"Was it all right?" said he, over the bulwarks.

"Vaccination ain't in it. She's took beautiful. But where's 267, Sir?"

Pyecroft replied.

"Gone. We came here as the fog lifted. I gave the _Devolution_ four. Was that you behind us?"

"Yes, sir; but I only got in three on the _Devolution_. I gave the _Cryptic_ nine, though. They're what you might call more or less vaccinated."

He lifted me inboard, where Moorshed and six pirates lay round the _Agatha's_ hatch. There was a hint of daylight in the cool air.

"Where is the old man?" I asked.

"Still selling 'em fish, I suppose. He's a darling! But I wish I could get this filthy paint off my hands. Hallo! What the deuce is the _Cryptic_ signalling?"

A pale masthead light winked through the last of the fog. It was answered by a white pencil to the southward.

"Destroyer signalling with searchlight." Pyecroft leaped on the stern- rail. "The first part is private signals. Ah! now she's Morsing against the fog. 'P-O-S-T'--yes, 'postpone'--'D-E-P-' (go on)! 'departure--till-- further--orders--which--will--be com" (he's dropped the other m) "'unicated--verbally. End,'." He swung round. "_Cryptic_ is now answering: 'Ready--proceed--immediately. What--news--promised--destroyer-- flotilla?'"

"Hallo!" said Moorshed. "Well, never mind, They'll come too late."

"Whew! That's some 'igh-born suckling on the destroyer. Destroyer signals: 'Care not. All will be known later.' What merry beehive's broken loose now?"

"What odds! We've done our little job."

"Why--why--it's Two Six Seven!"

Here Pyecroft dropped from the rail among the fishy nets and shook the _Agatha_ with heavings. Moorshed cast aside his cigarette, looked over the stern, and fell into his subordinate's arms. I heard the guggle of engines, the rattle of a little anchor going over not a hundred yards away, a cough, and Morgan's subdued hail. ... So far as I remember, it was Laughton whom I hugged; but the men who hugged me most were Pyecroft and Moorshed, adrift among the fishy nets.

There was no semblance of discipline in our flight over the _Agatha's_ side, nor, indeed, were ordinary precautions taken for the common safety, because (I was in the Berthon) they held that patent boat open by hand for the most part. We regained our own craft, cackling like wild geese, and crowded round Moorshed and Hinchcliffe. Behind us the _Agatha's_ boat, returning from her fish-selling cruise, yelled: "Have 'ee done the trick?

Have 'ee done the trick?" and we could only shout hoa.r.s.ely over the stern, guaranteeing them rum by the hold-full.

"Fog got patchy here at 12:27," said Henry Salt Hinchcliffe, growing clearer every instant in the dawn. "Went down to Brixham Harbour to keep out of the road. Heard whistles to the south and went to look. I had her up to sixteen good. Morgan kept on shedding private Red Fleet signals out of the signal-book, as the fog cleared, till we was answered by three destroyers. Morgan signalled 'em by searchlight: 'Alter course to South Seventeen East, so as not to lose time,' They came round quick. We kept well away--on their port beam--and Morgan gave 'em their orders." He looked at Morgan and coughed.

"The signalman, acting as second in command," said Morgan, swelling, "then informed destroyer flotilla that _Cryptic_ and _Devolution_ had made good defects, and, in obedience to Admiral's supplementary orders (I was afraid they might suspect that, but they didn't), had proceeded at seven knots at 11:23 p. M. to rendezvous near Channel Islands, seven miles N.N.W. the Casquet light. (I've rendezvoused there myself, Sir.) Destroyer flotilla would therefore follow cruisers and catch up with them on their course.

Destroyer flotilla then dug out on course indicated, all funnels sparking briskly."

"Who were the destroyers?"

"_Wraith, Kobbold, Stiletto_, Lieutenant-Commander A. L. Hignett, acting under Admiral's orders to escort cruisers received off the Dodman at 7 P.

M. They'd come slow on account of fog."

"Then who were you?"

"We were the _Afrite_, port-engine broke down, put in to Torbay, and there instructed by _Cryptic_, previous to her departure with _Devolution_) to inform Commander Hignett of change of plans. Lieutenant-Commander Hignett signalled that our meeting was quite providential. After this we returned to pick up our commanding officer, and being interrogated by _Cryptic_, marked time signalling as requisite, which you may have seen. The _Agatha_ representing the last known rallying-point--or, as I should say, pivot- ship of the evolution--it was decided to repair to the _Agatha_ at conclusion of manoeuvre."

"Is there such a thing as one fine big drink aboard this one fine big battleship?" "Can do, sir," said Pyecroft, and got it. Beginning with Mr.

