Chapter 16 of the Yellow Dove by George Gibbs, this LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Tony Oliva. The General Plays to Win When General von Stromberg went out of the room, Doris turned toward Cyril, her happiness in her eyes, where he could read it if he wished. But instead of coming to her, he made a warning gesture, and then walked slowly around the room, peering out of the windows, and listening at the doors until satisfied that they were unobserved. Then he beckoned her to a spot out of the line of vision of the door into the adjoining room. She obeyed it wonderingly, while he caught her in his arms and kissed her passionately. Thank God, he whispered, you understood. Oh Cyril, she gasped, if anything had happened to you, we must be careful. He went on whispering hastily. My success hangs by a hair. Tonight, the thing that I came for will be within my reach. I must have it. There will be danger. I hope not. But you must not trust in his promises to send you away. You must get away from here tonight. Before eleven, I will help you. Before then, I must say alone, it is not safe to talk here. He pressed her hand hurriedly, and moved slowly across the room close to the wall and door which he examined as he passed. But Cyril, a warning finger, stopped her. There is no use in your trying to persuade me, old girl. He said, his voice raised to a tone which seemed louder than necessary. I am only doing my duties to see it. But whatever happens, I can at least remember that you told the truth. What did he mean? She couldn't understand. She followed him with her gaze. The fingers of one hand were tracing the flowers of the wallpaper upon one side of the room, and as she looked, he glanced out of the window, and then got quickly upon a chair and peered into an aperture in the cornice. I am not sorry for Ritcio. He said again, dusting off the chair and replacing it. He only gets what he deserved. What did he do to you? How did he find you? A glance at his face showed her that he expected her to reply. I was lost on the moor, she faltered. I followed you to Ruda Moor, and saw you leave in the yellow dove. When I turned to go back, a cloth was thrown over my head. They clawed for me. He muttered an implication, and on the yacht, I had nothing to complain of. He did everything he could for my comfort. She watched him again, moving around the room. At the chimney he paused and, reaching swiftly upward, lifted the clock and then put it into its place again. The expression in his face still strained and anxious. I am not sorry for him, he said again. Suddenly he came to her, saying in such a low whisper that she could hardly hear him. I'm not satisfied. There's something dangerous in Von Strombeck's sudden kindness. Act Doris, we are overheard. And then in louder tones, if anything had happened to you, she glanced around her timidly, her initiative suddenly at a loss. Nothing happened to me, she repeated bewildered. I would have made another death for him, a man's death at least. It is terrible, she managed to say, and I will have been the cause of it. He came closer and took her by the hand, speaking distinctly. And do you regret that it is Rizio instead of me? No, no, she stammered. Her accents of horror were genuine, but it seemed more horrible that she should be making a farce of her genuine emotions. Yet Cyril's eyes impelled her. It is terrible. I can't believe. General Von Strombeck is not a man to make idle threats. I'm glad that I am not in Rizio's shoes. She saw him pause, his mouth open, gazing upward at the lithograph of Emperor William. To Doris, the picture merely typified power, ambition, intolerance of any ideals, but those of military glory. But it was not at the portrait that Cyril was looking. He was examining the frame, which was swung a little to one side, revealing a patch of unfaded wallpaper. He looked down into the fireplace, thoughtfully, and while the girl wondered what he was going to do next, he whirled suddenly and moved quickly toward the door into the hall, which he opened swiftly, straight into the face of Captain Vence, who managed to step back only in time to avoid it. But the officer was equal to the occasion. I was seeking General Von Strombeck. He said coolly. He isn't here. Doris heard Cyril say quietly. And then I wanted a glass of water. For Ilein Mather is feeling ill. Ah, I will have it brought at once. As he disappeared in the passage to the kitchen, Cyril closed the door and came in three strides to the fireplace, reached up and raised the picture from the wall, peering under it, and touched the surface of the wallpaper with the tips of his fingers. Then with great care he put the picture back in its place and bent over Doris, close to her ear, whispering, They suspect everything we have said has been overheard. A microphone. I knew it was here somewhere. The pallor of her face when the man from the kitchen brought the water was almost convincing proof of the truth of Hammersley's statement. She did look ill, for terror of the situation that confronted them had driven the blood back to her heart. A moment ago the room had seemed so friendly, and now every object in it was a menace. And above the mantle the Emperor of Germany with his upturned mustaches glared down at her austerely, eloquent of the relentless forces that held them in their thrall. Behind her she heard Cyril whispering with the man who had brought the water and realized that it was the tall soldier with the lame leg who had brought her toast and eggs upstairs. Donkezer, Lindberg, Cyril said aloud. She is tired from the journey. Perhaps, Herr Hammersley, a little fresh air will help, a stroll in the kitchen garden. Doris got up in sudden relief as she understood. Yes, she said, perhaps I will feel better in the air. Cyril led the way to the door and together they went out. They heard sounds of heavy footsteps in the hallway above but did not pause, making their way along the path which led around the house. Cyril did not turn toward her, but she heard him speaking. They will call us back. Do not be frightened. If von Stromberg questions again answered to the best of your ability I will find a means of reaching your room tonight. In the meanwhile keep up your courage. She did not reply for she heard steps behind her and turning found Captain Vence who bowed taking off his cap. General von Stromberg requests me to ask, he said in very good English, if Miss Mather will not give him the pleasure of joining him in a cup of chocolate. He is very kind, she said slowly with a glance at Cyril. Of course, I shall be very glad. The officer replaced his cap and turning to Hammersley spoke in German. His excellence also requires that Herr Hammersley will remain within call. Hammersley bowed. Tell his excellence with my compliments that with his permission I will smoke a pipe here in the kitchen garden. Doris followed the officer into the room they had just left and von Stromberg joined her almost immediately. Ach, Gnädiker's Freuline, he said with his blandest manner, you will forgive me for calling you back from your contemplation of the beauties of this lovely afternoon. But there are certain questions, many trifling ones, which have to do with the fate of Herr Ritzio, which I neglected to ask you. You will not begrudge an old man the privilege of a few words over a cup of chocolate. She smiled at him bravely as a woman can do even in the last extremity and told him that she was flattered by this mark of his condescension. A wave of the hand and vents disappeared while Lenberg, the lame man, entered with the chocolate. The General had the tray put upon the table before her and asked her to serve it, standing erect and watching her with open admiration. Doris was frightened, for she had already seen the power that this old man possessed. But with an effort she found her composure and made up her mind that if she was alarmed, von Stromberg at least should not be aware of it. The safest defence against such a man was audacity. You were feeling ill, he said, suavely sympathetic. The long morning in the train and the strain of your ordeal, it is but natural. A little cup of chocolate and a biscuit should revive you wonderfully. Niktvar? His English, though excellent, had a slight German accent and his tone the quality of a lullaby. It is very good, said Doris. I have often heard it said that nowhere in the world is chocolate so excellent as in Germany. I trust that you may find it so. There are many things beside chocolate that are excellent in Germany, Freiline Mather. I am sure that must be true, she said politely, touching the cup to her lips. Then why do you dislike us so much? He asked with a smile. It is not your people that I dislike so much, General von Stromberg. Many of the most charming people I've ever known have been Germans. It is not what you are, but what you want to be that I dislike, not your habits or your tastes, but your intolerance of any civilization which happens to differ from yours. She paused a little frightened at her temerity, but von Stromberg still smiled. Co-odd, he chuckled, you speak very prettily. I am an American, General von Stromberg, from the United States, where people are accustomed to speak what they feel without fear of Les Majestés. If the President of the United States did something that I didn't like, I would write him a letter. And would he answer it? He purred. If he had time, yes. If anyone wrote such a letter to your Emperor, he would be boiled in oil. von Stromberg roared with delight. Boiled in oil, he repeated. Yes, or perhaps some more exquisite cruelty that your ingenious people have devised, she said coolly. Two prosaic minds like mine, excellence, you Germans are the wonders of the age. You are both godlike and Saturnian. A nation of military fanatics, a nation of silly sentimentalists, a nation trained to scientific brutality which shares the sorrows of the dying rose. Which is it that you want us to thank you, the god or the satyr? We know that we are the god, he said, showing his teeth, but we want you to think us the satyr. You have succeeded, excellence, she replied calmly. It is very pleasant to be sitting here drinking chocolate with a geheimracht, a counsellor of the Empire, but you'll pardon me, if I say that the