"It's all right, Schlutze," replied a voice. "The leutnant sent me to bring some more hands down. There's a boat broken adrift. She's grinding against the end of the torpedo-station pier."
"What boat?" asked the sentry, recovering his rifle.
"I do not know. It's empty."
"Not an English boat?" asked the man anxiously.
"When the English do venture they will attempt the attack with something bigger, my friend. The bigger the better, for they will never be able to pass here, with our excellent torpedo-tubes trained across the river. But I must be moving. Herr leutnant is in a great hurry. He does not want his piers damaged."
Denbigh remained lying on the ground. He waited until half a dozen Germans passed within twenty yards of him. He could hear their heavy boots clattering on the planks of the foliage-screened pier, although the structure was invisible from where he lay.
Finding that it would be too risky a business to attempt to pass the sentry, Denbigh crawled back to O'Hara, and by signs indicated that he was going into the forest. The three comrades, keeping close together, turned their backs upon the river and were soon swallowed up in the dense foliage.
Maintaining his direction by means of his spirit-compass, Denbigh held on until he came upon a clearing. Here the ground was furrowed with deep ruts. They had evidently been caused by the recent passage of heavy objects drawn upon rough sleighs. The dew-steeped ground bore the impress of many booted feet as well as, to a lesser extent, those of natives.
"They've been lugging up the quick-firers," mentally commented Denbigh. "I wonder where they've hidden them? Wish to goodness they hadn't employed niggers. I don't mind getting on the track of a Hun, but the blacks have an awkward trick of turning the tables upon a fellow when it comes to following a spoor."
He waited, revolving in his mind the problem that confronted him. His companions stood motionless and silent. They, too, realized that danger lurked in the dense bush.