“Quick!” said Scanlon. All the suspicions that he’d had of the German since coming to Schwartzberg were brought to a head in an instant. His strong jaw grew rigid and his tone was almost menacing.
The sergeant-major threw the bolts and turned the keys sullenly. As the gate opened, Scanlon passed out.
The big man looked about. The moon lurked behind the heavy mass of clouds which covered the sky, but some of its radiance trickled through and made things visible in a dim sort of way. Along the path leading west from the castle he detected a movement, and at once he set out in that direction.
“I’ve heard of something like this once or twice before,” murmured he. “Decoys have been used since men began to find it was surer to hit when the punch wasn’t expected. Though,” and he shoved out his chin, “I can’t say the facts make her that sort of a decoy. If there’s a blow to be struck, it seems to me, she’ll strike it herself.”
Scanlon’s stride was long and quiet; the path was of well-beaten earth and free of stones, so he stepped out freely without fear of detection. Finally he began to make out the figures ahead of him.
“There they are,” said he, “and going along very contentedly.” He put a hand to each side of his mouth and lifted his voice. “Hello!” he called.
Young Campe wheeled like a flash, his hand going to his hip.
“All right,” said Scanlon. “You needn’t trouble about that.”
He approached hastily, his hands upraised.
“Bat!” said Campe, in surprise.