Stepping over Hamerton's body the American made his way along the face of the cliff. He was filled with vague fears. Something seemed to tell him that all three ladders had been tampered with.
Just as he gained the part of the bridge immediately above the opening of one of the Zeppelin sheds, every arc lamp in the pit was instantaneously lighted.
Blinded by the sudden and powerful glare the American stopped stockstill, grasping the light handrail, and vainly attempting to shield his eyes from the intense brilliance of a lamp just beneath the place where he stood.
Voices hailed him in an unknown tongue. Their import was plain enough: it was a peremptory summons to surrender.
He removed his hand from his eyes. He could now see, though indistinctly. Fifty feet beneath him and as many yards from the base of the cliff stood a squad of marines with levelled rifles. Behind them were three or four officers who had demanded his instant submission.
Detroit had sense enough to realize that the game was up. He raised his hands in token of surrender, then deliberately made his way back to where Hamerton stood.
Luckily for him the officers saw his object, and forbore to order their men to fire. Several sailors came running up, bearing the displaced section of the ladder. This they placed in position, and half a dozen of them swarmed up to seize their prisoners.
"It's the fortune of war, old man," exclaimed Hamerton feebly, "but we've had a very good innings."
"HERE'S a letter from Kiel for you," announced Octavius Smith as he entered the cabin of the _Diomeda_. "You're a rum card, Stirling; you generally manage to get hold of everything you want. Bless me if I ever thought you'd get a reply from Pfeil."
"It's quite about time," replied Gordon Stirling unconcernedly as he caught the envelope his companion tossed towards him.
Ten days had elapsed since Stirling had set out to carry off a journalistic scoop. Allowing for two Sundays, that were not counted in ordinary leave, only six more days remained. In less than a week he would have to be slogging away in the Inland Revenue Office at Lowestoft, making up arrears of work that his confrères were bound to keep open for him. That is one of the ethics of a Government Department. A fellow returning from leave is supposed to be like a young giant refreshed with wine--ready and willing to tackle any accumulative work. The result is that almost all the benefits from a holiday are thrown away upon a desperate attempt to reduce the pile of bookwork to reasonable dimensions.