peculiarly social pleasure of the occasion is somewhat marred by the fact that if the whim happened to strike you, you could have me strung up by the thumbs. You think that I am cruel? Ah, no, Freuline, you are mistaken in his blandest tones. I have a daughter in East Prussia of just your age. For that reason I would like to have you think of me a little as the sentimentalist rather than as the... the brute as you have been pleased to suggest. I am not cruel and I shall prove it to you. In America, excellence, we do not make war upon women. Nor do I make war upon you, he put in quickly. I did not bring you to Germany, Freuline. Herr Erizio acted upon his own responsibility, even yet, if he is an English agent, I cannot understand his purpose in bringing such an incriminating document. He smiled as he spoke, but she felt the question and its threat. For a moment the directness of his attack bewildered her, and so she sipped her chocolate to gain a moment of time. General von Stromberg, she said at last as the idea came to her, I am told that you have one of the keenest intellects in the Empire of Germany. I feel much like a child before you who should see matters much more clearly than I. There were two reasons why he brought me, one of which bears upon our personal relations, the other upon his relation to England. I knew that he possessed your confidence, otherwise he would not have been in possession of a document which empowered Mr. Hammersley to give up the secret message of Captain Beifield. I knew too much. If I had told my friends in England what I knew, his utility to England would have been gone. Why, it seems to me that having my confidence would have made his utility to England the greater. He would have been suspected of double dealing, would he not? As a friend of England, you would have let him be suspected, he asked quietly, given evidence against a man whom you knew to be acting in England's interests. There were other, other interests, she faltered. More important to me than England's. Mr. Hammersley's, you have a daughter, excellence. Perhaps you would try to think of me as you would think of her. In a similar situation, when I read those papers at Ashwater Park, I knew that the man to whom I was promised, and of whom I had always thought as an Englishman, was acting as a secret agent, a spy of Germany. He was pursued by agents of the English War Office. I knew that if his connection with Germany were discovered, he would be shot. I was frightened. I did not know what to do. John Ritzio followed me to Scotland and tried to get the papers. I refused to give them to him. And then, when Mr. Hammersley came, I burned them. There was nothing left for me to do, for England, for him. If there were no papers, there could be no evidence against him. She paused to get her breath, aware that her companion was listening intently, and fearfully afraid that she was saying too much. And then, he asked, and then she went on more slowly. I found the other papers. When I wouldn't give them to him, Mr. Hammersley took them away from me. We quarreled, excellence, and I gave him up. And after that, after that came Mr. Ritzio's note asking me to go to Benakilt and see the meeting between Mr. Hammersley and your messenger in the last hope that I could make Mr. Hammersley give up his plans to deliver the message to you. As you know, I failed. It was there, after that, that Mr. Ritzio, who had overheard our conversation, tried to kill Mr. Hammersley, knowing that he had resolved to deliver the message. She got up and paced the floor. Oh, it is so clear what Ritzio was that I wonder that it should be necessary for me to tell it to you. Yes, I see. And the other, the personal reasons you mentioned. She hesitated. It is difficult to speak of them, but I will tell you Mr. Ritzio has forfeited all right to my loyalty. He offered to marry me. I refused him. He told me he would never give me up. In Scotland he threatened Cyril, Mr. Hammersley's life. I know now what he meant. Yes. But in his letter to you, he does not threaten. He urges that he is doing what he can to save Hammersley. I did not believe him. I was right. Events have proved it. He would have been glad to see Mr. Hammersley out of the way. She covered her face with her hands and sank into her chair again. Oh, she whispered, it is horrible, horrible. And it is I who must be the instrument of justice. von Stromberg waited for a moment, tapping one finger of his left hand very slowly upon the back of his right. Try to compose yourself, Liebes Freuline. He urged calmly, and as she looked up at him, you say he wanted to be rid of Herr Hammersley. Can you tell me then why his men did not shoot him when they had him prisoner at Ashwater Park Gates? I do not know. Perhaps they would have done so if he hadn't escaped. von Stromberg paused again and then gently, you love Herr Hammersley, great to you, Freuline. She bent her gaze upon him appealingly. Would I now be here, excellence? She asked. von Stromberg bent his head and then got up and slowly paced the length of the room. When he returned there was another note in his voice. It was still quiet, but the legato note had gone and it was ice cold. You do well to tell your story through the medium of sentiment, which you well understand, rather than through the medium of logic, which you do not understand, which no woman understands. At his change of tone she glanced up. He was leering at her unpleasantly. I do not know what you mean, she murmured. You are very clever, Freuline, but your story has a great many holes in it, little holes which might grow into big ones if one were disposed to enlarge them. There are several things which are not at all clear to me. Of course, it must be as apparent to you as it is to me that if Herr Alizio was an English agent, by remaining in England he had nothing to fear from you or anyone else. His object, too, in bringing you to Germany is clear. As you say, you knew too much, not about his connection with the English war office, which of course would not matter in the least, but about Herr Alizio's connection with me, which would have mattered a great deal. He tapped his long forefinger upon his breast significantly and leaned forward ominously across the table. He dominated, hypnotized her. She closed her eyes, trembling violently. Do you mean that you do not believe? His letter of excellence. Surely you believe that to be genuine? Bait, Freuline, that is all. Excellent bait. You swallowed it. Herr Hammersley very cleverly prepared himself against surprise. Only the fortunate accident of your losing yourself upon the moor saved Herr Alizio from failure. Oh, you are all wrong.  I have told the truth. von Strohberg straightened and drew from his pocket a military telegraph form which he smoothed out gently with his long bony fingers. Unfortunately for Herr Hammersley, I have just received a message from another agent in London, in whom I have implicit faith. You, read German a little. Would you care to see it? He laid it upon the table before her eyes, and she looked. Her eyes distended with terror, of she knew not what. Hammersley caused arrest of Byfield, as informed on Rizio and myself, and in hiding in Kent, will reach Germany by usual methods, Maxwell. Doris set him movable, petrified with horror. Von Strohberg's voice crackled harshly at her ear. And what have you to say? It is a lie, she managed to stem her. He lies. Lies, I tell you. Ah, if I could believe you, why should he lie? Unlike the case of Rizio, Herr Hammersley has not robbed Herr Maxwell of a bride. There is a mistake. I fear not. But why should Mr. Hammersley have come? He would have been safe in England. He himself says to the contrary, she was breaking fast, and he sought further to involve her. He did not have to come. Why should he have come? She asked wildly, rising to her feet and laying her hands upon his arm. Answer me that, excellence, for reply he turned away from her abruptly and walked the length of the room to an end window, where he stood for a moment looking out. Come, Freiline, and I will show you something. She approached him blindly and followed his gaze around the corner of the building. Upon a tree stump in the kitchen garden, looking out across the fields, toward the wooded hills, set Hammersley calmly smoking. Half of his blood is English. Half Prussian, Freiline. But it is the English in him that dominates. Is there anything that is Prussian about him? Tell me. From the crown of his head to the sole of his foot, his pipe, his bent shoulders, his careless air, he is English, all English. He knows that at this moment I am weighing his fate in the balance, and yet he smokes his short wooden pipe. If he has Prussian blood, it is a pity, for Germany needs all the Prussian blood that flows red in the veins of man. He paused and then abruptly, but the Prussian blood must be sacrificed with the English. She fell back from him deathly white, groping for a chair to support her. You mean, she whispered, that I can take no chances. He will be shocked tomorrow. Oh God, he is loyal to Germany. I swear it. Her utterance was choked. Her breath came with difficulty. The room darkened suddenly, and she seemed about to swoon. She dropped to her knees beside the armchair, clinging to it, trying to speak, but no words would come. She was aware of his hawk-like face bending over her, as though in the act of striking its prey, and she heard his voice at her ear. That is one chance to save him. She reached his hand and clung to it. A chance. What? Tell me the truth. He said sternly, I have told you the truth. He is innocent. He loosened her fingers and stood away. Crotch! He muttered, leaning forward. The truth, girl! I... I... She fell against the chair and clung to it for support. The truth, and he becomes an honourable prisoner of war. Silence! And he is shocked tomorrow. Speak! He is... The words choked her. He is... He growled, moving toward the table. You have already... ...convicted him. She struggled to her feet and followed him. He was about to touch the bell when she caught his arm. Wait! She whispered, What guarantee have I that he will not be injured? He shrugged and laughed. I need give no guarantee now, Froylein. This is not a court of law. I am the judge of what constitutes proof. You have testified. He shook her off and sounded the bell, which was immediately answered by Udo von Vinden. You will conduct Froylein Martha to her room upstairs. Lock the door and bring me the key, then tell Hef Hammersley that I am waiting to see him. