The man moved to spring into the sleigh, but a quick hand caught him, a foot tripped him up, and snow flew everywhere as two bodies rolled in the whiteness.
It was all over in a second.
Paper flew on the wind, torn fiercely in pieces, and then Hans found himself bound fast with handkerchiefs and woollen scarfs, flat in the bottom of the sleigh, four feet upon him.
What matter?
He had seized the letter in the scuffle and only the swift wind of the Baltic knew where were the pieces.
The Prussian King would never know if Lombard were guilty, but the French would not possess a drawing of certain frontier fortresses.
The Frenchmen were furious. They vowed Hans should be shot that night like a dog.
The driver brought them a piece or two of the letter, but one was half blank and the other was the address to His Majesty.
"Dantzic!" ordered the man, when the driver declared further search was useless.
Then off they dashed.