With a steady heave von Eitelwurmer raised Peter's legs until his feet were fairly over the edge of the bank, while his head and body supported by the suspended branch were still hanging over the stream. So far so good. The German's next step was to shift the scarf until it formed a loop round Barcroft's shoulders. Another strong pull and the rescued man was lying safe but exhausted on the bank, while the two very wet dogs were frantically licking his face. The animals, after being carried down stream, had succeeded in finding a foothold, whence they had leapt clear of the dangerous stream. "You've saved my life, Norton," said Peter, stating a perfectly obvious fact. "It is nothing," protested von Eitelwurmer. "Perhaps, but it is precious to me," rejoined Barcroft, unable, even in his exhausted condition, to resist the temptation of "pulling up" his companion for a badly-expressed declaration. "What I did, I meant, of course," added the spy. "How about your cap?" "I'll have another shot for it," said Peter with sudden determination. "If you'll hold my hand I'll reach it easily enough." "No, you don't," decided the German firmly. "I don't want the trouble of fishing you out again. Come along." Having assisted Barcroft to the path, von Eitelwurmer again descended, cut a short stick and deftly hooked the cause of the accident. "Here you are, Barcroft," he exclaimed, handing the cap to its rightful owner. "Quite easy, you see. I suppose rabbit-shooting is off at present?" "Until to-morrow," replied the undaunted sportsman. "At ten, sharp. You must have an opportunity of making up for what you missed to-day, Norton; 'pon my word you must." CHAPTER XXXIII VON EITELWURMER'S OPPORTUNITY AT eight the following morning Siegfried von Eitelwurmer was considerably surprised when the tenant of Ladybird Fold appeared at The Croft, booted and gaitered and carrying his gun. "You are two hours too early, Barcroft," he exclaimed. "What is wrong? Couldn't you sleep after your involuntary bath?" He spoke jocularly, yet in his mind there was a haunting suspicion of doubt. Not that there was any reason for it as far as Peter Barcroft was concerned, although--did he but know it--Philip Entwistle was "speeding things up" in his work of investigating the case of Andrew Norton otherwise von Eitelwurmer. "I slept soundly," replied the unruffled Peter. "Notwithstanding hot-water bottles and mustard poultices, cough-mixtures and various bronchial remedies. It's one of the penalties of being married; but, 'twixt you and me, I like being made a fuss of in that direction. Now, I wonder how you would fare, Norton, if you were taken ill, living practically by yourself?" "Make the best of it, I suppose," replied the spy hurriedly. He was an arrant coward where illness was concerned. "But why this early call? Thought you didn't rise much before nine?"