The day was slightly clouded by the fact that Brown was the master who took us, for Brown loves to display his power before strangers, and make us look as small as possible in order that he may shine. But the great Mr. Foster--though what he had done that was great I don't know--saw through Brown with ease, and told him we must do what we liked, and have a good time in every way--not, in fact, hampered by Brown.

After the service in the chapel, where some good singing was done by us, and a clergyman preached a rather longish sermon on duty and so on, the solemn business of the day began, and we had an ample meal. When I tell you that there were enough raspberries and cream for all, I need add no more. If all those raspberries had been put in one pile, we should have had "no small part of a mountain," as Virgil so truly says.

The great thing after dinner was to go and bathe and ramble on the sh.o.r.e. This was the time that Brown could be most easily escaped, and as he had to keep his attention on the chaps who went swimming, those who did not were able to enjoy themselves in various interesting ways.

The tide was out, and, by a little dodging behind rocks, Cornwallis and me, who did not bathe, were able gradually, as it were, to slip out of the danger zone; which we did do. A magnificent and interesting beach spread out before us, and we decided to explore it. So we retreated fast for some distance till a cliff jutted out and entirely concealed us, and then we went slower and explored as we went. Cornwallis had a watch, and as there was no serious work on hand till tea at five o'clock, we had more than two hours.

We did some natural history, and found small pools full of marine wonders, such as sea anemones and blenny fish, which in skilled hands can be made as tame as white mice, and can live out of the sea between tides. We also collected sh.e.l.ls, and, much to my amus.e.m.e.nt, I collected one sh.e.l.l which I thought was empty, until I felt a gentle crawling in my trousers pocket, and discovered that a hermit crab lived in the sh.e.l.l, and was frantically trying to escape. This, of course, I allowed him to do, and no doubt he is puzzling to this day about what happened to upset his usual life.

On we went, and then the beach got narrower, and I said it was natural, but Cornwallis thought not. He thought the tide was coming in, which would account for the increasing narrowness of the beach.

I said:

"In that case, Cornwallis, we had better go back, because you can see, by the marks on the cliffs, that the tide will come here in large quant.i.ties, and, in fact, the water will be jolly deep."

And Cornwallis said he supposed it would. The time also was getting on, and we found it was past four. But, of course, we meant getting back fast, with an occasional run, and had allowed half the time to get back that we allowed to go out.

We were just turning, after going a few hundred yards farther, when a most interesting thing appeared. The cliffs hung over rather, and were made of red sandstone, and very steep; but ahead of us was a ledge of rock half-way up the cliff, and on it a mysterious little house made of bits of old boat and painted with tar. It was extraordinary to see such a thing in such a lonely spot, and Cornwallis, who is rather suspicious, owing to the War and being a Boy Scout, wondered if it was all right.

Because, if you are once a Boy Scout, as Travers minor pointed out, you are always a Boy Scout, and though you may not be scouting in a professional sort of way, yet, if anything peculiar happens, or you get a chance of doing good to the country, you must instantly look into it.

So Cornwallis decided to go and examine this queer shed, and I went with him. The door was open, but we saw no signs of life. It was a solid building made of heavy timbers, and there was a padlock on the door.

Inside was a pleasant smell of tar and cobbler's wax and fish. It seemed to belong to a mariner of some sort; but, on the other hand, what mariner could possibly want to make his house in such a weird spot?

There was no bed or washing basin or chest of drawers, to show that the stranger lived here, but there were many interesting things, including a lobster-pot, a telescope, and a large lantern of the sort used on board ship.

I saw nothing peculiarly suspicious, but Cornwallis did. From the first he took rather a serious view of it, and when he found a green tin full of petrol, his face went white, and he said it was Fate.

I said:

"What the d.i.c.kens do you mean, Cornwallis?"

And he said:

"I mean, Towler, that this is the hiding-place of a German spy. There's a telescope with which he picks up periscopes, and there's a lamp, with which he signals to the submarines by night, and there's the petrol he takes to them to replenish their tanks. And this shows the Doctor was right: you can get Fate in real life as well as Greek tragedies."

And I said:

"But the prawn-nets and fishing-lines and corks and paint, and so on?"

And he said:

"These things are merely blinds to distract the eye from the others."

So I said:

"Well, what are you going to do about it?"

And he said:

"I am going straight back, and after tea, or even before, I shall tell the great Mr. Foster there is a pro-German traitor under his cliff, and offer to show him the way to the spot."

"I'll help," I said. "But the thing is to be careful, and surprise the spy at his work."

Just as I said these words, curiously enough, the spy surprised us, and we found ourselves in a position that wanted enormous presence of mind.

