“Good Heavens, Carruthers, what the blazes have you done to yourself?” (I suspect I cut a pretty figure after my two days’ outing.)
“Ten past three. It’s the invasion of England! Is Dollmann at the villa?”
“Invasion?”
“Is Dollmann at the villa?”
“Yes.”
“Is the Medusa afloat?”
“No, on the mud.”
“The devil! Are we afloat?”
“I think so still, but they made me shift.”
“Think! Track her out! Pole her out! Cut those warps!”