The Submarine Hunters

"Rather!" declared Ross emphatically. "You'd never guess. It's our old pal, Hermann Rix, late of U75. No wonder he's tearing his hair, for he must have broken his parole. He knew me directly he came over the side, and didn't forget to rub it in. You should have seen his face when, in the midst of his beastly gibes, the old Capella came snorting up."

With Jan acting as interpreter, Vernon put his case before the Dutch skipper, who seemed only too delighted at the way events had turned. His satisfaction at getting rid of his Hunnish visitors was evident, in spite of the stolidity of his manners.

"I want no pirates on board the Hoorn," he said. "Take them and welcome!"

While the Flight-Sub and Ross were "squaring up" with the good-hearted Jan, Vernon rounded up Ober-leutnant Rix and his boat's crew. Finding that their protests to the Dutch skipper were of no avail, they sullenly gave in.

"Look here," said Ross, taking his chum aside. "I don't want to crow over that fellow. It isn't cricket. You might take him to the Capella and come back for us. You'll have a pretty good load as it is."

"Two British officers, escaped from an internment camp, on board the Hoorn, sir," reported Vernon, as he delivered his cargo of German prisoners on board the Capella. "They would like to be taken off."

"Carry on, then," replied Captain Syllenger.

As the cutter returned from her second trip to the Hoorn, the Capella's crew awaited with undisguised curiosity the arrival of the men who had contrived to escape from irksome detention in a neutral country.

Presently Shrap, who was sitting up on the quarterdeck, gave a bark of delight.

"Good old Shrap!" said Ross. "He knew me in spite of my rig-out."

"Blow me, if it ain't Mr. Trefusis!" exclaimed one of the men.

The next instant the first of three hearty cheers burst from the throats of the crew, with whom Ross was a great favourite. The Dutchmen, too, joined in, to the accompaniment of a prolonged blast upon the Hoorn's siren as she resumed her interrupted voyage.

"It's like being home again," declared Ross, after Captain Syllenger and the other officers had congratulated him. "But, I say, can anyone lend me a decent suit of togs?"

CHAPTER XXIX

Bound for the Baltic

A fortnight had elapsed since the day on which H.M.S. Capella towed the captured unterseeboot into Harwich harbour. Since then she had been attached to a base on the East coast of Scotland, her sphere of usefulness in the English Channel being a thing of the past.

The German blockade had fizzled out like a damp squib. Absolutely afraid to risk the remaining boats in operations that would certainly end in their being unceremoniously conveyed to Davy Jones's locker, the German Admiralty had dispatched them to the Mediterranean, where, under the Austrian flag, they attempted, at first with a certain degree of success, to terrorize merchantmen by their "frightfulness".

So the Capella had been ordered to Cromarty Firth, pending the completion of arrangements for sending a fleet of swift destroyers and patrol-boats to operate in conjunction with the British submarines in the Baltic.

Almost the first duty Ross had to undertake upon arrival was to draw money for the ship's company from the Paymaster's office at Invergordon.

Accompanied by six seamen, wearing their side-arms and carrying three canvas bags, the midshipman landed, and proceeded to the office. Leaving the escort "standing easy", Ross entered the building and found himself confronted by a door on which was painted the words, "Accountant Officer". Underneath was a piece of cardboard on which was written: "Don't knock—walk in".

The midshipman accepted the invitation and entered. It was a large room. Against one wall were three knee-hole desks, at which were seated naval "writers"—petty officers detached for clerical work. Two more were bending over a large tray, studiously engaged in "putting the money up", or placing wages in the compartments of the tray in order to facilitate the forthcoming payment to the civilian workers attached to the establishment. At a large desk was an officer, with his head almost touching a litter of papers. His back was turned, but Ross could see by the gold-and-white band that he was an Assistant Paymaster.

Hearing footsteps behind him, the A.P. broke into a torrent of abuse:

"Of all the scatter-brained idiots that act the giddy goat, this strafed lunatic takes the proverbial ship's biscuit!" he exclaimed. "Just look here, Carruthers; did you ever see such a piece of arrant tomfoolery——"

He turned his head, and saw it was not Carruthers.

"Sorry," he said apologetically. "Thought it was someone else. You must have imagined that I was off my head. It's a wonder I'm not. Look at this: here am I up to my eyes in work, and I get this sort of thing fired at me."