He did not guess—he did not dream of the possibility—but had he taken his binoculars, he might have distinguished the features of the "middy" to whom he referred, and recognised them as the features of Max Hilliger.
CHAPTER XX.
PUT TO THE TEST.
"It's astonishing how much more interesting the North Sea has become since the beginning of the war," remarked Vera Redisham, standing at the dining-room window, busily knitting a khaki muffler for some unknown soldier at the Front. "There's a steamer passing now, a neutral, and I'm simply dying to know where she comes from and where she's going, and if she has been in danger from German torpedoes."
Her brother Mark, home on shore leave, was seated at the fireside, making up arrears in his reading of the newspapers. He was dressed in mufti, and looked very different from the rough-clothed signal boy who for weeks past had been battling with autumn storms and the perils of floating mines on the wave-swept decks of the Dainty.
"What flag's she flying?" he questioned, turning in his comfortable chair.
"I can't make out," his sister answered. "It's blue, with a white cross. And the same colours are painted on her side. And, oh, Mark, isn't it sweet of her? She's saluting the Kingfisher!"
"So she ought to," declared Mark, dropping his paper and rising to his feet. "All neutrals ought to salute the White Ensign, seeing what our Navy is doing by keeping the seas clear of the enemy. A Danish ship saluted our squad of mine-sweepers the other day. Blue with a white cross? She must be Greek. I expect she's carrying a cargo of currants. Isn't her name painted on her side?"
He went to the window and looked out upon the sea.
"Yes, she's Greek," he decided. "She's from Pireus. That's the harbour outside Athens, isn't it? Who's this coming in at the gate? A policeman delivering handbills!"