“I was right—only upside down,” he murmured more than once. “Always really right—those channels are the key to the whole concern. Chatham, our only eastern base—no North Sea base or squadron—they’d land at one of those God-forsaken flats off the Crouch and Blackwater.”
“It seems a wild scheme,” I observed.
“Wild? In a way. So is any invasion. But it’s thorough; it’s German. No other country could do it. It’s all dawning on me—by Jove! It will be at the Wash—much the nearest, and as sandy as this side.”
“How’s Dollmann been?” I asked.
“Polite, but queer and jumpy. It’s too long a story.”
“Clara?”
“She’s all right. By Jove! Carruthers—never mind.”
We found a night-bell at the villa door and rang it lustily. A window aloft opened, and “A message from Commander von Brüning—urgent,” I called up.
The window shut, and soon after the hall was lighted and the door opened by Dollmann in a dressing-gown.
“Good morning, Lieutenant X——,” I said, in English. “Stop, we’re friends, you fool!” as the door was flung nearly to. It opened very slowly again, and we walked in.