Moorshed and ending with myself, junior to the third first-cla.s.s stoker, we drank, and it was as water of the brook, that two and a half inches of stiff, treacly, Navy rum. And we looked each in the other's face, and we nodded, bright-eyed, burning with bliss.

Moorshed walked aft to the torpedo-tubes and paced back and forth, a captain victorious on his own quarterdeck; and the triumphant day broke over the green-bedded villas of Torquay to show us the magnitude of our victory. There lay the cruisers (I have reason to believe that they had made good their defects). They were each four hundred and forty feet long and sixty-six wide; they held close upon eight hundred men apiece, and they had cost, say, a million and a half the pair. And they were ours, and they did not know it. Indeed, the _Cryptic_, senior ship, was signalling vehement remarks to our address, which we did not notice.

"If you take these gla.s.ses, you'll get the general run o' last night's vaccination," said Pyecroft. "Each one represents a torpedo got 'ome, as you might say."

I saw on the _Cryptic's_ port side, as she lay half a mile away across the gla.s.sy water, four neat white squares in outline, a white blur in the centre.

"There are five more to starboard. 'Ere's the original!" He handed me a paint-dappled copper stencil-plate, two feet square, bearing in the centre the six-inch initials, "G.M."

"Ten minutes ago I'd ha' eulogised about that little trick of ours, but Morgan's performance has short-circuited me. Are you happy, Morgan?"

"Bustin'," said the signalman briefly.

"You may be. Gawd forgive you, Morgan, for as Queen 'Enrietta said to the 'ousemaid, _I_ never will. I'd ha' given a year's pay for ten minutes o'

your signallin' work this mornin'."

"I wouldn't 'ave took it up," was the answer. "Perishin' 'Eavens above!

Look at the _Devolution's_ semaph.o.r.e!" Two black wooden arms waved from the junior ship's upper bridge. "They've seen it."

"_The_ mote _on_ their neighbour's beam, of course," said Pyecroft, and read syllable by syllable: "'Captain Malan to Captain Panke. Is--sten-- cilled frieze your starboard side new Admiralty regulation, or your Number One's private expense?' Now _Cryptic_ is saying, 'Not understood.' Poor old _Crippy_, the _Devolute's_ raggin' 'er sore. 'Who is G.M.?' she says.

That's fetched the _Cryptic_. She's answerin': 'You ought to know. Examine own paintwork.' Oh, Lord! they're both on to it now. This is balm. This is beginning to be balm. I forgive you, Morgan!"

Two frantic pipes twittered. From either cruiser a whaler dropped into the water and madly rowed round the ship: as a gay-coloured hoist rose to the _Cryptic's_ yardarm: "Destroyer will close at once. Wish to speak by semaph.o.r.e." Then on the bridge semaph.o.r.e itself: "Have been trying to attract your attention last half hour. Send commanding officer aboard at once."

"Our attention? After all the attention we've given 'er, too," said Pyecroft. "What a greedy old woman!" To Moorshed: "Signal from the _Cryptic_, Sir."

"Never mind that!" said the boy, peering through his gla.s.ses. "Our dinghy quick, or they'll paint our marks out. Come along!"

By this time I was long past even hysteria. I remember Pyecroft's bending back, the surge of the driven dinghy, a knot of amazed faces as we skimmed the _Cryptic's_ ram, and the dropped jaw of the midshipman in her whaler when we barged fairly into him.

"Mind my paint!" he yelled.

"You mind mine, snotty," said Moorshed. "I was all night putting these little ear-marks on you for the umpires to sit on. Leave 'em alone."

We splashed past him to the _Devolution's_ boat, where sat no one less than her first lieutenant, a singularly unhandy-looking officer.

"What the deuce is the meaning of this?" he roared, with an accusing forefinger.

"You're sunk, that's all. You've been dead half a tide."

"Dead, am I? I'll show you whether I'm dead or not, Sir!"

"Well, you may be a survivor," said Moorshed ingratiatingly, "though it isn't at all likely."

The officer choked for a minute. The midshipman crouched up in stern said, half aloud: "Then I _was_ right--last night."

"Yesh," I gasped from the dinghy's coal-dust. "Are you member Torquay Yacht Club?"

"h.e.l.l!" said the first lieutenant, and fled away. The _Cryptic's_ boat was already at that cruiser's side, and semaph.o.r.es flicked zealously from ship to ship. We floated, a minute speck, between the two hulls, while the pipes went for the captain's galley on the _Devolution_.

"That's all right," said Moorshed. "Wait till the gangway's down and then board her decently. We oughtn't to be expected to climb up a ship we've sunk."