Some hours after sunset, on the evening of the following day, Jim Braid
was stationed in the woods, on the look-out for poachers. His father,
John Braid, the head-gamekeeper, was also out that night, keeping watch
in a different part of the estate. A well-known gang of poachers had
been reported in the district, and, the week before, several shots had
been heard as late as twelve o’clock, for which the gamekeepers could
not account.
The night was cold and foggy, and Jim wore the collar of his coat turned
up, and carried his gun under his arm, with his hands thrust deep into
his breeches pockets.
He was moving along the edge of the coverts, which lay between Mr.
Langton’s bungalow and the house, when suddenly he became conscious of
footsteps approaching stealthily through the woods. Without a moment’s
thought he dropped flat upon his face, and lay close as a hare,
concealed in a clump of bracken. From this position he was able to see
the path by which the intruder approached; he could also command a view
of the windows of Friar’s Court, several of which were illumined.
The dark figure of a man came from among the trees. Jim, taking his
whistle from his pocket, put it to his lips, and was about to sound the
alarm which would bring his father and the other keepers to the spot,
when he was arrested by the man’s singular appearance.
This was no common poacher. He wore a heavy fur overcoat, and carried
in his hand—not a gun—but no more formidable a weapon than an
umbrella. On his head, tilted at an angle, was a white bowler hat.
Jim Braid was in two minds what to do, and was even about to show
himself to the stranger and ask his business, when the front door of the
house opened, and he made out the figure of Captain von Hardenberg
silhouetted against the light in the hall. Jim had no particular desire
to eavesdrop. Still, as we know, he disliked and mistrusted the
Prussian; and, besides, the secretive manner in which the stranger was
careful to keep in the shadow of the trees had already aroused his
suspicions.
When the man with the white hat saw von Hardenberg, he whistled softly,
and went forward a little towards him. They met a few yards from where
Jim Braid was hiding. The stranger at once held out a hand. Von
Hardenberg refused to take it.
"I knew you’d come here," said he. "Can’t you leave me alone?"
"You’re four months overdue, Captain von Hardenberg," answered the
other. "My interest is increasing day by day. You owe me nearly four
thousand pounds!"
"Well, I can’t pay," said von Hardenberg. "And there’s an end of it."
"Captain von Hardenberg," said the man, who spoke English with a strong
German accent. "I am sick of you. In a word, I have found you out. You
desire the services of a spy—one who has access to valuable
information—and you come to me, Peter Klein, even myself, who as the
butler of a cabinet minister have many opportunities of reading letters
and overhearing the consultations of those who are suppose to govern
these sleepy, fog-begotten islands. You are paid from Berlin, and you
are paid to pay me. And what do you do with the money? Gamble. In a
word, you play cards and lose money which by right is mine, which I—not
you—have earned. Then you beseech me to hold my tongue, promising me
that you will repay me with interest as soon as ever you have inherited
your uncle’s estates. This, I find, is a lie. Your uncle has another
nephew, just as likely to inherit his capital as you. You play with me.
But I hold you in the hollow of my hand. Remember, I have only to
report you to Berlin, and you are ruined, once and for all."
Von Hardenberg was silent for some moments. Then he spoke in a quick,
jerky voice.
"Look here," said he; "it’s no good. This very evening, knowing that
you were coming, I made a clean breast of it to my uncle. I told him
that I was four thousand pounds in debt to a money-lender, and that, if
I couldn’t pay, you would come down upon me. I suppose you don’t mind
that. I couldn’t tell him you were a Government spy disguised as a
butler in a private house. And what do you think he said?"
"I have not the least idea," said the other.
"He told me," said von Hardenberg, "that he would cut me off with a
shilling!"
Mr. Peter Klein was heard to gasp. Thrusting his hat well back upon his
head, he threw out his hands and gesticulated wildly.
"Then, you’re a thief!" he cried. "What it comes to is this: you have
embezzled Government money. I have given the Wilhelmstrasse valuable
information, and I have never received a penny."
"Do what you like," answered von Hardenberg. "I cannot pay."
"I’ll have you court-martialled!" the other cried. "The Wilhelmstrasse
will be on my side. You have made a fool of me."
Von Hardenberg grasped the man by the wrist.
"Listen here," said he. "Can you wait a week?"
"Yes. I can. But why?"
"Because I know how I can get hold of the money, though it will take
some getting. You had better go back to London. I promise to call at
your office within a few days, and then I shall have something to tell
you."
Peter Klein turned the matter over in his mind. As long as there
remained a chance of getting his money he thought it worth while to take
it. For all his threats, he knew enough of the Secret Service
department in the Wilhelmstrasse in Berlin to know that in a fight
against a Prussian military attaché he would stand but a poor chance.
However, he was cunning enough to point out to von Hardenberg that the
Wilhelmstrasse might think that the services of Peter Klein might
possibly be valuable in the future. Then, he went his way, walking
quickly through the woods in the direction of the railway station. As
for von Hardenberg, he returned to the house; and no sooner was he gone
than Jim Braid got to his feet.
The young gamekeeper had been able to understand only a third of what
had been said, for they had lapsed from German into English, and back to
German again. But, that night—or, rather, early the following
morning—when he went to bed, he thought over the matter for some time,
and had half a mind to tell his father. However, in the end he came to
the conclusion that it was no business of his, and slept the sleep of
the just.
