When he awoke the sun was shining brightly, and by its position he knew that his window faced north-east. He had barely completed his toilet when his breakfast was brought in.
"Evidently they mean to treat me better than they did at Heligoland," he reflected, as he looked at the larger cup of coffee, the long roll, a pat of butter, and a couple of fried mackerel. "This seems too good to last."
He set to with a will, for he had a healthy appetite. As he ate he could not help thinking of his conversation with the German lieutenant. The man seemed perfectly open about the matter, as if he really believed the prisoner was under a hallucination.
Then his thoughts turned to Detroit. What had they done with him? Had he been brought to Sandinsel, or was he still in solitary confinement in Heligoland?
His meal ended, Hamerton crossed over to the window. The outlook was not particularly extensive. Immediately below was a kind of courtyard, with triple lines crossing it in several directions. This system enabled heavy wagons to be run over the broad gauge, and lighter trucks to use one of the outer rails and the intermediate one.
The outer space was bounded by the inner part of the fortifications—an almost blank wall pierced by a few doorways and apertures for ventilation.
Hamerton could not see over the wall, but he knew by the presence of a screen of furze and gorse that the face of the fortifications was composed of earth and sand, the best material for minimizing the effects of heavy projectiles.
There his range of vision ended, save for the expanse of blue sky overhead. He might sit at the window for days at a stretch and still see nothing of a confidential nature. Save for an occasional fatigue-party and the passing of a carefully-covered-in train of trucks drawn by electric tractors, the courtyard was deserted. Everything in connection with the actual working of the guns was concealed under the wide mound of earth and sand on the other side of that stone wall.
"A truly cheerful prospect," thought the Sub. "To gaze upon this outlook is a rare intellectual treat. I must make the best of it, I suppose. It is only in old romances that the governor's daughter, or at least the jailer's daughter, takes compassion upon the hapless captive, provides him with a safe disguise, collars the keys from her parent, and releases the object of her affections. This fortress is controlled by men of blood and iron. Sentiment and romance find no place in this modern German Gibraltar. Well, it's no use moping I'll have a look round the room."
It did not take Hamerton long to make a careful examination of the interior of his prison. With a steel tool in his possession he would be able to cut his way out with far less exertion than he had to spend on his previous attempt. The window was but fifteen feet from the ground; with his strength he felt confident that he could bend the long iron bars sufficiently to allow him to squeeze through. Failing that, five minutes of uninterrupted work would be enough for him to knock a hole in the plastered ceiling and make his escape on to the roof. But to what purpose?