A U-BOAT OF SORTS
The "old hooker" was plugging along at a steady twelve knots. At frequent intervals copious quantities of spray would be flung inboard as her bows plunged into the long swell. Running dead into the eye of the wind, she gave one an exaggerated idea of speed, for even in a light breeze the wire rigging supporting the two short masts verberated tunefully in the night air.
From the partly closed fo'c'sle hatchway came sounds of mild revelry. Meredith smiled at the noise, for he recognised amongst others the voices of some of his own men. Evidently the ex-crew of M.L. 1071 were taking kindly to their new surroundings, and were not in the least perturbed by their change of fortune.
"Hefty sort of hooker after an M.L." remarked Wakefield. "And what did you tell me was her name?"
"I didn't tell you any name, for the simple reason that she hasn't one. She's simply Q 171, while to Fritz she appears as U 251—but Fritz doesn't get away to tell the tale."
"What are these for?" asked Kenneth, kicking his boot against one of a pair of metal rails that ran fore and aft.
"Our tram-lines," explained the lieutenant-commander of Q 171. "A little device to clear decks for action in a brace of shakes. See our conning-tower and that superstructure arrangement abaft it? They're duds. Stand aside a minute, and I'll give a little demonstration of how things are worked. A bit further—that's it; now you are clear of the rails. Jackson!"
"Sir!"
A bearded petty officer came aft at a double, and awaited orders.
"The gadget!" exclaimed Morpeth laconically.