"Look here," said he; "it's no good. This very evening, knowing that you were coming, I made a clean breast of it to my uncle. I told him that I was four thousand pounds in debt to a money-lender, and that, if I couldn't pay, you would come down upon me. I suppose you don't mind that. I couldn't tell him you were a Government spy disguised as a butler in a private house. And what do you think he said?"
"I have not the least idea," said the other.
"He told me," said von Hardenberg, "that he would cut me off with a shilling!"
Mr. Peter Klein was heard to gasp. Thrusting his hat well back upon his head, he threw out his hands and gesticulated wildly.
"Then, you're a thief!" he cried. "What it comes to is this: you have embezzled Government money. I have given the Wilhelmstrasse valuable information, and I have never received a penny."
"Do what you like," answered von Hardenberg. "I cannot pay."
"I'll have you court-martialled!" the other cried. "The Wilhelmstrasse will be on my side. You have made a fool of me."
Von Hardenberg grasped the man by the wrist.
"Listen here," said he. "Can you wait a week?"
"Yes. I can. But why?"
"Because I know how I can get hold of the money, though it will take some getting. You had better go back to London. I promise to call at your office within a few days, and then I shall have something to tell you."
Peter Klein turned the matter over in his mind. As long as there remained a chance of getting his money he thought it worth while to take it. For all his threats, he knew enough of the Secret Service department in the Wilhelmstrasse in Berlin to know that in a fight against a Prussian military attaché he would stand but a poor chance. However, he was cunning enough to point out to von Hardenberg that the Wilhelmstrasse might think that the services of Peter Klein might possibly be valuable in the future. Then, he went his way, walking quickly through the woods in the direction of the railway station. As for von Hardenberg, he returned to the house; and no sooner was he gone than Jim Braid got to his feet.
The young gamekeeper had been able to understand only a third of what had been said, for they had lapsed from German into English, and back to German again. But, that night-or, rather, early the following morning-when he went to bed, he thought over the matter for some time, and had half a mind to tell his father. However, in the end he came to the conclusion that it was no business of his, and slept the sleep of the just.
The following afternoon he was engaged in driving into the ground a series of hurdles to keep the cattle from the pheasant coverts, when he was approached by Mr. Langton.
"Hard at work, Jim?" asked the Judge.
"Yes, sir," said Jim, touching his cap. "These are the old hurdles we brought up from Boot's Hollow."
"That's a useful weapon, anyhow," said the Judge, indicating the crowbar with which Jim was working.
"Yes, sir, it's a handy tool, and sharp in the bargain."
At that the Judge wished the boy "Good-night!" and went his way towards the house. Hardly had he departed than Captain von Hardenberg brushed his way through some thickets near at hand, and approached the young gamekeeper. He must certainly have overheard the conversation that had passed between Jim Braid and the Judge.
"Braid," said he, "would you mind lending me that crowbar?"
"I've finished with it to-night, sir," said Braid, "but I shall want it to-morrow morning."
"I'll let you have it back by then," said the other. And taking the unwieldy tool from Jim's hands, he walked with it towards the house.
No sooner was he out of sight, however, than he dropped down upon a knee and looked furtively about him, as if to satisfy himself that he was not observed. Then he thrust the crowbar down a rabbit-hole, the mouth of which he covered over with several fronds of bracken. That done, he walked quickly towards the house.
That night, towards midnight, when everyone else in Friar's Court was sound asleep, Captain Carl von Hardenberg sat, fully dressed, at the foot of his bed with a cigar between his lips. He had taken off his dress-coat and put on an old Norfolk jacket. On his feet he wore long gum-boots, into which he had tucked his trousers. He sat looking at the clock, which was but dimly visible upon the mantelpiece through the clouds of tobacco-smoke with which the room was filled.
Presently the clock struck twelve, and at that von Hardenberg rose to his feet and went on tiptoe to the door. Without a sound he passed out, walked quickly down the passage, and descended the back stairs to the kitchen. With nervous hands he opened the scullery door, and then paused to listen. Hearing no sound, he stepped quickly into the yard.
He walked rapidly past the lawns which lie between Friar's Court and the woods. Once inside the woods, he immediately sought out the path that led straight to the bungalow. He had some difficulty in finding the rabbit-hole in which he had hidden the crowbar, and only succeeded in doing so with the aid of a lighted match. It was the flare of this match that attracted Jim Braid, who was again on duty in this part of the estate.
Von Hardenberg, the crowbar in his hand, approached the bungalow. With all his strength he drove the crowbar between the door and the jamb, and with one wrench broke open the lock.
In his uncle's study he lit the oil lamp that stood upon the central table. He was surprised to see that the Judge had again left his cash-box on the desk. The cash-box, however, was not his business; he was determined to possess himself of the Sunstone.
He had provided himself with a bunch of skeleton keys. Those whose business it is to employ Government spies are not infrequently provided with such things. After several futile attempts he succeeded in opening the third drawer in the cabinet. Then, with the precious stone in his hand, he rushed to the lamp and examined the Sunstone in the light.
"Now," he cried-he was so excited that he spoke aloud-"now for the German Cameroons!"
And scarcely had he said the words than he looked up, and there in the doorway was Jim Braid, the gamekeeper's son.
"Hands up!" cried Braid, bringing his gun to his shoulder.
Captain von Hardenberg looked about him like a hunted beast.
"Don't be a fool!" he exclaimed. "You know who I am!"
"Yes, I do," said Braid; "and you're up to no good. Hands up, I say!"
Von Hardenberg held up his hands, and then tried to laugh it off.
"You're mad!" said he more quietly. "Surely you don't imagine I'm a thief?"
"I'm not given much to imagining things," said Braid. "All I know is, you broke in here by force."
As he was speaking, before the last words had left his mouth, von Hardenberg, with a quick and desperate action, had seized the gun by the barrel. There followed a struggle, during which the gun went off.
There was a loud report and a piercing cry, and Jim Braid fell forward on his face. Even as he rolled over upon the ground, a black pool of blood spread slowly across the floor.
The Prussian went to the door and listened. He saw lights appear in the windows of the house, and one or two were thrown open. Near at hand he heard the strong voice of John Braid, the keeper, shouting to his son. On the other side of the bungalow, an under-gamekeeper was hurrying to the place.
Von Hardenberg's face was ashen white. His hands were shaking, his lips moving with strange, convulsive jerks.
He went quickly to the body of the unconscious boy, and, kneeling down, felt Braid's heart.
"Thank Heaven," said he, "he is not killed."
And then a new fear possessed him. If Jim Braid was not dead, he would live to accuse von Hardenberg of the theft. The Prussian stood bolt upright, his teeth fastened on his under lip. The voices without were nearer to the house than before. He had not ten seconds in which to act.
Seizing the cash-box, he laid it on the ground and dealt it a shivering blow with the crowbar. The lid