In five minutes the panting McNerney said, "Safe enough now from the ox-eyed German detective! Let us go down.

How badly is he hurt ?" "His right arm is merely disabled! It's a very severe flesh wound," complacently answered the doctor.

"Just enough loss of blood and following inflammation to leave him as helpless as a lamb in our hands." "I want to take the wolf home," growled McNerney, "and to see him sit in the chair of death.

I'll give him no chance to play tricks!" There was little sleep in the old schloss of Adler's Horst on this eventful night.

The regular pacing of sentinels reechoed upon the porticos, and a squad of hearty German soldiers made merry in the servants' hall with the released domestics.
Stout Ober-forster Hermann listened, with mouth agape, to Sergeant Breyman's loud denunciation of the wounded prisoner as the two men exchanged confidences, in the dining hall, where antlers and wolves' heads, grinning bears' skulls, and eagles' wings told the tale of many a wild jagd.
In the library, where Braun lay under guard, the two Americans were as powerless as Sergeant Breyman to break down Fritz Braun's dogged reserve.