Cost Price by Dornford Yates Page B

at least we’ve looked over his shoulder.”
    (It is, of course, elementary that a house should be watched, before a raid is made.)
    “She had me on,” I said.
    “Not your fault,” said Mansel. “Your eyes were on Friar. But what a lovely hand! And the fellow’s thrown it away. We must write to Ferrers at once and tell him to let her go.”
    “Where to?” said I.
    Mansel shrugged his shoulders.
    “Report to us at Spittal – wait till we come. But after the washout at Villach, they may be shy. Still, she’ll have to leave Hohenems. And since I got her in, it’s for me to get her out.”
    “And Friar?”
    “God knows,” said Mansel, and laughed. “If he finds out, heaven help her. But that is her affair. The point is that, thanks to Carson, we are now wise.”
    I put a hand to my head.
    “I can’t believe it,” I said. “She’s an English girl.”
    Mansel fingered his chin.
    “I suppose she is,” he said. “But what was she doing in Salzburg? And why does she run with the Boche? Oh, I’ve got it, William. I’ll lay her mother was German – which means that, as like as not, her father was, too.”
    I went to my bed that night, a sobered man.
     
    The next morning, before it was light, we entered the Rolls and drove out. Within the hour, Mansel and Bell and I had been dropped at three different points, and Carson drove back to the castle, with orders to keep the house and to fetch us when dusk had come in. Each of us bore a map and was to explore the district which neighboured the frontier, as best he could. He was to avoid observation at any cost and was to be back to meet Carson not later than eight o’clock.
    I was set down some thirty miles from Wagensburg and, if the map was true, almost exactly three miles from the frontier itself. But that was as the crow flies.
    I made at once for a beechwood, as offering cover from view, and, once within this shelter, I threw a look round.
    The dawn was coming up, and the country was taking shape. Colour was stealing into a lovely world, shading the exquisite contours, in black and green, turning from grey to white the magic of falling water and changing from pall to quilt the glory of forests that hung on the mountainsides.
    The wood’s recesses were dark, but, by keeping close to its edge, I was able to see. Very soon I was climbing sharply, and, on my left, a valley followed me round. Looking South, from behind a tree, I saw the sun touching a summit a mile ahead. From this, it was clear, I should get a most excellent view and so I set out to get there before I did anything else.
    It was nearly two hours before I had my way, for the going was very severe and I had to make more than one detour and then come back to my line. Add to this that I never moved into the open, until I was pretty well sure that no one was there to see. But in the end I got there, to find my reward.
    I was commanding the length of a valley system which ran clean across the frontier and into Italy. Of this there could be no doubt, for the map declared that the summit upon which I was lying was little more than two miles from the border itself. And I could see further than that. As though to confirm this conclusion, several cigarette ends and two or three empty tins were insisting that others had found it much to their taste. In a word, it was an observation post: and such posts overlook ways by which frontiers may be crossed.
    The valley I had seen on my left, when I was skirting the wood, gave to another valley which ran south-east: this, in turn, gave to another, which ran south-west. More, I could not make out; but by then you were over the border…
    This was all to the good: but when such a pass is unguarded, as I have said before, that is, as a rule, because Nature guards it herself. I could not see much water, although I could hear the falls, but I had little doubt that it was water that barred this way. Still, it was well worth proving, and after a little I put my binocular up