"Lord, what a shave!" he said again. "What would Schramm have said if he had seen it!"
Then, as we stared at the absurd marine creature, we rocked in silent spasms of mirth—human beings are made of a very queer clay—picturing the bewildered faces of the Boches at a sight which would have meant our death.
The sense of humor was benumbed in both of us before long. The sun was dropping low, and we did not dry as quickly as before. There was a stillness on the island, which boded no good, I thought, though our pursuers evidently believed that we had escaped them.
"They probably think we swam ashore earlier in the game," said Duncan. "They must be sick at not having spotted us."
"I wonder what they are up to now?"
"Probably destroying evidence, and getting ready to clear out, if they really have a notion that their big men over here may be involved. Unfortunately, these papers don't give anything away, so far as I can see except that they're addressed to Schramm; but it's quite obvious what they were doing."
We lay still and waited, listening to the strangely peaceful lapping of the water round our rock, and watching the big sea-perch and rock-cod that moved like shadows below.
"I wonder if that fellow suspects mischief," said Duncan, pointing over the cliff. "By Jove! isn't he splendid?"
Over the highest point of the island a white-headed eagle was mounting, in great, slow, sweeping circles, without one beat of the long, dark wings that must have measured seven feet from tip to tip.
"It's too splendid to be the German eagle. Praise the Lord, it's the native species; and he's taking his time because he has to take wide views. He has to soar high enough to get his bearings."