They crossed the road and slouched along past the gates. As they passed the great grey motorcar, Max lightly dropped the note he was carrying on to the seat which Schenk had just been occupying. The chauffeur was looking eagerly in the direction of the guard-room, and did not observe the act or the missive. They slouched on until they turned a corner, and then Max cried eagerly:
"Now back again and in that garden among the bushes. We shall see it all, and see Schenk's face when he reads my note."
"What did you say, old man?"
"Let us get out of sight there, and I will tell you."
In a few moments the two friends were snugly ensconced in a clump of bushes in a garden very near the entrance to the works. The grey car was still occupied only by the chauffeur, but they could tell, by his listening attitude and the expectant looks of the guards, that an altercation of some sort was going on inside the guard-room.
"This is what I said, old man," Max went on in a voice which betrayed his excitement:—
"To Herr von Schenkendorf, alias Otto Schenk,
"I observe that you have at last accepted your dismissal from your post as manager of the Durend works. You are going—hated and despised—back to the land which gave you birth. And at last, in this moment, you must know yourself defeated by those at whom you scoffed as boys. The works you swore to destroy still stand intact, and will, in a short time, be throwing all their weight and power into the cause of the Allies. Adieu.
"Max Durend,
"Jack Dale."
"Good, old man! That'll make the beggar sit up if anything will. Hark! cavalry. Ours or theirs, I wonder?"