“‘Thunder,’ says I.
“But the sky was filled with stars, and they shone as brilliantly as stars ever shone before. Once more came the roaring in the night; with my head thrust far out at the window, I listened. A door opening on the courtyard slapped to, suddenly; quick footsteps sounded and Campe’s voice, high and angry, came to my ears. The gate opened before him; I could see him, a revolver in his hand and with all the appearance of madness, rush away in the direction of the great sound.
“I commenced jumping into my clothes, a garment at a jump; a brilliant tongue of light shot from the top of Schwartzberg, and began to sweep the country round about much like the searchlight of a battleship.
“‘They are strong on equipment,’ says I to myself, as I grabbed my gun and made for the door. This time I met no one on the stairs, nor in the courtyard, when I reached it, nor yet at the gate. Once outside I looked up; the light was streaming out over the hills from the tallest turret of the castle; and in the gloom beside the reflector I saw Kretz, his Mauser in his hands, his face turned as though he were grimly picking up each detail as the light brought it out.
“I had noted the direction which Campe had taken; so I struck after him. Two hundred yards away from the castle I heard his revolver begin to speak; then there came the eager straining breaths of men engaged in a struggle, the grinding of feet, and a heavy fall. I had all but reached the spot when the great ray swept round and held fast. I saw young Campe stretched out upon the ground; and over him stood the girl, all in white, with her face upturned, her arms outstretched toward the high turret as though imploring the grim rifleman to hold his fire.”
“Well?” asked Ashton-Kirk.
“She was a peach; and Campe was nearly done. I lifted him, and with my automatic held ready, and the girl trailing behind, I got back to the castle where I heard the gate closed and locked behind me with some thankfulness.”
“Was Campe badly hurt?”
“He had a long, peculiar cut down his chest and stomach, not deep, but ugly looking. It was just as though some one had made a sweep at him with something big and heavy and keen, and he had pulled back in time to escape most of it. But he was about next day; he thanked me for going out after him, but would explain nothing. It was after this that I tried to reason it out for the last time. But it’s no use—the thing’s beyond yours truly. So here I am.”
The singular eyes of Ashton-Kirk were full of interest; he arose from his rug and took a couple of turns up and down the room; then he threw open a bulky railroad guide and his searching finger began to run in and out among the figures.