"I'm on," assented the A.P. "How about our gear? We can't lug it those five or six miles."
"Hanged if I haven't overlooked that problem," said Barcroft. "Let's take a taxi."
The taxi deposited the two chums at the door of Ladybird Fold at precisely the same moment that a telegraph boy was delivering a couple of telegrams.
"You did look awfully surprised to see us, mother," remarked Billy after the preliminary exchange of greetings. "This is my great pal, Kirkwood—Billy Kirkwood. You've heard me mention him many a time."
"Of course we are delighted to see you, Mr. Kirkwood," said Mrs. Barcroft. "It is, as Billy says, a surprise."
"But didn't you get my wire?" asked the flight-sub.
"I suppose it is one of these," remarked his mother, opening one of the envelopes.
She read the contents, a puzzled expression on her face. Then, without a word she handed it to her son.
"Silly asses!" exclaimed Billy, for the wire was from the Admiralty expressing regret that Flight-sub-lieutenant William Barcroft was reported missing. "However, it doesn't much matter now. Would have been awkward if we weren't here to show that it's a mistake. Look here—handed in three days ago. Delayed in transmission. Didn't you get my wire from Holland?"
Mrs. Barcroft shook her head.
"I gave that rascally hotel porter a couple of gulder to take the telegraph form to the post-office," declared the flight-sub. "Ten to one he stuck to the tip and the money for the wire as well. Where's the governor?"
"He went out early this morning with Mr. Norton," replied Mrs. Barcroft.
"The fellow who got adrift on the night of the Zep, raid? He turned up all right after all, then. Where have they gone?"
"Towards Windyhill. They went rabbit-shooting."
"Windyhill? Where's that, mater?" asked Billy. "We may as well stroll over that way, Bobby. No, thanks, mater, we don't require any lunch at present. Had second breakfast on the train. You can hang out till one o'clock, my festive?"
"Rather," declared the A.P. "Let's go and meet Mr. Barcroft and help carry back the spoils."
Receiving directions from Mrs. Barcroft the two chums set off on their quest. Half way down the lane leading to the Dingle Dell they suddenly encountered Philip Entwistle.
"Mornin'," said Billy with a laugh. "How are you? Recovered from that donkey-trip of ours yet?"
"Quite—absolutely," replied Entwistle. "So you are on leave again? I'm glad—very glad. There's a little matter upon which I should like to speak."
He paused and glanced inquiringly at Billy's, companion. The A.P. discreetly began to walk on.
"I say, Kirkwood," called out the flight-sub. "Let me introduce you."
"So you are the man who was flying with our friend here when the German airman who bombed Alderdene was strafed," said Entwistle, after the introduction was made.
"I believe I had a hand in it," admitted Kirkwood.
"That was when the document setting a price on your father's head was discovered, Barcroft," continued the vet.
"I say—how did you know that?" asked Billy. "Funny how things like that leak out."
"It's part of my business," replied Entwistle gravely. "That is the matter on which I wish to speak to you, and since Mr. Kirkwood is 'in the know' up to a certain point I do not see any reason why he should not be admitted into our conference. First of all, let me say that for the present I must get you to promise not to say a word to your father, or in fact to any one concerning what I am about to divulge." The two officers gave the required promise.
"It concerns Andrew Norton," continued Entwistle. "He is a secret agent of the German Government. On the night of the Barborough raid he had planned to have your parent made prisoner by the crew of the Zeppelin. Unfortunately for him his plans went adrift, and, as a result, he himself was kidnapped and taken to Germany."
"How on earth do you know this?" asked Billy incredulously.
"From definite and unimpeachable in formation," replied Entwistle. "I am—this is of course strictly confidential—also a Secret Service man, belonging to an opposition show. In due course—we have been giving him a good amount of rope—friend Norton will be arrested."
"But why cannot the governor be informed?" was Billy's next question.
Philip Entwistle smiled.
"Your father is—well, too imaginative, and, perhaps, a little too impulsive. I don't think he would believe me at first, if I were to broach the subject. He would, I feel inclined to think, even start bantering friend Norton."
"Yes, perhaps he might," admitted young Barcroft.
"And so I am just off to the house to see your father," continued Entwistle. "There are one or two questions I want to ask him, indirectly put but directly bearing upon the Norton case."
"'Fraid you won't find him there," remarked Billy. "He's gone rabbit-shooting with the man under discussion."
"With Andrew Norton?" asked Entwistle anxiously, then—gripping the flight-sub's arm—"Where, man, where? We must find him at once."
The three set out at a rapid pace through the Dingle Dell. The Secret Service man's hand went to his hip pocket, his fingers coming in contact with the butt of a small but powerful automatic pistol. For more than two years the weapon had been Entwistle's constant companion, yet no one, not even his personal friends, were aware of the fact.
"Thought Barcroft would speed things up a bit," he soliloquised. "Going rabbitting with that beauty has done it. Wonder if we are too late?"
Somewhat breathless in spite of their fine physical condition the trio arrived at the foot of Windyhill. As they crossed the stile two shots rang out in quick succession.
"They're up there," announced Billy, pointing to the second field. "I saw some one moving to the right of that clump of bushes."
Over the stone wall the men scrambled. As they did so a single report, more of a crash than the sharp, short detonation of a charge of smokeless powder, came from behind the gorse, followed by a scream of agony that trailed off into a long-drawn groan.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Billy, spurting ahead of his companions.
Rounding the patch of cover he came upon the scene of the tragedy. Lying at full length upon the grass was a man; over him, with his back turned towards the new arrivals, was another—Peter Barcroft.
CHAPTER XXXV
ONE CARTRIDGE LEFT
"AN accident," declared Peter confusedly. The appalling event had completely unnerved him. He hardly seemed to realise that his son had turned up at a most opportune moment. "An accident. His gun burst, goodness only knows why. By Jove, he'll bleed to death if we don't look sharp!"
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.