Black August

At Cannon Street a flying squad car hurtled past them at breakneck speed the whine of its siren making the night hideous.

Kenyon turned south over London Bridge. On the far side he was called on to halt. A group of Greyshirts with an officer at their head came towards him. 'Where for?' asked the officer.

’Kent Maidstone Road,' said Kenyon.

'Right got any food in the car?'

'No why?'

'Orders to stop any supplies leaving London d'you mind getting out?'

'Look here!'

'Sorry to trouble you, but I've got to search your car.' The man was polite, but firm. Obviously the only thing to do was to look cheerful and obey.

They climbed out and a swarm of lusty Greyshirts began to rummage in the car. Out of the back came the picnic basket.

'Here what's this?' exclaimed the officer.

'Supper,' said Kenyon. 'You're not going to pinch that are you we've had no dinner as it is!'

The basket was opened up, and it was obvious that Carter had done his job thoroughly. He had removed all the gadgets for picnic teas and stuffed every available inch of space with provender.

'Take it inside.' The officer jerked his head towards the Bridge House Hotel, which had been converted into a depot. The hamper was carried off and the search renewed with vigour.

Under the seat the Greyshirts discovered Kenyon's cigarettes, two bottles of hock and one each of Port and Brandy.

'Here! that's not food!' Kenyon protested as he saw these items about to follow the picnic basket.

The officer grinned. 'Sorry but I'm afraid they come under the heading of supplies. You can have your hamper back when it's empty if you like.'

'No, you can keep the damned thing,' Kenyon said angrily as he climbed back into his seat. 'How are things further South down in the Old Kent Road, I mean?'

'Might be worse they were making a bonfire of a big Rolls just past the Elephant and Castle half an hour ago, but they are more playful than vicious only took the gold watch off the old boy that owned it and let him go. He's back here in the Bridge House now.'

'That doesn't seem too good.'

'No, I should take the side turnings if I were you down Tooley Street and then strike into the main road further along.'

Veronica leant out. Her smile was seraphic enchanting. 'You don't think really that we shall all be murdered, do you?'

The officer smiled. 'I er sincerely trust not!'

'But it is rather shattering isn't it for a woman I mean if only we had you with us I should feel absolutely safe.'

'I'd love to see you through.' The young man's chest broadened perceptibly under Veronica's gaze, 'but I can't possibly leave my job be here all night I expect!'

Veronica had noticed the long line of cars parked outside the Bridge House. She glanced towards them now. 'Haven't you someone you could leave in charge?' she wheedled, 'just for ten minutes, while you took us through the worst part by the docks?'

'Well,' he hesitated. 'I couldn't go myself, of course, but I've got dozens more men than I actually need and I could send a car load to convoy you as far as Greenwich Park that would get you through the most troublesome area anyhow.'

'Oh, how perfectly splendid!' she loosed again the battery of her seductive smile.

With sudden embarrassment, cursing the presence of Kenyon and Ann, both interested spectators, he turned away and blew his whistle. The Greyshirts came tumbling out of the hotel, and he hurried over to them.

'How clever of you,' murmured Ann.

'Easy dearie!' chuckled Veronica. 'The conceit of women is nothing compared with that of men!'

The officer was calling for volunteers and there was no lack of them. Ten minutes later a dozen Greyshirts had clambered into an open car and Veronica's new friend returned with another officer.,

"This is Mr. Harker,' he said, by way of introduction.

'Silas Gonderport Harker,' corrected the lieutenant of Greyshirts with the faintest intonation that declared an American origin.

Ann gazed at him almost in awe. He was a good head taller than his senior, broad of shoulder, and magnificent in girth. Yet on that vast body he displayed no trace of superfluous fat. His face was round, flat nosed and cheerful. There was an undeniable hint of humour about Mr. Harker's tight shut mouth and twinkling eyes. 'If you'll stick as close as you can behind my car,' he said slowly, 'I'll see you through.'

'Thank you thank you a thousand times. And you!'

Veronica momentarily dazzled the Captain again with her bewitching smile.

Harker squeezed his elephantine bulk into the Grey shirts' car and moved off into the darkness with Kenyon following.

'All the luck!' shouted the slim Captain, and the last they saw of him was a saluting figure silhouetted against the light which streamed from the open door of the Bridge House Hotel.

Tooley Street was a cavern of silent blackness. They raced down it and into the gloom beyond. At the crossing by Tower Bridge they met the first sign of trouble; it was a still warm night, and a hundred and fifty people were standing out in the open road in front of a public house. Immediately they saw the Greyshirts an angry murmur ran through the throng and one man hurled an empty beer bottle. The leading car tore on and hurtled round the bend into Dockland, they young Greyshirts cheering derisively at the mob.

'Good thing I've got you an escort, lovie!' said Veronica quietly.

'I'm not so certain,' Kenyon muttered. 'The people down here hate these Greyshirts like hell. I've a good mind to catch them up and send them back we'd probably be safer on our own.'

Ann shook her head. 'It's too late now. If you try and overtake them at the speed they're going you will probably knock someone down.'

'That's the devil of it,' Kenyon agreed.

Through ill lit Dockland the cars roared on, past more public houses, then swerving sharply entered Parker's Row. Every hundred yards or so a fresh crowd surged out into the roadway, yelling abuse and throwing missiles. A rotten tomato thumped and spluttered on the windscreen of Kenyon's car. He thanked his gods that the glass was shatterproof, the next bull's eye might be with half a brick.

In Jamaica Road the crowd grew thicker, even the Greyshirts were afraid to rush it, and pulling up, signalled to Kenyon to turn back.

As he reversed his car up a turning they passed him again and sped down a side street lined with small, grim, poverty stricken houses. A moment later he was after them. The headlights of the cars threw the women and children huddled in the doorways into sharp relief. One harridan shrieked foul epithets as they rushed past another hurled a flower pot. Ann shuddered, realising suddenly that if the car stopped for a moment she would be at the mercy of these harpies.

The Greyshirts' car turned again and Kenyon followed through another dark canyon of decaying dwellings, where squalid garbage littered the gutters, and another contingent of frail, half starved, wolfish humanity lifted shrill voices against the flagrant opulence suggested by the powerful private car. Another turn and they were back in the main street once more, but forced to slow down by the stream of people who overlapped the narrow pavements. Ahead, in the uncertain light which flickered from a public house, the crush was denser, and in an open space before it they caught a glimpse of serried rows of people. Perched on a barrow above his head, a short squat bare headed man was gesticulating violently; they could not catch a word he said, but as he struck his open palm with his clenched fist a moan went up from the crowd. The Greyshirts had been forced to halt again; a black haired boy perched on the back of their car was making violent signals to Kenyon, who stopped and put his car into reverse.

'Hi! Where yer goin' blast yer came angry cries from the pavement. An empty egg box hurtled into the body of the car. It caught Ann on the head, but it was light and fortunately did no serious damage. With admirable presence of mind she turned, made a wry grimace in the direction whence it had come, and smiled. The man who had thrown it saw her, and the result was electric. He looked astonished crestfallen then all at once he grinned.

'Sorry lidy I didn't mean to 'urt yer.' He was a big burly chap, and forcing his way to the front of the crowd he pushed the onlookers right and left from in front of the bonnet.

'Come on, mates,' he shouted. 'Aht of the way fer the Duchess o' York she ain't done no 'arm, and lor blimey, ain't she a daisy?'

The people good humouredly gave way and for a moment Ann had saved the situation, but as Kenyon glanced over his shoulder he saw that the Greyshirts were in trouble. They were only a few yards behind them, but in turning they had knocked down a man; a threatening mob surged round their car. The black haired boy was being dragged off the back, the others were using their long heavy sticks freely upon their assailants.

Ann's new found friend was swept away from them in a sudden eddy of the crowd. A red, angry, drink sodden face was thrust over the side of the car, its owner glared at Ken yon.

'Bleedin' torf,' yelled a voice from the rear. 'Look at 'im wiv 'is ruddy chorus girls.'

'Chorus girls? Tarts, yer mean!' screamed a shrill voiced woman; 'an' honest people withart food in their stomachs I'd learn 'em if I was a man!'

Kenyon glanced round desperately. How was he to get Ann and Veronica out of this? The crush was ten deep on every side. Above their heads he caught a glimpse of the Greyshirts; the black haired boy had been hauled back into their car, but blood was streaming from his face, his eyes were flashing, and his mouth drawn down into a cruel vindictive snarl. With sudden venom he jerked a gun from his hip pocket, and blazed off with it into the crowd.

For a second there was absolute silence, then a howl of fury went up from the maddened mob. An irresistible wave like the surging of a stormy sea almost submerged the Grey shirts' car. Kenyon caught a glimpse of Ann's face, white now and terrified. Veronica sat, sneering almost, her eyes angry and flashing, but her hand trembled upon his knee and he knew that in the next few moments he must fight-​fight for his life unless they were to be torn limb from limb and trampled under foot in the blind, vicious fury of a starvation maddened mob.

9

Burn Them! Burn Them!'

'Quick!' cried Kenyon to the girls, 'out you get no good staying here!'

Veronica slipped on to the pavement and Ann after her. It was only a matter of seconds, but before Kenyon could join them a little rat of a man had snatched at Veronica's necklace. It snapped, she grabbed at it, and the thread parted again, leaving a string of twenty knotted pearls between her fingers; someone jogged her elbow and they were jerked from her hand into the gutter. A wild scramble ensued, and Kenyon seized the opportunity to hustle the girls nearer to the Greyshirts. They, too, had abandoned their car and were fighting a small compact group on the pavement ten yards away.

Howling obscenities, a lean hag seized Ann by the hair and tried to pull her down. Kenyon abandoned all ideas of chivalry and hit the woman a smashing blow in the face. Her grip relaxed and she sank from sight with a little moan. The crowd surged over her, trampling her down into the gutter.

Veronica was struggling desperately with a sinewy lascar. He had her round the body, but years of outdoor exercise had given her slim form far more strength than might have been supposed. She beat her small, clenched fists furiously against his face, and after a moment he staggered back, half blinded by her blows.

Kenyon had turned to help her, but before he had a chance another woman had kicked him on the shin. Her boot was man's size and the pain excruciating. A fellow wearing a red sweater rushed in and began to hammer him with his fists, but Kenyon had been a boxing blue. A left to the jaw and the red sweater disappeared from view.

A few yards away the lights of a cheap eating house caught Kenyon's eye. It was of the type usually run by Italians; polonies and tarts covered with course coconut decked the window beside a water bottle with a lemon stuck in the top. If they could reach its shelter they would be safe for the moment. The Greyshirts evidently had the same idea; they were fighting their way towards it in wedge formation, the gigantic Mr. Silas Gonderport Harker at their head. Kenyon pushed Veronica in their direction and dragged Ann after him.

The lascar rushed in again, but Kenyon put out his foot and the man crashed to the ground; another dashed in ducked as Kenyon lashed out and grabbed him round the middle. They swayed together, locked in each other's arms up and down the pavement. Kenyon gave his assailant a quick jab behind the ear, the man grunted and staggered back, but as Kenyon thrust his way towards the lighted window of the little restaurant, he suddenly missed Ann she had disappeared.

A second later he saw her, still on her feet but out in the roadway, separated from him by half a dozen people. Her dress had been ripped away at the neck, showing the bare flesh of her shoulders, but she had snatched a short, thick umbrella from a woman in the crowd, and was beating wildly with it at the faces of the people who surrounded her. Kenyon dashed back into the road striking out right and left, irrespective as to whether his opponents were men or women, and the mob shrank away from the menace of his powerful blows. Ann had slipped to her knees by the time he reached her, but he used his long arms like flails and, clearing a space, lugged her to her feet again; yet it seemed that it could only be a matter of seconds before they were both dragged down, for his back was unprotected now and the mob was closing in again, snarling and angry.

Suddenly there was a resounding crash. A group of people had fastened on Kenyon's car with senseless fury, and tilting it, had thrown it over on its side. In the brief silence that followed Ann glanced wildly round. A mad animal blood lust glared from the mean faces that ringed them. Hundreds of cruel merciless eyes seemed to devour her in anticipation, and a multitude of claw like hands reached out to rip her shrinking body, but momentarily they were drawn back, and Kenyon seized her by the waist, half carrying, half dragging her towards the lighted doorway.

They were nearly there. The Greyshirts were already clustered in the entrance, and the big American was thrusting Veronica behind him when a well aimed brick caught Kenyon on the head. He staggered and fell.

The mob rushed in again, but Ann stood over him. She remembered having heard somewhere that to lunge at people's faces with the point of an umbrella was far more effective than to beat them about the head. As in some ghastly nightmare she prodded fiercely at the head of an aged crone who was bearing down on them. The point caught the beldame on the mouth, and her stream of hideous blasphemies ceased in a sudden whine. A chimneysweep, his face begrimed with soot, his red rimmed eyes gruesome in the flickering light, dived at her from the other side; she jabbed at him and he clutched his eye with a scream of pain.

'Well done, Ann well done!' It was Kenyon who had stumbled to his feet, blood streaming down his face, but grasping in his hand a short length of wood which he had found on the pavement. It was a Communist weapon and had two ugly nails driven through the heavy end.

He gripped Ann round the shoulders with his left arm and began to savage the people nearest to them with the bludgeon. A moment later they were hauled into the cook shop by the Greyshirts.

Ann sank fainting and exhausted to the floor, but Ken yon picked her up and barged his way towards Veronica, who stood half way up a narrow flight of stairs at the back of the restaurant. The whole place was a struggling melee of people. The Greyshirts were endeavouring to throw the customers and occupants out into the street.

Veronica pulled Ann beside her and Kenyon jumped back into the rough and tumble. It was short and sharp, only one big man who looked like a professional bruiser was giving serious trouble, but a china mug caught him on the side of the head, the Greyshirts closed in on him, and he was flung out in a heap, on to the pavement.

A bottle filled with stones hurled through the window, shivering the glass in all directions, and a slab of stone came whizzing through the open door. It caught the foreign looking youth who had started all the trouble on the foot, and flushing with pain and rage he whipped out his automatic again.

There was a sudden crash of shots as he poured its contents deliberately into the nearest of the crowd. The carnage at such short range was terrible, some of the bullets penetrating two or more people apiece in the close packed mass. Kenyon saw them fall right and left, gripping their wounds, vomiting blood, and howling with agony while the unwounded turned on their companions, fighting desperately to get out of range of the murderous weapon.

A temporary lull ensued while the Greyshirts stood, gasping and panting, dabbing at their wounds and trying to staunch the flow of blood.

'Don't waste time!' bawled Harker. 'Get that door shut and make a barricade.' He knew that they had only secured a most doubtful sanctuary. The mob still swayed angry, threatening, dangerous outside. '

The door was slammed and a couple of marble topped tables piled against it.

'Let's use the counter, that looks solid,' suggested Ken yon.

'Can't,' said the youth with the gun. 'It's nailed down.'

'Oh, pull the damned thing up!' Kenyon seized one end of it in his strong arms. The American grabbed the other end. 'Come on now! all together heave!'

The counter came away with a loud splintering of wood. The coffee urn fell to the floor with a ringing thud. Plates, glasses and cake stand crashed and jangled. Pushing and panting they slewed the mighty piece of wood across the window and the door, pulled out the tables and piled them on the top, then the chairs and stools. In an incredibly short space of time they had formed a solid barricade which it would not be easy for the mob to force.

'Wonder if there's a back way out,' gasped Kenyon to the American.

'Good for you! I wish you'd look,' was the terse reply.

Kenyon ran to the rear of the shop, through a door and into a small kitchen. One narrow window looked out on to a dark well, enclosed on three sides by sheer blank walls. No hope in that direction!

He dashed back and up the stairs to the first floor. In the front room overlooking the street he found Veronica quietly making up her face in the central mirror of an ornate overmantel, and Ann dialling away at a telephone.

"What's the idea?' he asked.

'Trying to get help, of course.'

'No good, my dear. The Inspector told us that only official calls were allowed.'

"Well,' she protested, 'the police are official aren't they?'

'Yes, but I shouldn't think there's a policeman within a hundred miles of here.'

'Why not?' asked Veronica, carefully darkening her eyelashes.

'Because they have to concentrate in the West End; what good could they do scattered in twos and threes all over London at a time like this?'

'How too shattering ' Veronica inspected her handiwork with care.

'Hadn't you better cut that out?' Kenyon suggested. 'It only angers the crowd to see you painted up like Jezebel!'

'Darling, I'm sorry, but if we're going to meet God face to face in the next hour I must look decent. Besides it gives me moral support, like boiled shirts to Englishmen in the tropics. Tell me! If there is no chance of help what does A do now?'

'Get out if we possibly can. I'm trying to find a way now; if we can't God knows! Anyhow, keep away from that window both of you or they'll start throwing things in here.' Kenyon slammed the door behind him.

The back room he found was a frowsty bedroom, and the windows only showed the blank walled well again. Above there were two more bedrooms, stale smelling and horrible, the beds unmade, and the tumbled sheets filthy with stains and grease. He had hoped to find a trap door in the ceiling of the top landing, but he was disappointed. After a hasty search he gave it up and hurried below to report to the American.

'That's bad,' nodded Harker. 'We've just beaten off an attack, but how long we'll be able to keep them out, Lord knows!'

'Give me a couple of your men and the next time they rush you we'll chuck things on them from the upstairs windows,' suggested Kenyon.

'That's an idea.' The American tapped two of his Grey shirts on the shoulder. 'Bob Harry get upstairs and lend a hand to Mr. Whatshisname.'

Although all the men round him were sweating and dishevelled, the gigantic Mr. Harker remained as cool and unruffled as if he were seated in his favourite bar playing a game of poker dice.

Kenyon and his assistants collected all the plates and other useful missiles that they could carry and staggered up to the front room. Veronica and Ann were peering cautiously out of the window.

'Oh, look!' cried Ann as he came in. 'They've got a battering ram!' Then he saw that a dozen burly fellows had shouldered the shaft out of a large wagon, and were making ready to stave in the door of the shop.

He threw up the window and seizing a hideous china vase from the mantelpiece, hurled it at the men below.

Bob and Harry took the other window while Veronica and Ann kept all three supplied with plates, and a rain of clattering china descended on the heads of the besiegers forcing them to drop their ram, but the mob on the far pavement were quick to retaliate. Bricks, stones, bottles and potatoes came from all directions, smashing through the windows and thudding into the room. Harry's face was so badly cut that he had to retire, and Veronica stopped half a brick with her elbow, which temporarily put her out of action.

The mob howled and shouted, urged on by a blue chinned man who had climbed on to the Greyshirts' derelict car. He waved a Red flag in one hand and pointed at the windows with the other. Kenyon picked up an aspidistra plant from a nearby table and hurled it at him, but it fell short, the pot obliterating the scared face of an old woman who saw it coming but had no time to get out of the way.

The agitator yelled derisively at the men with the battering ram. They picked it up and came on again. There was a rending crash as the door gave way, Bob staggered to the open windows with an old shiny, black, horse hair covered arm chair. With Ann's help he tipped it out; yells and curses from the street told that it had found at least one mark, but for every casualty the mob sustained there were a hundred infuriated, fight maddened people pressing forward to fill the gap.

'One, two, three.' The battering ram was flung with the weight of twenty men behind it against the barricade. The flimsy shop front had been completely demolished now. In the parlour above, the ammunition was almost exhausted; every ornament had gone, the oleographs and photos from the walls, and most of the furniture. Kenyon turned to fetch more missiles from the bedroom and found Harker behind him.

The big man was grinning but he shook his head. 'We can't keep it up, and they'll be through below stairs in a moment; barricade's half down already.'

Kenyon groaned as he wiped his grimy, bloodstained face. 'Where has that fellow with the gun got to? Can't he pick off the agitator and the other ring leaders?'

'He's run out of shot, but don't worry. I'll bring the boys up here. The crowd will never be able to pass us on those stairs in a month of Sundays.' With his leg of mutton hands thrust deep into his breeches pockets the Greyshirt officer strolled out of the room.

The battering ram found its mark again with a terrific thud, the whole barricade was shifting, chairs and tables tumbling to the floor. With a howl of triumph the mob surged forward, thrusting the remaining obstacles inward through the shattered shop front, and clambering wildly over the top. The Greyshirts retreated to the rooms above and hurriedly erected a new rampart on the landing with beds and bedding; the fight at the windows was renewed with increased vigour.

