Broadmayne was putting on his greatcoat when Raxworthy, breaking off a conversation with another officer, came across the vestibule to him.
"Where are you putting up?" inquired the lieutenant-commander.
"At the Club, sir," replied the Sub.
"So am I," rejoined Raxworthy. "I'd like to have a pow-wow with you over this business."
"Very good, sir."
The two left the dockyard together, hired a taxi, and were soon bowling along Union Street to a residential club frequented by naval officers when sleeping ashore.
"You're dog-tired," remarked Raxworthy, noting the strained look in the other's eyes. "We'll have a meal and then you had better turn in. We'll defer our private conference till the morning."
"Better get it over now, sir," said Gerald, with a laugh. "Probably I'll be as fat-headed as an owl in the morning. And I've to see the Commander-in-Chief."
"Well, look here," said Raxworthy, "this is a sort of private tip; the admiral's going to have you appointed to one of the destroyers told off to hunt the Alerte. Any objection if I apply for you?"
"No, sir," replied Broadmayne. Since he was to be one of the hunters, it did not matter which ship he was appointed to. "Only I'd like to point out that, with his previous experience, Cain isn't likely to be caught napping by a destroyer again."