"Right-o, mate," he replied at length. "I'm on it; only don't forget I can't do more'n ten knots with a following wind."
During the remainder of the journey von Loringhoven made sure of his ground, and came to the conclusion that it was safe to take this newly found friend into his confidence—up to a certain point.
"What's the best way of getting out of the country?" he asked. "I'm fed up with England. For all I know they may call me up for re-examination and pack me off to the front again. Straight, I've had enough. No chance of shipping on board the 'Andromeda,' I suppose?"
"Might," replied the other. "But you ain't 'ad no experience, 'ave yer?"
"I was in a small barquentine for a couple of voyages—ten years ago," declared von Loringhoven with perfect truth. He had, like many other German naval officers, taken on a job on a Baltic timber vessel trading with various South of England ports—solely with the idea of getting acquainted with certain British harbours in view of the approach of The Day.
"No discharge papers, I suppose?" asked the seaman.
The ober-leutnant was obliged to confess that he had none.
"I can work it," continued his companion. "It'll cost you a couple o' quid, an' I can put you on to a man who'll rig you out with slops for the matter of another one-pound note. Can you rise to it?"
"I think so," replied von Loringhoven.
Three days later the s.s. "Andromeda," of 2,170 tons burthen, warped out of Avonmouth dock on her voyage to Alexandria. Her cargo consisted of military stores, her crew thirty-seven hands, including Jimmy Marsh, alias Otto von Loringhoven.