Stirling was perfectly collected by this time. He wrote as he had never written before—at great speed, yet in a lucid, connected style.
"Here you are, sir," he announced quietly.
Thompson seized the blue pencil in anticipation. A look of mild satisfaction that quickly gave way to exuberant delight overspread his face as he read. The blue pencil was not required.
"Well done, Stirling; a straightforward piece of work, and every line full of life!" he exclaimed, betraying an unwonted enthusiasm. "Now, take my advice: go and get a good square meal, and go to bed early. There'll be nothing doing, as far as you are concerned, till to-morrow morning."
Meanwhile Sub-Lieutenant Hamerton, temporarily "rigged out" in mufti obligingly lent by the commander of the Boxer, quietly slipped ashore at Harwich, took train to town, and with the least possible delay reported himself at the Admiralty.
For over two hours he was detained by the First Lord and the First Sea Lord, both of whom happened by a pure slice of luck to be in Whitehall when the momentous cipher telegram announcing Hamerton's return in the disabled Zeppelin was received.
"There's an underhand piece of work somewhere," remarked Admiral Sir James Churcher, the First Sea Lord. "Coming on the top of the German Government's explanation to our ambassador it cannot be regarded as otherwise."
"I agree with you," said the First Lord. "This affair will ultimately be settled by the Navy, Churcher, of that I feel sure."
"Unless Germany climbs down."
"She won't; it will be a hard fight to the finish. These Teutons are of very much the same characteristics as ourselves, remember. Of course, diplomatic negotiations may put off the evil day, but after the way our Foreign Office has been utterly fooled I don't put much faith in that prospect. By the by, Mr. Hamerton, you mentioned that you found a German confidential book on torpedoes. What became of it?"