They returned to the tower. It was now half-past nine, the mist was thinning, and before taking in hand the preparation of the mine, Burton thought it well to make another survey from the top of the tower. With Marco he climbed the ladder. Even with the naked eye he was able to see, winding like a serpent across the white plain, a long column of troops, its rear merging into the mist. Through his glasses he distinguished its composition. In advance of the main body of infantry rode squadrons of cavalry. Here and there appeared files of pack-mules. He handed the glasses to Marco, whose face gloomed as he watched the unending stream. "The mules carry mountain guns," he said. "That’s bad. They are coming on quickly, too. We shall not have time to prepare our mine." But as they went down again, to make final preparations for meeting the impending attack, an idea occurred to him. Taking Marco to the lower floor, he said in English, loud enough to be heard by the prisoners above-- "A bomb would blow us all to smithereens. I had no idea there was so much dynamite there." The Germans instantly rose to the bait. They could be heard in excited discussion above. Waiting a few minutes to allow his words to produce their full effect, Burton returned to the upper room. The officers broke off their conversation and looked at him uneasily. "I beg your pardon, sir," said Hildenheim at length, hesitatingly. "You shpeak of dynamite?" "I did, yes--there is a considerable quantity in the cellar below." Looking very grave, Hildenheim translated to his companion, whose alarm found vent in impassioned volubility. "Major Schwartzkopf protests viz indignation," Hildenheim went on. "Ve are prisoners--so; but ze law of nations do not permit zat prisoners be confined in a place of danger." "Danger, gentlemen! It was you who chose this place. What danger do you anticipate?" "Our allies ze Bulgars zis vay come. Not understand? Zey attack zis place. Ve sit on high explosive below; ze Bulgars shoot high explosive above; ve are blowed to--vat you call it?--schmiddereens!" "Surely your allies love you too well; they will not subject you to such risks." "I know not so much about zat. Zey love us--yes; but if it is zeir duty zey blow us up all ze same." "We shall all be in the same boat, then. But perhaps you have something to suggest?" "It is ze law of nations zat you keep us safe." "You are quite safe so far as we are concerned. Obviously I cannot remove you. If your friends shell us--well!" "But you can remove ze dynamite. You can take it out, inter it, shuck it into--vat you call it?--a gully." "We haven’t time for that. But I have an idea. There is a long tunnel leading from the cellar. If you and your companions care to carry the dynamite to the farther end of the tunnel, it will be out of harm’s way so far as the tower is concerned." "Zat is not ze vork of German officers."