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 of the Yellow Dove by George Gibbs. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Tony Oliva. Lindberg. When Hammersley entered the house with von Vinden, he was immediately aware that a crisis had come in his affairs. For in the hall, leading to the living room, stood Captain Vence and two soldiers, and when he was shown into von Stromberg's presence, the counselor stood with his back to the hearth, his long legs wide apart, his hands behind his back, and the expression of his long bony face was not pleasant to see. He smiled and frowned at the same time. A smile which possessed so few of the ingredients of humor that the tangled brows even seemed less ominous. Doris was nowhere to be seen. Hammersley made no sign of his prescience of trouble. He put his pipe in the pocket of his leather jacket, strolled forward into the room, and stood at attention. Satchem, snapped von Stromberg, and when von Vinden had finished, leave us, he said to the officer, and keep within call. I shall need you presently. He waited until the door was closed and then turned to Hammersley somberly. Jig is danced, Herr Hammersley. Freiline Mather has confessed. Confessed what? Excellence, questioned Hammersley calmly. She has told the truth. Of course, that was to be expected of her. Bah! roared the general. There's no need of more of that. She told me that you were an English spy. Hammersley started forward. The only expression on his face one of complete incredulity. Freiline Mather told you that? Impossible. Do you mean to say that you don't believe me? Hammersley managed a smile. It would hardly be good ethics for me to say that. I simply repeat that it is impossible. Why? von Stromberg sneered. Because it is morally impossible for her to tell an untruth. Ach so! But it is physically impossible for her to keep from not doing so. He leaned forward grinning craftily. In the small games of life. In the things which amount to nothing. Women lie with a careless skill that is amazing. But in the game of life and death their little tricks are negligible. Poof! Herr Hammersley, did you expect to match mere falsehood? And such a tissue of flimsy evidence against a man of my experience? It was a desperate game from the beginning. One which could have had only one end. You have been clever, very, very clever. In time, perhaps under proper guidance and with the necessary political opinions, you could have succeeded in becoming a very useful helper of the universe. Through the medium of the Secret Service Department of the German Empire. But such cleverness is superficial and quickly burns out in the hot of fire of genius. I would like you to know. When moment excellence put in Hammersley coolly, am I to understand from your attitude that you believe I am false to the Futterland? Von Stromberg laughed. You still insist on acting out the part? Hammersley did not answer the question. Instead, he asked, Will you be good enough to tell me upon what new evidence you base your present position? The counsellor is strode to the table and thrust the telegraphic message he had shown to the girl under Hammersley's nose. This, he growled, I will read it to you. Hammersley caused arrest of Byfield, has informed on Ritcio and myself. It is signed Maxwell. What do you think of my evidence? He grinned. Convancing. Nictvar. Hammersley looked up into Von Stromberg's face with a smile. Not even in code excellence. It is a pity you did not write it in English. But under the circumstances, you can't expect me to take any interest in such a trick. Not you, Herr Hammersley. He chuckled. It is not necessary that you should believe in it. In fact, there are reasons why you shouldn't believe in it. The most important reason being that Herr Maxwell is dead. Dead, obviously. You condemned him, and he was put in prison. If he is not dead, it is through no fault of yours. Hammersley smiled. You cannot get me to acquiesce in such strange statements. I do not ask you to acquiesce. I could not expect to catch Herr Hammersley by a trick. But Miss Mather was less difficult. Hammersley's jaws set. They understand. But do you mean to say that I can be incriminated by a confession made under the stress of a terror artificially produced? That is a clever turn of phrase, Herr Hammersley. Worthy of the high regard with which I hold your abilities. In reply, I can only say that in time of war my deductions in all matters connected with my department are final.  And you are quite aware of the penalty. Hammersley raised his head and folded his arms. Quite, he replied, if you choose to take that action I can only say that the time will come when you will regret it. I mistake that chance, for there will be no trial. Hammersley shrugged his shoulders and turned aside. His face was white and the muscles at his jaws worked for a moment, but otherwise he gave no sign of emotion. General von Stromberg had gone back to his favorite pose by the mantle and Hammersley again heard his voice. It seems a pity, Herr Hammersley, that after all it should be you instead of Herr Erizio, who is the culprit. You are a type of young man very much to my liking and the position of the young lady is unpleasant and extreme. She has served her purpose here and I shall of course take immediate steps to have her returned to her own people. Thanks, said Hammersley dryly. But the thing that has interested me in your case from the first, he continued with a return of his mastodonic playfulness and indeed still continues to interest me, is why you should choose to return to Germany when you knew that you were under suspicion. Surely you did not come here to pick cull slips in March? Come now, I could have you shot this afternoon if I chose. Tell me the truth and I will promise to postpone the affair until tomorrow. Hammersley studied the pattern in the rug thoughtfully for a moment and at last he straightened and shrugged again. I don't suppose there's any use playing the game further since I am to go. It doesn't matter if I tell you, I have planned for some time to be able to get plans of the recent additions to the fortifications of Strasbourg. Ach so, Strasbourg and what may I ask were to be your means of procuring them? That of course, since my utility has ceased, cannot possibly be of interest to you. von Stromberg studied him narrowly for a long moment and then wed his head sagely. It was an unnecessary suspicion that he had cherished. This had been a case with interesting aspects, but after all it was not much out of the usual way. An English spy betrayed by the simplest of tricks upon the credulity and defection of a woman, he thought that Hammersley had been after bigger game, plans, fortifications, the same objects, the same methods. Von Stromberg had tried to puzzle out in the mazes of his wonderful brain the possible chance that this man could have had of learning of the whereabouts of Göttschalk's memoranda and of the momentous decision which had been reached in the Wilhelmstrasse with regard to them. He studied Hammersley closely with something approaching regret that the contest between them could not have been waged at greater length and for higher stakes. He felt a genuine human sorrow at this moment over the impending fate of this handsome young man who was only doing his duty for the fatuous English. It was too bad. But there was much else to do. Tomorrow his mission in this part of the empire would be ended and the Wilhelmstrasse was calling. He touched the bell upon the table and Captain Vence entered. Hammersley is to be taken to the room on the third floor. Tonight you will see that he is securely bound and a guard set over him within the room. You will place another guard outside below his window. If he tries to escape, shoot him. Vence spoke to the man in the hall and Hammersley between them, was led to the foot of the steps and followed his captors to the upper story. He knew in view of the instructions that he had overheard that any effort to escape would be fruitless. He sat on the edge of the bed submitting calmly while his feet and hands were bound under the direction of Captain Vence, after which the officers went out, leaving a man to guard him and lock the door. Hammersley rolled over on the bed and lay for a long while, staring at the wall. The day was fading into dusk. Five o'clock it might be, Hammersley guessed. Six hours or less remained to him in which to act. Six hours in which he must lie helpless while the one chance of intercepting the messenger from Berlin came and passed. He lay perfectly still as he had fallen, but his spirit writhed in agony. Doris was in a room near him, likewise a prisoner, aware of the fate and store for him and able to do nothing but wait as he would wait until the shots were fired below there in the garden, which would be the end of all things for him. He found that he was thinking little of himself. It was Doris and what she must be suffering that occupied the moments of his thoughts which were not given to the remote chances of escape. His bonds were tightly drawn, a rope tied with German thoroughness. He moved his hands behind him and tried to gain a little room for his present ease. If he was to be shot tomorrow morning, it would have seemed indeed a small charity to have permitted him to pass his last night in some degree of comfort. Could it be that after all von Stromberg suspected the real object of his return? That hardly seemed possible for his informant in Berlin, a woman close to those in high authority, had made every move with the utmost discretion and his own relations to Lienberg could not possibly be suspected. Lienberg hamsly turned and looked at his guard who was standing motionless by the window, gazing out at the fading landscape. Lienberg was his one, his last desperate hope. Udo von Winden, his cousin, it was too much to hope that Udo would be of service to him. He had caught a glimpse of Udo's face in the hallway downstairs when von Stromberg's orders were given. He had gone pale and stared at him in pity and horror as hamsly had gone up the stairs, but hamsly knew that the ties of kinship, the memories of their boyhood together, were nothing beside the iron will and indomitable authority of the great man who had condemned him. Udo would suffer when hamsly died, for there had been a time when the two had been much to each other, but he would do his duty, however painful, as a small unit of the relentless machine which hamsly had had the temerity to oppose. What else could be expected? A word, a sign, the slightest aid to such a prisoner and he would be as guilty as his cousin. Hamsly knew that he did Udo know injustice in supposing that any help from such a source was out of the question. If Udo had been caught in England, as hamsly was caught in Germany, hamsly knew that he could do nothing to save him. But Lienberg, here the case was different. It was Lienberg whose life hamsly had saved three years ago in this very forest, when the forester had stumbled and fallen in the path of an angry boar who would have gored him to death if hamsly had not shot the beast. Lienberg, the forester, it was, who in his hours off duty had been hamsly's chosen companion in many a hunt up through the rocky gorges of these very mountains, every stick and stone of which he knew as he knew his own rugged face in a mirror. It was Lienberg who had been so useful in keeping him informed of the exact state of affairs at Blaufelden. It was Lienberg who had learned of the microphone that von Stromberg had installed. And it was Lienberg who had listened at the receiver upstairs in von Stromberg's room to the conversation when the councillor had told Captain Vence the nature of the documents from Berlin and the hour of their arrival. Already Lienberg had repaid a hundred fold the debt of hamsly's service and it was quite possible now that hamsly's actual mission had been discovered that he would take to cover his mind clear in the thought that he had done all that could be expected of him. But there was a warm affection between the two born of many a long day in the open and many a night by the campfire where the old man had taught in the forester's secrets of the trees, the birds in their branches and of the many four-legged things that scurried beneath them. They had often talked to of many other things and hamsly had learned that Lienberg's politics were those that one learns under the open sky. The eternal piece of nature before which war and men, its armed instruments were a blasphemy. Perhaps Lienberg would find a way but what way? How? Udo von Vinden too was aware of the Woodcraft Fellowship for often he had made their duet a trio. Hammersley knew that Udo von Vinden has yet suspected nothing of the services Lienberg had rendered him and he wondered whether in this pass the ties of kinship would be strong enough to keep him silent as to the possible capabilities of the old forester for mischief in Hammersley's behalf. Hammersley hoped. He clung to the thought of Lienberg's fidelity and defection as a dying man clings to the hope of heaven. He tried to analyze the old man's capacities for sympathy and courage. To help a man in his position seemed to require larger stores of both of these qualities than human clay was molded for. Lienberg did not fear death, he knew, but the death he courted was the kind of death Hammersley had saved him from, a good death and a fair game with a noble enemy, not the kind of death that awaited Hammersley, a cold, machine-made death against a kitchen wall. And he must know as Hammersley knew that this was what would follow. The dusk faded into dark and the soldier lit a candle.  His face was unfamiliar at Blauffelden. One of the men probably sent down at von Strohberg's orders from the upper district to be useful in just this emergency. Von Strohberg wouldn't make no mistakes, of course. He never did make mistakes. He had enough men about him to cope with the situation safely. He would leave no opportunity for his plans to miscarry. Any opportunity, should there be one, must be created. Hammersley managed to wriggle into a sitting posture on the bed and spoke to his captor in German. He wouldn't mind my having a smoke, would ya? He asked. The man looked at him, debating the matter. Just get into the side pocket of my jacket and fish out my pipe and tobacco, my Jünger. I need a smoke badly. And so would you. If you were going to be shot in the morning. Oh, Wall, I see no harm in that, my hair. You cannot smoke yourself away. He came over, brought out Hammersley's short pipe, filled it from the pouch, and stuck it between his lips. Then he cut out a match and lighted it while Hammersley puffed. Ah, said Hammersley contentedly. You are a good fellow. Tomorrow morning I will give you my blessing. The man paced dolledly up and down beside the bed. I am sorry for you, my hair. But it is life. It is all decided for us beforehand. We are here a moment, and then we are gone. Hammersley smiled. A fatalist. Perhaps you can tell me if there is any chance of my escape. He was stopped abruptly. I can tell you that there is not, he said severely. I would have said as much, but it was a pardonable curiosity. Nique d'var. Pardonable? Yavorle? The man replied. But most unseemly under the circumstances. You have a deep sense of your responsibilities. Yeah, I obey my orders. That is all. I do not care what others do. Therefore you will shoot me tomorrow. Perhaps, he shrugged, I am but an instrument of providence. He waved his hand, but I talk too much. And so do you. It is not seemly in a soldier and a prisoner. Hammersley laughed. You have a fine sense of the fitness of things. Yeah, it was so written. He relapsed into silence and, in spite of efforts on Hammersley's part, refused to speak further. It was only after Hammersley badgered him for his unsociability that he spoke with some asperity. I will trouble you to be quiet. When I am relieved my successor may let you speak in life as much as you please, but it is unnatural in a man at the point of death. It would be better if you were saying your prayers. I am sure that you are right, but I still have a few hours. Perhaps you wouldn't mind telling me the hour at which you are to be relieved, the hour when we are both of us to be relieved. The man gazed at him uncomprehendingly. After supper he finished indifferently. Eight o'clock perhaps. Hammersley was silent. Two hours or more to wait before a change of guards and then only a chance that Lindbergh would be able to do something. Even then, if he managed to get loose, there was little more than an hour in which to reach the road by which the machine would come from Berlin. And even then what should he do without Doris? His case was desperate. Only a miracle it seemed could make a success of what had been a pitiful failure. Only an act of providence could save him from the discreditable end that awaited him. He drew up his knees and studied the knots at his ankles. His guardian was the one who had tied them. Am I a good square knot, my friend? You are once a sailor? But nothing would induce the soldier to talk. As the supper hour approached, Hammersley could hear the rattle of pans and dishes downstairs and notice the odor of coffee. They would not starve him, of course. In a little while someone would come with food. After a while, which seemed interminable, the noise of the rattling dishes ceased and there was a sound at the door into the hall as the key turned in the lock and Captain Vence entered. His sturdy back had never seemed so ugly nor so welcome for the silence and the inaction were getting on Hammersley's nerves. The officer came over to the bed and gravely examined the knots of the rope that bound the prisoner, then satisfied with the results of his inspection, he straightened and glanced around the room. Good, he muttered. And then to the soldier, he will go down and tell Lienberg to bring her Hammersley's supper. I will stay here in the meanwhile. He will then relieve the man at the door of his excellence. The man saluted and departed. They still trusted Lienberg. Then Udo had suspected nothing or, if he had suspected, had kept his thoughts to himself. Hammersley lay back on the pillow preparing a stolid indifference for Lienberg's entrance. And when the meal was brought, Vence untied his hands and stood over him with an automatic while he ate. Your weapon makes a poor relish, Herr Hauptmann, said Hammersley with a laugh.  Hammersley ventured nothing further, eating silently and with a surprising appetite for good Lienberg's face in the background had given him new courage. When the meal was done, he asked for his pipe again and Vence ordered the forester to fill it. Hammersley inhaled the smoke and exhaled a sigh. So far as I am concerned, Herr Hauptmann, he said with a smile, when this pipe is finished, you may kill me at once. He extended his wrists behind him in silence while Captain Vence took a half a dozen turns of the rope and made it fast. Hammersley sat up in bed, puffing at his pipe and wondering whether some miracle might not be induced that would kill Vence. But he was quickly disillusioned for when Lienberg took the dishes and moved toward the door, he heard Vence's crisp orders. You will send Max Zanth to take the first night watch upon the prisoner. He is awaiting my orders in the guard room. Schnell! Without even a glance at the prisoner, Lienberg saluted and went out and Hammersley's spirits fell. Help from Lienberg was impossible. Von Stromberg was taking every precaution. There was no way out of it. Hammersley was doomed. But while Vence was in the room, he kept a cheerful countenance, though for the first time in his life that he could remember his pipe was acrid. He saw the new guard enter and heard the last orders of the officer. You will watch until one o'clock when your relief will be sent. The prisoner is to be allowed no privileges. Under no circumstances are his hands to be untied. If he wants water, you will give it to him with your own hands. Versteinsy! The man stood erect and saluted. Superfell, Herr Hauptmann, he said. Hammersley saw the door close, heard the key turn in the lock while Zenth came forward into the room and stood by the foot of the bed. Hammersley studied him closely. A tall, loosely jointed man in his early thirties with the heavy brows and tight cheekbones of the East Prussian, the face of a Slav, almost, with something of the thoughtful intensity of the South German mystic.  