Suddenly there was a lull. A motor horn was hooting insistently further along the street, and the crowd, scenting fresh and easier prey, began to stream in that direction.

The hooting grew louder, and there were angry cries as a big closed car zigzagged down the street. The people drew hastily back on to the pavement, but one small urchin ran out and threw a broken teacup at the chauffeur. Next second the mudguard caught him, and he fell under the near front wheel. There was a howl of execration, and a dozen men flung themselves in front of the long bonnet. Two, three, four were sent spinning, and then the car pulled up.

'How about trying to break out now?' Kenyon suggested.

Silas Gonderport Harker shook his cherubic head. 'Not a hope; we'd never get a hundred yards.'

Over the heads of the crowd they watched the occupant of the car, a tall, lean, elderly man with a lined aesthetic face. He showed no trace of fear or excitement but produced an automatic and with the utmost calmness fired three times, once to the front over his chauffeur's shoulder, then swiftly once through each side window of the car. The bullets drilled neat round holes through the glass, and each one killed a man. The mob snarled with rage but gave back instantly, cowering with fear one against the other. With a sudden jerk the car bumped over two more of the bodies and sped on.

Almost before it was out of sight another car came in view, and the crowd greeted it with a roar of savage hate; the driver, a young man in a soft hat, hesitated and slowed down. A woman stooped and picking up a small bronze ornament from the gutter hurled it at him. It struck the young man full in the face; his head lolled stupidly for a second and then the car swerved violently, ran on to the pavement, and crashed through the window of a shop. A man was pinned between the bonnet and the framework, his head gushing blood from the cuts of the splintered glass; his screams, and those of the other people who had been run down could have been heard half a mile away, yet no one paid any attention to them; they were dragging the occupants from the back of the car; an old man, a fat woman, and a girl.

'Oh, can't we help them?' Ann clutched at Kenyon's arm, but almost before she had finished speaking the girl had disappeared, thrown down and trampled upon by a hundred feet. The old man went next, struck on the back of the head by a bottle. His eyes goggled stupidly, staring out of a fleshy white face for a second, then he sank from view; but the fat woman survived for three or four minutes. She swung a weighty bag, driving her aggressors from her by striking them with it in the face, but hands clawed at her from all sides and her clothes were ripped to ribbons; a malicious urchin kneeling behind her lugged at her skirt, the fastening broke and it descended to her ankles revealing a bright blue petticoat. He seized that too and wrenched it to the ground.

Suddenly she kicked herself free of the clothes around her feet and leaving a large portion of her pink silk blouse in the hands of a vicious shrew, broke away from her tormentors. With amazing swiftness for her bulk she pelted down the street, naked to the waist, her legs encased in a pair of frilly calico drawers; she presented a ludicrous, but pathetic and terrifying sight. Rivulets of blood coursed down her shoulders and tears gushed from her eyes; before she had gone twenty yards she was tripped and fell. The mob closed in on her and kicked the great unwieldy body into shuddering immobility.

'Hunted like hares!' whispered Kenyon.

'What say?' asked the American.

'Nothing.' Kenyon was thinking of his father's prediction and wondering where he was now; safe at Windsor, or already fallen a prey to the blind resentment of the people against the ruling caste which had allowed things to drift into this terrible pass.

The car had been pillaged before the fat woman fell, and now the sullen, angry faces in the street were turned up to the windows again. Like a savage inhuman herd they stampeded across the road and into the shop below. Fighting began on the stairway while Kenyon and Bob tore down the over mantel and curtain rods to hurl from the windows.

'Burn them!' yelled a shrill voiced woman suddenly. 'Why don't yer burn 'em.' The cry was taken up; the street seemed to rock under the reiterated howling of the mass. 'Burn 'em burn 'em! The blasted Greyshirt swine!

Kenyon caught a glimpse of Ann's face, drawn and haggard with unnaturally bright eyes. He fumbled for her hand and pressed it. 'I'm sorry, Ann, terribly sorry that I bought you into this.'

She smiled, frightened, but trying to remain courageous. 'It wasn't your fault. I'm quite all right.'

Veronica joined them. She held an unlighted cigarette between her fingers. 'Kenyon,' her voice was quite even, 'got a match?'

He produced a lighter. 'How long,' she asked, 'do you think we've got?'

'Not long,' he confessed. 'If they do set fire to the place we'll have to try and fight our way out, but Anyhow, I wish to God I'd taken you out of London last night.' The moment he had spoken he regretted his words, for the delay of course was due to Ann, but she still held his hand and now she pressed it.

'I'm sorry, Veronica; I've been an awful fool,' she said.

'Darling, I could not have borne it without another woman!' Veronica announced, puffing at her cigarette; which was a lie anyhow, since she hated the presence of other women if there were men about.

Silas Harker hurried in from the landing. For the first time his placid cheerful face showed real anxiety. 'We're sunk!' he exclaimed to Kenyon, 'they've just set the staircase on fire!'

'Turn on the tap in the bathroom and flood the house,' suggested Veronica.

'There is no bathroom in a place like this,' the American answered tersely, 'and we're for the golden shore unless we can think of something quick!' Without waiting for a reply he left them again and as he opened the door a cloud of smoke billowed into the room.

The acrid fumes caught Veronica in the throat; she coughed and spluttered. 'What shall we do, Kenyon? For God's sake say something; we can't stay here to be burnt alive!'

Wreaths of smoke were creeping under the floor, filtering into the room so quickly that it was already difficult for them to see out of their smarting eyes. It could only be a matter of minutes before they would be driven into jumping from the windows to be seized upon and kicked to death by the frantic crowd below.

At his wits' end Kenyon moved back to the windows; as he leant out a lump of coal sailed past his head. It was not more than a twelve foot drop to the ground, but the mob stayed there angry, expectant.

'Hark!' he exclaimed, drawing in his head. As they listened a faint rat tat- tat came to their ears. 'Machine guns!' he added suddenly.

'Soldiers!' supplemented Bob. 'If only they're coming this way.'

A low sullen roar like an angry sea came to them from the distance; then the staccato rattle of a machine gun again, clearer now; a sudden hush had fallen on the crowd outside.

The machine guns barked again, the sound coming sharp on the night air. Harker came running in. 'The Tommies! he cried, 'd'you hear them? and they're corning down the street.'

Then Kenyon, craning out of the window, saw the first lorry. It was packed with khaki figures, their bayonets glimmering in the uncertain light as they stabbed at the boldest of the rioters who were trying to cling to the sides and back of the van. It rumbled below the window. Ann, Veronica, and Kenyon leaned out and shouted. 'Help! Hi! Help!'

One soldier looked up and grinned, but they did not stop. At a steady pace the big grey wagon thrust its nose into the crowd and pressed on. A second appeared, apparently loaded with supplies; half a dozen Tommies sat on the top and back systematically prodding with their rifles at any member of the crowd who tried to gain a foothold.

Next to the driver sat an officer, and Kenyon saw at once that he was no ordinary A.S.C. lieutenant, but a member of the General Staff; the peak of his cap bedecked with golden oak leaves and the red tabs on his tunic proclaimed it from the house tops. He lolled back puffing at a cigarette, but a riding crop lay across his knee, and he used it without hesitation on the faces of anyone bold enough to climb on to the step.

'Help!' they yelled again. 'Help!' But although the officer must have heard them he took not the slightest notice. Then the driver looked up casually at the window, his face changed suddenly, he spoke to the officer and brought the lorry to a halt. The latter glanced up and muttered a quick order, the lorry reversed and bumping its rear wheels on the kerb, pulled up with a jerk on the pavement beneath them.

The crowd welled up against the now stationary vehicle, and brickbats began to fly again, but a third lorry had come into view carrying another load of troops; and a machine gun was mounted on the driver's seat.

The officer stood up and waved his crop. There was a sudden spurt of flame, and a horrible clatter echoed through the narrow street. For a second the crowd hesitated, but even as they did so the watchers at the window saw the front ranks drop, mown down by the blast of flying lead into a horrible shambles. The gun rattled and coughed, spluttering forth its message of death; the third lorry had drawn up beside the second now, and Kenyon could see the face of the man crouched behind the gun; it was a mask of malicious glee; he was shooting to kill and glorying in the fun, as mad with blood lust as any of the crowd he was executing.

The street cleared with extraordinary rapidity, but in every direction bodies lay huddled in grotesque attitudes, or wounded strove frantically to drag themselves clear of this hellish tornado.

'Come on, cried one of the Tommies..'What are yer waitin' fer Christmas Day 'an a well filled stockin'? Jump, an' we'll catch you.'

Bob led the way, landed on his feet and tripped on the uneven surface of the load under the tarpaulin. The soldiers pulled him to his feet. Then Ann and Veronica were lowered by willing hands until their ankles were on a level with the heads of the troops below.

The officer had climbed down and stood on the pavement superintending the evacuation. The Greyshirts followed one another out of the window; then Kenyon, his eyes smarting abominably from the smoke, looked at the American. Only the two of them remained.

'Go to it!' called Harker, flinging a leg over the window sill. I felt certain we'd get out of that jam some way!' then he let himself drop.

Kenyon was perched on the ledge of the other window, below him on the pavement stood the officer. 'Coming,' he shouted, and jumped. He landed with a thud, the officer caught him with a quick grip of the arm, and as he pitched forward, his nose came in sharp contact with the crossed sword and baton of his rescuer's shoulder.

'Brigadier General in full war paint,' flashed into his mind, then he heard a quiet voice say: 'I hope you've brought the promised magnum of champagne,' and looking up, found himself staring into the amused face of Gregory Sallust.

10

The Mysterious Convoy

'Keep your mouth shut,' snapped Gregory with a sudden change of face, 'and thank your stars that Rudd spotted Ann at the window; up you go.'

As Kenyon was hauled up he recognised Rudd, under the thin disguise of a khaki uniform, grinning at him from the driver's seat, and suddenly realised that the loaded lorry was the same that he had seen in Gloucester Road that afternoon. Silas Harker was perched on one side of him and Ann on the other.

'Did you see,' she gasped. 'Gregory! What can it mean?'

'God knows!' He shook his head. 'But better say nothing.'

'Wasn't that just marvellous luck?' The American slapped his enormous thigh and then waved cheerfully to some of his men who were climbing into the rear lorry. The leading vehicle had halted a hundred yards further along the street and its complement of troops were out in the road dragging the wounded and killed on to the pavement so that the convoy could proceed.

Except for a few of the mob who had crowded back into the scant protection of the doorways, Jamaica Road was almost deserted now. Gregory jumped up into his place, waved his crop and the three lorries got under way again.

A woman on the opposite side of the street hurled a chamber pot from a second floor window. It crashed harmlessly to pieces in the road but without waiting for any order a soldier raised his rifle. There was a loud report, a scream and the woman disappeared. One of the men laughed.

'That was pretty brutal and unnecessary,' said Kenyon angrily to the sergeant who was sitting back to back with him.

'Can't blame them, sir,' the man replied. 'If you'd been standing by for days on end, while the blighters chucked things at you and not allowed to raise a finger, I reckon you'd do likewise. It's made a power of difference to the boys, having an officer who believes in tit for tat. They'd follow the General anywhere already.'

'Already.' Kenyon turned the word over in his mind. Evidently Brigadier General Sallust had not been in command of the detachment long; and what the devil could he be doing with them now, anyway? Could he have been posing as a journalist while actually employed by the Military Intelligence? The term journalist could be made to cover a multitude of strange activities. Perhaps that was the explanation, and now that the balloon had gone up he had come out of his chrysalis into his natural splendour of scarlet and gold. But where were they off to convoying Mr. Gibbon's store of groceries under the protection of a platoon of troops? It was all so strange and mysterious that Kenyon had to give up the riddle.

'If only I was not so thin,' Veronica moaned, 'my chassis will be black and blue,' and the hard edges of the cases upon which they were sitting allied to the jolting of the spring less lorry was already proving the acme of discomfort.

' 'Alf a sec', miss, we'll soon make you comfy.' A grinning soldier folded his greatcoat into a cushion and utilised those of his comrades as pillows for her back.

'Oh, thanks thank you most awfully. But are you quite sure you don't need them yourself?'

'Not me, miss; and maybe we're in for a longish run.'

'How too thrilling. I adore motoring at night, but do tell me, where are we going?' Veronica stretched out her slim legs and wriggled comfortably down into her khaki nest.

'Ah! Now you're askin' something.' The man closed one eye with a knowing wink. 'I can't say fer certain but '

He settled himself beside Veronica and they continued the conversation in low voices. Kenyon, knowing her so well could imagine the grave face with which she hid her amusement while she led the soldier on to talk.

The lorries rumbled down Union Road but at the corner where Albion Street leads off to the docks and the Blackwall Tunnel, they were forced to slow down. In front of the low dilapidated houses where the street market is held there was a dense mass of people.

Harker touched Kenyon on the shoulder and pointed to the opposite side of the street. 'That's a cheery poster, isn't it?'

'PREPARE TO MEET THY GOD' stood out in letters a foot high on a great hoarding. For the moment it looked as if the crowd meant mischief. They booed and cat called, but the set faces of the soldiers as they trained their rifles on the mob, obviously only waiting for an order to open fire, overawed even the boldest roughs, and they passed the danger point without a clash.

In the long length of Evelyn Street there were fewer people, only huddled groups gathered here and there on the steps before the dilapidated but still lovely Georgian doorways; yet when they reached its end, it seemed that the whole population of the neighbourhood had gathered in the open space at the entrance of Creek Road. The crowd had evidently broken into the public house on the corner earlier in the evening, and now they reeled about the pavements, fighting drunk after their unaccustomed orgy of strong spirits.

A black mass of people packed the street from side to side making it impossible to pass, and immediately the leading lorry appeared one or two youths began to throw broken glasses and beer bottles. Without hesitation Gregory Sallust blew his whistle and the machine guns started their horrid stutter again.

Kenyon noticed that a strange look of blank surprise seemed to come over the faces of the people who were hit, then like puppets whose limbs could not support them, they sagged and fell. With incredible speed the mob faded away, scattering in all directions. One great fat man who was evidently too drunk to stand, remained seated on the pavement, a comical air of fright on his round face as he feebly flapped his hands in a futile endeavour to wave away the bullets; with drunkard's luck he escaped destruction, and was still there hiccoughing and flapping the only unwounded person in the street when the lorries moved on again.

Ann had buried her face in the cool tarpaulin directly the shooting began. She felt that she would be physically sick if she witnessed any more slaughter, and she stopped her ears to shut out the screaming of the wounded.

Turning up Church Street and over Deptford Bridge they left the Dockland area for the quiet peacefulness of Blackheath. At a steady pace the lorries forged through the night up the long hill past Woolwich Hospital and on through Welling and Bexley Heath; yet although it was well past midnight every public house in these outer suburbs had at its doors a little gathering of people wrought to such a pitch of excitement by the events of the last few days that, obviously loath to disperse to their homes, they had forced the landlords to keep open for fear of looting.

At last when they had passed Crayford they were out in the open country, and were able for a few miles to drink in the clear night air purified by its passage through the wooded glades and Kentish gardens; but all too soon they rumbled past scattered houses again, and then down the hill into Dartford.

Here too the people seemed to have no thought of bed, but stood on the pavements eyeing them curiously as they passed, and when they reached the main street they found it crowded. From the way the men began to handle their rifles Kenyon feared that there would be further bloodshed, and when the lorry drew to a halt he peered forward anxiously.

He soon saw that it was not the crowd which caused the delay but a solid barrier of empty cars and vans drawn purposely across the street. A group of men stood near it armed with cudgels, and their leader, a plump, prosperous looking individual, came forward. Sallust got down to meet him.

'What's under that tarpaulin?' asked the man pompously.

'Supplies,' said Gregory briefly.

'Right! Drive into that yard on the left, will you?'

'What the devil for?'

'To unload. I'm on the Food Committee here, and I have orders to commandeer everything which is brought into the town.

'Hardly army rations, I think.'

'Yes, everything. The Government is down and out so it's up to each town to fend for itself now. Why should the soldiers be given preference when there are hundreds of starving families within a mile of where I stand?'

'Not to mention yourself, eh?' Sallust's tone had grown suddenly harsh.

'Now, look here, I'd have you know I'm acting on behalf of the Mayor and Corporation.'

'Ho, ho!'

'Yes, and I've plenty of people to support me.' The man jerked his head angrily in the direction of his newly enrolled Civic Guard.

Sallust raised his right eyebrow in symmetry with the left. 'You don't seriously suggest that these people would stand a chance against the rifles of my men, do you?'

'Of course not.' The pompous man drew himself up stiffly. 'But English soldiers would never fire upon law abiding citizens. If you refuse I shall address them and I have no doubt that they will agree to their food being distributed among the starving women and children of Dart ford.'

’Sorry but I've no time to argue. Tell your people to get that barrier aside at once.'

'Nothing is allowed to pass without permission from the Mayor.'

To hell with the Mayor!' snapped Gregory, and jerking out his automatic he jabbed it hard into the fat man's stomach. 'Get that barrier moved, d'you hear?'

The Mayor's representative paled and stepped quickly back, but Sallust followed. Several of the Civic Guard advanced with threatening faces, but a good humoured voice came from the lorry:

'Just a little to one side, if you don't mind, gentlemen; these things is apt to go off sudden, an' somebody might get 'urt.' Mr. Rudd leaned negligently from the driver's seat, a cigarette stuck behind his left ear and a very modern looking pistol dangling loosely from his right hand.

'This is an outrage,' exclaimed the offended citizen.

Sallust ignored him, turning swiftly to the others: 'Do I shoot this bird or do you move those cars?'

'Better let them through,' said a thin faced fellow in a bowler hat.

'Right! get busy then.' Gregory returned his pistol to its holster and smiled suddenly at his late victim; 'Give my love to the Mayor, will you? If I survive I must drop a line to him and recommend you for the Freedom of Dartford you'd make a good Mayor yourself.'

Veronica let out a hoot of laughter, and glancing up, Sallust gave her a quick, apprising look before clambering back on to the front of the lorry.

Ten minutes later the obstructions had been dragged aside. The convoy moved on its way; another brief sight of the open country beyond the last houses of Dartford, and they were running under the railway bridge into the single street which composes the old waterside village of Greenhithe. No one except Sallust was aware of it, but half a mile beyond the hamlet lay their immediate destination.

He had chosen it for a number of reasons. It was more or less in the direction in which he wished to go yet an oasis off the beaten track, where it was highly improbable that he would find trouble, and thus he could be reasonably certain of securing a few hours' uninterrupted sleep for his men before proceeding further; moreover, having once been a cadet on H.M.S. Worcester, which lay off the shore, he knew the country round about which might prove advantageous.

He had even made up his mind as to the quarters he meant to occupy. A large old fashioned house called Ingress Abbey, said to have been built out of the stones of old London Bridge, which stood sequestered in a dip midst forty acres of its own grounds looking out over the Thames estuary. He had stared at the house so often during the years he had spent in the Worcester, wondering who lived there and if they had cakes for tea. It would be amusing now, he thought, to eat the cakes and stare at the old wooden battleship. Of course the house might not be occupied, for who with sufficient income to keep it up would care to live overlooking the mud flats of the Thames their only neighbours longshoremen and the riff raff of the seven seas cast up by the world's shipping.

Once through Greenhithe he halted the convoy and took the lead himself up the steep hill which joins the main road, then round a hairpin bend down the curved black darkness of the Abbey drive shut in by the swaying tree tops. Out into the open again, the river shimmered dully on their left and the big square house loomed up gaunt and stark among its shrubberies to the landward side, against the pale starlight of the summer night.

The lorries turned and parked with military precision, their bonnets towards the gate, ready to set off at any moment. Gregory sent the sergeant to reconnoitre the house and told Rudd to get enough food out of the lorry to provide a good meal for the troops; then he paraded his force, numbered them off by sixes and selected a guard by making every sixth man take a pace to the front. He posted one sentry on the lorries, and one each to the front and back of the house, then sent the remainder, in charge of a corporal, up to the lodge at the entrance to the drive with instructions that another should be posted on the gate and the balance used as relief every two hours throughout the night.

The sergeant returned to make his report: The house is empty, sir, but furnished might be a school or something from the look of things; I was h'obliged to force an entrance.'

