THE YELLOW DOVE
scanned quickly, with muttered ejaculations of satisfaction and surprise. Hammersley by the fireplace was warming his hands.
“Ganz gut!” said the General, straightening and turning. “You had difficulties?”
“More than usual, Excellenz. Captain Byfield is in prison.”
“Caught!”
Hammersley nodded.
“They found letters at his rooms.”
“Schafskopf! Were there no fires?”
Hammersley shrugged.
“He is to be tried by court-martial. He will be shot.”
Von Stromberg deliberated a moment.
“And were you suspected?”
“Yes. They followed me to Scotland, but fortunately the Yellow Dove is still a mystery—at least it was yesterday morning, and I got safely away.”
Von Stromberg was scrutinizing him keenly.
“H—m. What makes you think that you were followed?”
“I left London by night train but got off at Edinburgh where my motor met me. But the wire was faster, and they had sent word to stop me. They stretched a rope across the road, but I saw it and went around. They fired at me”
“When was this?”
“Three nights ago.”
“They didn’t hit you”
“A mere scratch across the arm”
“Let me see it.”
Hammersley looked into von Stromberg’s face and laughed.
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