'Now,' thought Gregory, 'it's von Ziegler or myself.' But he was mistaken. The third German had not been killed as the car sped out of the town; he was only wounded, and suddenly he came into action, leaning out of the back of the car to throw a hand-grenade.
It bounced and rolled until it came to rest near the rear of the Ford. Gussy was kneeling there, holding his injured shoulder, and Gregory knew that his friend might be blown to bits in a matter of seconds.
Reversing his rifle he thrust it along under the car and knocked the hand-grenade away so that it rolled towards the cliff-face. Next instant it went off.
They were protected by the car from the flying pieces but the blast caught both of them. Gussy was knocked backwards in the roadway and Gregory was rolled sideways from beneath the car. The bomb, having exploded at the back of the Ford, had had the effect of driving it forward so that of its own accord it suddenly ran across the few feet of road. Its front wheels went right over the precipice but with a loud clang of metal on stone it came to rest hanging half over the gulf.
When Gregory picked himself up he saw that the explosion had knocked Gussy unconscious. Grabbing him by the coat collar he dragged him back under cover of the rear end of the Ford, which was still on the road. But the German who had thrown the bomb had wrought better than he knew, as by blowing the Ford half over the cliff he had cleared the way for von Ziegler's car.
Gregory heard the engine start into life. His head was still rocking but he seized his rifle, and as the car roared by he poured the remaining contents of the magazine into it. But it did not stop. It charged on in a wavering, zigzag course and Gregory remembered having seen the rock hurled by the young farmer come hurtling down on the steering-wheel. Snatching up the unconscious Gussy's rifle, he fired after it, aiming for the petrol tank. His third was a lucky shot; the car limped on for another hundred yards then came to a halt. Springing to his feet he gave chase.
He knew that in doing so his life was hanging by a thread as now that he was running down the open road without any sort of cover one of the Germans might lean out of the stationary car at any second and shoot him; but his blood was up and he was determined to get von Ziegler or die in the attempt. Dodging from side to side and ducking as he ran, to make himself a more difficult target, he raced on. To his amazement no shots came at him, but when he was within fifty yards of the car von Ziegler got out of it.
The airman held an automatic in his hand but he did not attempt to use it. Instead he took to his heels and ran.
Pulling up with a jerk Gregory raised his rifle and called on him to halt. Von Ziegler took no notice so he aimed at the middle of the airman's back and gently squeezed the trigger. The rifle clicked but it did not go off; he pressed the trigger again and still there was no report. Jerking back the bolt he saw that the magazine was empty.
Instantly he set off in pursuit. A glance at von Ziegler's car as he reached it showed him that both the other Germans were dead. One was slumped in the front seat, having been killed by the bullet that he had sent through the windscreen; the other lay sprawled across the back with his mouth hanging open, and Gregory knew that he must have finished him only a few minutes before when von Ziegler had driven past the wrecked Ford.
Jumping on to the running-board of the car Gregory hauled aside the dead German in the front seat and pulled out the man's tommy-gun; but its lightness told him what to expect. A swift examination of the magazine showed him that he had been right—that, too, was empty—and evidently that was why von Ziegler had not taken it.
The airman was now half a mile away, still pelting down the road with his automatic clutched in one swinging hand. Gregory wondered how many bullets remained in the weapon. When one is unarmed it is no picnic to go after a man who has a gun, but Gregory knew that if the adventurous Air Attache once got away he would get in touch with some more of his Fifth Column people before many hours were past, and that might cost King Haakon his life that night or on the following day; so it never even occurred to him to give up the chase.
Instead, he stripped off his overcoat so that he could run faster and, picking up the empty rifle, set out at a steady, loping trot. He was not a crack runner but he was tough as nails and he felt confident that if he husbanded his strength he would be able to wear the German down.
It was getting on for six o'clock but Gregory knew that there was little fear of his losing von Ziegler in the darkness, as up there in central Norway at this season of the year there were still many hours of daylight to go.
Had his mind been less occupied he might have admired the scenery, since it was truly magnificent. The great mountains swept away on either side of the valley, their lofty peaks shrouded in mist and snow.
Many of the slopes were fringed with pine-woods and down in the bottom of the valley, where the river curved like a silver ribbon hundreds of feet below, the young green of spring was already showing in the herbage that fringed the river-banks.
As it was, he thought of nothing but the bent figure ahead of him pounding along the twisting road. Twice he lost sight of it as it shot round a corner, and his only fear was that von Ziegler might halt and ambush him from behind one of the spurs round which the snaky road curved every half-mile or so. But apparently the German's only idea for the moment was to try to outdistance his pursuer.
After turning the second corner there was a longer stretch of road ahead and Gregory saw that he was gaining on the airman. He had decreased the distance between them by several hundred yards and he thanked his stars that he had had the fore-thought to abandon his overcoat, as the skirts of von Ziegler's coat were flapping round his legs.
Gregory's breath was coming in gasps but he was a long way from being beaten yet and he saw that von Ziegler was now glancing anxiously over his shoulder from time to time as he ran. Deciding to try to end the business Gregory put on a spurt and in another half-mile he had come up to within fifty yards of his quarry. Von Ziegler glanced over his shoulder again, ran on for about ten yards, then suddenly halted and swung round. Gregory knew that the next second spelt life or death.
He was staring right down the barrel of von Ziegler's pistol and decreasing his distance from it every moment. He counted three as von Ziegler aimed and suddenly bounded sideways. The pistol flashed but the bullet sped harmlessly past its mark. 'One,' thought Gregory; and recovering his balance he jumped again. 'Two,' as the pistol cracked again—and again von Ziegler missed. 'I wonder how many more bullets he's got.'
But von Ziegler did not fire a third shot. As Gregory lurched back to the centre of the road he saw that the airman had turned and taken to his heels once more. Now there were only twenty yards between them.
Gregory's spurt and the great effort of springing from side to side had taken it out of him; he was sweating now and panting like a grampus. For about five minutes the German kept his lead, but Gregory had reverted to his old loping trot and gradually he drew ahead again.
Fifteen yards—twelve yards—ten yards—eight yards—five yards—three yards. Every moment Gregory thought that von Ziegler would swing round and fire at him again; this time point-blank and with little chance of missing. Yet he dared not act prematurely. When only two yards separated them he lifted his empty rifle and, gripping it by the stock and the barrel, swung it up above his head; then with all his force he hurled it at the back of von Ziegler's neck. The rifle caught the German right across the shoulders; his automatic went off in his hand as he staggered and pitched forward on his face. Next second Gregory had flung himself right on top of him with a triumphant gasp.