“How many men have you in there?”
“Eleven Hinglishmen, sir.”
“I assume responsibility for those men. From now on accept orders from me!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Pass the word around. I am going to hand in some German uniforms through this port. Let every man put on a uniform!”
“Very well, sir!” came the dismayed reply.
Caradoc withdrew his head from the hood. In the faint gleam from the outside incandescents, he fell to untying the strings by which the suits were leashed to the lines. He handed eleven suits to Madden, who passed them under the hood and Malone received them inside. Then Smith deliberately stripped off his own clothes and drew on a pair of German trousers.
“Get on a pair, Madden,” he advised. “Civilian trousers will be conspicuous in a bright light. You are going to see this thing through, aren't you?”
Madden nodded and followed his companion's example. Five minutes later the two, transformed into German sailors, walked out of the hanging laundry.
