For some moments Terence stood still, with his hands up to his face. The pain was excruciating. He could do nothing, but he could hear the footsteps of the rascal as he ran from the scene of his dastardly work.
"The brute has thrown quicklime in my eyes," thought the sub. "I'll have to find my way to the sea and try to save my sight. Good heavens!"
Like a flash he now recognized the voice. It was that of the spy, Major Karl von Eckenhardt.
Gradually Aubyn made his way down the gently shelving sands, guided by the murmurs of the waves breaking on shore. Before he had gone many yards he gave vent to a prodigious sneeze, quickly followed by another.
"That's luck indeed," muttered the young officer. "It isn't lime after all; it's pepper."
Presently the involuntary flow of tears cleared the irritating grains from his eyes, and though they still smarted terribly he was now able to see. In addition a veil had been lifted from before his mental vision: hitherto rather sceptical concerning the reports of German spies on the East Coast he was no longer in doubt on that score.
There was also another aspect to the situation. Perhaps von Eckenhardt had learnt the home address of the young officer who had materially assisted in thwarting his designs upon the "Saraband." Motives of revenge may have brought the German hither, possibly to strike a blow at Aubyn through his parent. Terence tried to dismiss the suggestion as absurd, but the presentiment grew upon him. He resolved to get his mother to move into either Yarmouth or Norwich at the first opportunity.
Thus reasoning Terence retraced his steps. He meant to inform the nearest patrol of what had occurred, and if the telegraph and telephone could be pressed into immediate service the spy ought to be apprehended before morning.
"'Alt. Who goes there?"
"Friend!" replied Terence promptly.