There was no time to be lost. I hastened back by the most direct way I could find, to the dockyard gates. The little postern was still unlocked, and I passed out, the sentry again taking no notice of my passage.
But at the first street corner I saw a man in seafaring dress who fixed a very keen gaze on me as I came up, and saluted me by touching his cap.
“Good-night,” I said in a friendly voice, slowing down in my walk.
“Good-night, sir. Beg pardon, Captain,”—he came and moved along beside me—“but you don’t happen to know of a job for a seafaring man, I suppose?”
I stopped dead, and looked him straight in the eyes.
“How many men do you estimate are required to navigate a submarine?” I asked.
“Fifteen,” was the prompt answer.
“How soon can you have them here?” was my next question.
The fellow glanced at his watch.