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"I don’t see your ibex, Siurd," he said, still searching. "On the third peak, mon ami" drawing Stent familiarly to his side the lightest caressing contact merely enough to verify the existence of the automatic under his old classmate’s tunic. If Stent did not notice the impalpable touch, neither did Brown notice it, watching them.
A classmate of mine at the Munich Polytechnic invited me Siurd von Glahn a splendid fellow educated at Oxford just like one of us nothing of the Boche about him at all " Brown laughed: "A Boche is always a Boche, Harry. The black Prussian blood " "No; Siurd was all white. Really. A charming, lovable fellow.
Edelweiss adorned his green felt hat; a green tin box punched full of holes was slung from his broad shoulders. Brown, lowering his rifle cautiously, was already getting to his feet from the trampled bracken, when, behind him, he heard Stent’s astonished voice break forth in pedantic German: "Siurd! Is it thou then?" "Harry Stent!" returned the dark, nice-looking young fellow amiably.
Brown looked thoughtfully at the thick lenses of the spectacles. The popeyes remained expressionless, utterly, Teutonically inscrutable. A big heather bee came buzzing among the alpenrosen. Its droning hum resembled the monotone of the Herr Professor. Behind them Brown heard Stent saying: "Do you remember our ambition to wear the laurels of Parnassus, Siurd?
Anyway, his dad had a shooting where there were chamois, reh, hirsch, and the king of all Alpine big game ibex. And Siurd asked me." "Did you get an ibex?" inquired Brown, sharpening his pencil and glancing out across the valley at a cloud which had suddenly formed there. "I did." "What manner of beast is it?" "It has mountain sheep and goats stung to death.
We followed it for that length of time across the icy mountains, Siurd and I. I thought I’d die." "Cold work, eh?" Stent nodded, pocketed his sketch, fished out a packet of bread and chocolate from his pocket and, rolling over luxuriously in the sun among the alpine roses, lunched leisurely, flat on his back.
Ah! now he knew him the map-maker of the carrefour, the sneak-thief who had scaled the park wall with the box that was the face he had struck with his clenched fist, the same pink, high-boned face, with the little, pale, pig-like eyes. In the same second the man's name came back to him as he had deciphered it written in pencil on the maps Siurd von Steyr!
Hey, Siurd, what I told you already gesternabend? The British schwein are in Italy already. Hola! Siurd! Take his feet and we turn him over mal!" But Von Glahn remained motionless, leaning heavily against the crag, his back to the abyss, his blond head buried in both arms.
Before the eager answer came to his lips she continued, hastily: "The man who made maps the man whom you struck in the carrefour is the same man who ran away with the box; I know it!" "That spy? that tall, square-shouldered fellow with the pink skin and little, pale, pinkish eyes?" "Yes. I know his name, too." Jack sat up on the moss and listened anxiously. "His name is Von Steyr Siurd von Steyr.
He knew, and Brown knew, that these Germans must be taken back as prisoners; that, suspicious or not, they could not be permitted to depart again with a story of having met an American and a Canadian after ibex among the Carnic Alps. These two Germans were already their prisoners; but there was no hurry about telling them so. "How do you happen to be here, Siurd?" asked Stent, frankly curious.
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