I thought a while and concocted a piece of villainy. Then I sent the following telegram: ‘Commanding Officer, H.M. Submarine “90.” Congratulate you on your promotion. When may I come and marvel?’
He fell into the trap (did I say that the telegram was reply paid?), and sent the cryptic answer: ‘Many thanks. Come Monday, and be damned.’
The telegram was handed in at Portsmouth, so I knew at once at what yard the boat was being built, and Monday morning saw me hustling down from London full of my fell intentions.
I knew I shouldn’t get into the yard even in peace time, so I hung round outside till a villain in a working rig appeared carrying a coil of wire. He bore on his cap-ribbon the legend ‘H.M. Submarines,’ and I marked him from afar. It appeared that the ‘Captain’ was living at the Royal Arms Hotel, and thither I hied me and demanded that he be produced.
He wasn’t in. He was still down in the mystic dockyard and wouldn’t be back till lunch, so I made myself comfortable in a corner of the smoking-room and awaited what the gods might give.
In due course the gift appeared, in a ragged uniform, and wearing a harassed expression. On seeing me he uttered a roar of appreciation (he was quite twenty-five), and caused drinks to be produced with the celerity of a conjuror.
Then we lunched and discussed many things, from cocoa to spots under the sun, but never once did I refer to the subject that was in my mind; but after the meal was over I asked him how he liked his new boat and what he thought of her.
‘Oh, not so dusty for a first command; you wouldn’t like to see over her, would you?’ He eyed me tentatively.
‘Rather a long way to the dockyard, isn’t it?’ I hazarded.
‘Oh, be a sport,’ he continued. ‘I’d like you to see her, you know. You’re the first civilian to come and see me here.’