"A bloomin' crowd of Fritzes, sir," he reported. "One of them an officer. Rummy sort o' goings on, that destroyer sinking some of her own side."
The Austrian coxswain was the first to be rescued, his array of lifebelts causing unrestrained hilarity amongst the British crew of the flying-boat. The Moke, still hanging on to Baron Eitel von Stopelfeld's property, was the next to be hauled on board, Farrar following, attired only in a coarse blue-grey shirt and soldier's ill-fitting trousers.
"Come aboard, sir," he announced according to the custom of the Senior Service, as he saluted the astonished flight-lieutenant.
"Farrar, by all that's wonderful!" ejaculated the astonished Billy. "Bless my soul, man, I little thought that I was hauling you out of the ditch. We heard that you had been done in.... Reported missing; believed killed. Come along for'ard; I'll see if I can kit you out in dry rig. And these are chums of yours?"
"Yes," replied the irrepressible sub. "The one hugging that bag is Tony Sylvester, alias Baron Eitel von Stopelfeld, otherwise known as the Moke—highly intelligent animal, I can assure you, for if it hadn't been for him I shouldn't be here. The other—we've dubbed him Little Willie—is a scratch acquaintance. You needn't be afraid of passing remarks about him in his presence, for he wouldn't tumble to it."
Since the flying-boat did not carry a liberal wardrobe Sylvester, on discarding the saturated German officer's uniform, had perforce to be rigged out in a duffel suit, while Farrar was accommodated with a bluejacket's trousers and a great-coat belonging to Kirkwood, Billy's second-in-command, who was on the point of turning in to make up arrears of sleep.
The "Avenger" was temporarily attached to the British squadron acting in concert with the Italian fleet in the Gulf of Venice, and was returning from a twelve-hours' patrol flight when she sighted the Austrian destroyer. So intent was the latter on her pursuit of the seized motor-boat that she failed to notice the "Avenger," the noise of the latter's aerial propellers being out-voiced by the noise of the destroyer's engines. A powerful bomb, dropped with unerring accuracy, did the trick most effectually and so rapidly that the majority of the hostile crew had no idea of what strafed them. Literally blown in two amidships the ill-fated craft had foundered with all hands.
"You'll be home again in three or four days with reasonable luck, Mr. Sylvester," observed Barcroft. "The train service is absolutely rotten, but I suppose it's the stock excuse—'owing to the war.' After three years of captivity I suppose you won't mind three days in a railway carriage."
"It will feel like three centuries," declared the Moke seriously. "The sudden change from being a fugitive in a hostile country to a free man is so bewildering that I know I shall be grousing every minute of the journey. By Jove! If ever I get home I don't think I'll want to go outside England for the rest of my natural life. Wonder what London's like? According to the Boche guards at Ruhleben, half the city is in ruins, 25 per cent. of the population are blown to bits, and the remaining 75 per cent. are either cowering in the Tubes or else have bolted for the country to get away from the Gothas."
Barcroft laughed. There was a confident ring in his merriment.