Morpeth, who had been busy with a sextant, laid the instrument down and began to work out his position. Presently he turned to Wakefield.
"Here we are," he said, sticking a point of the divider into the chart. "Lat. 55 deg. 50' 10" N. Long. 6 deg. 15' 10" E. We fired our passengers just in time. Another four hours and with luck we'll pick up the Hoorn Reefs Lightship. Then the fun'll commence."
"All our passengers?" queried Wakefield smiling.
"Yes," replied "Tough Geordie." "You, my lad, are a worker. I'll see that you do your bit. We'll bag some pheasants although it's close season."
"Let's hope so," said Wakefield cheerfully.
"An' I'm a rotten sportsman," added Morpeth. "'Owing to the war,' I suppose. 'Tany rate if I've the chance I'm going to bag 'em while they're sitting up. After all, Fritz-strafing's my job, and the more the merrier."
CHAPTER XXII
ON THE TRAIL
Philip Entwistle puffed thoughtfully at his briar.