Even Bob Dashwood, to whom physical fear was unknown, felt himself turn pale at the narrowness of his escape.
The spy was still there, and evidently a crack shot, while they had no firearms!
After a long, thrilling pause, a gloating laugh came out of the darkness.
"The English are the greatest fools in the world; or is it perhaps that they have no weapons, hein?" said the spy's voice, the soliloquy being evidently intended for his listeners' benefit.
Dennis was conscious that his brother had edged away behind a large boiler, and groping desperately in the pockets of the German coat, hoping against hope that he might find something that would turn the tide in their favour, his own fingers closed on—a raw potato!
An idea occurred to him, and with a silent jerk of his forearm he threw it to the other end of the room. As the potato fell, Von Dussel swung round and fired two shots in the direction of the sound, and under cover of the reports Dennis joined Bob in his temporary shelter.
A snarl of vexation broke from the angry Prussian at his second failure; and, taking Bob's hand in his own, Dennis tapped out a Morse Code sentence on the back of it with his first finger, relieved to find from his brother's answering squeeze that Bob understood him.
"Give me that rifle," he tapped. "There might be an unused cartridge left in the magazine, after all."
Bob supported himself on the side of the boiler, and Dennis took the Mauser from him without noise.
He knew the barrel must be choked with earth from the use it had been put to, but, after all, it was a chance.