There was a pause; a voice cried to some friend, "It's Podgie, adrift on the high seas in charge of a whole dee-stroyer!"

Another voice echoed, "Podgie!" and from its note I gathered that Mr.

Carteret-Jones had a reputation, but not for independent command.

"Who's your sub?" said the first speaker, a shadow on the bridge of the _Dirk_.

"A gunner, at present, Sir. The _Stiletto_--broken down--turns over to us."

"When did the _Stiletto_ break down?"

"Off the Start, Sir; two hours after--after she left here this evening, I believe. My orders are to report to you for the manoeuvre signal-codes, and join Commander Hignett's flotilla, which is in attendance on _Stiletto_."

A smothered chuckle greeted this last. Moorshed's voice was high and uneasy. Said Pyecroft, with a sigh: "The amount o' trouble me an' my bright spurs 'ad fishin' out that information from torpedo c.o.xswains and similar blighters in pubs all this afternoon, you would never believe."

"But has the _Stiletto_ broken down?" I asked weakly.

"How else are we to get Red Fleet's private signal-code? Any way, if she 'asn't now, she will before manoeuvres are ended. It's only executin' in antic.i.p.ation."

"Go astern and send your c.o.xswain aboard for orders, Mr. Jones." Water carries sound well, but I do not know whether we were intended to hear the next sentence: "They must have given him _one_ intelligent keeper."

"That's me," said Mr. Pyecroft, as a black and coal-stained dinghy--I did not foresee how well I should come to know her--was flung overside by three men.

"Havin' bought an 'am, we will now see life." He stepped into the boat and was away.

"I say, Podgie!"--the speaker was in the last of the line of destroyers, as we thumped astern--"aren't you lonely out there?"

"Oh, don't rag me!" said Moorshed. "Do you suppose I'll have to manoeuvre with your flo-tilla?"

"No, Podgie! I'm pretty sure our commander will see you sifting cinders in Tophet before you come with our flo-tilla."

"Thank you! She steers rather wild at high speeds."

Two men laughed together.

"By the way, who is Mr. Carteret-Jones when he's at home?" I whispered.

"I was with him in the _Britannia_. I didn't like him much, but I'm grateful to him now. I must tell him so some day."

"They seemed to know him hereabouts."

"He rammed the _Caryatid_ twice with her own steam-pinnace."

Presently, moved by long strokes, Mr. Pyecroft returned, skimming across the dark. The dinghy swung up behind him, even as his heel spurned it.

"Commander Fa.s.set's compliments to Mr. L. Carteret-Jones, and the sooner he digs out in pursuance of Admiralty orders as received at Portsmouth, the better pleased Commander Fa.s.set will be. But there's a lot more----"

"Whack her up, Mr. Hinchcliffe! Come on to the bridge. We can settle it as we go. Well?"

Mr. Pyecroft drew an important breath, and slid off his cap.

"Day an' night private signals of Red Fleet _com_plete, Sir!" He handed a little paper to Moorshed. "You see, Sir, the trouble was, that Mr.

Carteret-Jones bein', so to say, a little new to his duties, 'ad forgot to give 'is gunner his Admiralty orders in writin', but, as I told Commander Fa.s.set, Mr. Jones had been repeatin' 'em to me, nervous-like, most of the way from Portsmouth, so I knew 'em by heart--an' better. The Commander, recognisin' in me a man of agility, cautioned me to be a father an' mother to Mr. Carteret-Jones."

"Didn't he know you?" I asked, thinking for the moment that there could be no duplicates of Emanuel Pyecroft in the Navy.

"What's a torpedo-gunner more or less to a full lootenant commanding six thirty-knot destroyers for the first time? 'E seemed to cherish the 'ope that 'e might use the _Gnome_ for 'is own 'orrible purposes; but what I told him about Mr. Jones's sad lack o' nerve comin' from Pompey, an' going dead slow on account of the dark, short-circuited _that_ connection.

