"Pull yourself together, man," counselled O'Hara. "Those rotten Huns have been hocussing our grub."
"If they have, they have," muttered the imperturbable Stirling. "That's no reason why you should bellow into my ear like a ninety-thousand horse-power siren."
Leaving the Sub huddled upon the floor O'Hara proceeded to dress.
Suddenly he exclaimed:
"The dirty spalpeens! They've been to my pockets while I was asleep."
This announcement literally electrified his companion, for Stirling remembered that he had over twenty pounds in Australian sovereigns in his purse. Alas! The gold had vanished.
"Your pistol?" asked Stirling.
The Irishman whipped his uniform cap from a hat-peg.
"It's there," he reported. "And might you be wanting it to let daylight into the fellow who collared your cash?"
"Not much use without cartridges," replied Stirling savagely. "It might have got us into hot water if they had found it. Better pitch it through the port-hole, old man, before it lands you in queer street."