A squadron of destroyers was thrashing furiously round the Head, not a light showing, close inshore, too, only an occasional smudge of white in the darkness revealing their position and the feather of foam they bore along like a plume before them.
Out of the darkness they came at a speed incredible, and into the darkness they were gone once more like a flash.
The Colonel breathed again.
At least the Navy was ready, thanks to Churchill.
Was the Army?
He recalled a remark reported to him as having been made at a P.S.A. in the East-end some weeks since: that the Army no longer trusted its officers, and the country no longer trusted its Army. Could it be true?
His thoughts turned with passionate sympathy to Gough and the simple regimental officers who had been lured by politicians into the dreadful business of the Army Conspiracy. But that other feller!—that yappin chap at the War Office, who ought to have known better! ...
Away on the crest of Beau-nez, humping a huge black back against the brilliant darkness, someone was swinging a lantern—once, twice.
The Colonel flashed his electric torch in answer.
The gaunt figure at the window turned.