Unfortunately the night was coming fast.  Thick gray gloom clothed the whole east, and but little light showed in the west.  Looking back he saw no light in the hotel, but that was to be expected, as Picard would certainly loop the curtains heavily over the windows.  Out here in the ruined town much of his extraordinary buoyancy departed.  The cold and the desolation of the world made him shiver a little.  He thrust his hand into the pocket of his overcoat, and closed it upon the butt of the automatic.

He thought once of calling at the top of his voice for Weber, but instinctive caution kept him from doing so.  Then he caught sight of a slender moving figure far ahead and feeling sure that it must be the Alsatian he hurried forward.  The figure moved on as fast as he, but, eager in pursuit, he followed.  It was shadowy and slim at the distance, but he knew that it was a human being, and either it was Weber or some man of Chastel returning to see what had happened to his town.  In either event he wished to overtake him.

But the figure led him a long chase.  The man seemed to be moving with some definite purpose, and kept a general course toward the east.  Now John called out once or twice, though not loudly, but the stranger apparently did not hear him.  Then he pushed the pursuit more vigorously, breaking into a run, and just beyond the eastern rim of Chastel, feeling sure now that it was the Alsatian, he called once more: 

“Weber!  Weber!”

The man paused and he seemed to John to look back, but the snow drifted heavily between them just then, and when the cataract had passed he was again moving on, more slender and dim than ever.  Beyond him lay a little wood, torn and mangled by shells and shrapnel, as the town had been, and John, afraid that he would lose him in it, ran as fast as he could through the deep snow, calling once more, and loudly now: 

“Weber!  Weber!  Weber!”

The figure stopped at the edge of the wood and turned.  John, holding up his hands to show that he meant no harm, continued his panting rush through the snow.  The man stood upright, magnified into gigantic size by the half light and the storm, and, as John came close, he saw that in very truth it was Weber.  His relief and joy were great.  He did not know until then how anxious he was that the stranger should prove to be Weber, in whose skill and resource he had so much confidence.

“Weber!  Weber!” he cried again.  “It’s Scott.  Don’t you know me, or am I so clothed in snow that nobody can recognize me?”

“I recognize you now, Mr. Scott,” said Weber, “and glad am I to see that it’s you.  I was afraid that I was being followed by a German scout.  I could have disposed of him, but it would not have saved me from his comrades.”

“Comrades!” exclaimed John, as he shook his hand.  “Why, are Germans about?”

“I think they are.  At least, I’ve come out here to see.  You’ll forgive my jest, Mr. Scott, in writing my name under that of your party on the register, won’t you?  As Mademoiselle Lannes has doubtless told you, I carried the letter from her brother, directing her to join him in Chastel, and, as my duties permitted, I came here also to see that my work was effective.  I’d have gone at once, but I heard suspicious sounds in front of the hotel, and I came out at once to investigate.”