"You go straight on until you reach the stream. You'll see the place where I have scooped a passage for you at the foot of one of the posts supporting the wire. The men must be careful, or they'll be electrocuted."
"I'll see to that."
"You cross the stream, turn to the left, cut along the bank--and there you are."
"Perfectly clear sailing directions. But what about the road?"
"Cross that: you can slip along among the trees. Better keep a look-out for the Turk who went down with the cart. He'll be coming back presently, with the German seaman who I suspect was on guard at the gate."
"You'll be a staff-officer some day, my friend. Well, it's all clear. We'll arrange our plans: you had better cut off. Here, Moggs and Parker, you're under Mr. Forester's orders."
Two strapping seamen jumped up and saluted. One of them hitched up his breeches and spat on his hands.
"Good luck, then," said the lieutenant-commander.
Frank nodded, smiled, and led the men along the route he had followed the previous day to the timber stack at the rear of the bungalow. On the way he halted for a few minutes to explain in general terms what his purpose was, and to impress on them the need of absolute silence. When he reached the trees, he left them there under cover, to await his signal. Then he stole forward alone.
There was no sound except the servant moving about in the kitchen part of the building. He peeped through a chink in the wall of the verandah. No one was in view, but he now heard a succession of snores and grunts from somewhere in the interior. Turning, he beckoned to the seamen to join him. They came swiftly on tiptoe, screened from the look-out in the tree-top, not far away to their left, by the row of trees that almost overhung the bungalow.