drifted down there. But that theory won't hold. He fired
his gun after that."
"He may have fallen down again, or unknowingly poked the muzzle into
another lot of snow," suggested Entwistle. "There was a good depth
under the lee of those bushes, you'll remember, and I noticed by the
footprints that he had walked through the drift."
"It's awfully unfortunate," declared Peter.
"Awfully--for the spy," thought Entwistle, "otherwise you might be
taking his place on this improvised stretcher."
The wounded man was taken to The Croft and put to bed. Two doctors,
summoned by telephone, were quickly in attendance.
"He'll pull through," was the verdict, "unless complications ensue.
Shock to the system is more to be guarded against than the actual
injuries. Some one will have to be constantly with him, particularly
to see that an even temperature of the room is maintained."
"I'll stay," volunteered Entwistle.
"We'll take turns," suggested Peter. "I'll relieve you at two
o'clock. Lunch will be ready for you then. If we cannot get a
trained nurse (there is a dearth of them in Barborough, I
understand) I'll be with him to-night. Come on, boys; we'll get back
to Ladybird Fold."
During the meal Barcroft Senior spoke hardly a word. His appetite
was poor. He was not used to scenes of physical violence. Even the
unexpected arrival of Billy and the A.P. did little to help him to
regain his normal spirits.
Lunch over, Peter left the two chums to their own devices and wended
his way to The Croft.
He encountered Entwistle on the landing.
"Well?" he asked.
"He's just recovered consciousness," reported Philip. "A little
light-headed, perhaps, and temperature up a bit. I'll come again at
four. If you don't mind I'll arrange to stop here to-night."
"You're awfully good," said Peter, who had perhaps unconsciously
taken upon himself the duties of deputy master of The Croft. "Well,
lunch is awaiting you. Make yourself at home at my place. If there's
anything you require don't hesitate to ask for it."
Entwistle had undertaken his self-imposed duties as sick-bed
attendant with conscientious zeal; but he had also found time to
make a complete investigation of the spy's papers, securing several
that promised to become incriminating documents when subjected to
professional scrutiny. At any rate, if he could be undisturbed he
anticipated an interesting afternoon's search.
"I'll tell Barcroft all about it when I have completed the chain of
evidence," he reflected. "He'll have a nasty shock, poor fellow,
when he learns that his so-called pal tried to murder him. The whole
thing's as plain as daylight to me; von Eitelwurmer meant to shoot
him in the back, only the bursting of his gun saved Barcroft."
Left in charge of his treacherous friend, Barcroft found the patient
had fallen asleep. Since nothing more was to be done Barcroft Senior
took up a book, at the same time sighing for a pipe, a luxury that
out of praiseworthy consideration for the injured man he had
temporarily abandoned.
"By Jove!" said Peter to himself about an hour later. "That fire's
getting low."
As silently as possible he heaped more coal upon the smouldering
embers. Tending fires was not in his line. Often at home he would
allow the study fire to die out simply through neglect to make use
of the poker.
Somewhat anxiously he watched the gradually dimming glow. He was
half-minded to ring for Mrs. Crumpet, until reflecting that the
housekeeper at The Croft was evidently a person who made more noise
in proportion to the work done than was desirable in the
circumstances, he decided to tackle the recalcitrant fire himself.
Vainly he looked for a pair of bellows. Foiled in that direction he
suddenly remembered having seen a smouldering fire roused into
activity by means of a newspaper held over the grate.
"This might do," he soliloquised, picking up a couple of sheets of
printed paper, since no newspaper could be found. "A catalogue of
sorts: wonder if Norton wants it particularly?"
Slowly, very slowly, the dying fire began to revive, until under the
forced draught a respectable flame rewarded Peter's efforts.
Patiently holding the printed sheets across the grate until his arm
ached, he whiled away the time by reading the technical description
of Someone's patent combined washtub-and-dryer.
Suddenly his interest was aroused.
"Bless my soul!" he ejaculated. "That's funny. It wasn't there half
a minute ago."
Under the heat of the now glowing fire letters hitherto invisible
took semblance upon the warm paper. To his utter surprise the name
"Barcroft" appeared in view.
Hardly able to credit his senses Peter read the damning evidence of
the supposed Andrew Norton's treachery. It was written in German,
for, owing to Entwistle having on a previous visit taken possession
of the cypher (a circumstance that had caused the spy hours of
uneasiness until he had been lulled into a sense of false security),
he had been obliged to resort to ordinary writing pending the
arrival of another code-book.
"Your request for immediate action noted," read Peter. "Expect
Barcroft's removal to-day. Notifying impending accident to
substantiate claim. Also hope to secure his manuscript to-night.
