I blew my whistle.
In an instant the lights were out. A pair of strong arms gripped me round the waist, covering the pockets in which a man might be expected to carry a pistol.
'Schnell, Franz,' cried a voice, 'Das Boot, das Boot!'As it spoke I saw two of my fellows emerge on the moonlit lawn.
The young dark man leapt for the window, was through it, and over the low fence before a hand could touch him. I grappled the old chap, and the room seemed to fill with figures. I saw the plump on collared, but my eyes were all for the out-of-doors,where Franz sped on over the road towards the railed entrance to the beach stairs. One man followed him,but he had no chance. The gate of the stairs locked behind the fugitive, and I stood staring, with my hands on the old boy's throat, for such a time as a man might take to descend those steps to the sea.