Von Eitelwurmer's injuries were ghastly at first sight. His left hand and wrist were simply a mass of scorched and lacerated flesh, his right hand was badly cut, while his face, ashy grey with a dreadful pallor, was pitted with embers from the smokeless powder. By his side were the remains of his gun, the barrel completely fractured for a distance of more than six inches.
For a brief space the spy opened his eyes. He saw the two officers in naval uniform.
"Gott in himmel!" he gasped, and straightway fainted.
Entwistle glanced knowingly at the two chums and nodded significantly. Peter, in his agitation, had not grasped the significance of the exclamation uttered in the injured man's native tongue.
"There's a gate yonder," remarked Entwistle, while he and young Barcroft were engaged in checking the flow of arterial blood. "You two might fetch it. It will be just the thing to carry him to the village."
Pulling himself together Peter hurried towards the gate, followed by Kirkwood, but not before the latter had been again warned by Entwistle to keep a discreet silence on the subject of the injured man's identity.
"We'll take him to his house," declared Entwistle. "I don't think the injuries are dangerous, although they are bad enough. The correct course would be to run him into Barborough and put him in the infirmary, but I have good reasons for the steps I propose taking. Excellent, Barcroft," he exclaimed when the gate was forthcoming. "Now, together, lift."
"What happened, pater?" asked Billy during the journey down the hillside.
"Hanged if I know exactly," replied Barcroft Senior. "I was ahead of him when it happened. Heard a fearful bang, turned round and found Norton on the ground."
"Frozen snow in the barrel, most likely," remarked Entwistle. "I've known guns to burst before to-day through that reason."