Standing on the quarter-deck was a burly German bluejacket. Others were sitting or sprawling on the formerly almost sacred deck, where no officer or man would step without saluting the Black Cross Ensign. The fellow had his head thrown back and was gazing upwards at the British coastal airship, the while making hideous grimaces and shaking his fist, while his comrades were laughing at his antics and doubtless applauding his expressions of anger.
"Sort of thing you'd expect from a Hun," observed Cumberleigh. "He knows we can't strafe him, so I suppose he thinks he's getting some satisfaction in making faces at us."
Meredith replaced his glasses.
"Yes," he remarked. "Case of little things please little minds. Good heavens! Can you imagine our fleet lying in captivity at Kiel? I can't. And yet those fellows don't seem to realise their rotten position in the slightest."
"Well, we've seen all that there is to be seen," said Cumberleigh. "Outwardly the Hun fleet seems in statu quo, but I'd like to know what's going on 'tween decks."
"And so would a good many people," added Meredith.
The noise of the motors interrupted further conversation, as the blimp, describing a graceful curve, headed for the distant sheds.
The airship made a faultless descent. With plenty of hands available, she was guided into her lofty stable, while Meredith, declining an invitation to stay to lunch at the mess, bade Cumberleigh good-day.
"And don't forget to-morrow," he added. "We are getting under way at nine."
At the landing-stage he encountered Morpeth.