But the lines of his mouth had a sensitive curve, belied by the big bony hands and broad shoulders. A sentimentalist, perhaps. Hammersley determined to try him, for a plan had been forming in his mind. He had noticed with a glance, which had included everything in the room when he entered, a Bible upon the mantle shelf, and in a tone which had in it a solemn sense of the doom which awaited him in the morning, he addressed his guardian quietly. Zenth, you have a kind face. There is a small favour that you may do me if it does not conflict with my orders. Not at all. Tomorrow morning I am to be shot. All I ask is that you will allow me to read, for a while, the Bible upon the chimney-piece. Ah, I see no harm in that. He went over and got the book, opening the pages and looking through them. It is little enough for a dying man to ask, he said. Donke, said Hammersley quietly, his face solemn but his mind working rapidly. It is but right to make one's peace with the world at a time like this. I am sorry, my hair, said the man mournfully. It is not good for a man to die in the first flush of a youth. If it could only have been in the open Zenth, a soldier's death, but this, ah, well, we can only go once. It doesn't matter. He gave a deep sigh and asked his guardian to light his pipe again and open the book of the Psalms of David. I cannot turn the pages, my friend. It is pity. But propped upon one elbow I can see quite well. If you will but put the candle here upon the bed, the man did as requested and Hammersley thanked him.  It is bread upon the waters. You will find it after many days. It is nothing. I would expect as much from another. Now, if you will permit, I would prefer the solitude of my thoughts. The soldier turned slowly away and Hammersley bent his gaze upon the open page, but he did not read. He was thinking, planning, watching the movements of Max Zenth. Eight o'clock was long past. It must be nearly nine. But two hours remained before the arrival of the messenger from Berlin. His guardian paced slowly up and down the room between the door and the window, and Hammersley felt, if he did not see, his deep bovine gaze fixed upon him from time to time. Eight or ten times the man took the length of the room and then, with a deep sigh, he sank into the chair at the foot of the bed. Hammersley did not move his head, which remained bent forward over the book, but from the tail of his eye he noted that the tall footboard of the old-fashioned bed partially concealed him.  Arguing from this, everything upon the bed below the line of the flame of the candle was invisible to him, but a quick glance showed Hammersley that the man was not looking at him. His dark eyes were appearing straight before him at the opposite wall, and his mind was wrapped in some gloomy vision. The plan he had in mind required subtlety. He marked the shadows upon the ceiling, and moved up in the bed so that his own shadow would be thrown behind the line of sight of his guardian. Then he paused again, his eyes fixed on the pages, waiting for Zenf to look at him again. He heard the man move in his chair, which creaked as he settled more comfortably into it. And when Hammersley looked again, only his eyes were visible, their gaze fixed darkly ahead of him. Hammersley now puffed a volume of smoke from his pipe, and slowly wriggled his left arm forward under him so that he could see the knot that tied his wrists. It was a large knot, but vulnerable. He puffed more smoke, meanwhile watching the top of the head of Zenf. As it did not move, he lay over half upon his back, and, taking care, not to disturb the book, slowly advanced his arms behind him toward the blaze of the candle. The knot of the rope caught and blazed, but the candle sputtered, and he quickly withdrew his hands, sending a volume of smoke from his pipe to neutralize the odor. Zenf sniffed the air curiously. Something is burning. Hammersley heard him mutter. The pipe, he explained carefully, it is a vile tobacco, but it will go out of the crack at the window. Will you not try mine, Herr Hammersley? Perhaps it is better. No thanks. Nothing much matters to a dead man.   It is the way one smokes my humour. When one smokes for the last time, he replied, but the fellow got up sniffing and walking around the room. It is a most curious tobacco, he muttered. Hammersley's wrists pained him where his bonds had cut, but he kept his gaze upon the page of the book, and Zenf sat in his chair again. A strong pull of his arms and Hammersley felt the tension relax. His bonds came looser, and after a few more efforts, his wrists were free. His heart was jumping, and he feared a stray glance of the watcher might see the throbbing of the blood at his temples. But he clasped his hands behind him and waited, slipping the sundered rope beneath a fold of the blanket. Two, three minutes passed, and Zenf did not move. The fine of his feet might prove a difficult matter, but he made the venture, working slowly and patiently his gaze on Zenf's head. Then, as the knot yielded a little to his prime fingers, his gaze quickly concentrated on it. In his efforts, he must have made a sound or a suspicious movement of the shoulders, for when he looked up, he saw the head of Max Zenf projecting above the tailboard of the bed, and his eyes protruding with amazement. They gazed at each other for a tense fraction of a second, and then sprang upright. Hemsley threw his feet out upon the floor and leaped for the man, catching him around the waist so that he could not draw a weapon. His legs were useless, and the only chance he had, a desperate one at best, was to drag the man to the floor by sheer weight and there perhaps throttle him.  But at last he managed to get his fingers around Hemsley's throat and tried to force his head back. Hemsley gasped for breath, but still struggled gamely, though he realized that he had played his last card. Things got dark, and dimly he saw the door of the room open and someone enter. Vence, of course, his game was up. Zenf was panting heavily. He burnt the rope! Hemsley heard him say, Come, help me! It has a grip of iron! The figure from the door moved quickly around the squirming figures and Hemsley saw the reflection of the candle on something bright, a knife. He heard a blow, and the massive struggling flesh above him suddenly collapsed and smothered him with its weight. With an effort he struggled free and rolled aside, looking up into the grim face of Lindberg. Shhh! the man whispered. I had to do it. There was no other way. I've been waiting outside! Hemsley tried to speak, but his throat closed and, while he struggled for his breath, he saw Lindberg go to the door and stand, his ear to the keyhole, listening. In a moment he came back. Gantsgut! They have heard nothing! Are you sure? Hemsley managed to gasp as Lindberg cut the rope that bound his ankles. Yes, he was so sure of himself that he did not shout. He helped the prisoner to his feet and they clasped hands. Good Lindberg, my friend! I had given up. I have waited until the beer was served. It is well, and now he looked around the room quickly. You shall go! Hemsley had a sudden thought. Captain von Vinden sent you? No, he knows nothing, but he has not spoken. It is now after nine o'clock. By half-past nine you must go. Ja doch, de il. I shall remain. No, no, I will not consent to that. Yes, I have thought out a plan.  No, they will not.  I will listen to it. Lindberg, meanwhile, had been unstrapping his pistol holster and put it on a chair. Hemsley glanced over his shoulder at the door. But they may come again, he whispered. I think not. There is little time to lose. We will have to take the chance. But if they return and find me free, it will only cause your death and do me no good. Here, harmlessly, you should know by this time that I do not waste words.  Listen. This is my story for Helhelman Vince. I happen to be in the hallway without carrying a pitcher of water to the room of Miss Mather. The pitcher is outside on the table when I hear the sounds of a commotion in this room. Fearing that the prisoner has by some miracle gotten free, I unlock the door with my pass key and enter. You have burned your bombs and killed Xenth. You spring on me and make me a prisoner. He passed. And you, Hemsley broke in. You will be left here? No. I won't leave you. Not to that feat. I will not go unless you go with me. We will contrive a way to get out of the country. Ah, nine. Will you not listen? Have I not told you that I have thought of everything? I have communicated with the lady. She is ready to go with you. Her room has a dormer window around the corner of the building and there is a ledge along the roof. You will go to her. The distance to the roof of the kitchen is 30 feet. It will require four sheets, yours and hers. And our new ones, and if well twisted, will hold. If you get away safely, you can reach the cave in the Thorvault. No one will ever find you there. Yes, Lindbergh, but you, what will you say to them? It is no time to waste words. Even now the lady is waiting for you. Come, you must get ready at once. He walked to the bed and quickly stripped off the blankets, twisting the sheets and tying them together. Then he took his pistol belt and fastened it around Hammersley's waist, slipping a handful of loose cartridges into the side pocket of his leather jacket. Hammersley, bewildered by the devotion of his old friend and tossed between alternatives of duty, stood helplessly. At the moment when he needed resolution most he was supine, but the minutes were passing.  Come Lindbergh, you must go with me. No, the man insisted, my plan is the best. No, you must come with me. I have made other plans, Herr Hammersley. He whispered gently, you will go alone. I will give you a reason. And before Hammersley could know what he meant to do he was planting knife from its sheath in Hammersley's belt and plunged it into his own shoulder. Hammersley could scarcely restrain a cry, but Lindbergh smiled at him and, plucking the weapon out, put it in Hammersley's outstretched hand. It is nothing, he said. It will bleed a little. The more it bleeds the better my case with excellence. They will be here in three hours, if not before. Now, bind and gag me, quick, there is no time to lose. He lay flat upon the floor and, as in a dream, Hammersley obeyed him, tying his arms and legs. When he had finished, Hammersley bent over the man and touched his hand gently. Goodbye, old friend, whatever happens I will not forget. God bless you.  