SUCCESS
mersley bent over the man on the ground and searched his pockets rapidly. Gloves, matches, a spark plug, tobacco, but no papers. The chauffeur, of course. By main strength he lifted the dead weight of the man in the car and carried him down into the glare of the searchlight. It was a dangerous thing to do, for the lights of the machine from Blaufelden were already swinging through the treetrunks. But he worked quickly and skillfully, tearing open the officer’s gray overcoat and searching his pockets. In the inside pocket of his uniform he found them, a bulky package, and other papers. He read the superscription quickly, “Sein Excellenz General Graf von Stromberg.” Then sprang aside out of the glare of the lights at the very moment when the other machine came swinging rapidly around the turn in the road.
“The papers are safe?” roared a voice which Hammersley recognized.
“Ja,” Hammersley replied in a rough tone. “A man tried to stop me and I shot him.”
“Ganz gut!”
“He is here,” shouted Hammersley again.
All the while he had been moving out of the glare of the searchlights, and as the men from the other car tumbled out and came forward, he turned into the darkness, and abandoning all caution, took to his heels and ran at top speed in the opposite direction.
Behind him he heard shouts as his trick was discovered, but he knew that in the matter of speed he had nothing to fear afoot from any German at Windenberg. The thing that bothered him now was a way to hide the marks of his footsteps, for in places the mud was soft and he knew that in the morning light they would follow him; so he picked his way
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