CHAPTER XIV
A DOUBLE DECOY
"Gun-fire!" exclaimed Lieutenant-Commander Morpeth, sniffing the salt air like an alert terrier scenting a rat.
"Away to the south-east'ard," corroborated Wakefield. "Is this going to be one of your lucky days, George?"
"It won't be for the want of trying," rejoined the R.N. R. man grimly; then bending till his lips nearly touched the mouth of the voice tube, he shouted, "Stand by, below there, to whack her up."
A few crisp orders followed. Men moved swiftly and silently to their appointed stations, while the course was altered a couple of points to take Q 171 to the scene of the supposed action.
It was the second day of Wakefield's and Meredith's enforced but none the less interesting detention on board the mystery ship. Q 171 was well out into the North Sea, bound for a certain position a few miles to the west'ard of the now famous Horn Reefs Lightship. The sea was calm, a light breeze blew from the west'ard, while the sky was filled with small fleecy clouds drifting slowly athwart the lower air-currents—an indication of a forthcoming change of wind.
The three officers, clad in black oilskins to keep up the rôle of Hun pirates, had been sitting on the cambered edge of the base of the dummy conning-tower, yarning of times not long gone and holding forth wondrous theories of what might happen in the seemingly far distant epoch after the war.
"Small quick-firers," declared Morpeth, as the rumble of the sharp reports grew louder and louder. "None of our M.L.'s in action by any chance, I hope?"