“Milk, if you please, and quickly. I will take the bread with me.” And while she timorously brought them out, “Who lives here?” “F-Förster Habermehl.” “Where is he?” peremptorily. “At Windenberg.” “Oh! There are no men here?” “No.” “That is well, then.” He drank a glass of milk greedily and tore off a piece of the loaf. “You are a good girl. Heaven will reward you.” He made his way to the door, looking out cautiously, and then turned and put his hand in his pocket, bringing out a piece of money. “See,” he laughed, “I have concluded to reward you myself. Cash. Much better than hopes, _nicht wahr_?” She fetched a timorous smile and bobbed shyly. “You will do me a favor,” he said in a whisper as he went out of the door, “if you will tell no one of my visit.” And with that, chuckling to himself, went down the road again in the direction of Schöndorf, watching the turn in the road below the village for a glimpse of Wentz and his men. Before he reached the edge of the open country he paused and listened. From the house that he had visited came the faint tinkle of a bell. Frau Habermehl had lost no time. She had notified the master of the hounds who was clamoring for the scent. Hammersley walked around the turn in the road, which hid him from the house, and then went into the bushes where he sat on a fallen log, peeping through the leaves toward the further side of the clearing, where General von Stromberg’s men must appear. He did not know how long he would have to wait. Half an hour, perhaps longer. If he knew anything of von Stromberg, they would come in every sort of available vehicle, from a high-powered machine to a donkey cart, picking up the misguided Wentz and his men upon the way to follow this new scent. It was difficult to sit still and wait. Hammersley wanted a smoke awfully, but he chewed a twig instead, for he needed to keep his wind in good condition and had purposely left his pipe at the Thorwald. He did not want to get too far away from Doris. By the way he intended to return he was now at least six miles from the cavern and with the mile or so he must go toward Schöndorf before he turned, a good eight miles of rough going lay between himself and safety. Under other circumstances, he would have greatly enjoyed the chance for a rest. With a cooler wind from the northeast the weather had cleared and the period of higher temperatures through which they had passed seemed to be drawing to a close. In spite of the doubts that hung about his plan, he couldn’t help saying to himself that he felt jolly fit.