Supporting himself by the shaft of the periscope, which, like the conning-tower, was a "dud," Morpeth again and again raised his prism-binoculars to his eyes. Just below him stood Wakefield, conscious of a peculiar sensation of mingled doubts and hopes. He, too, shared with Morpeth the feeling that the climax was at hand. The great stunt that was to deal a terrific blow to Germany's campaign of unrestricted warfare was imminent. Would it succeed?
The plan of operations was daring in its simplicity. According to information obtained from a British Secret Service agent in Kiel, two giant submarine-cruisers were leaving the German Baltic port, passing through the Imperial Kiel Canal during the hours of darkness, and leaving Brunsbuttel the following night for the Hoorn Reefs rendezvous. Here they were to take on board two experienced U-boat commanders from submarines expected to be homeward-bound from the Irish Sea, and then proceed to the Atlantic seaboard of the United States. Capable of keeping the sea for a period of sixty days without having to re-fuel or re-provision, these submarine-cruisers were a direct menace to the Allies in general and to Uncle Sam in particular. Consequently, if Morpeth's plans were successful and he were able to destroy both submarine-cruisers before the returning U-boats arrived at the rendezvous, the moral effects of the mysterious disappearance of two brand-new additions to Germany's under-sea fleet would be more far-reaching than their actual loss.
And the hour was approaching when the two submarine-cruisers would arrive at the rendezvous—and then Q 171 would strike—swiftly and with annihilating force.
Right aft stood Meredith and Ainslie. The former was in charge of the after quick-firer, while on the other sub-lieutenant rested the responsibility of "dumping the ash-cans," or, in other words, dropping the depth-charges, should they be required. He also had charge of the hand-steerage flat, where, in the event of the electrically-operated wheel becoming disabled, the work of steering the Q-boat would be undertaken.
"Fritz is late in keeping his appointment," remarked Meredith. "Beastly uncivil of him on a cold morning like this."
Ainslie swung his arms vigorously and stamped with his rubber boots upon the metal deck.
"We'll forgive him if he shows up," he remarked. "Wonder if there'll be a chance of a scrap? By the by, you've your gasmask ready?"
"Yes, old son," replied Meredith, producing a hideous-looking contraption from the pocket of his oilskin coat. "We hadn't them issued to us on the M.L.'s, for which many thanks. Gosh! What would the old folks at home say if they could see their little Kenneth in this?"
"You do look a Hun," admitted Ainslie, as Meredith rather clumsily clipped the antigas device to his nose. "What a dash you'd cut at a kids' Christmas party! Got everything—pneumatic life-belt, first-aid outfit, meat lozenges, spirit flask an' all, in case you fancy rivalling a cross-Channel swimmer?"
Meredith gravely assured his questioner that he had all the articles named.