The following afternoon he was engaged in driving into the ground a
series of hurdles to keep the cattle from the pheasant coverts, when he
was approached by Mr. Langton.
"Hard at work, Jim?" asked the Judge.
"Yes, sir," said Jim, touching his cap. "These are the old hurdles we
brought up from Boot’s Hollow."
"That’s a useful weapon, anyhow," said the Judge, indicating the crowbar
with which Jim was working.
"Yes, sir, it’s a handy tool, and sharp in the bargain."
At that the Judge wished the boy "Good-night!" and went his way towards
the house. Hardly had he departed than Captain von Hardenberg brushed
his way through some thickets near at hand, and approached the young
gamekeeper. He must certainly have overheard the conversation that had
passed between Jim Braid and the Judge.
"Braid," said he, "would you mind lending me that crowbar?"
"I’ve finished with it to-night, sir," said Braid, "but I shall want it
to-morrow morning."
"I’ll let you have it back by then," said the other. And taking the
unwieldy tool from Jim’s hands, he walked with it towards the house.
No sooner was he out of sight, however, than he dropped down upon a knee
and looked furtively about him, as if to satisfy himself that he was not
observed. Then he thrust the crowbar down a rabbit-hole, the mouth of
which he covered over with several fronds of bracken. That done, he
walked quickly towards the house.
That night, towards midnight, when everyone else in Friar’s Court was
sound asleep, Captain Carl von Hardenberg sat, fully dressed, at the
foot of his bed with a cigar between his lips. He had taken off his
dress-coat and put on an old Norfolk jacket. On his feet he wore long
gum-boots, into which he had tucked his trousers. He sat looking at the
clock, which was but dimly visible upon the mantelpiece through the
clouds of tobacco-smoke with which the room was filled.
Presently the clock struck twelve, and at that von Hardenberg rose to
his feet and went on tiptoe to the door. Without a sound he passed out,
walked quickly down the passage, and descended the back stairs to the
kitchen. With nervous hands he opened the scullery door, and then
paused to listen. Hearing no sound, he stepped quickly into the yard.
He walked rapidly past the lawns which lie between Friar’s Court and the
woods. Once inside the woods, he immediately sought out the path that
led straight to the bungalow. He had some difficulty in finding the
rabbit-hole in which he had hidden the crowbar, and only succeeded in
doing so with the aid of a lighted match. It was the flare of this
match that attracted Jim Braid, who was again on duty in this part of
the estate.
Von Hardenberg, the crowbar in his hand, approached the bungalow. With
all his strength he drove the crowbar between the door and the jamb, and
with one wrench broke open the lock.
In his uncle’s study he lit the oil lamp that stood upon the central
table. He was surprised to see that the Judge had again left his
cash-box on the desk. The cash-box, however, was not his business; he
was determined to possess himself of the Sunstone.
He had provided himself with a bunch of skeleton keys. Those whose
business it is to employ Government spies are not infrequently provided
with such things. After several futile attempts he succeeded in opening
the third drawer in the cabinet. Then, with the precious stone in his
hand, he rushed to the lamp and examined the Sunstone in the light.
"Now," he cried—he was so excited that he spoke aloud—"now for the
German Cameroons!"
And scarcely had he said the words than he looked up, and there in the
doorway was Jim Braid, the gamekeeper’s son.
"Hands up!" cried Braid, bringing his gun to his shoulder.
Captain von Hardenberg looked about him like a hunted beast.
"Don’t be a fool!" he exclaimed. "You know who I am!"
"Yes, I do," said Braid; "and you’re up to no good. Hands up, I say!"
Von Hardenberg held up his hands, and then tried to laugh it off.
"You’re mad!" said he more quietly. "Surely you don’t imagine I’m a
thief?"
"I’m not given much to imagining things," said Braid. "All I know is,
you broke in here by force."
As he was speaking, before the last words had left his mouth, von
Hardenberg, with a quick and desperate action, had seized the gun by the
barrel. There followed a struggle, during which the gun went off.
There was a loud report and a piercing cry, and Jim Braid fell forward
on his face. Even as he rolled over upon the ground, a black pool of
blood spread slowly across the floor.
The Prussian went to the door and listened. He saw lights appear in the
windows of the house, and one or two were thrown open. Near at hand he
heard the strong voice of John Braid, the keeper, shouting to his son.
On the other side of the bungalow, an under-gamekeeper was hurrying to
the place.
Von Hardenberg’s face was ashen white. His hands were shaking, his lips
moving with strange, convulsive jerks.
He went quickly to the body of the unconscious boy, and, kneeling down,
felt Braid’s heart.
"Thank Heaven," said he, "he is not killed."
And then a new fear possessed him. If Jim Braid was not dead, he would
live to accuse von Hardenberg of the theft. The Prussian stood bolt
upright, his teeth fastened on his under lip. The voices without were
nearer to the house than before. He had not ten seconds in which to
act.
Seizing the cash-box, he laid it on the ground and dealt it a shivering
blow with the crowbar. The lid flew open, and the contents—a score of
sovereigns—were scattered on the floor. These he gathered together and
thrust into the pockets of the unconscious boy. Then he took the
crowbar and closed Jim’s fingers about it. It was at that moment that
John Braid, the gamekeeper, burst into the room.
"What’s this?" he cried.
"I regret to tell you," said Captain von Hardenberg, "that your son is a
thief. I caught him red-handed."