'M'rover,' I says to him, 'our orders is explicit; _Stiletto's_ reported broke down somewhere off the Start, an' we've been tryin' to coil down a new stiff wire hawser all the evenin', so it looks like towin' 'er back, don't it?' I says. That more than ever jams his turrets, an' makes him keen to get rid of us. 'E even hinted that Mr. Carteret-Jones pa.s.sin'

hawsers an' a.s.sistin' the impotent in a sea-way might come pretty expensive on the tax-payer. I agreed in a disciplined way. I ain't proud.

Gawd knows I ain't proud! But when I'm really diggin' out in the fancy line, I sometimes think that me in a copper punt, single-'anded, 'ud beat a cutter-full of De Rougemongs in a row round the fleet."

At this point I reclined without shame on Mr. Pyecroft's bosom, supported by his quivering arm.

"Well?" said Moorshed, scowling into the darkness, as 267's bows snapped at the sh.o.r.e seas of the broader Channel, and we swayed together.

"'You'd better go on,' says Commander Fa.s.sett, 'an' do what you're told to do. I don't envy Hignett if he has to dry-nurse the _Gnome's_ commander.

But what d'you want with signals?' 'e says. 'It's criminal lunacy to trust Mr. Jones with anything that steams.'

"'May I make an observation, Sir?' I says. 'Suppose,' I says, 'you was torpedo-gunner on the _Gnome_, an' Mr. Carteret-Jones was your commandin'

officer, an' you had your reputation _as_ a second in command for the first time,' I says, well knowin' it was his first command of a flotilla, 'what 'ud you do, Sir?' That gouged 'is unprotected ends open--clear back to the citadel."

"What did he say?" Moorshed jerked over is shoulder.

"If you were Mr. Carteret-Jones, it might be disrespect for me to repeat it, Sir."

"Go ahead," I heard the boy chuckle.

"'Do?' 'e says. 'I'd rub the young blighter's nose into it till I made a perishin' man of him, or a perspirin' pillow-case,' 'e says, 'which,' he adds, 'is forty per cent, more than he is at present.'

"Whilst he's gettin' the private signals--they're rather particular ones-- I went forrard to see the _Dirk's_ gunner about borrowin' a holdin'-down bolt for our twelve-pounder. My open ears, while I was rovin' over his packet, got the followin' authentic particulars." I heard his voice change, and his feet shifted. "There's been a last council o' war of destroyer-captains at the flagship, an' a lot of things 'as come out. To begin with _Cryptic_ and _Devolution_, Captain Panke and Captain Malan--"

"_Cryptic_ and _Devolution_, first-cla.s.s cruisers," said Mr. Moorshed dreamily. "Go on, Pyecroft."

"--bein' delayed by minor defects in engine-room, did _not_, as we know, accompany Red Fleet's first division of scouting cruisers, whose rendezvous is unknown, but presumed to be somewhere off the Lizard.

_Cryptic_ an' _Devolution_ left at 9:30 P.M. still reportin' copious minor defects in engine-room. Admiral's final instructions was they was to put into Torbay, an' mend themselves there. If they can do it in twenty-four hours, they're to come on and join the battle squadron at the first rendezvous, down Channel somewhere. (I couldn't get that, Sir.) If they can't, he'll think about sendin' them some destroyers for escort. But his present intention is to go 'ammer and tongs down Channel, usin' 'is destroyers for all they're worth, an' thus keepin' Blue Fleet too busy off the Irish coast to sniff into any eshtuaries."

"But if those cruisers are crocks, why does the Admiral let 'em out of Weymouth at all?" I asked.

"The tax-payer," said Mr. Moorshed.

"An' newspapers," added Mr. Pyecroft. "In Torbay they'll look as they was muckin' about for strategical purposes--hanamerin' like blazes in the engine room all the weary day, an' the skipper droppin' questions down the engine-room hatch every two or three minutes. _I've_ been there. Now, Sir?" I saw the white of his eye turn broad on Mr. Moorshed.

The boy dropped his chin over the speaking-tube.

"Mr. Hinchcliffe, what's her extreme economical radius?"

"Three hundred and forty knots, down to swept bunkers."

"Can do," said Moorshed. "By the way, have her revolutions any bearing on her speed, Mr. Hinchcliffe?"