"Heard of it," admitted Farrar. "Holcombe mentioned that the kapitan of U 254 was supposed to have landed there in mufti. Right-o; I'll have my gear together by lunch-time. Hear that, Bruno? We're off to a country-house. A change for you, old boy, after a crowded mess-deck."
The St. Bernard blinked solemnly, as if to imply that he didn't care a brass farthing whether he was on dry land or on the heaving deck of a ship as long as he was in his master's company.
Although only a distance of fifty miles it was seven o'clock before the two young officers arrived at Trebalda Station.
"There's the governor!" exclaimed Eric. "Come along, old man. Pater, let me introduce you to my pal Slogger, otherwise Nigel Farrar, one of the homeless waifs from the old 'Tantalus.' And Bruno, of the same reliable firm."
Mr. Greenwood greeted the sub warmly, although he eyed the huge St. Bernard with misgivings.
"Er—Bruno's almost as big as a donkey," he observed, "but we can't put him out to grass. Still, we'll do our best for him in the commissariat department."
"All ready, pater?" inquired Eric, lifting his portmanteau from the platform.
"Far from it, my boy," replied his parent. "Put that thing on a seat and have a smoke. I'm killing two birds with one stone—hence the ponderous conveyance."
And he indicated a five-seater car waiting outside the station gates.
"What's the move, then?" inquired the A.P.