“I am ready, excellency,” said Leka. “It is a pity I did not kill Giorgio when I shot at him, and then you would have kept your money.”
Maurice smiled as he handed over the necessary piastres. When the payment had been made, Leka and Giorgio kissed each other, and the former promised to buy a new rifle for his friend.
The Bucklands spent Christmas with their Albanian friends, accompanying them for ten miles over the hills to a little church. It was packed with people in bright costumes; a week’s besa had been sworn, so that all the blood foes of the neighbourhood could meet as friends. Hundreds of rifles were stacked against the wall outside. After service there was a wild rush for these, and a shooting competition began, the spectators firing off their rifles out of sheer high spirits. Shots were fired again as the assembly broke up and returned to their several villages, to resume their feuds on the morrow.
Next day the Bucklands started for Scutari, accompanied by Slavianski, for whom a mule had been provided. At Scutari they parted. Maurice had thought of warning the Austrian not to set foot in England again, but the man was so much broken down with illness that he forbore to increase his bitterness of spirit.
He saw him only once again. The course of promotion brought Maurice at length to Vienna. He was one day entering a club with an Austrian officer with whom he was on friendly terms. The door was opened by a man who had once been handsome, but was now worn and haggard, and walked with a limp. He started as he saw Maurice, hesitated a moment, and raised his hand to the salute.
“He knows you?” asked the officer in surprise.
“Yes,” replied Maurice. “I met him during a little trip I made a few years ago in a gyro-car.”
THE END.
BRADBURY, AGNEW & CO. LD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE