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“Dig out, Alf. Put your nix mangiare back into it. The fog’s peelin’ off like a petticoat. Where’s Two Six Seven?”

“I can’t see her,” I replied, “but there’s a light low down ahead.”

“The Agatha!” They rowed desperately through the uneasy dispersal of the fog for ten minutes and ducked round the trawler’s bow.

“Well, Emanuel means ‘God with us’–so far.” Pyecroft wiped his brow, laid a hand on the low rail, and as he boosted me up to the trawler, I saw Moorshed’s face, white as pearl in the thinning dark.

“Was it all right?” said he, over the bulwarks.

“Vaccination ain’t in it. She’s took beautiful. But where’s 267, Sir?” Pyecroft replied.

“Gone. We came here as the fog lifted. I gave the Devolution four. Was that you behind us?”

“Yes, sir; but I only got in three on the Devolution. I gave the Cryptic nine, though. They’re what you might call more or less vaccinated.”

He lifted me inboard, where Moorshed and six pirates lay round the Agatha’s hatch. There was a hint of daylight in the cool air.

“Where is the old man?” I asked.

“Still selling ’em fish, I suppose. He’s a darling! But I wish I could get this filthy paint off my hands. Hallo! What the deuce is the Cryptic signalling?”

A pale masthead light winked through the last of the fog. It was answered by a white pencil to the southward.

“Destroyer signalling with searchlight.” Pyecroft leaped on the stern- rail. “The first part is private signals. Ah! now she’s Morsing against the fog. ‘P-O-S-T’–yes, ‘postpone’–‘D-E-P-‘ (go on)! ‘departure–till– further–orders–which–will–be com” (he’s dropped the other m) “‘unicated–verbally. End,’.” He swung round. “Cryptic is now answering: ‘Ready–proceed–immediately. What–news–promised–destroyer– flotilla?'”

“Hallo!” said Moorshed. “Well, never mind, They’ll come too late.”

“Whew! That’s some ‘igh-born suckling on the destroyer. Destroyer signals: ‘Care not. All will be known later.’ What merry beehive’s broken loose now?”

“What odds! We’ve done our little job.”

“Why–why–it’s Two Six Seven!”

Here Pyecroft dropped from the rail among the fishy nets and shook the Agatha with heavings. Moorshed cast aside his cigarette, looked over the stern, and fell into his subordinate’s arms. I heard the guggle of engines, the rattle of a little anchor going over not a hundred yards away, a cough, and Morgan’s subdued hail. … So far as I remember, it was Laughton whom I hugged; but the men who hugged me most were Pyecroft and Moorshed, adrift among the fishy nets.

There was no semblance of discipline in our flight over the Agatha’s side, nor, indeed, were ordinary precautions taken for the common safety, because (I was in the Berthon) they held that patent boat open by hand for the most part. We regained our own craft, cackling like wild geese, and crowded round Moorshed and Hinchcliffe. Behind us the Agatha’s boat, returning from her fish-selling cruise, yelled: “Have ‘ee done the trick? Have ‘ee done the trick?” and we could only shout hoarsely over the stern, guaranteeing them rum by the hold-full.

“Fog got patchy here at 12:27,” said Henry Salt Hinchcliffe, growing clearer every instant in the dawn. “Went down to Brixham Harbour to keep out of the road. Heard whistles to the south and went to look. I had her up to sixteen good. Morgan kept on shedding private Red Fleet signals out of the signal-book, as the fog cleared, till we was answered by three destroyers. Morgan signalled ’em by searchlight: ‘Alter course to South Seventeen East, so as not to lose time,’ They came round quick. We kept well away–on their port beam–and Morgan gave ’em their orders.” He looked at Morgan and coughed.

“The signalman, acting as second in command,” said Morgan, swelling, “then informed destroyer flotilla that Cryptic and Devolution had made good defects, and, in obedience to Admiral’s supplementary orders (I was afraid they might suspect that, but they didn’t), had proceeded at seven knots at 11:23 p. M. to rendezvous near Channel Islands, seven miles N.N.W. the Casquet light. (I’ve rendezvoused there myself, Sir.) Destroyer flotilla would therefore follow cruisers and catch up with them on their course. Destroyer flotilla then dug out on course indicated, all funnels sparking briskly.”