"Make for the nearest telegraph office," was the prompt reply.
"And these?" enquired the admiral, indicating with a comprehensive sweep of his hand the overturned motor and the three motionless forms of their former assailants.
"Can wait, sir," replied Farnworth. "We'll send the police and a break-down gang to clear up the business. All ready, Jack?"
Away glided the car, descending the curved road at terrific speed. Approaching the bottom of the pass, another car was encountered going in the opposite direction. It contained the high personage who probably owed his life to the blunder the Germans had made in mistaking Crosthwaite's party for his. In complete ignorance, the occupants of the two cars passed. The Government official was never to learn how close he had been to a foul death by assassination on the desolate Blackstone Edge.
Over the rough setts of Rochdale, Farnworth's car tore, until the young naval officer slowed up to pass through a dense crowd gathered round the windows of a firm of newspaper proprietors, and extending more than half-way across the street.
Instinctively the occupants of the car looked at the bold letters scrawled upon a large sheet of paper.
"Good heavens!" ejaculated the admiral, hardly able to believe his eyes; "we are too late!"
[CHAPTER XIX--The Smack "Fidelity"]
"Be a sport, Jack!" exclaimed Leslie Sefton coaxingly.
"And take a sort of busman's holiday, eh?" rejoined the sub, regarding his young brother with a tolerant smile. "Well--I'll see."