ripped the rope, twining his legs round it. Then he dropped
off, sliding quickly down. Sick with suspense, Desmond leaned over to
watch him.

Down--down he went. The mill-arms rose for a moment, and then checked
as his weight came on them--and slowly--slowly, the great sail from
which he dangled came back until it pointed straight downwards, with
the clinging figure hanging far below. Down, until the man above
could scarcely see him--and then the rope, released, suddenly sprang
into the air, and the sails mounted, revolving as if to make up for
lost time. On the grass below a figure capered madly. A low,
triumphant whistle came up.

"Oh, thank God!" said Desmond. He clutched the boathook and leaned
out, finding that his hands trembled so that the sails went round
three times before he managed to catch the dangling rope. Then it was
only a moment before he was on the grass beside Jim. They grinned at
each other.

"You all right?" Jim asked.

"Oh, yes. It was pretty beastly seeing you go, though."

"It was only a ten-foot drop at the end," said Jim, casting his eye up
at the creaking sails. "But it certainly was a nasty moment while one
wondered if the old affair would hold. I don't believe it ever was
made in Germany--it's too well done!"

"Well, praise the pigs we haven't got to tackle those barrels again!"
Desmond said. "Come along--we'll try and find a hole in the old
fence."

They came out of the friendly shadow of the mill and trotted
northwards, bending low as they ran; there was no cover on the flats,
and the moonlight was all too clear, although friendly clouds darkened
it from time to time. It was a windy night, with promise of rain
before morning.

"Halt! Who goes there?"

The sharp German words rang out suddenly. Before them three soldiers
seemed to have risen from the ground with levelled rifles.

Jim and Desmond gave a despairing gasp, and turned, ducking and
twisting as they fled. Bullets whistled past them.

"Are you hit?" Jim called.

"No. Are you?"

"No. There's nothing but the river."

They raced on madly, their bare feet making no sound. Behind them the
pursuit thudded, and occasionally a rifle cracked; not so much in the
hope of hitting the twisting fugitives, as to warn the river sentries
of their coming. The Germans were not hurrying; there was no escape,
they knew! Father Rhine and his guardians would take care of their
quarry.

Jim jogged up beside Desmo