'Very good, sergeant. March the men in. They can occupy the whole of the ground floor. Pick any men you want for fatigues from the Greyshirts.' He swung quickly on Harker: 'You've no objection to that, have you? My men are doing guard.'

'No, that's fair enough,' the American nodded.

Sallust turned to Kenyon, Ann, and Veronica who were standing just behind him; 'We may as well go in. Rudd will have some food for us presently, but I will take a little time to get the fires going, I expect.'

Inside, the soldiers had already flung off their heavy accoutrements and were busy securing the best corners in the downstairs rooms for the night. As Gregory glanced about him he remembered how he used to come down by an early train on rejoining ship the first day of the term, in order to bag the softest mattress, and he smiled good naturedly at the men. One room on the ground floor, he noted, was a chapel, panelled with lovely old Flemish carving; in the left hand corner by the altar stood a War Memorial. He glanced at it and saw the long list of names, all Worcester boys, and the sight stirred a chord of memory in his mind. Of course the whole estate had been taken over years before by the Trustees of the Ship. There was a new fellow commanding too, a V.C., who had gingered up the whole concern; seeing to it that the little pink faced cadets, who were later to pass into the Navy or officer the great ocean going liners and British Airways, had, in addition to their seamanship every bit as good an education as could be offered by any public school.

He looked into another room converted into a sick bay and saw with approval that one of the Greyshirts had opened up the medicine chest and was busy treating the cuts and bruises of the wounded.

Rudd had already annexed the Greyshirt, Bob, as his assistant, and they were busy lighting the fire in a room filled with working models of aeroplanes, upstairs. He stood up as Gregory came in.

'Issued the rations?' asked the General.

'Yes, sir! Tinned 'am and beans is wot they get ternight, but I got a little something speshul fer you and the ladies.'

'Good! Did you tell the Corporal of the Guard to keep an eye on that lorry?'

'Yes, sir! Told 'im 'is own muwer wouldn't know 'im termorrer mornin' if there was so much as a pineapple chunk missin' aht of a tin.'

'That's the spirit,' Gregory agreed, as Quartermaster Sergeant batman to the General Lorry Driver Mr. Rudd left the room. Then he undid his Sam Browne belt and flung it into a corner while the others sank wearily on to the stiff backed chairs.

Harker came in. 'I've been having a chat with the boys,' he announced. 'Told them that they'd better muck in with your crowd since we may be together for some little time.'

'Good, we shall be.' Gregory stretched his feet to the blaze. 'What's your name, by and by?'

'Silas Gonderport Harker. What's yours?'

'Gregory Sallust. Do you know these people here by name, I mean?'

The American shook his head.

'Well, the lady with the big eyes is Ann Croome, and this tall chap is Kenyon Fane.' He looked at Veronica and hesitated. 'I'm not quite certain about you myself?'

'Veronica Wensleadale. I'm Fane's sister,' she added.

'I thought so.' He grinned. 'Well, now we all know each other.'

'You are a queer bird for a British General,' said Harker thoughtfully.

'Any complaints?'

'No, none at all.'

'Right. Do you accept my absolute and unquestioned command of this party, or do you wish to clear out with your men?'

'It suits me to stick to you for the time being if you're willing.'

'Good, then let's get below and see if the men are getting their rations.'

Gregory buckled on his belt again and the American followed him out of the room.

'What is he doing in that get up?' asked Ann directly they had gone.

'Do you know him then?' inquired Veronica.

'Of course. He was living in Gloucester Road. He said he was a journalist then.'

'Why worry,' Kenyon shrugged his shoulders wearily. 'He's damned efficient, anyhow.'

Veronica raised her eyebrows. 'But you must admit it's queer.'

'Not really. He must have been doing Secret Service work before.' He sank his head between his hands; it was aching abominably now that the excitement was over.

When Sallust returned he found them sitting in silence, the flickering light of the fire the only relief to the shadows of the room; in another few moments they would all have been sound asleep. Behind him came Rudd, who switched on the lights and began to clear the big table of its charts and models. Ann looked at Gregory and marvelled. His lean face seemed ten years younger and he showed no trace of weariness despite the long day.

Silas Harker appeared carrying a couple of bottles. 'All I could find,' he said. 'The cellar's as dry as a bone so I had to rob the sanatorium.'

'Better than nothing,' Gregory agreed looking at the bottles, 'although I'd give the earth for a quart of champagne.'

Rudd left them again and came back with a steaming dish of sausages and macaroni. 'Sorry, sir,' he apologised, 'but we're out of spuds. There's tinned goosegogs an' a bit of cheese to foiler will that be all right?'

'Excellent.' Sallust drew his chair to the top of the table. 'Let us go in to dinner,' he observed dryly; 'Harker, will you take the bottom of the table and act as Mr. Vice?'

The American's plump face wrinkled into a smile. 'Just what does that mean?'

'Quite simple. After we've fed, Rudd will serve the Invalid Port, I shall stand up and say “Mr. Vice, The King!” you will then spring smartly to your feet and say: “Ladies and Gentlemen, The King!” upon which we shall all drain a bumper to His Majesty. That clear?'

'Sure,' Harker grinned.

'Right, we shall then, ladies and gentlemen, return the compliment to my second in command by drinking the health of the President of the United States after which we shall sink into a drunken slumber. Let's eat the sausages while they're hot.'

His queer ironic humour had the effect of rousing the others from their lethargy. They had eaten nothing for the best part of twelve hours, and once they tasted food they fell to ravenously.

For twenty minutes they laughed and ate, forgetting for the moment their strange situation. The toasts were drunk as the General had directed, then he lit a cigarette and sank back in his chair.

'We'll get some sleep in a minute,' he announced, 'but first I want to talk to you. I suppose you realise that we are all in an appalling mess?'

A succession of nods greeted his statement.

'Good. Well, quite frankly, I don't want you with me. Women are a handicap at such a time, but when Rudd spotted Ann at that window I couldn't very well leave her to be burnt alive and my sentimentality having got the better of my common sense, I had to save you all. Having gone so far, if you wish to stay with me I'll take you along, but it's on the understanding that you take your orders unreservedly from me, otherwise you must clear off tomorrow morning and face whatever is coming on your own.'

'I've always adored soldiers,' said Veronica brightly, 'and I should feel so safe under your protection, Mon General.'

'Thank you,' he smiled, 'and since your request, Ann, of a few hours ago to take you with me, seems to have been granted by Providence despite my refusal, I know your answer already. What about you, Fane?'

'My first duty is to the girls. If they are agreed about it I am quite prepared to take my orders from you.'

'Good. Had you any military experience?'

'O.T.C. at Eton.'

Sallust nodded. 'I'm glad of that. You see, present conditions are quite exceptional. Here am I, with the rank of Brigadier and entitled to the command of about four thousand men, stuck in charge of these lorries and a miserable platoon, without even a subaltern under me. But the whole Military Organisation is upside down so it's up to me to act on my own initiative and make the best arrangements that I can. If you travel with us you will have to do your whack, so I propose to appoint you as temporary officer under Harker, who has some sort of claim to the job already, and the two of you can help me run this outfit.'

'Well, I'm a little rusty on my drill, but I'll do my best,' Kenyon agreed.

'That's settled then.' Gregory stood up. 'Now you'd all better get what sleep you can you two,' he looked swiftly at the girls, 'will occupy the first room that opens on the gallery over the hall. We move off at six thirty tomorrow or rather this morning, I should say.'

'Where to?' asked Kenyon.

Gregory Sallust drew a big, official looking packet from his pocket and smiled at the party. 'Sealed orders,' he said abruptly. 'That's why I'm only in charge of a platoon but you'll all know more about it this time tomorrow. Good night.'

?11

The Taking of the Shark

They were all up with the dawn cold, miserable and still sleepy, their bruises from the night before giving renewed pain, their limbs stiff after the inadequate rest.

The weather had turned. The sky was overcast, and a gentle but persistent drizzle saturated everything. From the windows of the big house the grey sweep of the Thames rolling towards the sea between the low mud flats, showed a cheerless and uninviting prospect.

After a hurried breakfast Gregory Sallust surveyed the scene through his binoculars. The sloping meadows of his boyhood had been levelled into fine playing fields, but the shipping was almost nil and the only sign of life in the near distance a small tug, about a quarter of a mile from the shore, which seemed to be in difficulties. He could make out two men and a woman on the bridge, but the vessel did not seem to be under power. It floated swiftly, broadside on in the sweep of the tide, turning a little first to this side, then to that as fresh eddies caught it. 'Somebody trying to escape to the Continent,' thought Gregory, 'but unable to handle the machinery or perhaps their supply of fuel has already run out.'

He turned his glasses on H.M.S. Worcester, lying at her permanent anchorage just off the foreshore. The old wooden battleship, with her bulging sides neatly painted in longitudinal stripes of black and white, looked silent and deserted. The cadets would be on summer leave, he reflected, and only a skeleton staff of instructors left in charge, hence the tenantless condition of the Abbey.

'All present and correct, sir.' The sergeant saluted stiffly at the door.

'Very good, I'll come down then.' Gregory snapped his binoculars back into their case and glanced at the others. 'We must move off in five minutes, so you'd better come too.'

They followed him meekly downstairs, and stood in a little group on the terrace in front of the house while he walked slowly down the ranks of his men, inspecting each rifle with meticulous care. He then addressed the whole platoon and the detachment of Greyshirts.

'Now men, your own officer has failed to rejoin us, and as I cannot be elsewhere at the same time it is important that I should have assistance in your leadership. Owing to the events of last night the services of one officer of perhaps unorthodox, but commissioned rank are available. I refer to Lieutenant Harker of the Greyshirts. We also have Lord Fane, who has been through the O.T.C. Unusual circumstances demand unusual steps, and therefore it is my intention to delegate authority over you to these two gentlemen for, shall we say, the duration!'

The sergeant's mouth twitched and one or two men tittered, Sallust smiled and went on evenly:

'You will treat them in every respect as you would your own officers, so should any unforeseen accident occur to me you will take your orders from Lieutenant Marker, and failing him, from Lord Fane.' He paused, and turning strode towards the others with his curiously unmilitary slouch: 'Mr. Harker, you will take the leading lorry please Lord Fane, you will take the third and your sister will go with you. Miss Croome, you will come with me. Prepare to mount.' He waved his crop at the detachments; 'Mount!' The lorries jolted their way slowly up the hill, past the lodge, and so out on to the road to Rochester.

Most of the inhabitants of Gravesend were still sleeping after the late night which they had shared with the rest of England. Strood was waking to the dreary day, and as they entered it Ann, who was seated between Gregory and Rudd, asked if they could stop for a moment when they passed a dairy so that she could buy a bottle of milk.

'Do you wonder that I didn't want women on this trip?' said Gregory, but his tone was mocking rather than unkind, and when they passed a creamery he ordered Rudd to pull up.

The shop was open and a short man stood in the doorway; a light brown overall, several sizes too large for him, dangled to his boots.

'Hi! Bring me a couple of quarts of milk, will you?' Gregory called, leaning from his seat.

The short man shook his head. 'Wish I could sir, but I haven't got a drop.'

'All been commandeered for rationing, eh?'

' 'Tain't that, sir, I'm afraid. The farmers won't send it in no more lots o' people is going to miss the milk bottle from their doorstep this morning!'

'Sorry, Ann let her go, Rudd.' Gregory was waving a farewell to the dairyman when Ann gripped his arm and drew his attention to a pillar box on the other side of the road. The slit had been pasted over and a square, white placard stood out in sharp relief against the red paint. In bold black letters it bore the legend:

'SERVICE TEMPORARILY SUSPENDED.'

In Rochester they tried to secure a paper but none were available. No trains had arrived since the previous afternoon; however, there were plenty of rumours; 'The King was dead again… the King was quite recovered… the discontented sailors had volunteered in a body as Special Police… they had also attempted to burn down Buckingham Palace… the Lord Lieutenant of the County had been hanged from the porch of his own house by rioters bombs filled with mustard and chlorine gas were being dropped by aeroplanes on the East End of London… the

Bank of England had been blown up by International Crooks

The last man they spoke to declared that he had it on the very best authority that Field Marshal Lord Plumer had been assassinated by the Reds.

'You fool!' snapped Gregory angrily, 'he died years ago. Let her go, Rudd.'

They rumbled on under the ancient castle of Bishop Odo, across the Medway Bridge, and so, while it was still early morning, into Chatham.

Sallust's lorry then took the lead and he piloted them straight down to the dockyard's gates. A Marine sentry called on them to halt then catching sight of Gregory's hat turned out the guard.

The General dismounted and spoke to the Marine Police sergeant who appeared to hesitate about letting them through without instructions, but Ann caught the words 'with the country in a state like this' and saw Gregory produce his bulky official envelope. The sergeant saluted and had the gates thrown open. Gregory climbed back into the lorry and they jolted down the hill between the lines of cheerless barrack buildings, workshops, and offices.

Leaning forward in his seat Gregory peered sharply from side to side as they advanced, his keen eyes taking in every detail of the naval township which lies hidden behind the high dockyard walls. One big battleship lay seemingly deserted in a far basin, two destroyers in another, and a group of submarines in a third. A sudden swift smile of satisfaction twitched Gregory's thin lips for a second as he caught sight of a single destroyer lying in the lock by the furthest quay the haze from her funnels showing that she was apparently ready for sea. He ordered Rudd to drive towards her.

A few moments later they pulled up, and Gregory, dismounting, strode over to the gangway. The Quartermaster who stood there came quickly to attention.

'Where's your Commanding Officer?' asked the General.

'He's ashore sir; shall I fetch the officer of the watch?'

'Yes, General Sallust's compliments and he would like to see him at once.'

The sailor disappeared and returned with a short, fair, square faced naval lieutenant.

'This is the Shark, isn't it?' Gregory questioned, although the name was inscribed in bold letters on the lifebuoys.

'Yes, sir.'

'Your Commander is ashore, I understand, but how soon can you be prepared to sail?'

'Sail? Well, I don't know, I'll ask the Executive Officer to speak to you.' The N.O. turned, and sent a messenger for his superior, and a few moments later a Lieutenant Commander came on deck.

'This is Brigadier General Sallust,' the Lieutenant introduced Gregory.

The new comer smiled as they exchanged salutes. 'My name is Fanshawe. What can I do for you, sir?'

'I was inquiring when you will be ready to sail?'

'Sail, sir! But why, may I ask?'

Gregory frowned. 'Didn't you know that you were to act as transport for my men?'

The Lieutenant Commander looked a little astonished. 'No, I've had no instructions, and the Owner's ashore at present, so is our Engineer Officer. Of course, we are more or less standing by expecting to be ordered up to London, but we were told we should have a couple of hours' warning, and they may not be back for some time.'

'I see, but the matter is of the gravest urgency.'

'We are to take you up the river with us, I suppose?'

'I've no idea.' Gregory drew the bulky packet from his pocket and showed it to the sailor. 'OFFICIAL SECRET Not to Be Opened Until Out of Harbour' was scrawled across it under the bold lettering, 'O.H.M.S.'

'Sealed orders, eh? Well, sir, the crew is complete, so we could get under way in half an hour, but we must wait for the return of the Captain.'

Gregory frowned. 'That's awkward I thought you would be expecting us and ready to leave immediately. Any how, I'd better get my men on board at once that will save a little time.'

'We've had no instructions about you here,' demurred Fanshawe, 'but as you say it's so urgent perhaps that would be best.'

'I've got some stores, too mostly tinned stuff I wonder if one of your people would be good enough to show my men where to stow them?'

'Certainly, sir Mr. Broughton!' The Lieutenant Commander turned to the officer of the watch. 'Show the troops where to stow their stores, please better use the foremost mess deck.'

Gregory stepped over the gangway and beckoned Harker to him. 'Tell the men to unload the lorry, and get the stores on board, will you?'

Harker grinned: 'What's the big idea, General? Are you standing us all a Mediterranean cruise?'

'In the interests of discipline, Mr. Harker,' said Gregory with studied coldness, 'I should be glad if you would confine yourself to a prompt execution of orders when on parade. In the Mess, of course, you can express any opinion that you wish.'

A queer look came into Silas Gonderport Harker's eyes. First anger, then surprise, and finally amusement tinged with a flicker of respect. 'As you say, sir.' He brought his heels together with a click and marched back to the waiting men.

The lorry was speedily unloaded, and the supplies carried on board, the sailors giving every assistance. Veronica with Ann behind her came up the gangway.

'Er excuse me,' the Lieutenant Commander spoke in a rapid, low voiced aside to Gregory, 'these ladies are they er to be in the party?'

'Yes, worse luck,' Gregory's tone was bitter and the stare with which he regarded the women left no doubt in the naval officer's mind as to his extreme disapproval of their presence.

'It's a bit irregular, isn't it, sir?' he hazarded.

'Damnably so, but instructions were passed from M.I.5 to take them along, so I had to lump it better send 'em below somewhere, hadn't we?'

The sailor accepted the glib lie with an understanding nod and cocked an appreciative eye at Ann. He did not appear to share Gregory's apparent misogyny. 'I'll take them below to the wardroom,' he volunteered.

As Fanshawe turned away Gregory gave a swift glance along the jetty. No sign of the Captain yet Broughton was busy with the stores and troops the quarter deck free of officers for the moment. He caught the eye of Rudd, who was standing near, and strolled casually up to the starboard ladder to the bridge. Rudd followed.

For two very fully occupied minutes Gregory was in the wireless room, while Rudd lolled close to its entrance. By the time the Lieutenant Commander returned from below, the General was standing once more by the rail on the quarter deck watching the approaches to the lock.

'Look here,' he addressed the sailor anxiously 'how soon can we move off?'

'I've got to wait for my Captain, sir.'

'Yes, yes, I know, but you don't seem to appreciate the urgency of the situation. This ship should have been ready and waiting to take me and my men to sea at once. If you've had no instructions someone's made a bloomer at the Admiralty and they will get it in the neck.'

Fanshawe smiled: That's hardly my fault, sir.'

'Of course not, but I must carry out my instructions can’t you get her ready to move off directly the Captain does turn up?'

'Yes, there's no reason we shouldn't do that.' He turned to his petty officer: 'Quartermaster, call the hands, stations for getting under way ask the engine room to tell me how soon they will be ready it's urgent, so skip!'

Broughton, who was standing near them hurried forward. Gregory kept an anxious eye on the jetty while preparations were being made but there was still no sign of the Captain, when, some twenty minutes later, the Lieutenant reported to the Lieutenant Commander that the ship was ready to proceed.

Gregory, who was standing near shook his head with a worried frown: 'If that Captain of yours doesn't turn up soon,' he observed quietly, 'we shall have to leave without him.'

'But we can't possibly do that, sir,' said the Lieutenant Commander in a shocked voice.

'Why?' asked Gregory, 'surely you can navigate the ship yourself?'

'Oh, yes, Broughton and my other lieutenant and I can do that between us, it's not that.'

'I see, but of course your Engineer Officer is ashore as well, isn't he? Is that the trouble?'

'No, not exactly, but '

'Well, what is it then?' Sallust cut him short impatiently. 'I understand you to say that you had a complete crew.'

'Yes, nearly eighteen of them are in irons at the moment, we had rather a bother with them last night demonstration in sympathy with those bad eggs in the Battle Squadron; normally they would be in prison on shore, but instructions were to keep them here for the time being. We had a bit of bad luck with our Gunner this morning too the front wheel of his push bike got in a tramline and he went over the handlebars they've detained him in hospital on shore, but of course I could manage easily with the rest.'

'Then for goodness' sake let me get on with my job.'

'I'm sorry, but I've already told you, sir I can't sail until my Captain turns up. I have no official order unless you've got one you can show me from a Naval Authority?'

'Of course I haven't.' Sallust spoke with unusual heat. 'I received my orders verbally from Eastern Command when they handed me the packet I showed you, but you should have had your instructions from the Naval people here in the early hours of the morning.'

'Quite, sir, but you do see my position, don't you?'

'Now look here, Commander,' Gregory had suddenly become very amiable again, 'I quite appreciate that it is an awkward situation for you, but there's a war on you know or its equivalent at all events. The Government seems to have got the country into a ghastly mess and now it's looking to the Services to pull it out. It's my job to get my troops wherever they're ordered at the earliest possible moment you must understand the urgency of the matter. I appeal to you as a brother officer to get this ship under way without any further delay.'

