"How in the name of wonder!" exclaimed the astonished Commander-in-Chief.
"We've brought two-fifths of the original 'Meteor' back, sir," reported Whittinghame. "She's lying off the Warner Lightship. Our wireless is out of gear, or we would have reported our progress. Durango is a prisoner on board; and here, sir, are the plans of the 'M' class of submarines."
* * * * *
Shortly before lunch-time on the following morning Basil Dacres—specially promoted by virtue of an Order-in-Council to the rank of commander (Flying Squadron, Naval Wing) of His Majesty's Fleet—arrived at his father's country residence, Cranbury House.
"Governor in, Sparkes?" he asked as the footman opened the door and stared with amazement at the "young master." Years of training had steeled Sparkes to most shocks, but this time he was completely taken aback.
"Yes, Mr. Basil, Colonel Dacres has just come in. He's been out rabbit-shooting, sir."
"Then don't tell him who I am," cautioned Dacres. "Take in this card and say that someone wishes to see him."
Sparkes took the pasteboard and vanished. Half way up the stairs he paused to look at the card.
"Mr. Basil's up to some of his pranks, I'll be bound," he said to himself. "Hope to goodness the master doesn't jaw me for it."
"Gentleman to see you, sir," he announced.