Suddenly we heard the sound of heavy feet outside, and as there was only one way up to the hut, it was clear we could not escape without being seen. And if seen, of course, our object was lost, for the spy would make a bolt of it.

The question was where to hide, and, by the best possible luck, there was a chance to do so. A big tarpaulin hung on a nail on the side of the hut, and it was of great size, and came nearly to the ground, while at its feet was a seaman's box. Owing to the fortunate smallness of Cornwallis and me, there was ample room for concealment behind the tarpaulin, and our feet were hidden by the box. So we got behind it and hardly dared to breathe, though, just before the traitor came in, Cornwallis had time to whisper to me:

"If he's come for his tarpaulin coat, we're done for, and he'll very likely kill us!"

And I whispered to him:

"Be hopeful. Fate may be on our side, and it's not the weather for a tarpaulin coat, anyway."

Then the spy came in, and though I was not able to see him, Cornwallis, by a lucky chance, got a b.u.t.tonhole of the coat level with his eye, and saw the fearful spectacle of the spy.

He was a dreadful object, with wickedness fairly stamped on him, so Cornwallis said afterwards. He was a big man with humpbacked shoulders and a cocoanut-like head, far too small for his body and legs. He was grey, and had a s.h.a.ggy beard and a wide mouth that showed his teeth.

These were broken and black. His nose was flat and small, and his eyes rolled in his head as he looked round his hut. They were black and ferocious to a most savage extent. He kept making a snorting sound, which was his manner of breathing. He wore dirty white trousers and a jersey, and upon his feet were dirty canvas shoes. He had no hat, and he didn't look the sort of person that Fate would be interested in. But you never know. He suspected nothing, and had not seen us come in, which was the great fear in my mind.

The creature did not stop long, yet long enough to give himself away for ever as a spy, for he took one of the green tins of petrol, and then, saying some English swear words to himself of the worst kind, went out and slammed the door behind him. We nearly shouted with joy, but a moment later our joy was changed into the most terrible sorrow, because the spy fastened the door behind him. We heard a chain rattle and a padlock click, so there we were, entirely at the mercy of a creature evidently quite dead to pity in every way. This was, of course, Fate again, as Cornwallis pointed out.

There was a window about a foot square high up in the roof of the hut, and when the spy shut the door and locked us in, everything became dark excepting for the light from this narrow window. Therefore, when we were sure our enemy had gone, and there was not a sound outside, I got on to a table, and Cornwallis climbed on my back, from which he was able to look out through the window. Luckily it faced the sea, and Cornwallis reported that the sea had come a great deal nearer, and that the spy was only about fifty yards off. He stood on a sort of pier of rocks, and was pulling in a rope to which was attached a small motor-boat.

Then naturally I wanted to get on Cornwallis's shoulders, but he told me not to move for a moment. Then he said that the spy had got into the boat and was evidently going to sea. And then he said he had gone.

I next climbed on to Cornwallis, and so proved the truth of his words, for I distinctly saw the motor-boat speed off with the spy in it. I also saw that the tide had come in, and soon it was actually beating against the rocks twenty-five feet or so below us.

When the motor-boat had disappeared in a westerly direction, Cornwallis and me got down off the table and considered what we ought to do.

"The first thing is to make every possible effort to escape at any cost," I said. But he said that he had already thought of that, and felt pretty certain it was beyond our power. The window seemed the only hopeful place; but it was made not to open, and the gla.s.s was thick, and Cornwallis said we couldn't have got through the hole, even if there had been no gla.s.s. But I said:

"It is well known, Cornwallis, that if a man can get his head through a hole, he can get his body through."

And he said:

"It isn't well known at all. You might because you have got a head like a tadpole, but I couldn't."

I said I was sure I had read it somewhere, but, anyway, it didn't matter. We examined the hut thoroughly, and found it was only too well and solidly made. We were utter prisoners, in fact, and, owing to the spy not knowing it, might very likely be left to die of starvation. He might even have gone to join a submarine, and never come back.

"Perhaps he does know we are here all the time," said Cornwallis.

"Perhaps he spotted us, and pretended he didn't. In that case he may have locked us in deliberately to starve us, not caring to waste a shot on us."

This thought depressed us a good deal, and presently the sun sank and the light began to fade, and a seagull that settled outside on the roof uttered a melancholy and doleful squawk.

Of course, we were far from despairing yet, and Cornwallis made a cheerful remark, and reminded me that if we had eaten our last meal on earth, at any rate it was a jolly good one.

And I said:

"There may be food concealed here, for that matter. We'd better have a good hunt, and look into every hole and corner before it is dark."