That was all Hammersley could see of the swathed head, but it gave him a new idea of self-sacrifice. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 of the Yellow Dove by George Gibbs This LibriVox recording is in the public domain recording by Tony Oliva. Success. Hammersley's first act was to take off his shoes and slip one into each pocket of his jacket. They were sold with rubber, but even that, he feared, would make a sound. Then he put the box of matches in his pocket and blew out the candle, overturning it on the floor. The shutters of the window were closed, and if they were opened carefully, the man in the garden below might not notice any change in the appearance of the window. Hammersley buttoned his jacket and, carefully pushing back the shutter, peered out. Fortunately, the night had fallen darkly, and overhead, black clouds were lowering, and while he hesitated, searching the paths below for the figure of the guard, there was a patter of rain upon the roof. The gods were propitious. At last he made out a dark bulk moving to and fro along the garden path toward the tool-house. Hammersley watched, waiting until the man's back was turned. When he opened the shutter wider and threw the rope of sheets out upon the ledge, closing the shutter again, he came toward the house, so far so good, for the whiteness of the sheets would have been plainly visible had the guard been looking. The next stage of his escape was more difficult, and he let the fellow go and come twice along his path as he timed his new move. He tried the shutter carefully to see that it did not creak and measured with his eye the distance to the living-room chimney, which he must reach during the twenty paces the soldier would take toward the tool-house. A wind was blowing in the treetops, and somewhere below him a young oak was rustling its last year's leaves. The shutter fortunately opened in the direction in which he must go, so he set upon the windowsill, doubled up, and when the time came, without looking again at the guard, moved quickly, slipping out noiselessly, closing the shutter behind him and gathering up the sheet as he went, crept like a cat on a wall along the narrow ledge. It creaked with his weight, and some small object that his foot had touched graded along the roof and fell to the ground below. A tiny sound at best, but magnified in Hammersley's ears a hundred times, he had reached the wide chimney and waited above it, listening for the footsteps of the man below. There was no sound. The man had stopped walking. Hammersley did not dare look out from his hiding place, but he knew that, in that moment, his fate was hanging in a balance. Just then a heavier gust of wind than usual dislodged a broken branch from a tree nearby which fell to the ground. Still the man below did not move and Hammersley blessed his wisdom in closing the shutter, for he knew that the guard must be peering upward, searching for a sign of anything unusual in its appearance. Hammersley held his breath, straining his ears for the sound that would tell him that he had not failed, in a while which seemed interminable, it began again, the slow crunch of gravel under a heavy foot, ceased and began again, as though, uncertainly, so he waited until the sounds were regular as before, then advancing his head cautiously, he waited for the proper time, and keeping the chimney between himself and the garden ran straight up the roof to the gable and crouched quickly upon the other side, he was more fortunate this time, for the roof gave forth no sound. Once beyond the protection of the gables he could for the moment disregard the danger of the guard, for his orders had been to watch but one window, and Hammersley knew enough of the German character to be sure that the soldier below could not leave that side of the house. As he slid carefully down the roof upon the other side, he saw that there were two dormers, and for a moment could not think which of them let into the room in which Doris was imprisoned, he reached the ledge and paused. The shutters of both windows were closed. Lienberg had told him this, but he swore mildly to himself, because he hadn't paid closer attention to the forester's instructions. For while one of the rooms was Doris's, the other he knew was to be occupied by John Rizzio. It was swily hesitated that he heard a whisper at his left and crawling along the ledge in a moment had reached the window. Is it you, Cyril? He heard. Yes, he whispered, let me in. Lienberg had opened the shutter in the afternoon, but it was still stubborn, and when Cyril put his strength to Doris's, it creaked abominably. It was not really a loud noise, but to the sensitive ears of the fugitives it seemed as if discovery must be inevitable. At last they managed to open it wide enough to admit Cyril's long legs and his body speedily followed. Inside the room they stood, their hands clasped, fearful of discovery, listening for sounds without or within which would tell them of the approach of the dreaded vents. Nothing but the sign of the wind in the treetops and the patter of the rain. As hope returned, Hammersley questioned quickly, you are ready to go? Yes, she replied eagerly. The sheets. Here, I have prepared. It was dark, and he could not see, but he followed the sheet to its end with his hand and found that it was fastened to the bed post. How she had managed to move the heavy bed across the room he did not know, and it was unnecessary to question, for there it was. He reassured himself as to the knot that she had made and then fastened his own sheets to the other end. Do you think you can manage it alone? It will not hold us both. Try me, she whispered bravely. The rope will reach almost to the kitchen roof. Yes, it is just below. I could see the edge of it through the shutter this afternoon. He caught her in his arms and their lips met. I will go first. And when the tension relaxes, he'll follow. She pressed his hand as he slid his feet out of the window and paused crouching on the ledge listening. Then he waved his hand and slowly went down. He knew that the angle of the building quite hid him from the garden path, and he slid down the improvised rope as quickly as he could until his feet dangled in space. He looked below him, but in the darkness the distance was uncertain. Had Lienberg miscalculated or had Doris used too much of the sheet at the upper end? He let himself down until his hands groped the end of the sheet while he felt for a landing with his toes. He touched nothing and still swayed and spun in the air like an apple on a string at all Halloween. A fine mark for an automatic from any of the windows that stared blankly at him from the second story. There was nothing for it but to drop, stretching his toes down to meet the impact. Fortunately it was not far, but he lost his balance and toppled sideways, catching himself upon an arm and knee. Here again the wind saved him from discovery, but he drew his weapon and kept a look on the corner of the garden, meanwhile watching for Doris. She came at once, slowly but fearlessly, and in a moment he had her safely in his arms drawing her back near the bulk of the building to watch and wait and listen again. They did not dare to speak, but Hammersley's blood was surging madly with hope. If they had not been discovered now, the chances were that some time would elapse, enough at least to enable the fugitives to get a start of their pursuers. But the dangling sheet warned Hammersley that they must move quickly. He peered over the edge of the roof. A light was burning in the kitchen, but whether the room was occupied or not he could not tell. He did not dare risk a sprained ankle by jumping, but found that by lowering himself he could easily reach the fuel box that stood near the kitchen door. In a moment they were on the ground and moving along in the shelter of the hedge toward the hangar. Hammersley exalted. It was something to have brought Doris away, but it was something more to have circumvented from Stromberg. The bundle figure of Lienberg, lying up there bleeding in the dark, shot a pain through his heart, but in action moving toward the goal of his hopes. Even Lienberg was put behind him. He had no fear for the wound in Lienberg's shoulder. The old man was as tough as a pine knot and would survive the loss of blood. It was Lienberg's ordeal with von Stromberg that bothered him. When they reached the shelter of the woods, the tension relaxed. We're going to get off Doris, he said joyously. I know every stick of these woods and they can never find us, but I'm afraid the strain has been too much for you. How are you feeling? Never better, she said bravely, which way now? Hammersley had paused a moment to slip on his shoes and as he got to his feet, follow me, he said. If I go too fast for you, let me know. He cut into the woods and presently struck a path which led to the left and for a while they followed this rapidly. Thanks to a fine physique and a vigorous life out of doors, the girl was in good condition and breathing hard upon the slopes made no murmur. Hammersley knew that he had little time to spare and Doris followed blindly, asking no questions. She was aware from what Cyril had said in the afternoon that his objective in coming to Germany was now within reach and she could only judge of its importance to England by the desperate chances he had taken. When it was time that she should know, he would tell her. She judged that Cyril knew that she had been tricked into betraying him and she made up her mind that whatever happened now she would stay with him until the end. She owned him that. After a while, when they had been moving for perhaps twenty minutes, they reached an opening in the trees where she could see grey patches of sky through the branches overhead and her feet emerging from the dry leaves and moss felt a firmer contact. The Schindorf Road, he said. We can follow it side by side. Are you tired? No. They went on more rapidly while Hammersley explained. The documents I came to Germany for are to be brought along this road tonight in an automobile. The hour of their due to reach Blaufelden is eleven and if I know anything of the infallibility of the German secret messenger they will be here on time. It is now after ten. I have an hour or less to make my preparations. What are you going to do? She asked. Get them. First, I'm going to take you to a spot where you will be as safe as if you were at home in Ashwater Park. No, she said firmly. I'm going with you, but that's impossible. I don't know what may happen. My plans are of the vaguest. I will share them. No, you shan't refuse me. I will follow you. I can help. I must. I would die in those roads alone.  