"Take a couple of hands and bring the U-boat skipper here," he ordered.
"Say, Skipper," remarked Cumberleigh, who had been skimming the pages of the log-book, "here's a rummy entry:—'2 A.M. Landed von Preussen.' Who's von Preussen, and where else could he have been landed except on the Scottish coast? One minute."
He turned over more leaves rapidly, nevertheless scanning the sloping, flourish-embellished words.
"No mention of this von Preussen having been taken on board again," he continued. "First this fellow and this Fennelburt are landed—that is, if the German bluejacket's yarn is correct. Will you allow me to commence the examination, Skipper?"
"Tough Geordie's" weather-lined face wrinkled with a smile.
"By all means," he replied. "I'm not much of a hand at talky-talky. The best argument I used in the Foul Anchor Line was a big boot. Dagoes and Dutchies understood that. Stand by; they're bringing the swine in."
Kapitan von Preugfeld entered jauntily. He had imagined, judging from the result of the previous interview, that he had completely bluffed his captors on the subject of Captain Fennelburt, and that, if he persisted in his story, he would emerge triumphant from the ordeal.
Cumberleigh came to the point at once. "I'm anxious to know," he remarked, "what connection there is between Leutnant Karl von Preussen of the Prussian Guards and Captain George Fennelburt of the British Air Force. You can enlighten me, Herr Kapitan, and I await your explanation."
Attacked from a totally unexpected quarter, von Preugfeld's defences were literally rushed.
"I know not," he replied sullenly.