"Can't say, old man. Accounts differ. All I know is, that I was staying at a house close to Lymington just before Christmas. It was the first leave I had had since the outbreak of the war. Anyway, the gunners on the Isle of Wight forts spotted something suspicious, and promptly let rip for about twenty minutes."
"Did they hit anything?"
"They did," answered Warborough, with a grin. "They nearly plugged me with a ricochet. Several shells fell inland, one of them demolishing the chimney of a country pub. Next day I heard on good authority——"
"Something moving up aloft, sir!" reported one of the submarine's crew. "Listen, sir. There's a distinct purr."
"A Zeppelin, by Jove!" exclaimed Warborough. "Pass the word to the captain."
The lieutenant-commander, termed by courtesy the captain, was resting in his bunk. He was quickly on deck, for he had "turned in all standing," with the exception of his boots.
He looked aloft. Like a lead-pencil the Zeppelin could now be distinguished as she rapidly advanced at an altitude of about a thousand feet. Judging by her position she would, unless she changed her direction, pass half a mile to windward of the submarine.
"Mr. Warborough," exclaimed the lieutenant-commander, "I don't propose to dive."
"Very good, sir," replied the sub. of "E Something," as coolly as if the Zeppelin were anything but a war-machine.
With very little noise the guns'-crews mustered on deck. The two anti-aerial guns were raised on their disappearing mountings, ammunition was served out, and the submarine was prepared to risk an encounter with the vaunted terror of the air.