He had not been there very long; the luminous dial of his wrist-watch told him that—when, although he had heard no sound on the soft carpet of pine needles, something suddenly hit the wire and the cowbell tinkled in the darkness.
Recklow was on his feet in an instant and running south along the wire. It might have been a deer crossing to the eastern slope; it might have been the enemy; he could not tell; he could see nothing stirring. And there seemed to be nothing for him to do but to take his chances.
"McKay!" he called in a low voice.
Then, amid the checkered pools of light and shade among the trees a shadow moved.
"McKay! It's Number Seventy. If it's you, call out your number, because I've got you over my sights and I shoot straight!"
"Seventy-six and Seventy-seven!" came McKay's cautious voice. "Good heavens, Recklow, why have you come up here?"
"Don't touch the wire again," Recklow warned him. "Drop flat both of you, and crawl under! Crawl toward my voice!"
As he spoke he came toward them; and they rose from their knees among the shadows, pistols drawn.
"There's been some dirty business," said Recklow briefly. "Three
enemy spies went over the Swiss wire about an hour after you left
Delle. There are half a dozen Boches on the peak by the Crucifix.
And that's why I'm here, if you want to know."
There was a silence. Recklow looked hard at McKay, then at Evelyn
Erith, who was standing quietly beside him.