For a few minutes Danny could do nothing but stand on the edge of the pool, in the glorious sunlight, beneath the great blue sky, and realise that he was free. It was like waking up from a ghastly nightmare.
After shaking himself like a dog and squeezing some of the water out of his clothes, he turned up the little path leading to the road.
Where should he go? To whom should he report? He had such a wonderful story to tell, such a network of clues to unravel, such important information to report—it was difficult to know where to start. And would they ever take him seriously? he wondered.
Feeling in his pocket, he drew forth a flat cigarette-tin. It contained his precious notebook. For, with the forethought of a true Scout, he had realised that at any time a swim in the pool might be necessary, and that it was important to keep his book dry. It contained his report, carefully written out, with dates and diagrams, up till the night of his capture. The events since then were not entered, of course, but they were imprinted forever on his brain. Can any one ever forget moments when death seems very near, or when an unseen hand seems to protect one marvellously and set one free?
Glancing at his entries, Danny decided that his little book would not be much use in helping to explain the immediate dangers that must be dealt with. It was useless to try and tell the whole story from the beginning. To get the Germans caught was all that mattered. His book would be useful as evidence later, so he replaced it in his pocket and set out along the road in search of the Scouts.
It was not long before he came on two of them marching briskly along their piece of road.
“Hullo!” they said. “What on earth are you doing out at this time of the morning? And you’re soaking wet, and in no end of a mess. Your uniform’s all torn, and—what’s up with your wrists? They’re all bleeding! My word, you will get in a row!”
“Can’t help that,” said Danny. “There’s something jolly important up. Who’s the P. L. in charge? I’ve got to report it at once.”
“Michael Byrne’s just come on with us—but Dick is only just going off with the night chaps. If you buck up you’ll catch him,” said the Scouts.
“Thanks,” said Danny, and set off down the road at the double. Old Mike was a good chap and a friend of Danny’s, but somehow he didn’t seem the best chap to whom to report. The Senior P. L. was the very person Danny wanted.