"That's my packet—the 'Lonette,'" announced Waynsford, indicating the outermost of the tier. "Mind that ladder: it's horribly slippery."
"Fine little craft," declared Terence enthusiastically, as he stepped into the diminutive cockpit of the motor-boat.
"Yes, I'm lucky to get her. One of the swiftest of the whole crowd, and a ripping sea-boat. Cast off there!" he ordered, addressing the two deckhands, who with the engineer constituted the crew of the "Lonette."
Five minutes later the "Lonette" was gliding over the sullen undulations of the North Sea, shaping a course towards the N.E. Cockle buoy, marking the edge of a dangerous bank.
A cable's length astern followed the "Pixie," another armed motor-boat detailed to act in consort with the craft under Waynsford's command. Neither vessel showed navigation lights, their position being determined by the phosphorescent swirl as they cut through the water. Overhead the stars shone dully, for a slight haze was beginning to gather.
Suddenly a dark shape loomed up in the darkness—an object that resolved itself into a large unwieldy lighter attended by a small tug which was lashed alongside.
"Shifting the buoys," explained Waynsford laconically.
"Shifting?" inquired Terence. "Surely you mean removing them altogether."
"Not much," replied his companion. "We've had orders to shift the whole lot two miles to the east'ard. Should any of these rotten German cruisers dare to come out—I don't fancy they will, worse luck—the altered position of these buoys will puzzle them a bit: unless your friend Eckenhardt has already signalled the fact to an enemy vessel."
Five minutes later the two patrol vessels ran across a number of trawlers making their way to Yarmouth. These there was no need to stop and examine. Their bona-fides were above suspicion, especially as a long, lean destroyer was steaming slowly in their wake.