“Can we get through this neck of woods?” asked McKay calmly.

“We can hold our own here against a regiment,” said Recklow.  “No Swiss patrol is likely to cross the summit before daybreak.  So if our cowbell jingles again to-night after I have once called halt! —­let the Boche have it.”  To Evelyn he said:  “Better step back here behind this ledge.”  And, when McKay had followed, he told them exactly what had happened.  “I’m afraid it’s not going to be very easy going for you,” he added.

With the alarming knowledge that they had to do once more with their uncanny enemies of Isla Water, McKay and Evelyn Erith looked at each other rather grimly.  Recklow produced his clay pipe, inspected it, but did not venture to light it.

“I wonder,” he said carelessly, “what that she-Boche is doing over yonder by the summit path....  Her name is Helsa....  She’s not bad looking,” he added in a musing voice—­“that young she-Boche. ...  I wonder what she’s up to now?  Her people ought to be along pretty soon if they’ve travelled by the summit path from Delle.”

They had indeed travelled by the summit path—­not on it, but parallel to it through woods, over rocks, made fearful by what they believed to be the treachery of the girl, Helsa.

For this reason they dared not take the trodden way, dreading ambush.  Yet they had to cross the peak; they dared not remain in a forest where they believed Recklow was hunting them with many men and their renegade comrade, Helsa, to guide them.

As they toiled upward, Macniff heard Skelton fiercely muttering sometimes, sometimes whining curses on this girl who had betrayed them both—­who had betrayed him in particular.  Over and over again he repeated his dreary litany:  “No, by God, I didn’t think she’d do it to me.  All I want is to get my hooks on her; that’s all I want—­just that.”

Toward dawn they had reached the base of the cone where the last rocky slope slanted high above them.

“Cripes,” panted Macniff, “I can’t make that over them rocks!  I gotta take it by the path.  Wot’s the matter, Harry?  Wot y’ lookin’ at?” he added, following Skelton’s fascinated stare.  Then:  “Well, f’r Christ’s sake!”

The girl, Helsa, was coming toward them through the trees.

“Where have you been?” she demanded.  “Have you seen the Americans?  I’ve been waiting here beside the path.  They haven’t passed.  I met one of our agents in the woods—­there was a misunderstanding at first—­”

She stopped, stepped nearer, peered into Skelton’s shadowy face:  “Harry!  What’s the matter?  Wh-why do you look at me that way—­what are you doing!  Let go of me—­”

But Skelton had seized her by one arm and Macniff had her by the other.

“Are you crazy?” she demanded, struggling between them.

Skelton spoke first, but she scarcely recognised the voice for his:  “Who was that man you were talking to down by the Swiss wire?”