Long before the ober-leutnant had finished his cigar a fresh-complexioned, round-faced subaltern entered the room and, spotting a brother officer, began a conversation in tones loud enough to enable von Loringhoven to follow every word.
"I say," he remarked. "Have you heard anything about the attempt to blow up Poldene Bridge?"
"My sergeant said something to me about it," replied the other. "I didn't pay much attention to him, as he's a regular old woman for getting hold of cock-and-bull yarns."
"It's right enough," persisted the first speaker. "There was an explosion while the Navy Special was hung up on the bridge. Signals tampered with, I understand. No damage done, but evidently the fellow or fellows on the job knew what they were about, for a troop train filled with Yankees was due to cross almost at the same time. It's a mystery to me how these Huns get to know of the movements of transport and troop trains. All the week American transports are to be diverted from Liverpool to Trecurnow, as those rotten U-boats have been reported in force off the Antrim coast."
After talking on several other subjects one of the subalterns inquired, "Heard anything of your young brother recently? Dick, I mean. He was in the 'Calyranda' when she struck a mine, I believe?"
"Yes, he's appointed to the 'Tantalus.' She's leaving Trecurnow on Thursday for Hampton Roads."
"Escorting duties?"
"On the return voyage—yes. Outward bound they're taking a number of big pots to attend an Allied conference at Washington, I understand. At any rate, young Dick has to get a new mess-jacket. Thought he'd be able to do without that luxury until after the war. ...Oh, by the way, here's news. I was lunching yesterday with my cousin—you know, the lieutenant-colonel who won the D.S.O.—and he happened to mention——"
Von Loringhoven listened intently, smiling grimly behind his newspaper. From the tittle-tattle of a raw subaltern he was gleaning more intelligence than he could from a dozen journals, for the youngster seemed to take a special delight in letting the other guests know that he was in close touch with the Powers that Be.
From time to time the ober-leutnant glanced at the clock. It was now twenty minutes to seven. Von Gobendorff was considerably overdue, and von Loringhoven was feeling hungry.