John instinctively
did the same, and the second volley fired with better aim riddled the
machine. There was a heavy explosion, it turned on its side, its wheels
revolving for a moment or two, and then it lay still, like a dying
monster.
John sprang to his feet and rushed for the shelter of a building only a
few yards away. He saw Weber's shadow flitting by his side, but when he
reached cover he found that he had lost him. Doubtless in the excitement
of the moment the Alsatian had found hiding elsewhere. He was sorry that
they had become separated, but Weber had a great ability to take care of
himself, and John was quite sure that he would escape. The task that
lay upon him now was to make good his own flight.
The building, the shelter of which he had reached, was a low brick
structure, already much damaged by shells and shrapnel. But the walls
were thick enough to protect him for the moment from bullets, and
flinging himself down in the deep snow he crouched in the shadow until
he could regain sufficient breath for further flight. He heard more
shots fired, but evidently random triggers only had been pulled, as no
bullet struck near him.
The fall of snow ceased almost entirely, and the moon grew brighter and
brighter. Chastel was a vast white ruin, tinted with silver, and as such
it had an uncanny beauty of its own.
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