But if I fail and they take you, it will be as guilty as I. It is an act of war, Doris. Then all the more reason why I should be committed to it, they made war on me. But there will be danger. Let you take the risk. I don't know how you are going to stop me, she said defiantly. He paused, then stopped and caught her by the elbows, peering down into her eyes. Then he laughed. Mated. He cried, this is the greatest moment of my life. And mine, her voice answered him. Her lips met his in a quick caress like those the wives of the Spartans gave and they sent them into battle. He caught her hand in his and they moved forward more quickly. Along this path death was riding toward them but they strode eagerly to meet it, to defy it, to defeat it. Cyril planned rapidly, casting anxious glances along the road behind him. Every foot they travelled took them further from their pursuers, if pursuers there were. They took them nearer the advancing messenger so that the farther they went the longer would be the while before they were overtaken but the shorter the time for preparation to stop the automobile. Murder was not in Hammersley's line. They passed many places, difficult spots in the road where the machine must also stop and go into low gear to climb to clivities, where projecting rocks jutted rough faces up to the very ruts of the road. It would not be difficult to kill with an automatic at a distance of two paces but Hammersley could not play the game that way. He was a spy if the laws of war called him so but he would not even in this extremity use the spy's weapons. If the other man fought it would be different. The desperate nature of the undertaking was beginning to come to him. Two men, perhaps three or even four and yet he must win. He must. Slowly but surely a plan was forming and he made up his mind to put it into practice. Not tired yet he asked, no, I could go on forever. Listen. We are near in the Thorvault. It is just beyond here less than half a mile away. The Thorvault? It's a favourite place of mine not only to Linnberg and Udo a cave. I up in the rocks safe as a church unless Udo happens to hunt for us there. And will he? I hope not. At the foot of the craigs this road runs. We must get there first. Can you run? I'll try. He gave her his hand again and they settled into a jog trot. She was breathing fast in a moment but she was game and did not falter though her lungs seemed to be bursting. But as they near the spot Cyril slowed down to a walk again. At the foot of the glen there's a dry bed of a stream full of rocks. There used to be a bridge here but it was washed away. It's an awkward spot even for a good motor. I'm going to make it worse. He left her dashing on ahead while she followed and when she reached the stream she saw him dragging one of the bridge timbers across the road. She wanted to help but he told her to watch until he got another timber into place. And in another moment it was evident that the barricade was formidable enough to deter any machine from crossing and there was no way to go around for upon one side rose the crags and upon the other the gully fell away into a dark pit filled with rocks and tangled branches. There was nothing for it now but to wait it seemed a desperate thing to do weary and blown as Doris was it would have seemed better to have gone on and on anything to put distance between Cyril and the death that surely awaited them back there it seemed impossible that so long a time as this could have elapsed before the tell-tale rope of sheets should have been discovered already she was sure that the prince and his men must be on the way in a machine or on horses perhaps which would cover the distance they had traveled in less than a quarter of the time she thought that she heard the sound of a machine in the distance and the voices of men she pleaded with him to go on but he only smiled at her he must do what I say Doris he said listening there coming he whispered she had heard the sound of a machine from which direction she gasped there and he pointed across the gully they'll be here in a moment listen to me walk quickly to your right across the road to that large stone stop she obeyed wanderingly now cross the road again using those rocks as steppin stones she did it bewildered pausing on a ledge of rocks that formed a part of the crag now follow the line of the rocks into the bushes 50 feet from the road hidden among the shrubbery you'll find a cleft in the rocks climb it and you'll come out here and he pointed upward just above the road wait for me there I'll come in a moment and as she hesitated he caught her by the elbows and shoved her along the ledge backwards go do you hear I'll have no refusal there was no denying the accent of command in his voice or the quick flash of his eye never until Phoneschromberg had badgered her today had a man spoken to her in this tone before but she loved him for it rejoiced in his strength think of woman to obey when she had gone Hammersley quickly crossed the stream and took a position behind a thick bush listening to the exhaust of the approaching machine but listening and looking too in the opposite direction for sounds of his pursuers a searchlight made fantastic shapes among the leaves and long shadows suddenly shot out along the road Hammersley had drawn his automatic from his pocket and was fingering it coolly he put his fingers over his eyes so that the light would not mar his familiarity with the darkness he did not know how many men opposed him and did not seem to care the main thing now was to keep his eye undimmed and his hand steady the machine came slowed down and stopped the guttural exclamation came from the driver the searchlight focused downward into the rocks of the gully screening his eyes from its light with a hand Hammersley peered out at the occupants of the car there were two men better than three but not so good as one the man at the wheel rose and got down just beside him moving forward he wasted no time he leveled his automatic at the broad back of the driver and his voice rang sharply in German I have come here for the dispatches intended for her General von Schrömpel you will give them to me at once the man who was just bending over toward the timber straightened quickly and turned reaching for his holster but the man in the seat of the car who wore a military cap was quicker for there was a report and a bullet sang close to Hammersley's ear a stream of fire came from Hammersley's automatic three shots in quick succession and the man in the car pitched forward in his seat and slid to the floor and by the time the other man had drawn his pistol Hammersley had leaped behind a tree and came out of some bushes beyond the chauffeur fired but not in Hammersley's direction the continuous glare of the light in their eyes had made their vision in the darkness uncertain day a surrender shouted Hammersley the Germans reply was to fire at him again and miss he still stood in the reflection of the headlight a bulky silhouette which made too fair a mark while Hammersley stood in the shadows of the bushes Hammersley pitied him surrender he repeated the man was not a coward and rushed blindly toward the voice shooting again too close for comfort well then Hammersley said and fired again the man stumbled to his knees and then fell prone his fingers clutching among the leaves the whole incident had taken less than a minute and a deathly silence seemed to fall following the reverberations of the shots Hammersley stood tensely listening and peering along the road toward Blaufelden there was a glow of light at a distance and he could now hear the sound of another machine von Stromberg had learned of his escape and with a perfect intuition was coming here directly and fast the sound of the shots had been heard there was no time to lose Hammersley bent over the man on the ground and searched his pockets rapidly gloves matches a spark plug tobacco but no papers the chauffer 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 search light it was a dangerous thing to do for the lights of the machine from Blaufelden were already swinging through the tree trunks but he worked quickly and skillfully tearing open the officer's gray overcoat and searching for his pockets in the inside pocket of his uniform he found them a bulky package and other papers he read the superscription quickly Sein excellence General Graf von Stromberg then sprang a side 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 ah Hammersley replied in a rough tone a man tried to stop me and I shot him gone scoot! he is here shouted Hammersley again all the while he had been moving out of the glare of the search lights 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 carefully, running at top speed for a mile at least, to lead the pursuit away from the Thorwald, and then at the banks of a small stream paused a moment and listened. He had eluded them. Then without hesitation, though puffing fearfully from his exertions, he stepped down into the cold waters of the stream and waded up it, avoiding the ledges and making sure that he left no mark behind him. As he climbed higher up the mountain he could see in the distance the glow of the lights of the machines, and when he reached a mossy bank which would not betray him, he clambered out of the water and turned, doubling like a fox upon his trail, turning back in the general direction from which he had come. Doris worried him. He could imagine her crouching there, two