"Yes, and you became a Sea Scout," nodded Redisham, slowly putting out his hand.
Max Hilliger looked down at it, and shook his head.
"That's just like you," he said, "offering to shake hands with a beaten enemy. You're very good, but I can't do it. I am not worthy to take the hand of an English gentleman. My own isn't clean enough."
He was remembering what had happened in the conning-tower of the submarine. He was remembering how he had taken part in many an act of piracy against British ships, and his heart was heavy with remorse. He turned away, and walked aft. Rodney Redisham watched him, and wondered if his apparent humility were genuine.
Max Hilliger made his way to the poop, climbed the companion ladder, and continued his way to the taffrail. For a moment it seemed to Redisham that he was about to fling himself overboard, and so escape the payment as a prisoner of war.
Max turned and strode back to the binnacle, stood beside it, and then lifted his eyes to the ensign fluttering proudly in the breeze. He glanced round to assure himself that he was not being watched, and then, alone and, as he believed, unseen, he raised his hand to the salute.
CHAPTER XXXV.
PRISONERS OF WAR.
"Hurry up, Newruck, or we shall not get out of harbour until this ship comes in. Bring along that hamper."
Scoutmaster Arnold Bilverstone was taking the Lion Patrol out for a two days' cruise in their cutter. They had intended to be away for a week, but Mark Redisham and Darby Catchpole could not spare so much time. They had both been appointed to a new trawler to go on active service. They were not supposed to talk about it, but the whole patrol knew that the destination of their two lucky companions was the Dardanelles, where they were to engage in the work of sweeping for German and Turkish mines.