Part 47 (2/2)

”I'm off!” he said. ”No end of a jolly lark, isn't it? Hold her till I get on the railing.”

”Jim--if it's too short!”

”Well, I'll know all about that in a minute,” said Jim with a short laugh. ”So long, old chap: I'll be waiting below, to catch you when you bounce!”

He flung his legs over the railing, sitting upon it for an instant while he gripped the rope, twining his legs round it. Then he dropped off, sliding quickly down. Sick with suspense, Desmond leaned over to watch him.

Down--down he went. The mill-arms rose for a moment, and then checked as his weight came on them--and slowly--slowly, the great sail from which he dangled came back until it pointed straight downwards, with the clinging figure hanging far below. Down, until the man above could scarcely see him--and then the rope, released, suddenly sprang into the air, and the sails mounted, revolving as if to make up for lost time. On the gra.s.s below a figure capered madly. A low, triumphant whistle came up.

”Oh, thank G.o.d!” said Desmond. He clutched the boathook and leaned out, finding that his hands trembled so that the sails went round three times before he managed to catch the dangling rope. Then it was only a moment before he was on the gra.s.s beside Jim. They grinned at each other.

”You all right?” Jim asked.

”Oh, yes. It was pretty beastly seeing you go, though.”

”It was only a ten-foot drop at the end,” said Jim, casting his eye up at the creaking sails. ”But it certainly was a nasty moment while one wondered if the old affair would hold. I don't believe it ever was made in Germany--it's too well done!”

”Well, praise the pigs we haven't got to tackle those barrels again!”

Desmond said. ”Come along--we'll try and find a hole in the old fence.”

They came out of the friendly shadow of the mill and trotted northwards, bending low as they ran; there was no cover on the flats, and the moonlight was all too clear, although friendly clouds darkened it from time to time. It was a windy night, with promise of rain before morning.

”Halt! Who goes there?”

The sharp German words rang out suddenly. Before them three soldiers seemed to have risen from the ground with levelled rifles.

Jim and Desmond gave a despairing gasp, and turned, ducking and twisting as they fled. Bullets whistled past them.

”Are you hit?” Jim called.

”No. Are you?”

”No. There's nothing but the river.”

They raced on madly, their bare feet making no sound. Behind them the pursuit thudded, and occasionally a rifle cracked; not so much in the hope of hitting the twisting fugitives, as to warn the river sentries of their coming. The Germans were not hurrying; there was no escape, they knew! Father Rhine and his guardians would take care of their quarry.

Jim jogged up beside Desmond.

”We've just a chance,” he said--”if we ever get to the river. You can swim under water?”

”Oh yes.”

”Then keep as close to the bank as you can--the shots may go over you.

We'll get as near the blockhouses as we dare before we dive. Keep close.”

He was the better runner, and he drew ahead, Desmond hard at his heels. The broad river gleamed in front--there were men with rifles silhouetted against its silver. Then a merciful cloud-bank drifted across the moon, and the shots whistled harmlessly in the sudden darkness. Jim felt the edge of the bank under his feet.

”Dive!” he called softly.

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