"You have, old man!" exclaimed the assistant paymaster.
Lymore glared at the interrupter.
"I'd chuck the idea of pushing up through the Narrows."
"A pretty figure you'd cut," remarked McBride. "There's nae true Briton wha'd back down once he's taken on the wurrk."
"I didn't mean that, my dear sir," continued the lieutenant. "I'd devote my energies in another direction. There's the Peninsula of Saros, about five miles in width and about eighty feet in height."
"Well?" inquired the assistant paymaster.
"I'd land a strong force under cover of the warship guns, whip together a regular army of navvies and all the steam navvies I could lay my hands on. In six weeks, and at a cost of less than that of the battleships we've already lost, there would be a canal twelve feet in depth from the Gulf of Saros to the Sea of Marmora. And, remember, both seas are practically tideless."
"Sounds feasible, laddie," remarked McBride.
"And then it would be a simple matter to send out the monitors. With their draught of seven feet they could easily pass through, as well as our earlier type of destroyers. Without paying the faintest attention to the Dardanelles forts the monitors could strike hard at Constantinople."
"Lymore, you ought to be on the Board of Admiralty," said Commander Ramshaw gravely.