"By the way," said the latter, as they made their way towards a certain hostelry much favoured by naval and merchant service officers, "did you notice the Cotswold moored just off the landing stage?"
"No, I was below making out my report."
His face expanded into a broad grin.
"Then the chances are ten to one that we meet her skipper before the day's out. And if I don't pull his blessed leg you can strafe me for a Hun."
As it happened they did meet this particular skipper, and in the very hostelry to which they were bound. He was in the smoking-room and, of course, did not recognise Lawless when he and Trent entered because, on the occasion of their exchanging courtesies, it had been too dark and foggy for either of them to identify the other. The Lieutenant, however, knew him at once by his voice, which was of a peculiarly hoarse quality.
"It's a fact," he was saying to a small group of interested auditors, "that infernal U boat was no farther from my stern than I am from that piano yonder. Well, I started steering a zig-zag course, at the same time opening fire on the submarine with my machine-gun. One of the first shots knocked her periscope to smithereens and then——"
He was interrupted by a burst of laughter, and, turning round, the narrator of this thrilling episode beheld a couple of officers almost doubled up with mirth.
"Oh, tell us some more, skipper!" cried Lawless, as soon as he could speak.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said the other, his face scarlet with indignation.
"Then we'll say no more about it," answered the Lieutenant. "But surely you remember me? We met in the fog last night."