Von Gobendorff seemingly paid little or no attention, but, shifting his suit-case from his right hand to his left, he struck his heel lightly with his malacca cane—thrice, in a most casual way.
"Have you been to the cottage, Herr von Gobendorff?" asked the man in German. "I had to go down to the river, but I hoped to be back before you arrived."
"It matters little," replied the spy. "Have you arranged about a dog?"
"A huge beast," was the reply. "Terrifying in appearance, but he's muzzled and chained."
"It is well," rejoined von Gobendorff. "Now listen carefully. I don't want this business bungled. You say you can get across to the signal-post without being seen from the signal-box, and you know what to do?"
"Yes," was the reply. "All that is necessary is to remove a bolt from the rod, and the signal-arm, being weighted, will rise to the danger position."
"Quite so," agreed von Gobendorff; "but the point is this: can you lower the arm again? The train must be delayed for not longer than five minutes—less if possible. I will place the explosive between the rails. It has a six-minute fuse, so there is little margin. I don't want to be blown up with a crowd of Englishmen."
"I understand," replied the other. "But will six minutes be enough?"
"Enough and no more," rejoined the spy. "The moment the down train crosses the bridge and gains the double-track the American troop train, which will have to wait for it, will start again. Once over the bridge it will not matter whether the engine is over the point of detonation, for the whole structure will collapse and the train with it. Now, fetch me the dog."
The huge St. Bernard showed neither enthusiasm nor mistrust at the sight of its new master. It suffered itself to be taken away on the lead, and, as previously related, the pseudo major and his canine companion contrived to board the guard's van of the Service down train to Trecurnow.