Johann Kopf proved to be a young German with a round, ruddy face, which was so innocent of guile as to be out of harmony with the shrewd, piercing black eyes looking out of it. The Englishman eyed him inquisitively, even suspiciously.
“Are you a good hunter?” he asked.
“There is none better hereabout,” answered Johann, twirling his cap with noticeably white fingers. It was only in after days that the Englishman appreciated the full significance of this answer.
“Speak English?”
“No. Herr's German is excellent, however.”
“Humph!” The Englishman gave a final glance into the shining tubes of the gun, snapped the breach, and slipped it into the case. “You'll do. Return to the office; I'll be down presently.”
“Will Herr hunt this morning?”
“No; what I wish this morning is to see the city of Bleiberg.”
“That is simple,” said Johann. The fleeting, imperceptible smile did not convict his eyes of false keenness.
He bowed out. When the door closed the Englishman waited until the sound of retreating steps failed. Then he took the gun case which he had not yet opened, and thrust it under the mattress of the bed.