He stepped out on to a ledge, very narrow, very perilous.
Once again Danny came very near to despair. A wild recklessness seized him. He would jump down into that churning foam and water, and hope for the best; hope that he would not strike a rock. It was the only thing to do. He could almost feel himself falling, falling through the cold air, feel the shock of the splash into the foaming sea far below. There was something exhilarating about it. He would probably be killed. Oh, it would be a relief from the horror of the last few hours! And he would be dying for his country!
With the thought of his country, however, he returned to a saner mood. No, that was all rot. To hurl yourself to useless destruction is not to die for your country. He had a great secret to carry and deliver, so as to save England. He knew that there was only about one chance in a thousand that if he jumped down he would ever be able to reach the shore in safety. It was not for him to take risks. His heart sank as he realised the only course left to him—for to shout for help would be useless: this was a lonely place at best, and there was no chance of any one being near at dawn.
“I must go back.”
He spoke the words aloud. And his voice sounded weak and shaky. Oh, the horror of going back into that nightmare of dark passages and vaults! But it was his duty. Here, there was no chance of escape; there, there might possibly be.
“It’s more horrible to go back than to jump down into the sea,” he said, “but I’ll do it for England’s sake, and to keep my promise to do my duty, and not give in to myself.”
Clenching his fists tight, he turned his back on the sea and faced the darkness. Why had he come here if it was all for no purpose? Even as he wondered this, his eye fell on something that gave him the answer. In a cranny in the wall three objects were stowed: a powerful telescope, a signalling flag, and a strong flashlight. So the spies, also, had discovered this ledge! To whom did they mean to signal? Obviously to someone out to sea—to a submarine—a stealthy scout, sent from some enemy squadron lying out in a bank of mist; the picture rose in Danny’s mind.
Picking up the telescope, he scanned the sea, half expecting to see a little black point—a periscope—watching, watching for the expected signal. There was nothing in view; but he had made an important discovery, namely that such a watching scout was expected by the spies; that they had made arrangements to signal across the sea, as well as by the other means Danny had discovered. To have learnt this important piece of information made his difficult task of getting to the cliff worth while; the time so expended had not been time lost. Danny knew now why he had been led thither. With this added information to report, he was more than ever impatient to be out—more full of hope and determination.
Back along the rocky crack he went; back through the crypt; back into the passage. For the second time he hurried silently along it. At the place where it turned a sharp corner he paused to listen, breathlessly. Yes, there it was—“buzz, buzz-buzz, buzzzz——”
Danny put out his lantern. In the darkness he turned the corner and watched the spy at work. The yellow light of the candle was not sufficient to pierce the shadows and reveal him to the enemy. What should he do now? As before, he longed to attack the man. But this course would, he knew, be worse than useless. The spy was very much intent upon his work. Inch by inch Danny crawled nearer. What should he do?