The ober-leutnant shrugged his shoulders. He was obstinate, pig-headed and arrogant, but in argument he was no match for the trained finesse of the Secret Service agent.
"As a favour——" he began.
"No—as a right," corrected von Preussen firmly.
"Donnerwetter! You insist too much," grumbled von Preugfeld. "I suppose there is nothing to be done but to fall in with your whim."
"With official instructions," interpolated the spy.
"Have your own way then," snapped the ober-leutnant. "To land you must necessarily entail night-work. I propose, then, to set you ashore at the same place as before. We are, in fact, within a couple of miles of it, and you will observe that we have shut off the motors, and U 247 is even now resting on the bed of the German Ocean. I would suggest that you should walk to Nedderburn and catch the mail train south that stops at the junction shortly after three in the morning."
"And more than likely stumble across some of the officers and men from Auldhaig Air Station," objected the spy. "No, my friend, I prefer to lay my own plans; then, if anything does go wrong, I have only myself to blame. And since Captain George Fennelburt is either a prisoner of war or 'missing—presumed drowned,' I must needs beg, borrow or steal another name. Henceforth, until further notice, I am Captain Broadstone, also of the Royal Air Force. Will you oblige me by lending me a pen? There are certain forms which I must now fill in to bear out my new character."