Part 19 (2/2)
The travellers were nearing the summit of Blackstone Edge.
Suddenly Leslie levelled the weapon, aiming at what he took to be the body of a rabbit showing above the top of a hillock. He was on the point of pressing the trigger when a loud crash, followed by a cloud of smoke and dust immediately behind the car, almost caused the pistol to drop from his grasp.
”What's that?” exclaimed Admiral Sefton.
”Tyre burst, I'm afraid,” replied Crosthwaite Senior, momentarily expecting the car to swerve. Applying the brakes he brought the car to a standstill, with the engine still running, and prepared to investigate the extent of the damage.
The Huns' carefully-laid plans had gone awry through Leslie Sefton's instrumentality. The lad had mistaken one of the miscreants' caps for a rabbit. Hans, under the impression that the attempt had been discovered, and that one of the occupants of the car was levelling a pistol at him, suddenly lost his nerve. He depressed the firing-key of the battery a second or so too late. Instead of the detonation occurring immediately underneath the motor, it expended its force harmlessly in the air.
”By Jove, Crosthwaite!” exclaimed the admiral as a rapid fusillade was opened upon the stationary car. ”Modern highwaymen!”
”Keep down, lads,” ordered the general sharply, for the nickel bullets were singing overhead like a swarm of angry bees. ”Under the seat, Sefton. Be sharp!”
”Never!” expostulated the admiral st.u.r.dily.
”Not you, I mean,” almost roared his companion by way of apology.
”You'll find a Webley under the seat. Look alive, man! It's loaded only in one chamber.”
Leslie Sefton's first impulse was to duck, until remembering that he still held a loaded weapon, although it was but an air-pistol, in his hand, he rested the barrel upon the padded back of the seat and aimed at the nearest of the a.s.sailants.
It was an excellent shot. The little bullet struck Hans just above the right eye. With an oath the German clapped both hands to his injury, dropping his pistol as he did so, and began to dance round and round in agony.
”Four to four now,” exclaimed the lad, taking into no account the fact that the supposed highwaymen were all well armed. He jerked back the barrel of the air-pistol and inserted another pellet, the zest of the fight gripping him with the utmost intensity.
Meanwhile Crosthwaite Senior had let in the clutch, and had succeeded in turning the car in the direction of the attackers. Altogether unprepared for this manoeuvre, the four separated, two making to the right, and the others, keeping close together, edging away to the left, still maintaining a hot and erratic fire.
Bending low behind the wind-screen, the plate-gla.s.s of which was already ”starred” in several places by the impact of the bullets, the general urged the car straight in the direction of the men on his left. Even as he did so, the admiral, who had discovered the loaded revolver, blazed away on his left, with the result that Otto lost all present and future interest in the welfare of the Fatherland.
”Lucky shot,” exclaimed Admiral Sefton modestly. ”Very lucky shot. In the centre of his fat forehead, by Jove!”
Only on rare occasions, since those far-off days when he was a young lieutenant, had the retired naval officer handled a revolver, but his skill and deadly precision remained. Leisure hours, spent with his favourite dog and gun amidst his preserves, had done much to keep the hardy admiral's eye as bright and his hand as steady as of yore, when his revolver practice was the envy of his messmates on the old gunnery-s.h.i.+p Excellent.
Ejecting the empty cartridge case, the admiral loaded all six chambers.
Then, ready to resume the encounter, he again levelled the weapon, at the same time protesting audibly that the first shot was a mere fluke.
Giving scant heed to his friend's remarks, Crosthwaite Senior kept the car full in the direction of his particular quarry. Over the low bank bordering the road the heavy vehicle mounted, lurching dangerously as it did so. Only by sheer chance did it escape being capsized, as the offside wheels rose three feet clear of the soft, gra.s.s-grown soil.
”Dash it all, Crosthwaite!” protested the admiral. ”Fairly spoiled my shot that time. Easy ahead, man, or you'll have us all overboard.”
Loud yells from another of the Huns showed that the admiral's second shot, if not so deadly as the first, had ”scored an outer”. Leaving his companions to continue the treacherous attack, the wounded man ran as fast as he could, still bellowing with pain, and holding his coat tails with both hands.
Only two Huns remained. Wildly firing, they stood their ground until the car was within a few feet of them.
In his keenness Major-General Crosthwaite had not taken sufficient notice of the nature of the ground. Mounting a steep hillock, the car swerved and toppled completely over, pinning the admiral beneath the cha.s.sis and throwing the other occupants headlong upon the turf.
In a flash the two Germans seized their opportunity. One, levelling his automatic pistol, fired point-blank at the prostrate general, the bullet pa.s.sing completely through his uplifted arm and flattening itself against his silver cigar-case. Before the miscreant could load again--it was the last cartridge in the magazine--George flung himself upon him.
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