"I say, pater!" exclaimed Billy, suddenly remembering something in his pocket. "Here, take this. It will interest you. Forgot all about it before this."
Peter took the proffered paper—a copy of the document found on the body of the dead German airman, setting a price upon Barcroft Senior's head.
The train was on the move. Billy, with his head and shoulders still protruding through the window, waved farewells to his parents, then——
"Dash it all!" he shouted. "Butterfly—the donkey—ran away. Clean forgot to mention it."
But Peter merely shook his head. The rumble of the train made the words quite inaudible.
It was nearly seven in the morning when Flight-sub-lieutenant Barcroft arrived at Rosyth, after a long and tedious journey. Mists were hanging over the waters of the Firth of Forth. Even the lofty structure of the Forth Bridge was hidden by the grey bank of vapour. Service craft of all sizes and descriptions were feeling their way up and down the broad estuary, making the welkin ring with the discordant braying on their syrens and foghorns.
"Have you seen anything of the 'Hippodrome's' boat?" inquired Billy of a petty officer on duty on the jetty.
"'Hippodrome's' boat, sir?" repeated the man. "Why, the 'Hippodrome' got under way a couple of hours ago, along with the Seventh Destroyer Division, The Ninth's just off, sir."
Barcroft rapidly reviewed the situation. Experience had taught him that there are often two ways of doing things in the Service—the official and the non-official. To be strictly in accord with the precedent he should have reported himself to the Admiral, giving his reasons why he missed his ship and getting a smart "rap over the knuckles." On the other hand he might be able to enlist the sympathies of one of the officers of the Ninth Destroyer Division and get a passage—provided the boats were proceeding to the same rendezvous. He resolved to put the latter proposition into effect; failing that, he would have to fall back upon the official routine.
His luck was in. As he hurried across the caisson on his way to the jetty where the destroyers were berthed he overtook a lieutenant commander, whom he recognised as Terence Aubyn, a particular friend of Flight-lieutenant Fuller.
"By all means," replied Aubyn when Barcroft had explained the circumstances and requested a passage. "We're pretty certain to fall in with the 'Hippodrome,' although I have as yet no idea of the position of the rendezvous. In fact, I have a couple of her men on board now. They got adrift in a copper punt last night, and were only picked up after the ship had left."
"No further news of Fuller, I'm afraid?" remarked Barcroft.
"Not a whisper," replied the lieutenant-commander as he ran briskly up the steeply sloping "brow" to the quarter-deck of the destroyer "Audax."
And thus Flight-sub-lieutenant Barcroft found himself on board one of the newest type of destroyers bound for an unknown rendezvous somewhere in the North Sea.
CHAPTER XVI
CAPTIVES IN A SUBMARINE
ON being hauled on board the German submarine Fuller and Kirkwood were sternly ordered to go below, their captors indicating a small hatchway fifteen feet for'ard of the conning-tower.
The prisoners had no option. They descended the almost vertical steel ladder and found themselves in practically the bow compartment of the vessel. It was the crew space of the submarine mine-layer, for the craft, on which was painted the number UC49, was not fitted with torpedo tubes, nor did she carry guns of the "disappearing mountings" type. Her part was to sneak out of the Elbe, cruise on the surface whenever practicable, diving only when any strange vessel hove in sight. Her cargo had consisted of forty metal cylinders stowed aft—mines of the most recent type—but having sown her harvest of death and destruction, regardless whether an enemy or a neutral vessel fell a victim to the deadly peril, she was on her way back to the Fatherland.
The compartment in which Fuller and his companion found themselves was about thirty feet in length and fifteen at its maximum diameter, which was at the after end. For'ard it tapered, at first gradually, then sharply, until it terminated at a bulkhead close to the bows. In the lower part of the recess were the anchors and cables, capable of being lowered or hauled by means of elaborate mechanism which was controlled from within. The upper portion of the bow compartment consisted of a large fresh-water tank. Round the crew space were lockers that served a double purpose: besides containing the effects of the men they were used as seats. Hooks were bolted to the cambered deck-beams in order to sling hammocks—in fact, half a dozen hammocks were at that time occupied—and mess-tables.
Against the after bulkhead was a small partitioned-off place that served as the cook's galley, the stove being heated by electricity. While running awash the fumes were carried off by means of a funnel that projected a few inches above the deck, which was fitted with a watertight cover that could be operated from the conning-tower when the submarine was trimmed for diving. Yet in spite of the ventilation the place reeked vilely of a variety of odours. Fuller wondered what the atmosphere must be like when UC49 was submerged.
In addition to the sleeping occupants of the hammocks, who by their restlessness even in slumber showed signs of the mental strain, the crew space was occupied by three fairhaired, fresh-featured Frisians, who regarded the captives with scant curiosity and, after the first five minutes, seemed to ignore the Englishmen entirely.
"May as well make the best of things," remarked Fuller. "I know the ropes a bit—been through it before. Take your wet clothes off, old man. Keep a tight hold of your personal gear. We'll see if we can't persuade that fat chap in the galley to put our things to dry."
"They would dry on us in this hot show," observed Kirkwood. "Suppose we are sent for?"
"Then we are," added the flight-lieutenant grimly. "We'll have to grin and bear it. All the same, I'm not going to act as a human clothes horse while my gear is drying, so here goes."
The German cook seemed anxious to oblige, in spite of a muttered protest from one of the crew.
"My broder on der 'Blucher' vos," he explained. "Englische him pick up and well treat. Him write an' tell me so. Thus your clothes make dry."
Although the hatchway was closed and secured the submarine was still running awash, lifting sluggishly as she forged ahead at a modest fifteen knots. A couple of hours passed, and no attempt was made on the part of the vessel's officers to interrogate their prisoners.
"For one thing we are clothed and, let us hope, in our right minds," observed Fuller as the pair redressed in their now dry clothing, dispensing, however, with their leather jackets, which were as stiff as a board and white with sea-salt.
"Much more of this would drive me out of my mind," protested Kirkwood. "Give me the freedom of the air any day. Suppose this old hooker bumps into a mine?"
"Pull yourself together, man," said the flight-lieutenant sharply. "It's all one big risk, I admit, but for heaven's sake don't give these fellows a chance to think we've cold feet!"
The A.P. stiffened his upper lip.
"By Jove, I won't!" he exclaimed.
"The youngster has good cause for concern," soliloquised Fuller. "This old tub wouldn't stand a cat's chance if anything went wrong. She's one of those craft that's made by the fathom and cut off where required, I should imagine. Never saw such rough work in all my life. And no sign of air-locks or any lifesaving devices. I suppose such details don't worry the German Admiralty. Those leaking joints remind me of the old Tower Hill subway. A coat of whitewash and gas jets instead of the electric light would make the illusion complete."
His reveries were interrupted by a sliding door in the after bulkhead being opened. The German seamen sprang to their feet and stood rigidly at attention as a young, heavily-built unter-leutnant appeared and beckoned the prisoners to follow him.