For a couple of strides he advanced towards them, deceived for an instant by the jacket of the dead German which Dennis was wearing. Then he sprang back with a startled cry, his light vanished, and the clang of the heavy door echoed dully in the pitch darkness. Bob Dashwood's hand gave his brother's shoulder a warning grip, and the pair listened, scarcely breathing. In both their minds was the one thought: Had their enemy gained the outer room before the door closed, or was he still there, waiting for the first sound that should betray their whereabouts? Dennis, who had been standing erect when the torch beam found him, now crouched low; but Bob stood motionless, his head turned sideways to listen, the half-smoked cigarette still in his mouth. The silence of the room seemed to be intensified by the gunfire outside; and, without thinking, Bob Dashwood pulled at the cigarette. The tiny end shone faintly, with a brighter glow, a loud report broke the unnatural stillness, and the bullet of an automatic pistol carried the cigarette from the smoker's lips and struck the wall behind him! Even Bob Dashwood, to whom physical fear was unknown, felt himself turn pale at the narrowness of his escape. The spy was still there, and evidently a crack shot, while they had no firearms! After a long, thrilling pause, a gloating laugh came out of the darkness. "The English are the greatest fools in the world; or is it perhaps that they have no weapons, hein?" said the spy's voice, the soliloquy being evidently intended for his listeners' benefit. Dennis was conscious that his brother had edged away behind a large boiler, and groping desperately in the pockets of the German coat, hoping against hope that he might find something that would turn the tide in their favour, his own fingers closed on--a raw potato! An idea occurred to him, and with a silent jerk of his forearm he threw it to the other end of the room. As the potato fell, Von Dussel swung round and fired two shots in the direction of the sound, and under cover of the reports Dennis joined Bob in his temporary shelter. A snarl of vexation broke from the angry Prussian at his second failure; and, taking Bob's hand in his own, Dennis tapped out a Morse Code sentence on the back of it with his first finger, relieved to find from his brother's answering squeeze that Bob understood him. "Give me that rifle," he tapped. "There might be an unused cartridge left in the magazine, after all." Bob supported himself on the side of the boiler, and Dennis took the Mauser from him without noise. He knew the barrel must be choked with earth from the use it had been put to, but, after all, it was a chance. _Bur-r-r-r!_ The telephone bell struck an odd, imperative note at that moment, and Von Dussel spoke sharply. "You hear that, you hound?" he thundered. "You Dashwoods, you! How long have you been here?"