Ere she had done this, however, the motor-launch of the Countess Malipiero, driven by old Beppo, sped out from the harbour on pretence of taking an invitation to one of the lieutenants on board the battleship Italia, which was lying just within the Mole.
He slowed up alongside one of the guardships by the boom, and as he did so the great eye of a searchlight was turned full upon him. Then, at once recognised by the watchman on duty, he was allowed to pass out to sea. Being such a familiar figure, no suspicion had ever been cast upon the stern, patriotic old fellow.
Sometimes his boat was stopped and examined, but, as he never had anything aboard, it had become a habit with the guardships to allow him to pass unchallenged.
When about a mile from the boom, the old fellow drew a map from his pocket, and, having examined it very carefully by the light of a flash-lamp, consulted his compass. Then, altering his course, he sped along for nearly two hours in the darkening night, when at last he placed two green lights, one at port and one at bow.
He had started at ten, but it was nearly one o’clock in the morning when he began to grow anxious and consult his watch.
Presently he saw the slight tremor of a searchlight, and, fearing detection by some Italian ship, he at once extinguished all his lights, and, pulling up, waited for nearly half an hour. It was a dark, lonely vigil, but, with the aid of another cigar, the crafty old seafarer passed the time until he again ventured to relight his green lamps.
Scarcely had he done this when, about half a mile away, he saw a tiny light winking in the Morse code. He read the familiar signal, and, cutting off his engine, waited until, of a sudden, the low hull of a submarine came up in the darkness, quite close to him. Then, adroitly manoeuvring his launch, both the vessel and boat rising and falling in the heavy swell, he drew nearer.
“Is that Beppo?” shouted a voice in Italian from the submarine. “Yes,” shouted the old man. “I have something for you.” He took from his pocket a small leather bag-purse, such as men carry, one of those drawn through a ring, tied it upon a tight line, and, standing up, he flung it with a seaman’s precision over the conning-tower of the submarine.
“All right,” shouted the Austrian officer, for such he was. “Wait a moment till I’ve read what you have brought.”
For a few moments he disappeared into the body of the vessel, while Beppo hauled in his wet line. Then, when the officer reappeared, he shouted: