“What’s the message, Howard?” he inquired.
The officer saluted and handed over a folded piece of paper. Conyers read it with a frown and stepped at once out on to the deck. He gave a few orders, then he turned back to his guests.
“Gels,” he explained, “and you, Granet, I’m frightfully sorry but I can’t keep you here another second. I have ordered the pinnace round. You must get on shore and have lunch at the ‘Ship.’ I’ll come along as soon as I can. Frightfully sorry, Granet, but I needn’t apologise to you, need I? War’s war, you know and this is a matter of urgency.”
“You’re not going out this tide?” Geraldine demanded breathlessly.
Conyers shook his head.
“It isn’t that,” he replied. “We’ve got some engineers coming over to do some work on deck, and I’ve had a private tip from my chief to clear out any guests I may have on board.”
“Is it anything to do with this wonderful screened-up thing?” Olive asked, strolling towards the framework-covered edifice.
Conyers shrugged his shoulders.
“Can’t disclose Government secrets! Between just us four—our friend Thomson isn’t here, is he?” he added, smiling,—“we are planning a little Hell for the submarines.”
They glanced curiously at the mysterious erection. Granet sighed.