On the last word he leapt up behind Martin and thrust his head in through the bars above the boy’s.
‘Guffy!’ he shouted. ‘Guffy Randall! Your own little Bertie is behind these prison bars in desperate need of succour. The old gentleman on your right is a fly bird – look out for him.’
‘That’s done it!’
Martin’s voice was triumphant.
‘He’s looking up. He’s recognized you, Campion. Great Scott! The Hun is getting out his gun.’
At the same moment the German’s voice, bellowing now in his fury, rose up to them.
‘Go away. You are trespassing. I am an angry man, sir. You are more than unwise to remain here.’
And then the other voice, well bred and protesting.
‘My dear sir, you have a friend of mine apparently imprisoned in your house. I must have an explanation.’
‘Good old Guff –’ began Mr Campion, but the words died on his lips as the German’s voice again sounded from the turf beneath them.