THE YELLOW DOVE
threatened them before and behind, this place of security was the beginning of its consummation. He did not speak and only motioned her to sit while he crouched beside her, waiting.
Below in the road he heard the rasping voice of His Excellenz, speaking in no gentle tones to the wounded chauffeur of the messenger’s machine, asking question after question which were answered feebly enough. After a while the men who had followed Hammersley returned and made their reports—the dull boom of the voice of Wentz and the harsh crackle of von Stromberg’s in rage and mortification.
“He got away, Excellenz,” said Wentz. “For a moment only I saw him, and followed fast as I could, but my legs are too short.”
“Bah! You are an imbecile, Herr Hauptmann. And the other men, are not their legs longer?”
“Yes, but Herr Hammersley has the legs of a deer. They are following, but it is like hunting for a grain of barley in a coal scuttle. He may have taken to the woods anywhere.”
“Ja—but the Fräulein. She could not have run as fast as he!”
“It is my opinion,” said Wentz with some temerity, “that they had a rendezvous somewhere beyond. He has known these mountains since his boyhood.”
“Esel! But she hasn’t, and how should she find it in the dark?”
“Perhaps, the matter being so important, he would have deserted her.”
“Quatsch! Find me the girl and I will find you Hammersley.”
Hammersley felt Doris’s clasp tighten on his own.
“She cannot have gotten far away. Search for her,
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