The Lieutenant Commander smiled, obviously sympathetic towards the Generals anxiety to be off. 'I'm sorry, sir, it's quite impossible I can't put to sea without my Captain. I tell you what though! I'll slip over to the signal station and try and get him on the telephone; it's not a long job, and if I can't get in touch with him I'll ring up the Secretary's office at Admiralty House and ask if any instructions have come through.'

'Splendid!' Gregory grinned suddenly. 'That's awfully good of you I wish you would.'

'Righto! I won't be five minutes.' With a friendly wave of his hand Fanshawe disappeared over the side.

Gregory paced slowly up and down the quarter deck. His lean, rather wolfish face showed a nervy satisfaction, but his sharp eyes were never off the jetty for more than a moment, and when the Lieutenant Commander reappeared he walked quickly over to the gangway to meet him.

'It's all right, sir,' came the cheerful hail, 'I haven't found my Captain but I can explain why those orders never came through!'

'Can you? That's good,' Gregory nodded.

Yes, all the wires are down and the private line's been cut, so they are sending dispatches by road and one of the cars was wrecked outside Strood round about two o'clock this morning. The Secretary at Admiralty House seemed to think instructions about your party must have been among that bunch.'

'I see, but he agreed to our sailing at once.'

'Well, he could hardly do that himself, and when he went in to see the Admiral the old man was so up to his eyes in it that he couldn't get anything very definite, but he says General Instructions are that where communications have broken down officers will be expected to act on their own initiative, rather than remain idle, and that every opportunity should be taken to act in conjunction with the sister services so in an emergency like this, I think that lets me' out.'

'Good for you. Then I'll slip down to the wardroom for a moment if you don't mind.'

A pleasant smile spread over Fanshawe's face. 'Rather, sir, and I think we'd better make you an honorary member of the Mess.'

'Thanks,' Gregory tapped his pocket. 'When we're clear of the lock I'll come up again and we'll open these orders.' Then he went below.

The orders when opened caused Fanshawe considerable surprise. They were not destined for London after all but ordered to proceed to a point some miles east of the Goodwin’s, and there to lie to until nine o'clock the following morning, at which hour a second set of sealed orders, enclosed in the first, were to be opened.

The naval man thought it devilish queer so apparently did Gregory, but he suggested that possibly they had been detailed to act as escort to some personage of importance who was leaving the country in a yacht, and who intended to rendezvous with them there.

However, the orders were definite, so His Majesty's destroyer Shark proceeded down the Medway, and making her pendants to the signal station at Garrison Point put out under these somewhat strange conditions to sea.

It was now obvious that the troops would have to spend at least one night on board, so arrangements were made by which that portion of the crew quartered on the lower mess deck handed it over to the soldiers, and mucked in temporarily with their shipmates on the upper. Ann and Veronica v ere allowed to occupy the absent Captain's cabin, and Gregory that of the Engineer Officer; Kenyon and Silas Harker that of the Gunner.

The weather clearing they were able to spend most of the afternoon on deck, and the Tommies seemed already on the friendliest terms with the men of the sister Service.

Fanshawe excused himself from dining that evening by saying that he had an urgent matter to attend to on deck, and Broughton was again officer of the watch, so Mr. Cousens a tall, freckle faced lieutenant with a pleasant smile, played host in the wardroom.

They discussed the many rumours and catastrophic events until, the port having gone round the table, Cousens stood up and bowed to the girls. 'I hope you'll forgive me, but I go on at midnight, so I must snatch an hour or two's sleep.' He smiled round in the others; 'Please ask the steward for anything you want.'

When he had left them Gregory signed to Rudd, who had been helping to wait on them, to shut the wardroom trap hatch which communicated with the pantry, then he lay back in his chair at the bottom of the table.

'Filthy port, isn't it?' he remarked casually, 'still, that's no fault of the Navy; just hard luck on the poor devils that they can't take vintage wine to sea, the constant rocking breaks the crust and turns it into mud.'

Kenyon shrugged, 'It's not too bad, I like a wood port for a change; but I was wondering where we shall be this time tomorrow.'

'This time tomorrow!' the General echoed. 'Well, I can give you a very good idea. If the weather is reasonably favourable we shall be heading westward a hundred miles or more south of the Isle of Wight.'

'My hat!' exclaimed Veronica, 'we're not going out into the Atlantic in this cockleshell, are we? '

'We are, my dear; so you'd better make up your mind to it.'

'Ye Gods! But I shall die.'

'I trust not.'

'Tell us, General,' Harker leaned forward across the narrow table, 'just how do you happen to know what's in that second set of secret orders?'

'I ought to,' Sallust replenished his glass with a second ration of the despised port, 'since I was responsible for planning this expedition.'

They all regarded him with quickened interest as he went on slowly: 'I realised that these Naval birds would never swallow the whole draught at one gulp, that's why I allowed for a twenty four hour interval before opening the second lot. Fortunately, as it turns out now, that gives me a chance to put you wise concerning my intentions.'

'Your intentions?' inquired Kenyon with peculiar emphasis.

'Yes, my intentions; which are with due respect to oil consumption and the hazard of picking up fresh supplies to run this hooker down to the West Indies just as soon as ever I can.'

'The West Indies!' Kenyon frowned. "The War Office must be crazy to send troops out of the country at a time like this.'

'Oh, the War Office had nothing to do with it,' said Gregory mildly. 'I'm acting entirely on my own initiative.'

'What! You had no orders about proceeding somewhere in this ship!'

’No none at all.'

’But damn it, man, you boarded her and ordered the ship to sea; do you mean you had no authority to do that?'

'None, my dear boy. None whatever, I assure you.'

'Good God, Sallust! You can't be serious!'

'I was never more serious in my life.'

The eyes of the whole party were riveted on Gregory's face in amazement, anger and alarm, then Kenyon suddenly burst out: 'But you can't do this sort of thing, you simply can't. Using your own initiative is one thing, but this is nothing less than running away. You're a soldier, and if you've no right here you ought to be on duty somewhere else.'

The General sipped his port, then the furrows round his mouth deepened a little as he smiled: 'Dear me, no. When I got out of the Army last time I determined that nothing should ever induce me to enter it again. This outfit ' he patted his buttoned tunic 'and Rudd's were supplied by my old friend the theatrical costumier Willie Clarkson.'

12

Piracy

For a moment there was absolute silence while they all stared a little stupidly at Gregory, dumbfounded by this staggering revelation, and endeavouring to assess what effect his criminal proceedings might have upon themselves. Kenyon was the first to recover. 'This is piracy,' he announced abruptly, getting to his feet.

'Is it? Yes, I suppose it is.' Gregory calmly lit another cigarette.

'And you can be hanged for it; do you realise that?' 'Perhaps; but they've got to catch me first.' 'That won't take long directly Fanshawe learns the truth.' 'Oh! You seem to have forgotten the presence of my troops.'

'Yes, I've been wondering about that,' said Ann softly. 'How did you get hold of them, Gregory?'

'Would it amuse you to hear?' Sallust grinned openly with a certain pride in his achievement.

'I think it's more important that we should get this situation cleared up without delay.' Kenyon spoke sharply.

'Why worry?' the American cut in lazily. 'The ship's only cruising round has been for hours, so we're not going further away, and this sounds like a great story to me. 'Let's have it er General.'

'All right.'

Kenyon sat down again reluctantly.

'Well, if Fane can bottle up his desire to have me hanged for five minutes, I'll tell you.' Gregory puffed at his cigarette and smiled round at them. 'You see I made up my mind years ago that in the event of a real break up, the only road to safety lay in assuming the outward trappings of authority. Of course there was the sporting chance that the mob might single me out for an immediate hanging but if I could once get going the world was mine or at all events everything which happened to be left of it.'

Harker grinned appreciatively, as Sallust went on: 'Having planned the whole show so far in advance it wasn't difficult really. Rudd and I knew of a small garage in Elvaston Place that housed several lorries. We knew too that the owner lived down at Brighton, and he couldn't get up to London. We snaffled three of them in the afternoon and made a few alterations with a couple of pots of paint. Some of you saw one of them I think loaded up outside Gloucester Road. After that we changed into our uniforms, took one of the empties up to some barracks that I had in mind and parked it a little way down the street. We had to wait there for nearly three hours, but at last some troops marched out a company, as luck would have it, although I only needed a platoon. I tackled the Captain. Told him I had to have a certain number of his men immediately. Naturally he was a bit doubtful what to do at first, just like our friend who is taking his exercise up on the bridge, but you know what it was like in London last night everybody a bit excited and pulling too quick a stroke. I utilised the name of his own Colonel which I made it my business to find out and of course he imagined that I was a full blown Brigadier, so after a very short discussion he gave way and I went off with the boys crammed like sardines in the lorry. At Elvaston Place we distributed them among the other two vans, then we proceeded in accordance with plan to advance on Chatham.'

'Good God!' Kenyon sat back suddenly. 'But wasn't there an officer with the platoon? What happened to him?'

'Oh, certainly.' Gregory gave a chuckle of enjoyment. 'I kept him with me for half an hour, and then packed him off with an urgent message to the War Office he's still there, for all I know.'

Silas nodded. 'It was a great performance, but I wonder at you being able to pull the same bluff twice.'

'What, Chatham you mean? Yes, that was the crucial point of the whole campaign, but as a journalist I got myself taken round the Dockyard some time ago, and the visit gave me a knowledge of the regulations which are observed before a ship is allowed to put to sea, so I had half a dozen different lines of bluff ready to meet the most probable emergencies. I banked very largely upon their being in a state of chaotic muddle, the appearance of troops giving weight to my request which it could never have had from a single man and the staff at Admiralty House being dead tired after such a night. That's one reason why I delayed my arrival until this morning.'

'I wonder we haven't been recalled by wireless by this time though,' Kenyon remarked.

Gregory laughed suddenly. 'No, it's not working. That was a really masterly touch. I managed to remove some of the essential parts within ten minutes of coming on board.'

'Fanshawe must have thought that pretty queer when it was reported.'

'He did, but I persuaded him that it must have been one of the mutineers last night, or a sympathiser early this morning.'

Two bright spots of colour had appeared in Veronica's usually pale cheeks. After a moment's silence she said suddenly: 'And you have the face to sit there and tell us quite calmly that you have taken all these men away from their duty when the country's on the verge of revolution?'

'I have, dear lady. These troops and this destroyer are at the present time engaged solely upon the very important duty of securing the safety of Brigadier General Gregory Sallust ' he paused for a moment with his chin stuck out as he looked challengingly round the table ' and that of those friends whom he delights to honour.',

'My hat, what a party!' Veronica flung her hands above her head and did an excellent imitation of a faint.

'I wish to God you'd told me this before,' said Kenyon seriously.

'Why?'

'Well, naturally I should never have dreamt of lending myself to such a scheme. It's not only criminal it's treason. Nothing less than stabbing the Government in 'the back when they need every man they've got to keep order.'

'Stop talking hot air and be honest with yourself, Fane. The Government has ceased to exist already. How could they hope to survive with the machinery of supply and control cracking up in every direction? Surely you don't suggest that a few thousand troops could keep a population of fifty million starving people permanently in subjection, do you? And as a matter of fact, the troops themselves are starting to give trouble. There was a mutiny at Aldershot yesterday. That was the last piece of authentic news I had from old Jolliat, the editor, before I left the office of my paper. Actually this particular platoon should thank their stars that I've got them out of it along with myself.'

'Perhaps but even if you're right there is such a thing as principle.'

I see, and so, my noble squire of dames, you think I should have taken my chances of starvation or death with the rest of the fools, and have left these poor devils of soldiers to turn into a gang of bandits roaming the countryside and adding to the general misery, eh? I wonder where you would be now if I had.'

'Dead,' Kenyon admitted, I haven't a doubt about that, but all the same I don't see how we can go on wrongfully detaining Government troops and a ship.'

'Well, what do you propose to do about it?'

Kenyon looked' wretchedly uncomfortable. 'I don't know,' he confessed. 'I hate ingratitude and since you saved us all it would be a pretty bad show to get you put under arrest, especially in view of what's likely to happen to you; but unless you are prepared to order the ship back to port I feel that it is up to me to let Fanshawe know where he stands.'

Gregory smiled amiably. 'Before you actually send the balloon up I think it would be interesting to hear a few other views. What does Lady Veronica feel about it?'

She looked at him steadily and then she said: 'I agree with Kenyon that apart from the question of our personal gratitude you ought to be shot for what you've done, but there is a sort of half truth in your specious excuses about the troops being useless where they were with the whole country in chaos; the great point is, that right or wrong you've done it now, and I for one have no desire to be dumped back on the quay at Chatham. Last night was quite enough slumming for this child. I shall probably die of seasickness, but I'd rather chance that and take a trip to the West Indies with you.'

Sallust nodded. 'A most sensible summing up of the situation. What about you, Ann?'

'I agree with Veronica. What you've done may be frightfully wrong theoretically, Gregory, but fifty soldiers and one destroyer aren't going to save England from anarchy, and since you've, saved us once already I think we can't do better than trust in you again.'

'A delightful vote of confidence, my dear.' He grinned and turned to Silas. 'Do you want to beat your little drum, Harker, and see me clapped in irons?'

The American's large humorous face had grown very grave as he replied: 'I think I'd like to have a word with Fane alone before I give any answer to that.'

'All right, go ahead; you'd better use the lobby, but wait ' Gregory held up his hand as they both rose from the table. 'I'd be glad if you will remember that I personally have not the least intention of returning to England, and that I only brought you along as a kindness. Moreover, I have the best part of sixty men under my command; they, at least, would never believe your story, and are prepared to carry out my orders to the letter. If through your interference Fanshawe cuts up rough there's going to be blue hell on this ship get that?'

'Do you really mean that you would go to the length of ordering your troops to fire on Fanshawe's sailors?' asked Kenyon horrified.

'That's it; and Fanshawe wouldn't stand a chance against me even if he had twice the numbers, but in the meantime the ship would become a shambles, and after, unless I could persuade sufficient sailors to come over to my side, we should probably be wrecked. Worst of all I just might be killed myself. I say worst of all, not out of any personal conceit, but because as long as I remain alive there is a reasonable prospect of discipline being maintained. Without me well, you've got a half mutinous crew already, and I'm not altogether satisfied about one or two of my own men. Now out you go, and just consider the sort of thing that might happen to your sister and Ann here in such circumstances, then come back and tell me if you still think it's up to you to go putting a match to the powder barrel.'

The conference in the lobby was brief. 'He's got us,' said Kenyon shortly. 'At least he's got me. Principles or no principles I can't run the risk of exposing the girls to any horrors like that.'

The American loomed immense and lofty even over Kenyon's height. 'He means it too,' he said seriously. 'He'll loose hell on this ship if he meets with any opposition, and he's right about the possibility of mutiny. I'd been counting that in myself.'..

'Yes. He seems to be one of those exceptional egoists who really have the courage to throw all established ideas overboard and carry their theories into practice regardless of the cost.'

Harker's blue eyes twinkled. 'He's a proper blackguard, but I like the man; this sort of thing needs guts.'

'It does. He's just the sort of chap I'd follow anywhere if only his authority were legitimate.'

'What's the odds?' Silas's full lipped mouth crumpled into a smile. 'We're either for him or against him, and if it's “for” we'd best back him for all we know, and put our scruples right behind us.'

'Yes. If we go to Fanshawe now things will blow up for certain, and if we don't we'll be liable anyhow to the same penalties as Sallust if his plans break down; so the sensible thing seems to do our damndest to help him pull this mad venture through.'

'Sure, I'm glad you see it as I do. Let's get back, shall we?'

Kenyon nodded. 'Righto! I only hope we don't have trouble with the sailors after all.

'Don't worry.' Silas ducked his head quickly as he stepped through the wardroom door. 'If we stick together we'll see this party through.'

'Well?' Gregory raised his left eyebrow with cynical inquiry.

'Having registered our protests we are going to forget it,' said Kenyon, 'and accept your leadership without further question.'

Silas squeezed himself back into his chair. 'That's so, General, and for the duration, as you call it, you can count on us.'

One of those rare smiles lit up Sallust's face. 'I'm glad,' he said slowly. 'It makes a world of difference to have your voluntary support, although I don't mind telling you now you would never have got as far as Fanshawe. The sentries in the passage outside the lobby had their instructions before we sat down to dinner.'

Kenyon smiled. 'I see; that's why you had them posted, eh? Although Fanshawe seemed to think it a mad idea to put sentries outside a mess.'

'A General Officer is entitled to his guard, my friend,' Sallust replied lightly. 'But now we're all agreed, what about some more port? A toast to a happy and successful voyage.'

Rudd hastened forward with a new decanter, and the toast was drunk, then Veronica leaned towards Gregory: 'Were you serious about taking us to the West Indies?'

'Perfectly, have you any preference for any particular island?'

'I've always wanted to go to the West Indies,' Ann announced unexpectedly.

'Good,' he nodded. 'Well, I favour Haiti myself, it's native owned or one of the smaller islands. Dominica perhaps I've friends there; you see complications might arise if we turned up at Jamaica or Cuba.'

'But why the West Indies?' Veronica protested. 'Think of the voyage, in this armoured speed boat. There's so much engine to it they haven't even room for a bathroom.'

He shrugged. ‘Europe is impossible, and the African coast presents all sorts of unpleasant problems. In the Indies there is an excellent climate; very few poisonous reptiles in the better islands, an abundant variety of fruit, and excellent deep sea fishing. What more do you want?'

'But my dear man, you don't expect us to live on the beach, do you?'

'Why not? All towns will be dangerous for a year or two to come until the world settles down again with a considerably reduced population. Even after the bloodshed stops there will be starvation and every sort of ghastly pestilence. Our only hope as I see it is to find a garden of Eden for ourselves and sit in it playing contract for shark's teeth.'

'What! live in the woods like savages?'

'Not quite. My reason for commandeering troops was not only for my own protection. I don't doubt that I could have got out of England on my own, but I should hate to live on a desert island, however fruitful, in complete solitude, and with organised labour one can do anything. Build houses, dig gardens, assure oneself an adequate and regular supply of food, and protect oneself from possible hostility of the inhabitants if any. These Tommies are to act the role of numerous Man Fridays to my Crusoe.'

'My God, you’ve got a nerve!' exclaimed Veronica.

'But surely,' Kenyon cut in, 'they're bound to realise that you are not acting on instructions once you get them on the other side.'

'Of course, but I shall offer them a choice. To return to England in the ship with Fanshawe or to stay with me. These chaps are not fools, Fane. They will have been under my orders for three weeks or a month by then, and since a natural gift for leadership has been thrust upon me by a kindly and all seeing Providence, nine tenths of them will stay under their self appointed Commander rather than face a return to the uncertainties of England. In fact, I expect most of the sailors will stay too, perhaps this ship will never go back. If not we'll see if we can't find some method to refine crude oil or perhaps convert one of the engines. If we could we'd turn her into a private yacht.'

'As I see it you're out to start a brand new Colony,' remarked Harker. 'And I think it's a great idea.'

'That's it, “Hesperides” we'll call it. The Golden Isle where all is peace under the benign reign of King Sallust the First that's me. You will form my natural aristocracy and the lads shall be the population.'

'I've a notion that you'll have a spot of trouble with one or two of them first.'

'I expect so. That's why in a way I would rather that the ship went back. It would take any discontented elements with it. As it is I anticipate having to make a few drastic examples. That red faced fellow Brisket is a bad egg, I'm sure, so is the bird with the protruding teeth. Sanders, I think his name is, but I'm not certain. I haven't been with them long enough to get all their names pat yet.'

'What is the drill tomorrow?' asked Kenyon.

'You'd better take Orderly Officer, Fane. First parade six thirty. Inspect their turn out and create hell if any of them are unshaven or slipshod in their dress. Then run 'em round the deck for ten minutes, follow my leader fashion, to get their circulation going. After that an hour's physical drill. Second parade nine o'clock, rifle inspection. I'll take that myself.'

'Very good, sir.'

'I'll rough out some sort of plan this evening for the day's routine, then we must put our heads together as to how to vary it a bit. The men must be kept busy, interested and amused during the voyage. That will keep them fit, help to preserve discipline and enable all of us to get to know each of them personally. Besides, regular healthy occupation is the strongest antidote against discontent.'

