Darby leapt forward, clutching at a wing of the cloak. But it was wrenched violently away, and the hand beneath it was flung out, striking him a blow in the face that sent him reeling to the ground, while Max Hilliger, with a tin case full of maps and charts under his arm, stole downward to the beach.
CHAPTER XI.
THE ESCAPE.
Max Hilliger had not waited to ascertain who it was that had leapt out upon him from the shadows.
Against the light of the moon he had caught a glimpse of a Sea Scout's flat-topped cap, and the young voice that had uttered his name was no doubt the voice of one of his former companions of the Lion Patrol, who had been lurking in ambush to detain him, and perhaps bring about his arrest.
Max could only believe that his assailant was Mark Redisham, who lived near, and who had already shown inconvenient vigilance against him.
Mark Redisham had by some means intercepted the pigeon with the message which he, Max, had sent to his father from on board the Minna von Barnhelm. He had dared also to enter the pigeon-loft at Sunnydene, and perhaps to examine these special maps and charts that were now going over to Germany.
"Yes," Max ruminated as he made his way down the slopes of the cliff towards the beach, "it could only have been Mark Redisham. But whoever it was, I have given him a stinging knockdown blow that he won't forget in a hurry!"
By paths well known to him, he reached the foot of the cliff, and started off across the grassy denes, taking cover in the hollows and in the shadows of the gorse bushes, tightly gripping the tin case of charts under his arm and the small bag which he carried in his left hand. His right hand went to his belt, where there was a loaded revolver.
"If he'd shown fight," he reflected, fingering the weapon, "I might have used this. But it's a good thing I didn't. The noise would have alarmed the whole neighbourhood, and the Tommies on sentry-go along the beach would have nabbed me."