He knew that there were armed sentries on the beach. Since the beginning of the war, the whole of the east coast of Great Britain had been patrolled and watched at night by men in khaki with loaded rifles and fixed bayonets.
He was running the risk even now of being seen and made to give an account of himself. It was for this reason that he was so careful to take cover and to make no betraying sound as he went at Scouts' pace towards the sea.
For himself he had no fear, excepting that, if caught, he would be compelled to explain the compromising contents of his bag and the tin canister. It was the men in the waiting boat about whom he was anxious. They were Germans, and although one of them, Hermann Körner, could speak excellent English, yet the others might easily betray themselves as foreigners and enemies.
When he reached the higher ridges of sand that intervened as a natural barrier between the beach and the level grass land, he went down on his elbows and knees and crept over the loose sand until he could look down upon the foreshore. He had come out, as he had intended to do, directly opposite one of the groins of black timber that reared their protecting walls across the beach. The deep-driven piles at the near end were covered with sand; at the far end they were washed by the tide. Many a time had Max dived into the deep water from the end of this same groin. As he looked at it searchingly now, he distinguished the dark shape of the boat against the blackness. It was about fifty yards away from him, with only an open slope of sea sand and shingle between. In a few moments he might be seated in the boat, when the rowers would push off.
But on that stretch of moonlit beach two figures had suddenly appeared. They were striding quickly towards the boat. He could see the moonshine glinting on their bayonets, and hear their heavy tread on the sand. One of them lowered his rifle, with a hand on the lever, as he called out a loud challenge to the boat:
"Who comes there?"
Max Hilliger's plan was working just as he had hoped. A tall man stood up from the boat and strode towards the two sentries.
"Friends!" he answered. And Max recognised the voice of Hermann Körner. "It's all right, boys."
The patrol saw only indistinctly that he wore the uniform of a naval officer. Never doubting that he was British, they drew to a halt in front of him.
"We've got strict orders not to let anybody come ashore," one of them said.