A brief examination of the body of the occupant was enough. The man was dead, although there were no signs of external injury.
"I can't help him," soliloquised the Englishman. "But he might be able to help me. I'll consider that part later. Meanwhile, what has happened to the chauffeur?"
Standing on the heavily cushioned seat he drew himself through the hole in the roof, and sliding down to the snowdrift proceeded to scramble over the thinly covered ledge of rock that alone had prevented the overturned car from crashing full four hundred feet into the valley beneath.
There were ghastly evidences of the fate that had overtaken the driver of the wrecked car. The force of the impact had hurled him bodily through the wind-screen and over the bonnet. Striking the projecting rocks he had glissaded into the abyss. A grey patch, already nearly obliterated by the falling flakes, was all that was visible of the soldier-driver of the demolished Mercèdes.
Returning to the car the Englishman thoughtfully contemplated the body of the dead officer. Then he scanned the edge of the road above, to make as certain as possible that no one was in sight. Satisfied on that point he contrived by dint of great exertion to drag the defunct German from the car and place him on the snowdrift.
"Very much my build. A bit fatter, though," he soliloquised grimly. "I'll risk it, though it would have been better if I could have appropriated the chauffeur fellow's uniform."
Rapidly he proceeded with his uncongenial task. Time was when he would have recoiled in horror at the mere suggestion, but the prize at stake was more than sufficient to overcome his natural qualms. Ten minutes later the fugitive was dressed in the uniform of a German Staff officer, while the body was laid in a shallow trench in the snowdrift.
"If this fall continues," said the Englishman to himself, "the wreckage will be completely covered in a couple of hours. Even now I doubt whether it would be noticed by any one proceeding along the pass. It will be weeks, perhaps months, before the snow disappears."
Returning to the interior of the damaged coupé the rehabitated fugitive found that the bulk of the dead officer's baggage had been flung from the roof and was for the present irrecoverably lost. Inside, however, was a portmanteau, while on the seat was a luncheon basket well stocked with choice eatables of a nature that had long been denied to all but the higher military caste of the German Empire.
In the fairly warm temperature of the coupé the Englishman rested comfortably, making a hearty meal, and washing it down with a glass of Rhenish wine. Then, lighting a cigar, he leisurely scanned the papers from the breast pocket of the officer's coat.