Harker gave his slow smile. 'You certainly have the right idea how to handle a job like this.'

'Then amusements,' Gregory went on with a little nod. 'We'll arrange a sing song for tomorrow night I think. You might attend to that, Harker. Find out what local talent we've got amongst our own men, then get Fanshawe or Broughton to cooperate and rope in some of the tars as well excellent way of getting the two lots on a friendly footing. We might try and fix a gymkhana for the following afternoon, high jumps, obstacle race round the deck and all that sort of thing then a boxing contest the following night.'

'Thank goodness I'm not a man,' Ann murmured to Veronica.

'I know, darling, I detest organised games.'

Harker's curiously musical accent covered the aside. 'When do you mean to open these marvellous secret orders officially General?'

'After nine o'clock inspection. All my men will be on deck and under arms then.'

'You've a feeling that the naval bird may not stand for it, eh?'

Gregory smiled slightly. 'Well, as Fane said a little time ago, it's hardly rational that the Government should send troops to the West Indies with a Revolution going on at home and if they did it's not usual to send them in a destroyer. However, I've got quite a good story in my head for Fanshawe because I thought this whole party out a very long time ago. I only hope for his own sake that it convinces him.'

'Himmel!' cried Veronica suddenly.

'What is it?' came a chorus of surprised exclamations.

'I've just thought, darlings, what in the world shall we do for clothes?'

With the exception of Gregory they all burst out laughing, but he eyed her gravely. 'I thought you told me this afternoon that you were a devil with a needle.'

'So I am, what of it?'

'Well, we can't afford to carry passengers on a trip like this; everyone must earn their keep in some way. Ann's quite a useful cook, so with Rudd's assistance and a couple of orderlies to do the dirty work she'll be able to pull her weight, but your only accomplishment being sewing I'd thought of you as seamstress for the party; there will be several score socks to mend.'

'Take him away somebody or I shall faint,' Veronica covered her eyes with her hands as though to shut out this nightmare vision, but they only laughed the more as Gregory went on: 'When the socks give out you shall make a sweet little grass skirt for each of us; decency, like discipline, must be maintained.'

As the laughter subsided Kenyon found Ann smiling at him for the first time since she had visited Grosvenor Square.

'You know,' she said, 'I'm looking forward to life on an island. I think it's all going to be wonderful fun.'

'Do you, Ann. I ' but his sentence was cut short by the sudden entrance of Lieutenant Commander Fanshawe. He looked more square jawed than ever and there was an angry light in his eyes as he flung at Sallust:

'I've been busy on the wireless and now we've got it going again.'

'Have you? that's splendid.' Gregory's tone was mild as milk but his eyes suddenly narrowed and his hand fell casually to his belt, just above the pistol holster. Mr. Rudd appeared, silent and watchful in the doorway of the wardroom, behind the Lieutenant Commander. His hand slipped under a newly acquired apron.

'Yes,' said Fanshawe harshly, 'and we've picked up Chatham. They say that no orders have been passed to C. in C. Nore, and that they've never heard of Brigadier General Sallust. My instructions are to return to port at once.' As he finished speaking they felt the engines beginning to throb. The destroyer had leapt from cruising to full speed ahead.

13

The Bluff is Called

'I gather that you have already given the necessary orders,' said Gregory.

'Yes.'

'Without consulting me?'

'I don't have to.' The Lieutenant Commander's voice was grim.

Sallust nodded. 'All right. Still, I want to talk to you and it might as well be now; sit down and join me in a glass of port.'

'Thank you, no! I have to return to the bridge.'

'Why; is there no one up there now?'

'Yes, the officer of the watch, Broughton.'

'Then there is no need for you to return at once; sit down for a minute.'

Fanshawe regarded Gregory with an angry stare, his chin thrust out, his bushy eyebrows drawn together. 'Look here,' he replied, I don't know what your game is. A Brigadier in charge of a platoon, with a couple of officers who aren't officers at all and two ladies attached; but one thing's clear you've got no right on board this ship. You jollied me into leaving port against my better judgment and I'll be lucky if I'm not court martialed for this trip; anyhow you'll have the chance of explaining to the authorities directly we arrive, but in the meantime I and the officers under me do not propose to hold any further communications with you at all. Understand?'

'That's a pity,' said Gregory affably; 'because we are going to be cooped up in this ship together for quite a little time.'

'What the devil do you mean?'

'Simply this. We are going to adhere to our first instructions and if you think it over you will see why.'

'I'm hanged if I do!'

'Don't you? Then it has obviously not occurred to you that these orders you have just received by wireless may be faked. It is highly probable that the Communists have taken over at Chatham by now.'

The sailor made an angry noise; half grunt, half laugh. 'What rot! Besides they wouldn't be able to use the Admiralty code even if they had!'

'Oh? What about the mutineers in the fleet?'

'We're not all fools, you know; they will have been dealt with by now.'

'All right then; in that case your new orders can only be the result of some blunder on the part of Higher Command.'

'Thank you, they are quite plain, and in these waters it would be difficult to get higher authority than C. in C. Nore.'

'Perhaps.' Gregory rose slowly to his feet and stood, passing the tip of his tongue backwards and forwards between his lips while he eyed the sailor with a queer meditative look; then he added suddenly: 'But he's not quite high enough for me. I don't want trouble but I intend to carry out my mission.'

'Trouble?' the Lieutenant Commander picked him up: 'I shouldn't advise you to start it! I left instructions with the officer of the watch exactly what to do if I failed to return to the bridge ten minutes after I left him.'

'Did you? How thoughtful.' Gregory was almost purring now. 'Well, time is nearly up so you had better beat it, hadn't you?'

'I'm going all right but you and your party will kindly remain here until we get in.'

'Am I to understand that you are placing us under arrest?'

'Understand what you like, but I am in command of this ship and those are my orders.'

'All right; Rudd!' Gregory's voice was curt. 'The door, for the Commander.

'Yes, sir.' Rudd's eyes had never left Sallust's face, now he forced his way quickly in front of Fanshawe and gripped the knob of the wardroom door; as the sailor turned he was between them.

The whole thing was over so quickly that the others, seated at the table behind Gregory, hardly saw what happened. His arm seemed to shoot out with a vicious jab, his fist thudded on the flesh below the naval officer's ear, and Rudd, with a muttered 'easy now,' caught the body as it fell.

'You brute!' Veronica was on her feet, her eyes blazing, but Ann was first beside the unconscious sailor, kneeling by him and pillowing his head in her lap.

'Shut up!' snapped Gregory. 'You didn't want me to shoot him, did you? Rudd, nip into the pantry quick, and get that steward out of the way; send him forward to get some rum or some damn thing. Fane, take charge of the two men in the passage, let no one pass. Harker, give me a hand to get this bird on the settee.'

Between them they carried Fanshawe over to the side of the wardroom and propped him up with cushions. Gregory rolled up one of his eyelids and gave a grunt of satisfaction. 'He won't give us any trouble for a bit.' Then he stood thoughtfully rubbing his own knuckles while the girls fussed over the unconscious man.

'What about the officer on the bridge?' asked Harker. 'That ten minutes is back with Omar Khayyam's seven thousand years by this time.'

'I know; we've go to do something pretty quick. Slip up on to the bridge will you, Harker; tell Broughton that Fanshawe sent you; that we are discussing the situation quite amicably down here and that he is to take no action for the moment.'

'Do you think he'll believe me?'

'Got to chance it; come back as soon as you can and let me know how he takes it. If they try to arrest you, you must use your gun; we've gone too far to turn back now.'

Silas opened his round eyes with a comically rueful look, then shrugged and left them.

Rudd reappeared in the door of the wardroom. 'I sent the steward to find the brandy out o' Mr. Gibbon's stores,' he reported.

'Brandy? I didn't know old Gibbon had a licence?'

'Nor 'e 'ad, sir; that's why 'e lorst most of 'is customers to 'Arrods.'

'Then ?' Gregory frowned, his mind on the bridge with Silas.

Rudd grinned at him. 'Finding that there conyak's goin' ter take the steward a bit of time!'

'Good boy. I wish to God though that we had got a bottle of good brandy, especially as I've got to be up all night!'

'Plenty o' whisky in the pantry, sir; can I get you a peg?'

'Yes, do; then take over from Lord Fane in the passage and ask him to come in here.'

While Rudd was getting the whisky Gregory paced slowly up and down, ignoring the two girls whose whisperings by the sailor was for the moment the only sound other than the hissing of the waters, as the destroyer ran on into the night. He gulped the drink down when it arrived and drew a deep breath of satisfaction. A moment later Kenyon appeared; his face was unusually grave and he spoke sharply. 'Look here, Sallust, I've had about enough of this business; outing Fanshawe like that was a rotten trick.'

'Swallow a camel and strain at a gnat! Is that the idea?' Gregory swung round on him with an angry look. 'Don't be a fool, Fane. I haven't hurt him seriously and it was the only thing to do. Anyhow I'm not going to argue about it with you now.'

Suddenly Ann gave a quick, nervous laugh.

'What is it?' snapped Gregory.

'I was only thinking how funny it is to hear Kenyon lecture you after his own performance in Gloucester Road.'

'All right,' Kenyon's mouth tightened grimly. 'We're all in it up to the neck now, so I suppose we'd better get on with it. What's the next move?'

'We've got to deal with the other officers before they have a chance to start in on us with the crew; knock them out or lock them up somewhere. Once they're out of the way I'll manage the men.'

'How can you?' cried Veronica. 'Your Napoleonic act was great fun in its way, my dear, but even Boney would have found himself up against it if he had tried to run a ship!'

Sallust raised his only movable eyebrow. 'A poor comparison, I fear, unjust to both Bonaparte and myself. I could never have drafted the Code Napoleon, but I can certainly navigate a ship.'

'You don't really mean that, do you?' said Ann.

'I do; it happens that I was educated in the Worcester, so although my navigation is a little rusty, I shall manage well enough with the aid of common sense and the Admiralty charts.'

'Darlings! the man's a genius!' exclaimed Veronica.

'No, only a jack of all trades; and your sincere admirer, Madam!' he countered quickly.

Veronica lowered her eyes and fumbled with the matches. She had caught him studying her with a queer look on his face twice that day, and this quick, half humorous compliment left her for once without an apt reply.

'You'd have to have help,' remarked Kenyon.

'Of course, I must sleep sometimes; however, I can stick it for another twenty four hours, till I get her clear of the Channel. Then you and Harker will relieve me turn and turn about.'

'Good Lord, man! I don't know the first thing about a ship; it would be madness to give me such responsibility.'

'Not a bit of it. Once we are out in the open sea it will be the simplest thing in the world. I shall set the course before turning in so all you will have to do is to keep an eye on the helmsman; see that he sticks to it, and watch out for any other shipping. I will sleep in the bunk in the chart house, so in any emergency you'll only have to bellow down the voice pipe and I shall take over again immediately.'

A groan from the settee drew their attention back to Fanshawe; he showed signs of coming round.

'We'll have to truss him up,' said Gregory, 'and put a light gag over his mouth so that he can't shout for help. Come on, Fane.'

They tore the table napkins into strips, and before the sailor regained consciousness he was neatly bound. Then Gregory got hold of him under the armpits. 'Take his feet, Fane; we'll put him in the pantry, he'll be out of sight there.'

'What are you going to do about the engine room?' Kenyon inquired when they had deposited their victim.

'I'll fix that somehow. They must know that if the ship ceases to be under power it is only a matter of hours before we become a wreck, and none of us want to drown!'

'Supposing they refuse to take your orders?'

A hard note crept into Gregory's voice. 'I think I shall be able to persuade most of the engine room staff to join us.'

Kenyon nodded; 'Well, I give you full marks for letting nothing daunt you, but I'd like to know what's happening on the bridge. For all we know Broughton may be dishing out cutlasses to his jack tars while we're standing here talking, and we don't want to give any excuse for a pitched battle or find ourselves arrested before you've had a chance to get your men on deck. Hadn't we better do something about it?'

'I believe you've got the makings of a good officer, Fane.' Gregory smiled his appreciation. 'As a matter of fact I'm only waiting for Harker to return. Then the three of us will get the troops together and tackle the situation.'

There was the sound of steps in the lobby and Silas poked his head in at the door.

'Well?' inquired Gregory.

'It's all quiet for the moment,' he reported, 'Broughton's busy with his own caboodle. The Chief Petty Officer has just been handing out a yarn that there's a spot of bother with the men forward, so Broughton asked me to pass his compliments to Fanshawe and request that he go up to the bridge right now. Sergeant Thompson's here with me, he wants a word with you.'

'Right, let him come in. Take over from Rudd in the passage and tell him to bring in that whisky bottle.'

Harker beckoned over his shoulder. 'Come in, sergeant, the General will see you now.'

The red faced sergeant saluted and stood to attention.

'What is it, sergeant?' asked Gregory affably.

'If you'll h'excuse me, sir, I thought you should be h'in formed as to the state of things on this boat.'

'Ship, sergeant, ship!' Gregory corrected gravely.

'Well ship, sir, there's doings amongst the crew that I don't like, wrong talk about the h'officers, an' the discipline is something awful. They laugh, sir, just laugh, at the orders of their own N.C.O.s.' The sergeant's face was nearly purple with suppressed indignation.

'I see. Of course the whole fleet is in a state of unrest but I imagined that the destroyers were comparatively unaffected.'

'H'in my opinion, sir, these sailors are ripe for any mischief, even the mess steward's just joined them, 'an worse than that, they're connivin' with our own men now.'

'That so?' Gregory looked up sharply, 'We must prevent them contaminating the troops at all costs. Have you taken any action?'

'No, sir, I held me 'and thinking it best to report to you, though there's one or two of them I'll be bringing up before you at h'orderly room tomorrow.'

'Where are they at the moment?'

'With the seamen, sir. There's a sort of meeting bein' held h'on what they call the Lower Deck, and quite a number of our men's among them.'

'Very good, sergeant, I'll deal with the matter in a moment. Care for a glass of whisky?'

'Well, sir ' Sergeant Thompson's eyes brightened perceptibly; 'I don't mind if I do, sir.'

'Rudd, a glass for Sergeant Thompson.'

'Ay, ay, sir!' Mr. Rudd in his new role of sea going steward hurried forward. With his usual tact he produced an outsize glass. The sergeant lifted it and removed his cap.

'My best respects, sir, and to the ladies'; swiftly the big tumbler went up to his mouth, tilted, and like a conjuring trick the golden spirit slid gently into his mouth. He smiled, coughed politely and set down the empty glass. Gregory more slowly drained his own.

'Harker!' the General looked at Silas; 'Get back on the bridge will you. Tell Broughton that Fanshawe and I are going forward to tackle the trouble among the men. Take the sentries on the door with you if anyone attempts to come aft challenge them, and failing a satisfactory reply, fire at once. Fane, Sergeant Thompson, Rudd, you will come with me, and you ' Gregory glanced swiftly at the two girls, 'will remain here. You will be perfectly safe this end of the ship, but lock the door and don't open it except to one of us. Lead on, sergeant.'

The small party filed out and up the ladder to the deck; the night was dark and the sea rising. Away on the beam flashed the North Foreland Light, and Fanshawe's orders still remaining unchanged they were forging ahead at full speed. Gusts of spray came over the bows of the destroyer as she met the bigger waves, and she was already pitching slightly.

'Looks like a dirty night, sir,' said the sergeant as they made their way forward in the dark, stumbling now and again over chains or into torpedo tubes.

'Yes,' Kenyon agreed, 'I'm afraid the women don't know what they're in for yet.'

'Silence,' said Sallust curtly.

Two dark figures were seated near the forehatch. A beam of light from the North Foreland caught the braid on Gregory's hat and they stood up.

'Who's this?' he asked, peering at them.

'Chief Petty Officer Wilkin’s, sir,' said the nearest figure, 'and Petty Officer Sims.'

'Oh, what are the two of you doing sitting on the deck here in the dark?'

'Just talking, sir.'

'I see,' the cynical note crept into Gregory's voice; 'You think it safer to remain up here than to go to your bunks, eh?'

'The men's not themselves tonight, sir,' Sallust caught the quick resentment in Chief Petty Officer Wilkin's voice. 'We'll go forward, sir, if that's your order. We don't want to give any excuse for trouble, that's all.'

'Quite right.' Gregory's tone became charming at once. 'You have acted wisely in remaining here. What is the situation on the Lower Deck?'

'Bad, sir! The eighteen men what was in irons 'as been released without instructions. I 'ave already reported that to Lieutenant Broughton, but 'e told me to do nothing till 'e'd seen the Commander. There's that there Stoker Crow der amongst them 'e is the centre of the trouble, 'im and that Leading Seaman Nobes; a regular sea lawyer 'e is with more education than's good for 'im. They'd both have been put off at Chatham before the ship went to sea if the Captain 'ad 'is way.'

'And how is the temper of the men generally?'

'Not good sir! they're a bit excited tonight but they're a fine lot of lads in the ordinary way, and we'd soon get 'em quietened down if only we could keep these ringleaders out of it.'

'Well, that's what we're going to do. I have no doubt you P.O.s understand how unsettled conditions are, but I've thrashed the matter out with your Commander and as my men seem to be involved as well, he has asked me to assist him in dealing with the situation.'

'Ay, ay, sir.'

'Now follow me,' Gregory moved towards the hatchway, but Sergeant Thompson, well fortified by whisky, slipped in front of him.

'By your leave, sir?'

'Very good, sergeant.' Sallust followed his senior N.C.O. quickly down the iron ladder.

'Party!' yelled the sergeant with all the strength of his well exercised lungs, as he reached the Mess Deck; 'Party 'Shun!'

Gregory looked round. For the moment he could hardly see through the blue haze of tobacco smoke, but after a moment he took in a long narrow compartment with scuttles on both sides dark now except for the reflection of the deck lights on the flying spray which constantly hissed past them. Rows of wooden tables, scrubbed to an almost unbelievable degree of whiteness, were hitched to the ship's side, supported at the midships end by thin iron rods which hooked into slots in the deck. At these tables, seventy or eighty men were crowded together. Evidently the mess deck was never meant to hold such a number, but khaki figures here and there were wedged between the blue serge of the sailors. Some of the latter, stokers and engine room ratings, were naked to the waist or covered with grease and perspiration. Along the tables in front of almost every man reposed a big tin mug, and as Gregory noted it he rightly assumed that the spirit room had been broken into. At the far end a small group was gathered; the lack of space made a platform impossible, but directly Gregory's glance pierced the smoke laden atmosphere he realised that this group, consisting of five sailors and two soldiers, comprised the ring leaders, and that it was with them that he would have to deal.

At the sergeant's order there was a quick shuffling among the tables; the soldiers, almost to a man, came smartly to their feet, many of the sailors followed slower to take up the word but obviously still respectful of authority. Yet at several tables there were little knots of men who remained seated, looking guiltily away from the General for the most part, but with anxious faces half frightened and half sullen. The ringleaders at the far end of the Mess Deck remained seated to a man.

For a moment, only the sound of the sea, the pulsing engines and an occasional clang on the steel deck broke the stillness. In his left hand Sallust held a lighted cigarette, and he puffed at it slowly while sizing up the situation. Then in a quiet, level voice he spoke:

'Why are you men not turned in?'

A giant of a man who sat in the centre of the far group sprang to his feet; Gregory guessed him to be Stoker Crowder.

'What's it to do with you?' the big man thundered, 'you're not our officer!' A mutter of approval untraceable to any individual, but clearly perceptible, ran round the deck.

"What have you done with our Bloke?' shrilled a small, ferret faced man who was sat beside the stoker.

'Leading Seaman Nobes,' thought Gregory, and his guess was confirmed when Chief Petty Officer Wilkins stepped out from behind him:

'That's enough of that, Nobes,' said the P.O. heatedly. 'We're now on a special mission an' the General 'ere 'as explained everything to the Commander so it ain't for the likes of you to start gettin' uppish!'

Absolute silence greeted the Chief Petty Officer's words, and Gregory added sharply: 'You hear that men? At the moment, I am in a position to give orders here and I mean to stand no nonsense.'

The men at the nearer tables shuffled awkwardly and looked at their boots. This quiet Army Officer was obviously not to be trifled with, but Nobes had a reputation to maintain.

