Far away and at a considerably lower level two rows of lamps glimmered through the darkness. They were the anchor lights of the decoy boats of the fleet lying in Auldhaig Harbour. The town and the actual ships were shrouded in darkness, but every night numbers of small boats, each showing a white light, were moored at some distance from the fleet. At one time they might be placed half a dozen cables' lengths to the north'ard of the anchorage, at another a similar distance to the eastward, the idea being to mislead any Zeppelin that might attempt to drop bombs upon the harbour and shipping.
Setting his face towards the friendly lights, Mr. Greenwood began the descent of the rough hillside. Before he had gone a quarter of a mile the irresistible yearning for a pipe assailed him. Turning his back to the wind, he struck a match, and was soon puffing contentedly at his gratifying briar.
Suddenly half a dozen dark forms pounced upon him. Before he could utter a sound he was seized by a pair of muscular hands, and a hoarse voice exclaimed:
"Now, then, wot's your little game? Flashing lights at this time o' night, eh?"
Mr. Greenwood did not immediately reply. His dignity as a respectable British citizen had been outraged. He drew himself up with as much hauteur as the circumstances would permit.
"Allow me to inform you," he said stiffly, "that I will not be spoken to in this dictatorial manner."
"All right, old sport, don't bust yourself," rejoined his questioner. "Now, what are you doing here this time o' night? Wanderin' along the cliffs at ten o'clock wants a little explanation."
"As a matter of fact I was looking for H.M.S. 'Pompey,'" began Mr. Greenwood.
A roar of laughter greeted this announcement.
"D'ye expect to find her on top of a cliff?" asked the man when the merriment had subsided. "Look here, this is a serious matter. We're the Coast Patrol. We saw a light about a quarter of an hour ago and another just now."