"What won't be done?"
"Why, sir, Parker said if we was allowed to strafe another barrel he'd be screwed up to concert pitch, and would be very happy to sing the Hymn of Hate to the German gentleman abaft yonder. He must want cheering up, says he."
"Get out with you! Parker can sing what he likes when we get back aboard. Tell him he's to take first watch on the cliff to-night."
At dusk the men went to their appointed stations. Parker was posted on the cliff near the entrance to the channel. The warrant officer took charge of the donkey-engine, Moggs was entrusted with the crane; the other men hauled from the storehouse several cases of ammunition, weighing in all three or four tons, piled them near the crane, chained them together, and covered them with a thick blanket taken from the bungalow. The lieutenant's task was to do what was necessary in the powerhouse. Frank sat with the lieutenant-commander in one of the huts.
It was about ten o'clock when Parker came in hurriedly from his post on the cliff.
"Submarine coming in, sir," he reported. "I heard her purring under water first; then the engines stopped, and I saw her come awash just outside the channel. She'll be nearly here, sir."
The officers went to the door of the hut, and listened anxiously. No sound was audible above the dash of the waterfall. Had the commander of the submarine become suspicious and run out to sea again? In a few minutes, however, the sound of the engines came faintly on the breeze. Looking through the darkness to the gap in the cliffs where the pool and the channel met, they at last saw the dark shape glide in. The engines were stopped, but the vessel's steerage way carried her into the pool, and she was brought up deftly alongside the lighter.
From below came a hail in Turkish. Frank, now standing beside the crane, replied.
"Why didn't you answer our signals?" demanded the voice, huffily.
Frank, who was unaware of any signals, answered at a venture: