![]() ![]() While they were looking for his body he escaped to England. He fell, however, into a patch of bog, and by skillful woodcraft convinced the search parties that he had been drowned. But his captors dared not let him go they threw him over a cliff and staged his death to look like an accident. He was questioned and tortured until some official recognized the name on his passport, and his stony of a sporting stalk seemed possible, if unlikely. His claim that he never actually meant to shoot was, naturally enough, considered incredible by the secret police indeed he himself shows a reticence about his motives which cannot altogether be accounted for by his very English reserve. He was caught when his telescopic sight was coming on to the target. He does not tell us whether he went east or west from Poland, his starting point. He became obsessed with the idea of stalking the biggest game of all, a European dictator. ![]() ’Lest what I write,’ he says, ‘should ever, by accident or intention, become public property, I will not mention who I am.’ It is the confession of an English aristocrat with a name internationally known, who appears to have taken little part in politics or society, but to have earned his notoriety through exploration and big-game hunting. ![]()
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