This we did without success. There were many strange things there, including pieces of wreckage, a bit of an old ship's steering-wheel, and a bra.s.s bell with a ship's name on it; but there was nothing eatable excepting some fish to bait a lobster-pot; and the fish hadn't been caught yesterday, and we had by no means reached the stage of exhaustion in which we could regard it as food.

Cornwallis said:

"As a matter of fact, our great enemy will be thirst. I am frightfully thirsty already, for that matter."

And I said:

"So am I, now you mention it."

As the light died away, we held a sort of a council, and tried to decide what exactly was our duty--to England firstly, and to ourselves secondly. We talked a good deal, until our voices grew queer to ourselves, and it all came back to the same simple fact--our duty was to get out, and we couldn't.

Then I had the best idea that had yet come to us.

I said:

"As we can't get out, we must try and get somebody in the outer world to let us out. The only question is, shall we attract anybody but the spy if we raise an alarm?"

Cornwallis said of course that was the question; but it didn't matter, because we couldn't raise an alarm.

I said:

"If we howl steadily together once every sixty seconds by your watch, like a minute-gun at sea, somebody is bound to hear sooner or later."

And he said:

"Far from it, Towler. We shall only tire ourselves out, and get hungry, as well as thirsty, for no good. Our voices wouldn't go any distance through these solid walls, and, even if they did, we are evidently in a frightfully lonely and secluded place, miles and miles from civilization, else the spy wouldn't have chosen it for his operations."

I admitted this, but we did try a yell or two. The result was feeble, and I myself said that if any belated traveller heard it, he would only murmur a prayer and cross himself, and hurry on, like they do in books.

Then Cornwallis decided to break the window. He didn't know why exactly, but he felt he wanted to be up and doing in a sort of way.

Besides, it was beastly fuggy in the spy's den; so we broke the window with a boat-hook, and I got on the shoulders of Cornwallis and had a good yell through it; but no answer came.

Then another idea struck me, and it was undoubtedly this idea that saved the situation. We got the old ship's bell and hung it up on a rope as near the window as possible, and hammered it with the boat-hook, taking turns of five minutes each.

This created an immense volume of sound, and though, of course, it was more--far more--likely to bring the spy back than anybody else, we had now reached a pitch of despair, and would have even welcomed the spy in a sort of way. Cornwallis from time to time still worried about our duty, but I had long pa.s.sed that, for it was nine o'clock. So at last I told him to shut up and hit the bell harder.

It was now quite dark, and from time to time heavy drops of rain fell through the window. The sea-going lamp would have been very useful now, for we might have signalled with it; but though there was an oil-lamp in it, we had no matches, and it was therefore useless.

Then, in a lull, when I was handing over the boat-hook to Cornwallis, whose turn it was to hammer the bell, we distinctly heard the stealthy sound of the motor-boat returning, and Cornwallis, mounting my shoulders, and nearly breaking my neck in his excitement, reported a red light below.

Then he heard several harsh voices.

Cornwallis said:

"We are now probably done for, Towler. The spy has evidently been to a submarine, and he's heard the bell, and you can pretty easily guess what submarine Germans will do to us. In fact, our Fate is right bang off."

I said:

"Surely they wouldn't kill two kids like us?"

And he said:

"Killing kids is their chief sport. They can't be too young--from babies upward."

So it looked pretty putrid in every way, and it wouldn't be true, and it wouldn't be believed, if I said Cornwallis and me weren't in the funk of our lives.

But the awful moments didn't last long, for, almost before the padlock was undone, what should we hear but the well known yelp of Brown!

Our first thought was that the crew of a German submarine had also got Brown; but even in our present condition we felt that was too mad. All the same, when he actually appeared, with two other men and the spy, he looked such a ghastly object, and was so white and wild, that it seemed clear that he was in a mess of some kind.

What he said when we both appeared in the lantern light was:

"Thank G.o.d!"

For the first and last time in his life he was apparently glad to see us. But after this expression of joy, he instantly became beastly, and, in fact, so much so, that a man behind him, who did not fear him, told him not to talk so roughly to us at such a moment.

This man turned out to be no less a man than the great Mr. Foster himself, and he explained to us that we had put everybody to frightful anxiety and distress, and that, in fact, he had feared the worst.

This much surprised us, and what surprised us still more was Mr.

Foster's att.i.tude to the spy, for he called him "Joe," and treated him in a most friendly manner.

We all went back to the motor-boat, and while it tore away to the landing-place under Mr. Foster's beach, we told our story. During this narrative, which was listened to very carefully, the man called Joe made several remarks of a familiar nature, which showed he was not in the least afraid of anybody, and we found out later that he was an old and trusted servant of Mr. Foster's, who lived at Daleham, and who managed Mr. Foster's motorboat, and caught lobsters for him and fish of many kinds, and was, in fact, a sort of family friend of long standing. It was admitted, however, that Joe was very queer to look at, and also odd in his ways. This arose entirely from his peculiar Fate, because Fate had had a dash at him too, and when a young man, he had once gone out fishing, and returned to find that during his absence his wife had run away for ever with another mariner. This was such a surprise to him that it had quite turned his head for a time, and, in fact, he had been odd ever since.

Having told our tale, we ventured to ask why everybody had feared the worst, and Mr. Foster explained the situation, and showed what a splendid and remarkable bit of work Fate had really done for Cornwallis and me.

He said:

"What did you intend to do when you left Joe's hut?"

And I said:

"We were going to tear back along the beach, sir, and give the alarm, because we thought he was a pro-German spy."

Joe gurgled at this, but did not condescend to answer.

"And do you know what would have happened in that case?" asked Mr.

Foster.

"You would have explained to us that we were on a false scent, sir,"

said Cornwallis.

"No, my child, I should not," answered Mr. Foster, "for the very good reason that I should never have seen either of you again alive. Nor would anybody else. If you had started to go back by the beach, you would both have been overtaken by the tide and most certainly been drowned."

"Crikey!" said Cornwallis under his breath to me.

"Yes," continued the good and great Mr. Foster, "if Joe here, quite ignorant of the fact that you were trespa.s.sing in his store shed, had not turned the key upon you both, you would neither of you be alive to tell your story now."

Somehow we never thought we were trespa.s.sing, but doing our duty to England. It just shows how different a thing looks from different points of view.

"You ought to be very thankful," said Mr. Foster, "and I hope this terrible experience will leave its mark in your hearts, my boys. You have been spared a sad and untimely death, and I trust that the memory of this night will help you both to justify your existence in time to come."