"It is always a pity when politics interfere with sport," replied Saunders. "We manage these things better in England. When the shooting season commences politicians take a rest." "Here," said Meyer, "the shooting season commences when the politicians are most active. Only we don't shoot grouse in Grimland--only kings and councillors." Karl laughed. "I should like to have seen Saunders take his crew down the run in approved style," he said; "I'd have wagered my forest lands to a frost-bite that he'd have done the best time." "I should have liked nothing better," said Saunders, "but it is impossible to do oneself credit without practice. And I have been busy in other ways: I have been studying Meyer's treatise on Winter War, and I am not sure that the possibilities it holds forth are not more exhilarating even than the competition for Lady Cobham's cup." "We are likely to have that statement verified, if what I hear is true," said the Commander-in-Chief quietly. "And what you hear generally is true," muttered Karl. "In this case I have no doubts," said Meyer. "A large military expedition left Weidenbruck the day before yesterday; its destination and object are not difficult to surmise." "I am glad," said Frau von Bilderbaum truculently. "If blows are to be struck, the sooner the better; we are ready for them." There was a sound of cheering from the direction of the starting point, signifying that the first crew was launched on its downward course. It was morning--10.30 A.M., to be precise--for the race had to be run before the sun's power waxed hot enough to affect the surface of the track. And the scene was a gay one: blue and white flags were flying from poles at every hundred yards of the course, and from the crowded stands erected at the several points of vantage. And the day was a typical Weissheim day: the sky was of a deep and ever-deepening blue. Not a breath of air stirred over the snow-veiled face of the country. The sun had risen above the shoulder of the mighty Klauigberg, and had turned the myriad crystals into a sparkling ocean of unbelievable whiteness. To draw breath was to fill one's lungs with perfect air and one's heart with ecstasy. To gaze at the shimmering panorama of towering peaks and snowy buttresses was to behold the finest view in central Europe. "Here they come!" ejaculated Karl excitedly, as a "bob" came into view, accompanied by a slight scraping sound, as the runners slithered over the adamantine track. All held their breath, for the speed of the descending craft was absolutely terrifying. At the prow was a goggled figure in a white sweater, with a red dragon--the badge of his crew--worked on his chest. Behind him was a young girl, and behind her again four men, all similarly attired. With the exception of the steersman, who crouched forward,--a tense thing of staring eyes and straining muscles,--all were leaning back as far as possible to minimise wind pressure.