“Hitherto I believe we stand fairly well. Let’s assume we hoodwinked von Brüning at Bensersiel, and base our policy on that assumption. It follows that we must show Dollmann at the earliest possible moment that you _have_ come back, and give him time to revise his tactics before he commits himself. Now——”
“But _she’ll_ tell him we’re back,” interrupted Davies.
“I don’t think so. We’ve just agreed to keep this afternoon’s episode a secret. She expects never to see us again.”
“Now, he comes to-morrow by the morning boat, she said. What did that mean? Boat from where?”
“I know. From Norddeich on the mainland opposite. There’s a railway there from Norden, and a steam ferry crosses to the island.”
“Your Bradshaw will tell us—here it is: ‘Winter Service, 8.30 a.m., due at 9.5.’”
We had a tussle with the tide at first, but once over the watershed the channel improved, and the haze lightened gradually. A lighthouse appeared among the sand-dunes on the island shore, and before darkness fell we dimly saw the spires and roofs of a town, and two long black piers stretching out southwards. We were scarcely a mile away when we lost our wind altogether, and had to anchor. Determined to reach our destination that night we waited till the ebb stream made, and then towed the yacht with the dinghy. In the course of this a fog dropped on us suddenly, just as it had yesterday. I was towing at the time, and, of course, stopped short; but Davies shouted to me from the tiller to go on, that he could manage with the lead and compass. And the end of it was that, at about nine o’clock, we anchored safely in the five-fathom roadstead, close to the eastern pier, as a short reconnaissance proved to us. It had been a little masterpiece of adroit seamanship.
There was utter stillness till our chain rattled down, when a muffled shout came from the direction of the pier, and soon we heard a boat groping out to us. It was a polite but sleepy port-officer, who asked in a perfunctory way for our particulars, and when he heard them, remembered the _Dulcibella_’s previous visit.
The man laughed derisively. “Not this year,” he said; “there will be fogs for another week; it is always so, and then storms. Better leave your yawl here. Dues will be only sixpence a month for you.