' 'Ear that?' he shrilled: 'oo's this blinking soldier to order us abart, eh?'

The sailors muttered, looking angrily at their erstwhile companions in khaki.

'Look at 'im!' screamed Nobes; 'in 'is brass 'at 'e's the sort wot grinds the faces of the poor! Wot did I tell yer abart my cousin in the army tied 'im to a gun wheel they did jus' cause 'e overstied is leave w'en 'is old woman was 'aving a kid.'

'That,' rapped out Gregory, 'is a lie. Field Punishment No. 1 was abolished in 1915. Come here, you or do I come and fetch you?'

For a moment Leading Seaman Nobes shrank back, behind his large companion; then feeling so many eyes riveted upon him, came slouching out towards Sallust, a leer upon his face, a half burnt cigarette dangling from his lip.

'Leading Seaman Nobes?' questioned Gregory smoothly.

'That's me,' the ferret faced man nodded.

'You were under arrest until this evening. No order has been given for your release.'

Nobes shook his head, and blowing through his cigarette with a smirk, puffed the ash off on to the deck.

'You will surrender yourself at once to the Chief Petty Officer, said Gregory. 'Quick march!'

The sailor did not move an inch. He only grinned a little sideways at the crowded tables, half closing his eye in the suggestion of a wink. A distinct titter showed the general appreciation of his humour.

'You refuse to obey me?' Sallust snapped out the words.

Nobes nodded with silent insolence.

'All right.' Gregory's tone was silky now: 'You realise that the country is in a state of war, and that for the maintenance of general discipline it is my duty to make an example of you?'

Ark at 'im!' said Leading Seaman Nobes: 'just 'ark at 'im!'

Gregory's left hand still held the cigarette. He smiled faintly, almost as though appreciating the humour of the crowd at the amazing wittiness of Leading Seaman Nobes. His right hand closed upon the butt of his automatic; in a flash he had advanced into the centre of the compartment within a yard of Nobes, and in the same instant the weapon was levelled at the Leading Seaman's head.

Arty Nobes was twenty nine years of age. He had light brown hair and rather pale blue eyes; his mouth was large with mobile lips, which may be taken as a sign of generosity or of looseness of character the two very often go together. His nose was short and freckled, his hands better cared for than those of the majority of his shipmates.

Early in life Arty had associated himself with those discontented elements in his home port whose avowed objective was the downfall of what they termed 'the bloody capitalist.' He was married to a very decent woman a year or two older than himself who was a good hand at cooking him a dish of steak and onions; she secretly kept a scrap book of those photographs which appeared in the daily press chronicling the many activities of the Royal Family. She had often told him with a cheerful unbelief that sooner or later his political opinions would land him in jug. He also contributed small regular sums towards the rent of a small, plump breasted young woman who occupied a room in the back streets of Harwich. He had one daughter aged five, and was a teetotaller.

As the flash came, the upper half of Arty's cranium lifted like the lid of a box. The human head is apt to react that way if the frontal bones are struck in a certain spot by a bullet fired at close range.

Arty pitched forward, and Sallust stepped back. The comparatively small amount of grey "matter which had constituted the brain of Leading Seaman Nobes, spilled upon the spotless deck.

14

Mutiny at Sea

The smoke drifted away from the barrel of the automatic in a little eddy. The report in that confined space had been so shattering that the silence which succeeded it was almost frightening. Only the sound of the water swishing past the scuttles and the rumble of the engines continued unabated. Then Gregory spoke:

'This man has died, not through his folly alone, but largely through your encouragement. Every man of you here is partially responsible. See to it then, that, by encouraging others, you do not compel me to make further examples. Sergeant!'

'Yes, sir.'

'Order your men to their quarters.'

'Fall in,' bellowed the sergeant and the troops quickly separated themselves from among the sailors. Even the red faced Brisket and Saunders of the protruding teeth, who were among Stoker Crowder's group, suppressed' their sullen looks and stepped hurriedly into place.

'Party, 'Shun! Right turn up the 'atch. Quick March!' Most of the soldiers were little more than boys and few had ever seen a man killed before. With white scared faces they filed past Gregory to the upper deck,

'Chief Petty Officer!'

'Yes, sir.'

'Have this cleared up.' Gregory nodded toward the body of Arty Nobes, and stood there grimly silent, while the remains of the leading seaman were carried away and the deck swabbed down. He then addressed the sailors.

'Now, men, wherever this ship may go, one thing is certain, it must finally return to a naval port. If you continue with your duties satisfactorily until then, I will recommend to your Commander that in view of the very terrible example which I have been compelled to make, he should take no further action against any of you. If you make further trouble, however, bear in mind that your court martial and punishment are inevitable.'

As he turned on his heel, the C.P.O. called the sailors to attention again, and after a last stern glance round Gregory left the compartment.

He had no regrets about the swift action which had so suddenly terminated the existence of Arty Nobes. The fact that he had no right to issue orders to anybody, or to the uniform he wore, hardly occurred to him. He was living for the time being in the part which he had created for himself, and he knew that although many people in his situation might have shirked such a terrible responsibility and endeavoured to restore order by half measures, the result would almost certainly have been failure. At least he had put an effective stop to the threatened outbreak, but as he breathed in the sharp salt laden air of the upper deck again, he wondered grimly for how long.

He answered Harker's challenge from the upper bridge and with Kenyon and Rudd at his heels ran up the ladders to join him there.

'Where's Broughton?' he asked in a sharp whisper.

'Here.' The American nodded towards the darkness over his shoulder. Tm mighty sorry but I had to knock him out.'

'Hum! What happened?'

'He started an argument at once when I showed up again instead of Fanshawe. Then we thought we heard a gun go off and that settled the matter. He dived for the ladder so I hit him hard. Only thing to do I thought.'

'Quite right. It's the devil, though, having to rough house these officers. It's certain to drive the loyal men into the arms of the mutineers, and they're a pretty nasty lot. The shot you heard was mine; I had to out one of the ringleaders.'

'Say! that's bad.'

'Only thing to do. If I'd climbed down it would have meant open mutiny, and if I'd shot to wound we should have had the whole pack on top of us. Now the next act is to slow her up and about ship. The helmsman still thinks Broughton is up here I suppose?'

'Yes; with it blowing like this he wouldn't hear a thing.'

'Right!' Gregory turned to Kenyon. 'Think you can imitate Broughton's voice, Fane? Mine's too deep and the chap below us in the wheel house would notice Harker's accent.'

'I'll have a shot if you like.'

'Good man; look, there's the voice pipe.'

Kenyon leant over it. 'What shall I say?'

'Not so close, you fool. Now, just say "put the telegraphs to half speed '.'

In a voice that Kenyon would never have recognised as his own he gave the order. 'Repeat, sir,' same the answer of the Quartermaster below.

' “Put the telegraphs to half speed,” ' Kenyon said again, and Gregory stroked his lean cheeks with quiet satisfaction as he heard the reply gongs ring.

'Hard a' port,' he whispered a moment later, and when the order had been repeated the long destroyer slowly made a big half circle with a great churning of waters.

'Steady,' Gregory ordered. Kenyon reiterated the command, and they headed once more to the southward.

'That will do for the moment,' Gregory nodded. 'When we come opposite the North Foreland Light again I'll set another course to pass outside everything and then head down mid channel. We must keep our eyes skinned for shipping but fortunately there's little enough of that about these days.'

'Did you put those other men who broke prison behind the bars again, General?' Harker asked suddenly.

'No. To be quite frank, I didn't dare risk it. I'm pretty certain their leader's got a gun. He was playing with something devilish like it when I first went below and a few more of them may be equipped in the same way. If they had once made a rush for us we should have been downed in no time so I had to take a chance on the moral effect of outing one.'

'Don't you figure there'll be more trouble before morning then? I'd bet a hundred bucks to a nickel they're in conference again by now.'

Gregory laughed a little bitterly. 'I wouldn't take you even for a nickel, and I've been thinking of the best plan for holding the ship till morning. Once daylight comes we'll start in on the general round up, but it's a question of hanging on till then.'

'How about shifting all the troops aft?' Kenyon suggested.

'No. I'd thought of that but unfortunately they are not all reliable. Brisket and that other chap were on the revolutionary committee, you saw that yourself, and after the hot air they've heard this evening a lot of the others may have been won over.'

Harker nodded. 'Well, what's the drill then?'

'Go down and see Sergeant Thompson. Tell him that I don't want any but real, tigers about the bridge, and that he's to pick a dozen of the best N.C.O.'s or men, then bring them up here with as much ammunition as they can carry. Now, what about your lot?'

'All for King and country; they wouldn't be Greyshirts else.'

'Good, that gives us another seven. Tell Thompson to borrow rifles for them from the men who are left below. Excuse to the men they are to be taken from: rifle drill for the Greyshirts first parade in the morning. It's a bit thin but it's better than nothing and you'll be behind Thompson if there's any trouble.'

'Right, I'll see to it, General. What about this lad here?' Harker indicated the dark form of Broughton which lay stretched out behind him.

'He'll be coming round in a moment I suppose.'

'I doubt it; he hit his nob on a stanchion as he fell, poor chap, so I reckon he'll be under for some little time.'

'Never mind, we'll look after him; you get below and fetch up the Praetorian Guard.'

Kenyon was kneeling beside the Naval Lieutenant. He looked up at Gregory as Harker moved away. 'His head's cut badly, and he's bleeding like a pig.'

"Is he? We must get him below then. I don't mind killing mutineers or rioters, but I hate this business with the officers; they're only decent fellows doing their proper job.'

If we carry him down the ladder the Quartermaster will see that we've laid him out and then the fat will be in the fire.'

'That's true, but we must get him down somehow.'

"What abart them there signal 'alyards,' suggested Rudd who had been standing quietly in the background. 'Can't we 'itch 'im on to them, sir, an' lower 'im aft of the bridge darn on to the deck?'

'Splendid; that's the idea. Come on, give me a hand to lift him up. You slip down to the deck, Fane, and we'll lower him to you.' Gregory seized the unconscious sailor.

They tied the halyards firmly under his armpits, but just as they were about to put him over the rail, the Quartermaster's voice came weirdly to them from the pipe amidships.

'Damn,' muttered Gregory, 'hang on a minute and I'll see what it is.'

Rudd supported the Lieutenant while the General strode over to the tube. A moment later he was back again. 'That infernal Quartermaster is asking for his relief. I daren't send for the C.P.O. or he'll want to know what's happened to his officers. Quick, heave this chap over, hang on to the rope now, we don't want to break his neck.'

Broughton was lowered in a series of jerks to the waiting Kenyon and then Gregory turned back to Rudd. 'Nip down to the wheelhouse. The Quartermaster is certain to know that there has been trouble forward, tell him that owing to that he cannot be relieved at present. If he kicks and wants to speak to his officer stick your gun in his ribs and make him carry on. Harker will be back in a minute with the men.'

'Ay, ay, sir.' Rudd ran lightly down the ladder.

'Fane,' called Gregory in a sharp whisper leaning over the rail.

'Yes.'

'Have you got him off the line?'

'Yes, just finished.'

'Can you get him to the wardroom on your own?'

'I'll manage somehow.'

'Right! Tell the girls to look after him and bathe his head. Come back as soon as you can, and bring the Lewis guns with you; I had them stowed under the settee.'

'All right.' Kenyon slid his arm under the legs of the sailor, and gripping his wrist hoisted him over his shoulders in a 'fireman's lift.' Then he staggered aft and down the hatchway to the wardroom.

He was greeted by a flood of breathless questions from Ann and Veronica, and after he had laid the Lieutenant on the table he told them roughly what had happened, suppressing Gregory's extermination of Leading Seaman Nobes.

Veronica bent over Broughton. 'What have you done to the poor sweet?' she cried angrily as she saw the ugly wound on the side of his head.

'Silas Harker had to knock him out and he hit his head on an iron stanchion as he fell. Sallust says you are to bathe that cut and take care of him.'

'Of course we will, but where can we get some water?'

'One of the cabins I should think.' Kenyon was hurriedly pulling the Lewis guns from under the settee and Veronica looked over at him sharply.

'Where are you off to with those things, Galahad?'

'Taking them up to the bridge; General's orders.'

'Fee fie fo fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman!' she said suspiciously. 'Are you about to enliven us with a little war?'

'I hope not. Just a precautionary measure.'

'I don't like the look of victim number two at all,' said Ann. 'Can't we get him off this hard table?'

'I'll lift him on to the settee if you like,' Kenyon volunteered.

'No, carry him along to his own cabin, he'll be more comfortable there, and we can wash his wound properly if there's water handy.'

'I must get these things up on the bridge.'

'Oh, we'll take the arsenal for you, if you'll carry him.'

'Right!' Kenyon handed over the Lewis guns to the two girls and pulled the recumbent sailor on to his shoulders again. They followed him out of the wardroom and along to Broughton's cabin where Kenyon laid the wounded man in his own bunk. Then he turned with his finger on his lips.

'For goodness' sake don't make a noise,' he whispered, I think Cousens lives next door, and if we wake him it will only mean more trouble. Sallust will probably be able to tackle him quietly once he's got control of the ship.'

Ann nodded silently and stepped over to the basin. Veronica was already pulling one of the Lieutenant's best white shirts out of a drawer to make a bandage.

Kenyon collected the guns again and turned for a second in the doorway. 'When you've done what you can for him, don't stay here. Get back to the wardroom, and to be on the safe side lock yourselves in though there's not likely to be any trouble this end of the ship.'

Back on the bridge he found that Harker had already assembled his Greyshirts, and to the troops on the forecastle Gregory was giving quick instructions. The Chart house on the lower bridge was to be used as a guard room where two thirds of the small force were to doss down for the night. The remaining third were being posted as sentries; a screen of four abaft the bridge, Sergeant Thompson and Rudd at each extremity of it and two more men towards the bows in case of a surprise attack from forward. Rudd was busy at the moment serving out a stiff tot all round from various bottles, which, with his amazing nose for the whereabouts of supplies, he had collected.

They were back now with the North Foreland Light abaft the beam, and Gregory, after a quick look at the chart, set a new course, which he knew to be roughly accurate, although for the time being he was unable to make allowance for the tide.

The Lewis guns were mounted, the ammunition carried up, and it seemed that no more could be done for the moment when the Chief Petty Officer appeared. Gregory spotted him coming up the port ladder to the bridge and hastily blocked his way by running down a few steps to meet him.

'What is it, Wilkins?' he inquired.

I was about to report to the Commander, sir.'

'He's busy on the upper bridge so I'll take your message.'

'I think I'd better go up, sir there's more trouble forward with the men.'

'I see. Well the Commander has asked me to take measures for the protection of the bridge with my troops so you'd better let me know what is happening.'

'There's another meeting, sir, an' I don't like the looks of things at all.'

'All right, you'd better remain with us, but go and fetch Petty Officer Sims first, we need all the reliable men we can get.'

'It's a bit difficult, sir. They've made him attend the meeting. Half a dozen of them cornered him, and I think he reckoned it would be more than 'is life was worth to refuse.'

Gregory grunted angrily.

'And what's more, sir,' added the C.P.O., 'the magazine keys is missin' from the board. I wanted to report that to the Commander.'

'I'll tell him. You stay here and keep your eye on the forward hatch.'

'Ay, ay, sir.'

Gregory went up the ladder again and walked over to look at the gyro compass. The Quartermaster was still carrying on his duties at the wheel with an imperturbable face. A soldier with a fixed bayonet, however, now stood behind him. Silas and Kenyon were talking together in low voices. In a few words Gregory told them about the forcible detention of Petty Officer Sims.

'Let's go and get him out,' said Harker promptly, but Sallust shook his head.

'No, I'd like to but we should be mad to go and put our heads in the noose again. They won't do him any harm if he does what he's told and if there is going to be trouble I prefer to fight on my own ground.'

For some minutes they stood talking together while the destroyer ploughed its way evenly at half speed through the tumbled seas. The night was dark and still and no sound came from the forward quarters, which, Gregory agreed with Harker, was a bad sign. They knew that the sailors had access to the rum ration and if they had been singing it would have been a better omen. The stillness of the crew constituted a silent menace and his rudimentary knowledge of the ship's topography caused Gregory constant anxiety as to what might be going on below decks. Suddenly one of the forward sentries challenged.

A figure had risen from the forward hatch. There was a short consultation and then Petty Officer Sims was led up on to the bridge.

Gregory could see at once that the man was badly rattled and thoroughly ashamed of the part he was being forced to play, as he stumblingly excused himself for acting as the messenger of the mutineers. 'Rudd,' he called.

'Ay, ay, sir.'

'A tot of something for Petty Officer Sims.'

'Certainly, sir, 'ere we are.' Rudd hurried forward with a bottle and an enamel mug.

The Petty Officer swallowed the proffered beaker at a gulp. 'Ha, that's better, sir,' he sighed, drawing the back of his hand across his mouth.

'Out with it, Sims,' said Gregory. 'What's happening now?'

'There's been another meeting, sir. That devil Crowder is making trouble among 'em, and they've sent me with what they call terms.'

Terms, eh!' sneered Gregory. 'Never mind, let's hear them.'

'The First Lieutenant's to alter course to Harwich most of them's Harwich men, and they want to get home not knowing what's happening to their families. If he'll take the ship in they promise not to molest him or the officers or you and your men, and they'll set you all ashore; but if you won't sir '

'Well?'

'They say they'll shoot the lot of you, and run the ship in themselves.'

'Thank you.'

'I'm to take back the reply, sir.'

'There is no reply, so you will remain that is unless you prefer to return to them.'

'No, sir, no,' replied the Petty Officer hastily, 'I sticks by my officers and you.'

'Good man you'll find the Chief Petty Officer on the port ladder; better park yourself with him, I'll go and let the Commander know that you are safe back with us again.'

'Thank you, sir.'

The ship slithered on into the darkness West South West with occasional spray lifting over her bows as they cut through the waves. Gregory kept a watchful eye on the compass but all was silence once more on deck. Then something happened for the second he hardly realised what, but a sudden absence of vibration told him that the ship was easing down.

He swore softly beneath his breath.

'What'll this mean?' asked Harker.

' Fraid they've got control below,' Gregory answered softly. 'We shall know in a minute.' He stood by the binnacle peering intently at the compass in the guarded light of the hood.

For a few moments the ship swung silently, rolling a little in the trough of the waves. Then the propeller started to thud again and the bows of the vessel veered slowly towards the East.

'Ship not answering to the helm, sir,' reported the impassive Quartermaster, and as they watched the lubber's point it swung from West South West to North East ward, then steadied.

'They've got us,' muttered Gregory, 'they've set a course for Harwich as near as they can.'

'But surely the ship is controlled from here?' said Ken yon.

'Yes,' Sallust made a wry grimace, 'in the ordinary way, but obviously they have disconnected the fore bridge steering, so now we can't do a damn thing.'

'Can they steer her from below then?'

'Looks ter me as if the matloes is usin' the after control position, sir,' volunteered the Quartermaster.

As he spoke the thresh of the screws increased, and soon the destroyer was forging ahead to the North Eastward with all the power of her 30,000 horse power engines.

Gregory snapped his teeth together angrily. 'These devils will run me out of the oil I need if they mean to maintain a pace like this. We've got to get that after steering position they'll slow her down if we can secure that, or at all events we can turn her again the way we want her to go. Hullo, what's that!'

A commotion was going on amidships, and a struggling group arrived at the foot of the starboard ladder. It was Lieutenant Cousens, angry eyed and hatless, in the grip of two flushed sentries.

'Tried to break through, 'e did, sir, and wouldn't reply to the challenge,' spluttered one of the Tommies.

'What the hell's going on here?' demanded the N.O.

'Good Lord! I'd forgotten all about you; we've been up to our neck in trouble ever since dinner,' Gregory said with a trace of amusement in his voice. 'Let him go, men. Come up on the bridge, will you, Mr. Cousens?'

The ruffled sailor jerked his tie back into position and stamped angrily up the ladder after Sallust, who led him to the deserted starboard side of the bridge.

'Now what the devil's been happening in the last watch and where's the Commander?' Cousens demanded.

Tm sorry to say there's been a mutiny,' said Gregory.

'Yes, that's plain enough, but where are the First Lieutenant and Broughton, that's what I want to know?'

