"What's the hurry, old bean?" inquired the enthusiastic boat-sailer, Jefferson. "If it comes to that, you can see the 'Mountains' from here, although there's no 'Maid'—not even a mermaid. But, I say, what's that?"
He pointed seawards. At about a mile distant was a long, low-lying black hull, apparently drifting broadside on to the waves.
"Boche submarine, perhaps," ventured the facetious Pyecroft. "She's coming to give us a tow back to Auldhaig. Did anyone remember to bring a Lewis gun in his trouser pocket?"
With the others, von Preussen looked in the direction of the mysterious craft. He had no pressing desire to renew acquaintance with one of His Imperial Majesty's unterseebooten, although the consequences would be far less awkward for him than it would be for his present companions. But a brief glance assured him on that point. The craft, whatever it might be, was certainly not a U-boat. No amount of camouflage could alter that.
"She's a derelict," exclaimed Jefferson. "Get up the anchor, you fellows. We'll run alongside and have a look at her."
Quickly the anchor was broken out and the sail hoisted. Cumberleigh, who had been silently keeping the derelict under observation, suddenly turned and thumped von Preussen on the shoulder.
"Fennelburt," he vociferated, "Providence has played into your hands! You came here to inspect X-barges. Lo and behold, one of them obligingly drifts down to greet you!"
"You're right, Cumberleigh," said Pyecroft. "It's one of those that left Auldhaig this morning. I saw them go out. That red-haired Scot chap—McIntosh, you know him—was in charge."
"Hanged if he is now, at any rate," added Jefferson. "An' the old thing is well down by the stern. I believe she's sinking."
It took ten minutes for the Pip-squeak to close with X-lighter No. 5. Running up into the wind on the lee side, Jefferson got way off the boat.