Too late did Oberfurst make the discovery that there were more than two adversaries, for Dr. Cardyke and Greenwood senior gamely sought to bar the German's way.
At the first alarm Mr. Greenwood had seized his rifle. True, he had no cartridges; perhaps for his son's and Tressidar's safety it was as well that he had not.
The doctor, being slightly in advance of his friend, received the brunt of the second phase of the night operations, for the spy, using his feet in the approved Continental style, kicked Cardyke on his left knee, at the same time gripping the doctor's arm.
Then it was that Oberfurst met his Waterloo, for his palm came in contact with the formidable array of fish-hooks that the doctor still kept in his coat-sleeve. Uttering a yell as the barbs lacerated his flesh, the spy again attempted to break away. As he did so, Greenwood senior prodded him in the ribs with the butt-end of his rifle and stretched him out breathless on the road, just as Tressidar and the A.P. again appeared upon the scene.
Otto Oberfurst had been far from inactive since the "Nordby" incident. Having given the Danish skipper the slip, the spy made his way to Aarhuus, whence, having obtained false papers, he posed as a British mercantile seaman whose vessel had been mined in the North Sea.
It was his intention to return to Great Britain with the least possible delay and resume his nefarious operations. For two reasons: firstly, that he thought it unlikely that the British authorities would suspect his presence after what had occurred. The very audacity of his plan would tend to put them off the scent. Secondly, he knew full well that the Head of the German Secret Service would not overlook his blunder unless he promptly outweighed his error by a brilliant coup.
Accordingly he landed at Hull, and before twenty-four hours had elapsed was within an ace of destroying a munitions factory. Foiled, he went south, and, by blowing up two unguarded railway tunnels, delayed important movement of troops on the way to Flanders. Here, again, it was only by a sheer fluke that the troop train was not derailed.
In due course accounts of the demolished tunnels appeared in the Press, with the suggestion that the disasters had been caused by subsidences after the heavy rains, and thus public apprehension was allayed.
Having reported himself to his chief, von Schenck ordered him to the West of England to assist in the escape of three German officers from the detention camp, and to help them to cross to Ireland in readiness for a revolt of the Sinn Feiners. Already the German authorities were in full possession of the knowledge that an armed rising was imminent in Ireland, and in addition to arms being conveyed thither in Hun ships disguised as neutral merchantmen, arrangements had been made for several German officers at present prisoners of war to join the insurgents.
In this West Country detention camp it was a matter of consummate ease to communicate with the imprisoned German officers. Many of the latter were on parole (although it is generally recognised that a Hun regards the breaking of his plighted word as a smart piece of work), and were permitted to go freely into the neighbouring town on two days a week. They were also allowed to purchase English daily papers without the latter being examined when brought into the camp, and thus many a ciphered communication passed between the prisoners and their compatriots without.