Hide and Seek

We were walking back through the woods when Kingman saw the grey squirrel. Our bag was a small but varied one—three grouse, four rabbits (one, I am sorry to say, an infant in arms) and a couple of pigeons. And contrary to certain dark forecasts, both the dogs were still alive.
The squirrel saw us at the same moment. It knew that it was marked for immediate execution as a result of the damage it had done to the trees on the estate, and perhaps it had lost close relatives to Kingman’s gun. In three leaps it had reached the base of the nearest tree, and vanished behind it in a flicker of grey. We saw its face once more, appearing for a moment round the edge of its shield a dozen feet from the ground; but though we waited, with guns levelled hopefully at various branches, we never saw it again.
Kingman was very thoughtful as we walked back across the lawn to the magnificent old house. He said nothing as we handed our victims to the cook—who received them without much enthusiasm—and only emerged from his reverie when we were sitting in the smoking room and he remembered his duties as a host.
“That tree-rat,” he said suddenly (he always called them “tree-rats”, on the grounds that people were too sentimental to shoot the dear little squirrels), “it reminded me of a very peculiar experience that happened shortly before I retired. Very shortly indeed, in fact.”
“I thought it would,” said Carson dryly. I gave him a glare: he’d been in the Navy and had heard Kingman’s stories before, but they were still new to me.
“Of course,” Kingman remarked, slightly nettled, “if you’d rather I didn’t…”
“Do go on,” I said hastily. “You’ve made me curious. “What connection there can possibly be between a grey squirrel and the Second Jovian War I can’t imagine.”
Kingman seemed mollified.
“I think I’d better change some names,” he said thoughtfully, “but I won’t alter the places. The story begins about a million kilometres sunward of Mars…”
K.15 was a military intelligence operative. It gave him considerable pain when unimaginative people called him a spy, but at the moment he had much more substantial grounds for complaint. For some days now a fast enemy cruiser had been coming up astern, and though it was flattering to have the undivided attention of such a fine ship and so many highly trained men, it was an honour that K.15 would willingly have forgone.