"What the----!" began the astonished Crosthwaite Senior.
Almost unconscious of the rough treatment by his son, Admiral Sefton descended from the car. Already George had executed a flying leap, and was running towards the news-agent's shop.
Returning with a handful of papers he met the admiral half-way.
"It's 'The Day', sir!" he exclaimed, confident in the belief that the long-expected struggle for naval supremacy had been settled once and for all in Britain's favour.
Admiral Sefton grabbed the proffered paper with super-energy, almost tearing the flimsy fabric with his powerful fingers as he fumbled with the recalcitrant leaves.
Then the look of eager expectancy faded from his face, giving place to a dull, strained expression of incredulity.
"Come along, Sefton!" sang out Crosthwaite Senior. "Don't be greedy with the good news. Why, man----"
"We've got it properly in the neck, Pater," announced his son. "Fourteen of ours, including the Queen Mary, sunk."
"But the enemy--the German losses are heavier than ours?" enquired the general, snatching at the paper George was holding.
The two officers scanned the official report. "Owing to low visibility"--was ever an Admiralty dispatch issued with such halting excuses? A straightforward admission of our losses, it is true, but nothing to suggest that the Germans had incurred similar or heavier casualties, or even that the British navy had gained the day. And then there was the perplexing statement that the Germans had rescued a number of British seamen, and no corresponding report to the effect that we had saved any of theirs. Everything pointed to a running fight in which the Huns were the pursuers.