'Prisoners, unfortunately, in the hands of the mutineers. They rushed the bridge and collared them both, while I was trying to quell the trouble on the lower deck.'

'The devil they did they darn near got me, too. When I left my cabin I went to the wardroom to get my cocoa before taking over, and there were the matloes with both the magazine hatches up and passing arms out on deck through the after ammunition hand up hatch. They chased me out on deck and your sentries damn near stuck their bayonets through my ribs.'

'Well, if they've got to the magazines we're in for real trouble; they've got control of the after steering position too, and disconnected the forward steering gear.'

'I guessed that from what little I saw on deck. Of course I'm in command here until we can get the Commander released but I'd be glad to have your views on what you meant to do, sir.' The sailor was regaining his breath and his temper. The furrows which ringed Sallust's mouth deepened into a smile as he noted the 'sir' and the ease with which his story had got over.

'I had meant to send one of my officers with a detachment of men to endeavour to regain control of the after part of the ship,” he said slowly, 'but since you've turned up perhaps it would be better if you took the job on yourself. It's much more likely that the mutineers will listen to one of their own officers you may be able to persuade them to stop this idiocy.'

'That's true. Anyhow I'll have a cut at it.'

'Good! I can let you have eight men. I must keep the rest to man the Lewis guns. We'll cover you with them if it comes to a fight and you have to retreat.'

Sallust called Harker over to him and gave instructions. The troops were turned out from the chart house and the Lieutenant went aft with eight of them. The remainder lined the bridge, peering anxiously into the darkness.

All except the navigating lights had been put out on the deck and only the reflected glow from the scuttles on the rushing waters afforded any illumination. The ship raced swiftly through the foam which swished and rustled with a continuous quiet hissing noise against her sides, while Gregory strained his tired eyes into the shadows.

The parley aft was brief. Cousens addressed the men, but Crowder gruffly told him to get back forward and mind his own business if he valued his skin. The Lieutenant raised the rifle which he had taken from one of Sallust's Tommies but there was a sharp crack. Private Brisket who stood by Crowder had seen the motion and the N.O. pitched forward shot through the chest.

There was a sudden crash of shots as the troops replied and other mutineers joined in. Sallust's men were hopelessly outnumbered; another fell, and the remainder bolted, scrambling and tumbling back towards the bridge.

'Ready,' sang out Gregory. He paused a moment, giving the Lieutenant's party time to get clear, then as the mutineers surged forward he bellowed: 'Fire!'

The machine guns opened and the troops joined in with their rifles, aiming for the dark smudges of shadow that slipped from cover to cover on the after deck.

Above the din came a scream and then a blasphemous curse.

'Cease fire,' ordered Gregory; he had no wish to waste his ammunition and. knew that he had taken toll of the enemy.

For a moment there was silence and not a movement to be seen. Then a spasmodic fire was opened by the mutineers from their shelter behind the funnels and torpedo tubes.

'Get down,' barked Gregory, and as the bullets came spattering against the superstructure of the bridge its defenders flung themselves upon the deck. Sallust alone remained upright, miraculously immune from the bullets as he continued the direction of operations.

Kenyon felt a slight perspiration break out upon his forehead at this, his first experience of being under fire, and with one hand pushed back his rebellious auburn hair; with the other he instinctively fumbled for his cigarettes.

'For Gawd's sake put that out, sir,' came a hoarse whisper as he struck a match. It was Rudd crouching beside him in the darkness and in some strange way he felt comforted.

Gregory's voice came again: 'All ranks! pick your marks. Three round rapid Fire!'

The kneeling figures rose and suddenly there was a crashing blast of fire. The bullets snapped and rattled as they hit the steel deck and the after part of the ship was subjected to a rain of lead. Yet even as it ceased the return fire leapt out again.

There were numerous casualties now on both sides, and the groans of the wounded were mingled with the screams of pain as the bullets found a human mark.

At Gregory's orders the machine guns opened once more, pouring another belt apiece into the darkness amidships. They gibbered and chattered like street drills gone mad, while their leaden stream clanged and whistled as it struck and ricocheted upon the metal fitments of the ship.

Then from the starboard quarter there came a blinding flash, a shrill screech a few feet overhead, and almost instantly the crack of an exploding shell.

Kenyon crouching on the bridge, caught a glimpse of Sallust's face. The muscles about the mouth had tightened suddenly with the swift realisation that any moment might bring annihilation to them all. The mutineers had manned one of the two pounder Pom Pom anti aircraft guns, and turned it on the bridge.

'All ranks concentrate on flash rapid fire!' came the General's last desperate order, but it was too late.

A scorching sheet of flame leapt up on Kenyon's left, accompanied by a thunderous, ear splitting detonation. The bridge rocked beneath him as he was flung sprawling to the port end. Even the ship seemed to shudder for a second as it ploughed its way through the sea. Another followed and another, at hardly a second's interval. The night was livid with a blinding series of explosions, the air foul with the acrid, choking fumes.

When they ceased the deck house had almost completely disappeared, the binnacle and telegraphs were a twisted mass of brass and copper, while a hundred cries of pain and triumph seemed to rend the air at the same moment. Pandemonium had broken loose.

'Abandon bridge,' yelled a voice above the din. 'Come on, now make it snappy. All hands on the fo’c’sle, they won't be able to shell you there.' It was Silas Gonderport Harker, who had taken charge on the silence of the General.

Kenyon struggled out from beneath Chief Petty Officer Wilkins who had been flung on top of him. The sailor's leg had been broken at the thigh by a flying fragment of shell and he was whimpering pitifully. As Kenyon raised his head the whimpering ceased, the body twitched and lay still.

'I got ter get Mr, Sallust,' croaked a hoarse voice and Kenyon turned to find Rudd still beside him.

'No good,' he gasped, 'he'll be dead for certain, and they'll be putting more shells into that deck house in a second. Get off this blasted bridge, while there's still time.'

'Not me, sir, 'e's my officer an' I ain't goin' without 'im.'

'All right I'll help you,' muttered Kenyon thickly.

Cries, shouts and groans came from every side as they crawled along the bridge. The canvas screens had caught fire and lit the tumult in a lurid glare, the sickly smell of fresh spilled blood came strongly to their nostrils. The survivors were tumbling over one another in their efforts to get down the ladders.

The chart house, when they reached it, was a shambles. Half a dozen twisted bodies lay with mangled limbs and white distorted faces; Gregory was among them, his left leg doubled unnaturally back beneath his body, a trickle of blood running from one ear. They dragged his limp form from among the others without pausing to see if he was alive or dead, and lugged him between them to the port ladder.

' 'Arf a mo', sir; bung 'im on my back,' cried Rudd, pausing when he was half way to the deck.

'Right you carry him I'll protect your rear.' The precaution was not unnecessary for the mutineers were already running from cover forward to the burning bridge, sniping at the retreating soldiers as they stumbled towards the fo'c'sle.

Zip! A bullet pinged past Kenyon's head and flattened itself upon a steel projection, another seared through his sleeve and catching a stanchion ricocheted with a loud whine into the sea.

Rudd staggered along under his burden. A rifle cracked in front. One of Harker's men had mistaken them for the attackers.

'Don't fire,' yelled Kenyon, 'it's Fane and Rudd.'

'Attaboy,' sang out Harker. 'Thank God you're safe; seen anything of the General? My, but you've got him here; great stuff!' In another moment willing hands were relieving Rudd of his load.

Harker was already preparing a new position in the bows. Kenyon had no chance to see how many men had survived the debacle of the bridge, but from the dark forms moving swiftly about him he gathered that there must be at least a dozen. With a sudden feeling of relief he found that he still had the old fashioned service revolver that Gregory had procured for him that afternoon, stuck in the borrowed belt, then anJ1 appalling thought flashed into his mind.

They were cut off from the women Ann and Veronica were marooned aft and must have fallen into the hands of the mutineers.

15

With Women on Board

The two girls had turned their whole attention to Lieutenant Broughton the moment Kenyon left them.

'What an awful gash,' said Ann as she cut away the hair surrounding the wound with a pair of nail scissors.

'Can you wonder!' Veronica was tearing a shirt into rough strips for a bandage. 'It was that elaphantine American who hit him, and he must weigh twenty stone if he weighs an ounce.'

'Yet he doesn't look fat somehow.'

'No, just sheer bigness. He's a nice creature, I think.'

'Yes, I love that lazy good natured smile of his. Hello! What's happening now?' Ann ceased dabbing at the sailor's wound and straightened up.

'We've stopped, lovie.'

After a moment the propellers started to thud again and it was obvious that they had increased their speed.

"There's that light flashing.' Ann nodded at the scuttle. 'It was on the other side before, so we must be going north again.'

'Perhaps Napoleon Mussolini has had an inspiration. Thinks Iceland would be more shattering for us than the Cannibal Isles.'

'No, Gregory loathes the cold and you can trust him to think of his own comfort.'

Veronica supported the Lieutenant while Ann applied the bandage. Then they settled him as comfortably as possible in his bunk.

'I don't think there is the least chance of his coming out of this coma for hours,' Ann remarked.

'Then we might as well get back to the wardroom. One of us can come and have a look at the poor boy every now and again.'

Veronica led the way down the passage but paused, frowning suddenly when she reached the wardroom door.

'What is it?' asked Ann.

'Goodness knows, my sweet. Someone has opened up a couple of trapdoors in the floor and another in the ceiling. Kenyon, I suppose, getting more things for King Sallust but he might have shut them down again before he went on deck.'

They settled themselves on the settee and were silent for a little, then Ann said suddenly: 'Do you think we'll ever get to the West Indies?'

'Why not? The boy friend in the brass hat seems a determined enough person. 1 should triple lock the door and throw the key out of the window if he manifested any desire to become amorous, and I wouldn't feel quite safe even then.'

Ann chuckled. 'No, if I know anything about Gregory he would be waiting underneath the window to catch the key.'

'Yes, and to be truthful, my dear, I should probably wait until he turned up before I threw it out!'

'Really! Do you mean that you have fallen for him then?'

’No not quite. But I always have been attracted by the type of blackguard who has brains and guts providing they have a sense of humour and the decencies.'

'I like to listen to him, but I should hate him physically.'

'Would you? Well, I'm afraid I'm a shameless hussy, Veronica confessed. 'That wolfish look plays the devil with the back end of my brain. One might get hurt but I bet that man knows how to make love.'

'Yes, but not the kind of love that appeals to me. I'm a simple soul just liking to be cuddled and cuddle in return for ages and ages and ages. It's laziness, perhaps, but it's the sort of thing I'm always wanting from the right kind of man.'

'No, you're just deliciously normal, my sweet, and if I wore trousers I should be just crazy about you as Kenyon is but I'm just a nasty vicious slut God! What's that?'

A rifle had cracked above their heads. Others followed.

'The mutineers must be trying to get possession of the ship,' Ann gasped. '

'Oh, Hades! What idiotic fools men are!'

'Gregory will stop them.'

'Oh, darling, of course he will,' Veronica's" words were almost drowned in the chatter as the machine guns opened from the bridge, 'but I was thinking of the men in general. Why can't they all be sensible and go to bed instead of trying to kill each other?'

'It would be ghastly if the sailors did get control of the ship.'

"They wouldn't dare to touch you and me.'

'Wouldn't they?' Ann disagreed quickly, and for a few moments they sat in strained silence while the shots rattled and thudded above.

'Oh, my God! What's is happening?' Veronica clutched wildly at the curtains across the scuttle above the settee to save herself from being thrown to the floor. The two pounder Pom-​Pom had just been brought into action overhead.

Ann went white, and clapped her hands across her ears in an effort to shut out the series of terrific detonations from the shells which were being poured into the bridge. The ship seemed to shudder through its whole length. 'Do you do you think we're going to sink?' she whispered.

'We'll be drowned if we do.'

'Why, can't you swim? There will be boats I expect if we can get to them.'

'Yes, but we might so easily be trapped down here.'

'No.' Ann pointed at the after munition hand up hatch which still remained open in the deck above. 'We could climb out through there.'

The Pom-​Pom ceased fire. The machine guns were silent, and only the sound of intermittent rifle fire came to them as they stood together peering anxiously up at the hatch.

Suddenly they heard a voice bellowing harsh orders, the thudding of many feet as the mutineers streamed forward, and then the noise of the conflict drifted away to the other end of the ship.

They sat down again, this time at the table, staring at each other in strained, nervous silence, and wondering miserably what could have happened to their men.

Ann sniffed. 'Can you smell turning?'

Veronica wrinkled up her arched nose. 'Yes, 1 suppose they’ve set this filthy ship on fire, and now we'll all be burnt to death.'

'Unless we blow up. It's run with oil, I expect.'

A loud hammering sounded on the lobby door.

'Who's that'?' cried Veronica.

'Open this door,' boomed a voice.

'Who are you?'

'Never you mind. Open this door d'you hear?'

'It's the sailors,' whispered Ann. 'Oh, if only Kenyon hadn't left us.'

'We can't. Its locked on the outside,' lied Veronica sharply.

'Stand aside then,' roared the voice, 'or you'll get hurt.'

They drew away to the far end of the wardroom. There was a loud report, the lock was shattered by a pistol bullet and the door swung open. Crowder, the gigantic stoker, naked to the waist, his great hairy chest glistening with sweat and blood, shouldered his way into the roam.

Behind him came Private Brisket, a sly grin on his red flushed face, a steel helmet dangling from one hand, a rifle in the other. A mixed crowd of soldiers and sailors stood peering from the doorway.

'Get up on deck, boys, an' keep the party busy for'ard; we'll be with you in a minute.' Crowder flung the order over his shoulder and the crowd dispersed. Then he advanced on the two girls, eyeing them with a cold speculative look.

'Well,' asked Veronica evenly, 'what do you want?'

'Ter take a look at you an' see if there's any officers here.' Brisket leered at Ann, 'Well, big eyes wot's your name?'

'Croome,' she replied in a low voice.

'Croome, eh! Well, let s 'ave the other arf.'

'I don't think that concerns you.'

'Don't it, my gal. I'll teach you to keep a civil tongue in yer head before I'm done. I've 'ad me eye on you ever since we pulled you aht of that restaurant place in Jamaica Road.'

The colour had drained from Ann's face, but she kept her gaze fixed boldly upon the man's small hot eyes and stood silent, her back against the table.

'Tasty bit of goods, ain't she?' Brisket's remark was addressed to the big stoker, but his eyes never left Ann's neat figure. His mouth was working queerly.

'Hadn’t you better get back on deck?' Veronica suggested, seeking to create a diversion; 'we don't want any fighting in here, and there will be if the officers come down.'

Brisket turned a contemptuous eye on her. 'Speak when yer spoken to, Skinny Lizzie unless you want ter get my fist in yer ugly mug.'

'I'm the Bloke on this ship now,' Crowder added as he moved towards the door. 'Most of the officers is dead and the rest soon will be. Come on, Brisket.'

' 'Arf a mo' what's the 'urry.' The soldier put down his steel helmet on the table, and with a sudden movement reached out, his fingers closing on Ann's breast.

'Oh!' She gave a little cry of pain and jerking herself away knocked up his arm.

He stood there leering. 'Might 'ave a bit more on yer. I likes 'em plump meself but you'll do. D'yer know where ter find the Chief's cabin?'

Her eyes blazed at him but she did not reply.

'If yer don't I'll show yer. Might as well start as we mean to go on, eh? You'd best get along there an' tidy up; make it all nice and comfy fer yer new lord an' master, then wait till I got time to come an' attend ter yer.'

Ann swallowed hard. She was nearly choking with revulsion and loathing for this shallow skulled, red faced burly brute whose quick eyes were stripping her clothing from her body as he spoke. The knuckles of her hands stood out white and hard as she gripped the edge of the table behind her for support.

'Don't you go gettin' sullen now.' A threatening note crept into Brisket's voice. 'You'll find me easy enough ter live wiv if yer take it pleasant without no fuss, but wiv wimin oo s uppish I sez treat 'em rough, an' if yer starts puttin' on any of the la di da stuff, you'll get a darn good 'iding see?'

'Come on,' said Crowder impatiently, 'you'll have plenty o' time to amuse yourself when we've scuppered the rest of the bunch.'

'If you are the Captain, I appeal to you,' cried Veronica. 'For God's sake use your authority stop this man insulting Miss Croome and take him out of here.'

Crowder lurched back from the door and faced her; hands on hips, his enormous biceps standing out like cannon balls beneath his grimy skin.

'See here,' he said thickly, 'we're running this ship now, an' my right 'and man's entitled to 'is pleasure if 'e wants it. The officers have had their innings I'll be bound, an' we mean to have our turn make up yer mind to that. You may be skinny, but I like yer spirit so I'll attend to you meself later on. In the meantime there's work to be done on deck. Come on, Brisket.'

'Righto, Capting. I'll be with yer, but we might as well sample the goods.'

As Crowder left the wardroom Brisket seized Ann round the waist and flung her across the table, forcing her down beneath him while he sought to press his lips on hers.

She screamed and struggled, twisting in his grip and beating wildly at his face with her clenched fists, but he only gave a guffaw of laughter and his hot mouth fastened greedily upon the soft flesh of her neck.

Veronica snatched up the decanter, with the idea of smashing Brisket over the head, but Ann was jerking her face from side to side with such rapidity as she strove to free herself from the soldier that Veronica feared to hit her by mistake; slamming it down again she dashed out of the room.

Ann gasping and shuddering still endeavoured to fight Brisket off. An awful nausea seized her as she felt the sharp bristles of his chin rasp against her flesh, and the smell of his pungent breath in her nostrils, but her eyes were staring wide with blazing anger, and with a sudden snap her sharp teeth met, as she bit viciously into his ear.

With an obscene curse he jerked his head away and struck her savagely in the ribs.

'You ruddy bitch I'll learn you.' Then as she cowered away he raised his fist to strike her in the face.

'Stop that you! d'you hear!' roared a new voice, and Fanshawe came bounding into the room. He had recovered consciousness more than an hour ago but remained, bound, gagged, and seething with rage, in the pantry until Veronica had the inspiration to release him.

'Gawd! it's the Capting Brisket leapt away from Ann and stooped to snatch his rifle from the floor.

'Drop that, you little swine.' The Lieutenant Commander gripped a wine bottle by the neck and his blue eyes were cold with fury as he made a terrific swipe at the crouching soldier s head.

'Blast yer-​yer murdering devil!' Brisket jerked his head aside but the bottle caught him on the upper arm just as he lunged at the officer with his rifle. The bayonet slipped past Fanshawe's ribs and buried its point with a thud in the panelling of the wardroom.

Next second the two men had crashed to the floor, the bottle shattered and they rolled over and over striving to grab each other by the throat, while Crowder, who had caught the sounds of the struggle in the passage, came pounding back through the lobby.

The stoker stood hesitant in the doorway of the wardroom, his revolver raised, but fearing to shoot the wrong man in the melee. Suddenly the officer came out on top. With his left hand he had the soldier by the throat, and with his right was dealing him quick slashing strokes in the ribs and belly. Brisket choked and groaned as every hammer blow descended on his aching body.

'Stop!' screamed Veronica, 'stop!' as she flung herself on Crowder, but it was too late. His revolver flashed, there was an ear splitting report in the confined space of the wardroom, and at the same moment the Lieutenant Commander sank down on his antagonist, shot through the brain.

Brisket crawled from beneath him and staggered to his feet. His face was purple, his eyes bloodshot, half mad with pain and rage he grabbed at Ann again. In quick agonising gasps she had recovered her breath while they had been fighting and now swung the decanter at his head with all her force.

Then without warning came a sudden grinding crash. For a moment the deck of the wardroom seemed to lift and then plunge down again. Brisket was flung off his feet;

Ann's blow missed his skull but caught him a glancing blow across his left cheek and eye, then she pitched forward on top of him. Veronica and Crowder struggling together in the doorway fell in a tangled heap.

The ship seemed to hesitate for the fraction of a second and then soughed on again at full speed. Crowder scrambled to his knees and thrusting Veronica from him, stooped to grab the pistol he had dropped, but as he did so there came a heavy thud. With startling suddenness a man dropped into the wardroom from the upper deck through the after ammunition hatch. Swift on his heels another followed.

'Kenyon,' gasped Ann. 'Oh, Kenyon,' but he pushed her roughly aside and held the stoker covered with his gun. Petty Officer Sims, who was beside him, gripped the moaning Brisket by the neck.

