by the star,
and both of us from the consciousness of over-fatigue.

'Spying at Chatham, the blackguard?' he hissed.

'What do you make of it?' I asked.

'Nothing about battleships, mines, forts?' he said.

'No.'

'Nothing about the Ems, Emden, Wilhelmshaven?'

'No.'

'Nothing about transports?'

'No.'

'I believe--I was right--after all--something to do--with the
channels--behind islands.'

And so that outworn creed took a new lease of life; though for my
part the words that clashed with it were those that had sunk the
deepest.

'Esens,' I protested; 'that town behind Bensersiel.'

'Wassertiefe, Lotsen, Schleppboote,' spluttered Davies.

'Kilometre--Eisenbahn,' from me, and so on.

I should earn the just execration of the reader if I continued to
report such a dialogue. Suffice to say that we realized very soon
that the substance of the plot was still a riddle. On the other hand,
there was fresh scent, abundance of it; and the question was already
taking shape--were we to follow it up or revert to last night's
decision and strike with what weapons we had? It was a pressing
question, too, the last of many--was there to be no end to the
emergencies of this crowded day?--pressing for reasons I could not
define, while convinced that we must be ready with an answer by
supper-time to-night.

Meantime, we were nearing Norderney; the See-Gat was crossed, and
with the last of the flood tide fair beneath us, and the red light on
the west pier burning ahead, we began insensibly to relax our
efforts. But I dared not rest, for I was at that point of exhaustion
when mechanical movement was my only hope.

'Light astern,' I said, thickly. 'Two--white and red.'

'Steamer,' said Davies; 'going south though.'

'Three now.'

A neat triangle of gems--topaz, ruby, and emerald--hung steady behind
us.

'Turned east,' said Davies. 'Buck up--steamer from Juist. No, by
Jove! too small. What is it?'

On we laboured, while the gems waxed in brilliancy as the steamer
overhauled us.

'Easy,' said Davies, 'I seem to know those lights--the Blitz's
launch--don't let's be caught rowing like madmen in a muck sweat.
Paddle inshore a bit.' He was right, and, as in a dream, I saw
hurrying and palpitating up the same little pinnace that had towed us
out of Bensersiel.

'We're done for now,' I remember thinking, for the guilt of the
runaway was strong in me; and an old remark of von Bruening's about
'police' was in my ears.