hundred feet in the air just above the two machines, half dead with fear of capture and terror for him. Had she seen what had happened and understood it, would she have the kind of silent endurance to crouch there and wait? He hurried on into the maze of the rocks and deep woods, finding at last a deer trail that he knew. There were but two means of ingress to the cave of the Thorwald, one by the secret path in the bushes up the rocks which Doris had taken, the other from the upper side which he was now rapidly approaching. He ran along the deer trail, reloading his automatic as he went, his eyes peering ahead for familiar landmarks, cutting in at last to the left at a great rock around which the deer trail led. He now proceeded with great caution, far below him he could see the reflections of the lights of the two cars and heard the voices of men. He went down away toward the wall of rocks, clambering over huge boulders, hauling himself here and there by the aid of tree limbs, reaching at last the dry bed of the old stream which, down in the road, had been of such assistance to him. Now the wall of rock rose sheer before him. He stole cautiously along its face, feeling with his hands and peering upward. In a moment he found what he was looking for, a small projecting ledge which he mounted and followed to his right for a way, then mounting again by easy stages to a fissure wider than his body which he entered and followed quickly. It let downward, it seemed, into the bowels of the crag, but came out suddenly into an open space, a kind of amphitheater, with a ridge of rock upon one side and upon the other what appeared to be a solid wall. He crossed this space quickly and peered over. Below him the crag jutted out over the road and upon it somewhere was Doris. He strained his gaze downward but could not see her. What if they had found her footsteps and followed? No, that was hardly possible, for the ridge of rocks began immediately at the road and thanks to his precautions she would leave no footprints. Slowly he descended, choosing his footing with quick deliberation, for the slightest sound, the dislodging of a twig or a sliver of crumbled stone and the crag of the Thorvaalt would become in a moment a hornet's nest. Fortunately the back of the rock screened him from the road, and unless von Stromberg had sent men into the woods to left and right there was no chance of discovery. At last he reached the level and a dark shadow rose at his very feet and silently clasped his hand. He took her in his arms for a moment in devout thankfulness. If the true moment of their mating had been back there in the road, while danger 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 excellence, 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 Vence and the harsh crackle of von Stromberg's enrage and mortification. He got away, excellence, said Vence. For a moment only I saw him and followed fast as I could, but my legs are too short. Bar, you are an imbecile, hel-hoped man, 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 cool scuttle. He may have taken to the woods anywhere. Yaw! But the froiline! She could not have run as fast as he. It is my opinion, said Vence, with some temerity, that they had a rendezvous somewhere beyond. He has known these mountains since his boyhood. He's a, but she hasn't, and how should she find it in the dark? Perhaps the matter being so important, he would have deserted her. C'mon, 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. Such for her shovescuff, such the woods and rocks until morning. Take the other machine and follow his footsteps until you see them no more. Then follow his trail in the woods. Take the two first stars with you. I will go back to Bluffelden and send for more men and question the gods who permitted his escape. The fugitives sat silently, listening to the sounds below them, and heard the orders to put the wounded man and the dead messenger into the machine, and presently the commotion of departure, as the machines were backed away from the gully, turned in available spots, and then departed in opposite directions. General von Stromberg's, at full speed, the other slowly, while Captain Vence walked on before his shoulders bent, trying to follow the signs of Hammersley's rubber souls in the road. But it had begun to rain steadily again, and Hammersley was thankful, for it would not be long before all marks of his footsteps would be erased.


From Soldiers Radio and Television, this is the Army Now. At Bagram Airfield, Combined Joint Task Force Paladin came together with coalition forces for the 7th Annual Explosive Ordinance Disposal Memorial Celebration. The ceremony is to honor the EOD soldiers who sacrificed their lives in the past year. Because we're such a small community, we all know each other. So this was our way to celebrate the lives of our fallen comrades, not their death. During the ceremony, leaders from each branch of the U.S. military, United Kingdom and France placed the ID tags with the names of their fallen brethren on the memorial display. Each one of those dog tags actually represents a person, and by placing them on the memorial it strikes home what we're doing here and why we do it and to never forget our fallen comrades. Specialist Nigel Robinson, Bagram Airfield, Afghanistan. That's the Army Now.


Hello everyone, my name is Dr. Shubham Naneshwajatap. I am JRDU, Department of Radio Diagnosis in Dr. Vasantrapur Medical College and Research Center, Nasik. My topic today for our paper presentation is MR Imaging Appearance of Lisen Kefeli, abstract. MR imaging of a patient with epilepsy and psychomotor retardation at a six-year-old revealed diffuse pathchick area on MR imaging. The change of the MR imaging findings may have resulted from myelination in the intracortical and sub-cortical fibers. It is important for clinicians to be aware of longitudinal changes of cerebral cortex in Lisen Kefeli. Introduction. Lisen Kefeli is a basket term for a number of congenital cortical mark formation characterized by absent or minimal salcation. Lisen Kefeli is a mark formation of a cortical development characterized by a smooth cortical surface, the term encompasses a spectrum of a chiral mark formation caused by mutation of a number of different genes ranging from a completely chiral, that is absent chiral, to patchy chiral, broad chiral, and is always associated with an abnormally thick cortex.  Lisen Kefeli's pecky area can be further divided into type one classic and type two cobblestone. They differ in a clinical presentation underlying genetic abnormalities as well as microscopic and microscopic, including imaging appearances. Case report. A six-year-old female child was born at the 38th week gestation without complication as a first child of healthy unrelated parents. Family history was unremarkable, presented with a global developmental detail and history recurrent episodes of conversion. Neurological examination was unremarkable except for hypokinia. Facial appearance, cranial nerves, and deep tendon reflexes were not. On MRI imaging, there is a thick band of abnormal T1 hyperintense, T2 hyperintense signal intensity deep to the cerebral cortex. It parallels the cortex in a contiude and signal intensity, such as to a band heterotopia. There is also a thick, diminished, over-lying gyra with shallow sulcan seen such as to a pecky area, mild prominence of lateral and third ventricle C. Corpus callus appears normal. So, as we can see, this is T1-mated axial image and T2 T1-mated surgical image. Corpus callus appears normal. So, this is T2-mated axial image and T2-mated another T2-mated axial image. There is also a thick band of abnormal T1 hyperintense and T2 hyperintense signal deep to the cortex. Thick and diminished over-lying gyra with a shallow sulcan seen. Mycerminus of lateral ventricle seen. This is diagrammatic refrigeration of surgical cortex in a four-layer pecky area. In normal brain, in this way, layer one, two, three, and four are arranged in normal brain. In pecky area, this is a discussion. The term lisentkivalli is derived from the three for smooth lissos and brain in kefellos. Lisentkivalli, liss which involves agaerea and pecky area. With subcortical band hetropoeia encompasses a spectrum of malcarbation of cortical development caused by insufficient neuronal migration. In severe lisentkivalli, the cortex lacks surface folds agaerea while milder manifestations include abnormally broad folds pecky area. Although lisentkivalli can be identified on all cross-sectional modalities, antinatal, neuronatal, ultrasound CTNMR, MR is a modality of choice to fully characterize the abnormalities. Neuroblast are generated through the mitosis of neuronal stem cells in the ventricular zone of fetal brain between five and 22 weeks of gestation. Post-mitotic neuroblast undergoes radial migration output from the ventricular zone guided by the radial glalfibers to populate the subcortical blade. Embryonic cerebral cortex. Slow or arrestant migration lead to thicken cortex with reduced for all the standard neurons of a subcortical band hetropoeia. Pathologic evaluation of lisentkivalli has shown classic four-layer cortices with predominance of L1S1 mutations. In the classic four-layer pattern, two most superficial layers, molecular layer and the outer cellular layer comprise the outer remover of gray matter. Gross pathology imaging are formed by neurons that migrated normally early in gestation. Third layer, cell sparse layer consists of mainly axons and few neurons. The thick fourth layer is composed of many desolation neurons, whose migration appear to have been disrupted. As we have seen in this schematic, thick fourth layer. MRI remains the key investigation in assessment of lisentkivalli, lisentkivalli patient. LIS is a typically divided into typonic or classic type two or cobblestone complex which differ in a clinical presentation, genetic and imaging appearances.  In the evaluation of these children with pecking area and other associated migration disorder, T1-weighted images will suffice, but all three projection exen-coronal subjectors are usually necessary to adequately evaluate this disorder. Anatomical detail including gray matter is extremely measured with MR. These are my references. Thank you.