And there he was, strolling around the edge of the platform as cool as you please. At least, he looked cool—and to the spectators, he must have looked downright arrogant. But I knew he’d be strung up as tight as a violin string, and I only hoped the danger and exhaustion of the night hadn’t unsettled whatever steadiness he’d been able to build into himself during his time in the cellar. He came to the mark—I crossed my fingers—he raised the musket—I held my breath—and then there came an interruption.

Sergeant Snitsch, one hand on his trousers and the other brandishing a truncheon, rushed out from behind the platform.

“Stop!” he cried. “Peter Kelmar, you’re under arrest! There’s a price on your head, young man!”

Peter stood quite still for a moment, and then lowered the musket carefully before looking around. What he’d have done next, I don’t know; but it was the referee who spoke.

“No,” he said firmly. “I can’t have that. While he’s taking part in the contest, he must be a free man, since it says in the rules that only free men can take part.”

Sergeant Snitsch was astonished. “But I’ve arrested him!” he said.

“Oh, no, you haven’t,” said Herr Stanger, “because he’d already started. He’s a free man!”

The audience, thanks to Max, was in a good mood and they cheered at this verdict. Sergeant Snitsch had to back down.

“Only till he shoots,” he grumbled. “I’ll have him then.”

“That’s up to you, Sergeant,” said the referee. “Now, stand aside, if you please.”

The sergeant tucked his truncheon under his arm and stood out of the way, fixing his trousers. The audience fell still, and Peter lifted his musket for the second time.

You remember what I said about William Tell? Well, that came back to me again. For Peter wasn’t shooting only for the prize; he was shooting for his freedom, and all the spectators knew it. I’d have shaken like a leaf; most people would. But that’s the difference between you and me, on the one hand, and a champion, on the other. For he held the musket as still and steady as a stone carving, and then he squeezed the trigger; and just as if it had been rehearsed, the feather flew high into the air.

He’d hit the target! He’d won!

It took a moment or two for the audience to realize—and then such a cheer broke out as I’d never heard in my life. They threw their hats in the air, they slapped each other on the back, they laughed and shouted and cheered with joy.

And then the sergeant stepped forward again, and the noise died away. “Right, my lad,” he said with satisfaction, “I’ve got you now.”