SUCCESS
Stromberg had badgered her today had a man spoken to her in this tone before. But she loved him for it, rejoiced in his strength—the primitive instinct of woman to obey.
When she had gone, Hammersley quickly crossed the stream and took a position behind a thick bush, listening to the exhaust of the approaching machine, but listening and looking, too, in the opposite direction for sounds of his pursuers. A searchlight made fantastic shapes among the leaves and long shadows suddenly shot out along the road.
Hammersley had drawn his automatic from his pocket and was fingering it coolly. He put his fingers over his eyes, so that the light would not mar his familiarity with the darkness. He did not know how many men opposed him and did not seem to care. The main thing now was to keep his eye undimmed and his hand steady. The machine came, slowed down and stopped while a guttural exclamation came from the driver. The searchlight focused downward into the rocks of the gully. Screening his eyes from its light with a hand, Hammersley peered out at the occupants of the car. There were two men—better than three, but not so good as one. The man at the wheel rose and got down just beside him, moving forward to remove the obstacles.
Hammersley wasted no time. He leveled his automatic at the broad back of the driver and his voice rang sharply in German:
“I have come here for the dispatches intended for Herr General von Stromberg. You will give them to me at once.”
The man who was just bending over toward the timber straightened quickly and turned, reaching for his
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