Will destroy it if unable to retain without exciting suspicion."
There were also statistical particulars of the output of one of the
Barborough munition factories, including the number of new gigantic
shells, but Peter had not time to read that far.
A reverberating report filled the room. A bullet, whizzing close to
the head of the startled man, shattered into a thousand pieces a
mirror on the wall.
The spy, awaking from his sleep, had seen Barcroft poring over his
secret--the same paper that he had been compelled to take hurriedly
to his room that very morning when Peter disturbed him at his work.
Von Eitelwurmer realised that the game was up. Visions of a firing
party in the moat of The Tower gripped his mind. Anything but that:
he would make Barcroft pay for his discovery, and afterwards send a
shot through his own head.
Under his pillow the spy habitually kept a Service revolver. This he
fumbled for with his partly crippled right hand, and taking aim
fired at Peter's head.
In his weak state von Eitelwurmer had not taken into sufficient
consideration the "kick" of the powerful weapon. At the first shot
the revolver jerked itself from his feeble grasp and clattered upon
the floor.
"Thank you," said Peter firmly, as he stooped to pick up the weapon.
He was surprised at his own almost unnatural calmness. "Might I ask
the reason for this--er--outrage?"
"You have discovered everything," muttered the spy. "That was
sufficient reason."
"Accidentally," added Barcroft. "Even then why should you seek my
life and, what is almost as important to me, to destroy my
labour--my writings? Look here, Norton, the position is this. You
are a spy, caught redhanded, and the penalty is, as you know,
death."
"And I meant to settle you before that," hissed the recreant.
"But Providence decided otherwise," continued Peter. "I thought you
a totally different kind of person. You partook of my hospitality,
yet descend to attempted assassination. Yet I do not forget that
yesterday you saved my life. I wonder why? However, we are now
quits, but I feel inclined to do you a favour. In ordinary
circumstances you would be nursed back to health merely for the
purpose of undergoing trial and suffering execution. There is yet
another way."
"How?" asked the spy eagerly.
"By this," answered Peter holding up the revolver. "I will extract
all but one cartridge and return you the weapon. If you are still
intent upon my life the instrument is in your hands--only, remember,
you cannot fire a second shot. Here you are. I give you five minutes
to decide."
Slowly Barcroft crossed the room and descended the stairs. Only then
did his calmness give way--and it required plenty of courage to
deliberately turn away from a loaded weapon in the hands of a
vindictive spy.
Entering the dining-room Peter sank into a chair and rested his head
on his hands. Only the loud ticking of the grandfather clock
disturbed the silence until the door was pushed open and Philip
Entwistle entered.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "What's wrong now? Has Norton----?"
"I have made a very remarkable discovery," said Peter. "Andrew
Norton is a German spy."
"Indeed?" was Entwistle's rejoinder.
"Accidentally I found some incriminating writing. He saw what I had
done and let rip at me with a revolver. Needless to say he missed."
"That's the third lucky escape you've had from his murderous
intentions," remarked Entwistle quietly. "I can tell you now. He
tried either to murder or kidnap you by means of the Zeppelin that
came to Barborough. That the authorities gathered from one of the
crew when the airship was wrecked in the North Sea a few days ago
and the men rescued by a British patrol boat. Secondly, he did his
level best to shoot you in the back this morning----"
"Is that so?" asked Barcroft. "I can just understand a man doing
such a thing through violent personal motives, but for a mere
international reason----"
"My dear fellow, there was the sum of ten thousand marks waiting to
be earned."
"Yes," admitted Peter. "I know that. But only yesterday he fished me
out of the Dingle Dell stream when I was almost on the point of
being drowned. For why?"
"Ask me another," replied Entwistle. "At any rate, you will have
cause to realise the actual existence of the Unseen Hand. But what
happened just now, after he fired and missed?"
Peter Barcroft glanced at the clock. It wanted thirty seconds to
complete the stipulated five minutes.
"I talked to him pretty straight," he said. "Shamed him a bit, I
think. Anyway, I took four unused cartridges out of the revolver.
Being a six-chambered weapon one cartridge remained."
"Well?"
"I handed the pistol back to him; told him if he were still of the
same mind he had yet another chance to settle with me. He didn't--"
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Entwistle striding towards the stairs. "You
left him with a loaded revolver?"
Peter laid a detaining hand on the Secret Service man's shoulder.
"I gave him five minutes," he said. "And the time's up."
A pistol shot rang out from the upstairs room.
Siegfried von Eitelwurmer, otherwise Andrew Norton, had paid the
penalty.