ction. It wouldn't be
much of a task to tunnel our way out."

The Flight-Sub shook his head.

"Tunnelling's not much good in this water-logged country," he declared.
"We are not water-rats. Patience, my festive: where there's a will
there's a way."

Their quarters consisted of a long, two-storied building. The only
other occupants beside the guards, were three British Naval officers
rescued from a mined trawler that had managed to reach Dutch waters
before foundering. Two of them had broken legs; the third was down
with double pneumonia, the legacy of many a cold, stormy night in the
North Sea.

Surrounding the house was a high brick wall, on which had been recently
placed a triple row of barbed wire. At the entrance, an archway about
ten feet in height, stood a wooden sentry-box, where a soldier with
rifle and fixed bayonet kept guard in the leisurely manner of the
stolid Dutch menfolk. One could imagine him, a picturesque figure in
baggy trousers and coat of fantastic cut, smoking his pipe on the quay
at Volendam. The blue uniform did not form a fitting mantle for his
corpulent form.

The sentry was one of a type. The rest of the guards--middle-aged men
called up on mobilization--were much of the same build and demeanour.
Their innate love of gossiping tempted them to be on most friendly
terms with the interned officers. One and all were violently
pro-British. They had reason to dread the German menace, for they were
level-headed enough to realize that, with the Central Powers
triumphant, the independence of Holland would be a thing of the past.

Adjoining the grounds were the quarters occupied by interned seamen, to
the number of about sixty. They were strictly guarded; a formidable
double fence of barbed wire, between which armed sentries patrolled,
enclosed the premises. For discipline, the men were under the orders
of their own petty officers.

"Jolly good luck to you!" exclaimed one of the wounded officers, to
whom the two new-comers confided their intention of escaping. "If we
three weren't crocked we should have been across the ditch by this
time."

He pointed seawards as he spoke. From the upper windows of the
building the sunlit sea could be seen. Beyond the "ditch", as he
termed it, was England and freedom.

"It's no use trying to break out," he continued. "German spies as
thick as blackberries along the coast. The most benevolent-looking
mynheer might, as likely as not, be a ku