Crowder was still kneeling on the floor, and had Kenyon arrived a second earlier he would have had him at his mercy. As it was the stoker's revolver was in his hand again and pointed upward at the middle of Kenyon's body. For a moment they remained, rigid, glaring into the barrels of each other's pistols.

'Stalemate,' panted Kenyon. 'If I fire, your gun will go off and get me. If you fire my finger will contract on the trigger and I'll get you how about it?'

'You're right.' Crowder came slowly to his full height.

'Lay your gun on the table and I'll put mine there too,' Kenyon lowered his pistol a fraction to encourage the leader of the mutineers. Then watching each other like cats, the two men put down their weapons, and stood one either end of the long table.

'What have we 'it?' demanded Crowder.

'We've been slap through a drifter.'

'Gawd! The poor blighters!'

'Do you think the ship is damaged?'

'What, the old hooker! She'd go through a drifter like a slab of butter, but we may have sprung a plate or two.'

'How can we find that out?'

'I'd better nip forward with some of the lads and have a looksee.'

In the sudden anxiety that they might be about to sink, both had momentarily allowed the mutiny to take second place, but they were brought back to it by Kenyon saying:

'Do you realise that the forepart of the ship is in our hands?'

'I know that an' I'm wondering how you ever got aft.'

'Crawled through your men in the dark with Sims here. It was he who put me up to the dodge of coming down the hatch, but how about making certain that the ship is all right?'

'Well, I can't go forward if your people are going to snipe at me, can I? What do you say to a bit of a truce?'

'Why not?' Kenyon drew himself up. 'I'm willing and you seem a sensible sort of chap; can't we agree to stop this slaughter altogether?'

'Yes, if you're prepared to accept me as Captain of the ship.'

'No, I can't do that. Your men would murder the General if they got hold of him, and I'll be frank with you, I'm scared for the ladies too. Even if you are giving me a straight deal, could you guarantee to protect them from a mutinous crew?'

'I couldn't, and I wouldn't have time to try.'

'Well, that's straight, anyway.'

For a moment there was silence while the two men considered the situation.

'Look here,' said Crowder suddenly, 'there's more of us nor what there is of you so I'll get you in the end won't I?'

'The odds are certainly in your favour.'

'Well, when I have, the hooker' be mine, won't it?'

'What's left of it; we may be damaged now.'

'Then I'm game to meet you 'alf way. We're makin' 'Arwich so I'll let you have a boat an' all the gear and you can 'op it for the nearest spot of mud.'

'All of us?' asked Kenyon quickly.

'Yes, all of you. An' to be honest I'd a sight sooner have the women out of it. If we kill your lot off there'll only be trouble among the men as to who get's at 'em first.'

'What about the badly wounded who've been fighting on our side?'

'Any who's not fit to be moved I'll take care of and put ashore later they'll be treated same as those who've copped it in our bunch.'

'You'll give us food and drink, and let us take our arms, ammunition, and Lewis guns?'

'Yes, them's the terms; I've no love o' killing for killin's sake, an' if you clear out it'll save life on both sides.'

Kenyon eyed his man for a moment. 'No tricks?'

'No, I'm a man o' me word.'

'All right, I agree to your terms.'

Crowder nodded, and picking up his pistol stuffed it in his belt. 'It'll be a bit o' time yet before we make 'Arwich, would you like to join your crowd on the fo'c'sle or will I send them down here?'

'A heavy spray was coming over the fo’c’sle when I came down,' said Kenyon slowly, 'so I think the ladies had better remain here and I prefer not to leave them again. Perhaps it would be best if you took Sims forward to explain to Mr. Marker what we have arranged, then he can come down or stay there as he likes. You'll accept Stoker Crowder's word that its all right, won't you, Sims?'

'Ay, ay, sir,' the Petty Officer agreed. 'I'll just close down this hatch though before I leave you in case someone takes a fancy to have a pot at you from the deck while we're away.'

'I'll shoot the first man wot tries any monkey tricks,' said Crowder gruffly. 'Come on, Sims, let's put a stop to that scrapping; they're still at it on the for'ard deck.'

'If Mr. Harker elects to stay up there you might ask him to send me down a couple of men will you?' Kenyon added. 'I'd like some help to clear up this.'

Fanshawe's dead body lay on the deck and a puddle of blood had trickled from his head. Brisket was crouching in a corner whimpering and groaning as he rocked to and fro, his hand clasped to his injured eye. The stoker pulled him to his feet and half led, half carried him out, throwing over his shoulder to Kenyon: 'I’ll send a couple o' your chaps unless the lot comes down.'

Sims, having secured the hatch, followed him from the wardroom and Kenyon was left alone with the two girls. Ann had sunk down on the settee and was weeping pitifully upon Veronica's shoulder. She had kept her nerve through the ordeal with Brisket but now that it was over all restraint had left her. She clutched the elder girl desperately while large tears welled from under her eyelids and coursed "silently down her cheeks. Her small body shook with the stress of her emotion.

Kenyon, who knew his sister more intimately than most of her closest friends, was well aware that her cynical irreverent humour was only an outer armour against the world, but even he was amazed by the soft natural phrases she used to soothe Ann's terror and distress.

A few moments later Rudd and his satellite the Grey shirt, Bob, appeared. The former grinned at Kenyon.

'Mr. 'Arker's compliments, sir, an' 'e sends 'is congrats on the Peace Treaty. An' there ain't no serious damage to the ship. Bein' 'is size 'e'd be certain to float all right, 'e sez, but 'e always did 'ate water.'

Between them they removed the Lieutenant Commander's body and cleaned up the wardroom. Rudd produced a bottle of brandy from the pantry and Ann was given a strong tot, after which her sobbing ceased and she lay with closed eyes against Veronica's shoulder.

For a seemingly interminable time the ship raced on into the darkness, while they sat, silent and disconsolate, weighed down with the horror and futility of the bloodshed which had taken place that night.

At last Crowder reappeared and told them to come on deck. They filed up the ladder for the last time, the stoker leading with his revolver drawn, and as they made their way forward the mutineers on the deck shambled aside to let them pass with sullen glances. In the bows they found Gregory propped up against the capstan.

'How is your Majesty?' Veronica inquired. She could not resist the gentle sarcasm.

He smiled up at her a little grimly in the darkness. 'Lucky to be alive, I suppose. The shell burst knocked me out, but miraculously I escaped further damage except for a twisted leg.'

Crowder's husky voice broke in behind them. 'Now if it's all the same to you I'm going to drop you here. See over there? That's the Sunk Lightship winking now an' that's the direction of 'Arwich. Nigh on fifteen mile it 'ud be, but if the men put their backs into it you should be there for breakfus'.'

'Right, carry on, Crowder,' said Gregory tonelessly.

The lurching form of the stoker disappeared in the shadows. Silence fell on the little group by the capstan while the thresh of the screws sensibly diminished and the destroyer eased down. The periodic flash from the Sunk appeared, a friendly note in the darkness, but as the ship heaved to in a gentle swell they felt a moderate breeze which had sprung up from the south eat,., and Petty Officer Sims remarked that he thought it heralded a threat of fog.

The sailors were busy turning out the whaler. The falls ran easily, and at a curt order from Crowder she was slipped with a barely perceptible splash. The party collected with their rifles at the ready, and marched aft with Harker leading. Sallust and a man who had a bullet through the calf of the leg was supported on each side, and followed the girls in the centre of the remaining troops; Kenyon brought up the rear.

Harker and Sims climbed into the boat which was gently tossing alongside. They made a rapid survey of the stores and reported all satisfactory. The girls, the wounded, the ammunition and the Lewis guns were lowered, then the rest of the party went over the side, Kenyon remaining alone for a moment with Crowder at the rails.

He pointed past the lightship and said: 'You are certain that is the direction of Harwich?'

'Sure of it I got a wife and kids in 'Arwich,' the stoker added thoughtfully.

'Have you?'

'Yes, an' I'm real anxious about them not that the old lady can't look after herself but still '

Kenyon glanced at the man curiously. A few hours before he had been prepared to murder anybody he had in fact shot his own Commander, for what Kenyon supposed he considered his rights and principles; now, he was as human as anybody else and anxious about his wife and children.

'Well, I hope they're all right,' he said. 'So long.'

'So long,' repeated the big man. 'Best o' luck,' and Kenyon slipped over the side into the waiting boat.

As the boat shoved off, the oars were got out by the soldiers and Greyshirts who were sitting amidships, and pulling slowly, they passed under the stern of the destroyer, being momentarily caught up in the wash from her powerful screws as she forged ahead again.

From the low altitude of the boat the flash of the Sunk did not show so plainly. A tenuous mist seemed to be rising from the sea and borne on the south easterly breeze, wisps of fog began to obscure their vision.

I don t like the looks of it,' muttered Sims who had the tiller.

Gregory, seated next to him in the stern, glanced back towards the ship, but with amazing swiftness it had already been swallowed up in the rapidly rising mist. The men were pulling as well as their inexperience allowed towards the flash of the Light Vessel, but it was only, visible hazily now, for the great banks of chill grey fog seemed to be closing in all round. Ten minutes later that too had disappeared.

Rudd relieved Sims at the tiller in order that the Petty Officer might get out the compass. For some minutes he fumbled with it and muttered to himself anxiously, then setting it down he said in a low voice to Gregory: 'I'm sorry, sir, but this compass has had a biff; it's out of action.'

Gregory nodded quietly: 'I see; we're out of the frying pan into the fire then adrift in the great North Sea?'

'I fear that's so, sir.'

Suddenly the hideous wail of a banshee echoed out over the desolate waste of the fogbound waters. I was Rudd who had broken into his other aria: 'A Life on the Ocean Wave.'

16

Latitude 51° 49' N. Longitude 2° 06' E.

'Oh, shut up,' moaned Gregory.

'Sorry, sir,' Rudd ceased his serenade abruptly. I forgot you were 'ors de combat.'

'This compass,' said Kenyon, 'can't you make it work, Sims?'

The P.O. had just unscrewed the top and removed the card. He shook his head. ' 'Fraid not, sir, the pivot's broken.'

'What'll we do then?' Harker asked.

'God knows. Let the men row gently but don't tire them. When daylight comes we'll get our direction from the sun. For the Lord's sake let me rest till then.' Gregory closed his eyes wearily.

Veronica made a pillow for his head with some coats and laid him out at full length on the bottom boards in the stern, while Kenyon and Silas checked up the occupants of the boat.

Besides themselves, the girls, Gregory, Rudd, and Sims, there were Sergeant Thompson with a lance corporal and six of his men, one of whom had a head wound, and another a bullet through his leg; also five Greyshirts, including Rudd's henchman, Bob, who sat in the bow of the boat with his arm in a sling. The party numbered twenty all told, therefore, of which four were disabled and two were women.

The boat was a long, five oared whaler so they were not unduly overcrowded. Sims had the tiller and Sergeant Thompson acted as look out in the bow. The pulling was jerky and uneven owing to the men's lack of experience with boats, but one or two had done a little sculling and Kenyon and Silas decided to take turns at stroke.

Counting out the wounded and the women there were just enough of them to form two complete crews; Kenyon with the Tommies, Rudd for steersman and Sergeant Thompson as look out making one watch; and Silas with his Greyshirts, Sims and the lance corporal the other. Once these arrangements had been made, Kenyon's party took first turn at working the boat.

It would have been stupid to exert themselves, since they only had a very vague idea where they were or in which direction they were going, and Kenyon did not attempt to do more than keep the whaler gently moving. Instead, by a monotonous repetition of In Out In Out' as the men dipped their oars he endeavoured to coach his crew into keeping some sort of time.

Gradually the darkness lightened but the mist lay heavy and thick about them, not even a glimmer of sun penetrated to the sea and no sound of sirens, indicating other shipping in the vicinity, reached them. With slow and wearisome regularity the oars rattled backwards and forwards in the crutches while the wavelets lapped and chuckled under the stern. The heavy seas of the night before had subsided into a gentle swell and the grey green waters seemed to rise rhythmically before them in huge low mounds, only to slip away again and mount to fresh heights in their wake.

When full daylight came they suffered the illusion that the mist was lifting, since from the stern it seemed that they could see several lengths ahead, but they soon realised that they had only discovered the genera! density of the fog, and their length of vision did not alter as they advanced into the curtain of chill greyness which shut out light and sun. A dearie feeling of loneliness and uncertainty stole over them, engendered by the silence and mystery of these seemingly impenetrable yet opaque walls of gloom. Even Barker's resilient cheerfulness was temporarily dampened and all of them were cold, hungry, and exhausted from lack of sleep.

Those who were not rowing crouched, dejected and miserable, in the bottom of the boat. The man with the injured leg groaned now and again. Gregory tossed in an uneasy sleep. Ann and Veronica, huddled together on one of the seats in the stern, sought to conserve what little warmth they could under a tarpaulin which had been found for them, and the oarsmen were half asleep as they swayed monotonously backwards and forwards at their task.

They had been rowing for the best part of an hour and a half when Silas leaned over to Kenyon:

'What about a spell?'

Kenyon nodded wearily. The boat rocked a little as they ceased to ply their oars and the crews changed over, then the men who had been relieved settled down as comfortably as they could on the hard bottom boards and nodded into sleep.

Rudd thought of examining their supplies and suggesting breakfast, but two thirds of the grey, drawn faces about him were sunk in deep slumber. It seemed no kindness to rouse them from their brief oblivion to a knowledge of the cheerless uncertain prospect. Next moment the thought had drifted from his mind and he too was asleep.

Ann woke from a fitful doze as Kenyon sat down beside her. 'How are you feeling?" he asked softly.

'Pretty miserable I'm so wretchedly cold,' she whispered, but she gave him a sleepy smile.

Very gently he slid his arm along the gunwale behind her shoulders and her head slipped down on to his chest. As he drew the corner of the covering more closely round her she closed her eyes, and wriggling into a more comfortable position dropped off again. Fagged out as he was and aching in every limb the moments were too precious for him to lose them in unconsciousness, and he remained, half dozing but never lapsing from the joyous knowledge of her nearness to him, all through Harker's spell.

With the idea of warming up his Greyshirts, Silas set a quicker stroke, but soon found it necessary to ease down and teach his squad to regularise their swing from Kenyon's example. Time wore on, and as the sun rose higher in the heavens the greyness lightened, but no rift on any side in the all pervading murk.

Kenyon was recalled from his half dreaming state by Silas placing a large hand, on his shoulder, and saying amiably: 'What about it? Your turn now, I reckon.' Another hour or more passed.

He shivered, the damp chill of the mist seemed to have penetrated to the very marrow of his bones, then he pulled himself together and gently resettling Ann, who was now sleeping soundly, took the oar. The crews were already changing places and soon his party had settled down again into a long monotonous stroke. Almost unconsciously he noticed that his men were rowing better for their short training, then the thought of food came to him, but it was too late to think of that for the moment now. He could not leave his oar, and Silas was already curled up in the stern sheets next to Petty Officer Sims, his broad chest rising and falling in the long respirations of deep and healthy sleep.

Rudd sat huddled at the tiller again, his blue eyes alert and watchful. He grinned at Kenyon, showing his uneven teeth. 'Tike yer 'oliday on the Broads this summer, eh, sir. Travel by Moonshine Line kids under six travels free an' if yer got a dozen yer get a cokernut.'

Kenyon's lips parted in a quick smile. 'I only wish we were on the Broads. Ever been there?'

'No, sir, but me uncle's brother in law were drowned there, so I knows a bit abart it.'

'How was that?'

'Well, 'e were a red 'eaded man, sir an' beggin' yer pardon, with no reference to yerself 'e were apt to fly off the 'andle a bit quick if yer know what I mean.'

'Yes,' Kenyon agreed, slightly mystified.

'An' 'e 'ad an upsydisy wiv a lock keeper wot wouldn't let 'im through 'is lock.'

'Why did he refuse to pay?'

'No it weren't that, but George were a bit of a Socialist, more fool 'im tho' we shouldn't speak ill of the dead, an' 'e couldn't see why 'e should wait fer a private yacht ter come through from the other side that's wot started the argument. Then the lock keeper starts gettin' personal abart 'is missus my uncle's sister as was an', they bein' on their 'oneymoon thet properly riled poor old George, so 'e ups in the boat to give the lock keeper a piece of 'is mind when unfortunate like 'e steps on the end of 'is oar.'

Kenyon quickly suppressed a rising chuckle and looked appropriately grave.

'An' the oar come up like a jack in the box an' 'it poor old George on the 'ead.'

'Dear me!'

'Yuss knocked 'im arse over tip, if you'll pardon the words, an' 'e never come to the surface no more.'

'That was appalling luck, especially on his honeymoon.'

'Yuss,' agreed Rudd philosophically, 'but me uncle's sister 'ad twins all the same.'

'Did she get the King's bounty?'

'No fear, sir that's triplets.'

Kenyon swayed backwards and forwards at his oar while Mr. Rudd, having discovered in him a willing and intelligent listener, entertained him with a variety of those views which a close acquaintance with men and things had impressed upon him.

At none o'clock Kenyon woke Silas, who opened his enormous mouth in a gigantic series of yawns and then demanded a cigarette before he took over, his own supply being exhausted.

'Cigarette, sir,' exclaimed Rudd, 'why, 'ere you are, I got enough to larst us even if we goes ter China,' and he produced a tin of a hundred from one of his bulging pockets.

'Thanks, boy were did you get these?' Silas puffed at the Balkan Sobranie contentedly.

'I made 'em out of the Officers Mess in the ship, sir; 'tisn't right them Bolsheviks should be left wiv decent cigarettes although I prefers gaspers meself. Still, I thought they might come in handy. Mr. Gregory's a rare one for 'is Turks.'

'What about some food?' suggested Kenyon when he had been relieved of his Oar.

'Righto, sir. If Mr. Sims'll take charge of the Mayflower, I'll 'ave a look at the eats.'

Sims took over the tiller again but he leant forward towards Kenyon. 'I'm afraid we're a long way off course, sir.'

'Are we? Well, that's not surprising in this wretched fog.'

'You see it's this way, sir,' the Petty Officer lowered his voice. 'The Sunk isn't more'n twelve miles from the shore and so we ought to have sighted land a couple of hours ago if we was makin' dead for it, and even if we was swept out of our course a bit by the current, we ought to have made landfall by now.'.

'Well, what s the best thing to do?' inquired Kenyon.

'Give the men a spell, sir, they can do with it, and we may be rowing further out to sea for all we know. We can keep a sharp look out for shipping an' the sun may break through later in the day.'

'That's sense,' agreed Silas. 'Come on, boys, ship your oars.'

Rudd had pulled an oblong box from under the seat and was examining its contents critically, 'My! this ain't the larder of the Aquitania,' he said softly. "Where's that ruddy Bob-​Bob where are yer?'

'Here I am, sergeant.'

'What d'yer do wiv them stores I give yer ter take care of?'

I left them on the ship, Mr. Rudd. I put them down when the lady was bandaging my arm, and I forgot to pick them up again.'

'Streuth,' muttered Rudd to Kenyon. 'These kids don't arf make yer sick. Anyone ud think 'ed lorst 'is blooming 'ow d'yer does instead of 'aving a blighty in the arm. Any'ow we'll 'ave to make do wiv what they give us.'

'What is there then?'

'Biscuits, a lump of meat, some tea wiv nothin' ter cook it on, an' a bit of cheese.'

'All right, the biscuits and cheese will do for the moment.'

They were hard, unsweetened ship's biscuits and the cheese was mouse trap cheddar. Not a particularly appetising breakfast for people whose nerves had been stretched to the utmost limit of endurance all through the night, and who had then spent some five hours crouching in an open boat chilled to the marrow by sea mist; but the men put a good face on it and gnawed away at the broken bits of flour and water.

' 'Ow abart a nice cup of corfie, sarg?' one of them called cheerfully to Rudd.

' 'Ow abart it, son! Like me ter bring it up to yer bedroom, eh?'

A little ripple of laughter went round the boat.

Kenyon looked across at Veronica, who was cheerfully attacking the iron biscuits with her sharp white teeth. 'How are you feeling this morning, long legs?'

'Grim, my sweet, grim! But I suppose this early rising is good for one, it's the first time I have eaten any breakfast for years.'