The Long Trick Part 29

he shouted. "The engines are labouring at full speed, but we are scarcely making any headway. The cut-outs have fused."

Von Sperrgebiet cursed under his breath. "Stop the engines," he said.

"If we can't swim we must sink." He gave the necessary orders and the boat dropped gradually through the water till she rested on the bottom.

"Now," said von Sperrgebiet. "Turn on the gramophone, one of you, if you can find it."

There was a pause while someone fumbled in the darkness, and a click.

Then a metallic tune blared forth bravely from the unseen instrument.

"That's right," said von Sperrgebiet in a low voice, speaking for the last time. "'_Deutschland unter Alles!_'" His laugh was like the bark of a sick dog.

Twenty fathoms over their heads, under the grey sky, and blown upon by the strong salt wind, a large man in the uniform of a Lieutenant of the Naval Reserve was standing in the bows of an Armed Trawler; his gaze was fixed on something floating upon the surface of the water ahead; but presently he raised his eyes to the circle of Armed Trawlers around him riding lazily on the swell. In the rear of the gun in the bows of each craft stood a little group of men all staring intently at the floating object. The Lieutenant waved an arm to the nearest consort.

"They reckon they'll take it lying down," he said grimly. "Well, I don't blame 'em!" He nodded at the figure in the wheel-house.

"Full speed, skipper!" The telegraph clinked, and they moved ahead, slowly gathering way. Then the Reserve-man turned, facing aft.

"Let her go, George," he said, raising his voice. The trawler fussed ahead like a self-important hen that has laid an egg. There was a violent upheaval in the water astern, and a column of foam and wreckage leaped into the air with a deafening roar.

The Reserve Lieutenant pulled a knife out of his pocket, and, bending down, thoughtfully added another nick to a long row of notches in the wooden beam of the trawler's fore hatch.

CHAPTER XIII

SPELL-O!

Lettigne sat on the edge of his sea-chest contemplating a large fragment of a German sh.e.l.l which he held on his knees.

"Will someone tell me where I am going to pack this interesting relic of my blood-stained past?" he enquired of the flat at large.

The after cabin-flat had all the appearances of the interior of a homestead in imminent danger of occupation by an enemy. In front of each open chest stood a Mids.h.i.+pman feverishly cramming boots and garments into already bulging portmanteaux and kit-bags. The deck was littered with rejected collars, pyjamas and underwear; golf-clubs, cricket-bats and fis.h.i.+ng-rods lay about in chaotic confusion.

"Will someone tell me where I'm going to pack anything?" replied Malison, delving into the inmost recesses of his chest. "Fancy being told to pack and get away on leave and given an hour to do it in! It isn't decent. It always takes me a week to find my gear."

"Well, you'd better buck up," interposed the Senior Mids.h.i.+pman. "The boat leaves in ten minutes."

"Help!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Lettigne. "I don't care," he added. "I'm not going without my blinking trophy." He removed a pair of boots from the interior of an apoplectic-looking kit-bag and subst.i.tuted the jagged piece of metal. "It weighs about half a ton, but it very nearly bagged Little Willie, and I want my people to see it." He tugged and strained at the straps. "Make 'em appreciate their little hopeful.... Ouf!

There! I only hope this yarn about there being no porters anywhere isn't true."

Harcourt, who had reduced the contents of his suit-case in volume by the simple expedient of stamping on them, had finally succeeded in closing the lid.

"Never mind," he shouted. "What does anything matter so long's we're 'appy!" He brandished a cricket-bat and sang in his high, cracked tenor:

"Keep the home fires burning, Oh, keep the home fires burning, Keep the home fires burning...."

"I dunno how it goes on," he concluded, lapsing into speech again.

"_'Cos we're all going on leave!_" roared Matthews. "That's how it ends. That's how everything ends. Ain't it all right?" He closed his chest with a bang and sat on the top with his hands in his pockets, drumming his heels against the sides. "Snooks!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "I haven't felt like this since I was a mere lad."

"What are you going to do on leave?" queried the tall sandy-haired Mids.h.i.+pman popularly known as "Wonk."

"Do?" echoed Matthews. "Do?" He allowed his imagination full rein for a moment. "Well," he said, "by way of a start I shall make my soldier brother take me to dinner somewhere where there's a band and fairies in low-necked dresses with diamond ta-rarras on their heads."

"That sounds pretty dull," objected Mordaunt, affectionately burnis.h.i.+ng the head of a cleek with a bit of emery paper. "Is that all you're going to do?"

"Not 't all. After dinner I shall smoke a cigar--a mild one, you know--and then we'll go to a 'Revoo' with more fairies. Lots of 'em,"

he added ruminatingly, "skipping about like young stag-beetles--you know the kind of thing----" The visionary got down off his chest, and, plucking the sides of his monkey-jacket between finger and thumb, pirouetted gracefully amid the scattered suit-cases and litter of clothes. "Comme ca!" he concluded.

"What then?" demanded Lettigne, growing interested.

"Then," continued Matthews, "then we'll go and have supper somewhere--oysters and things like that. Mushrooms, p'raps...."

"With an actress, Matt?" asked a small Mids.h.i.+pman, known as "the White Rabbit," in half-awed, half-incredulous tones of admiration.

"P'raps," admitted the prospective man-about-town. "My brother knows tons of 'em."

Harcourt burst into shouts of delight. "Can't you see Matt?" he cried hilariously. "Having supper with a ma.s.sive actress!" He slapped his thighs delightedly. "Matt swilling ginger ale and saying, 'You're 's'

dev'lish fine womansh.' ... No, don't start sc.r.a.pping, Matt; I've just put on a clean collar ... and it's got to last.... All right--_pax_, then."

"Well," said Matthews, when peace was restored. "What's everyone else going to do? What are you going to do, Harcourt?"

"Me and Mordy are going to attrapay the wily trout," was the reply.

"He's going to spend part of the leave with me, and I'm going to spend part with him. We're going to clean out the pond at his place.

Topping rag."

"And you, Wonk?"

"Cricket," was the reply. "And strawberries. Chiefly strawberries."

"What about you, Bosh?"

"I shall lie in a hammock, and tell lies about the Navy to my sisters a good deal of the time. And when I'm tired of that I shall just lie--in the hammock. Sorry, I didn't mean to be funny----Ow! I swear it was unintentional. Matt, I swear----"

The furious jarring of an electric gong somewhere overhead drowned all other sounds.

"Boat's called away!" shouted the Senior Mids.h.i.+pman. "Up on deck, everyone. Knock off sc.r.a.pping, Bosh and Matt, or you'll be all adrift."

There was a general scramble for bags and suit-cases, and, burdened with their impedimenta, the Mids.h.i.+pmen made their way up on to the quarterdeck.

Thorogood, Officer of the Watch, was walking up and down with an expression of bored resignation to the inevitable. Forward of the after superstructure the liberty-men were falling-in in all the glory of white cap-covers and brand-new suits, carrying little bundles in their hands. There was on each man's countenance that curious blend of solemnity and ecstatic antic.i.p.ation only to be read in the face of a bluejacket or marine about to start on long leave.

A group of officers gathering near the after gangway stood waiting for the boat and exchanging chaff customary to such an occasion.

"Here come the Snotties," said the Staff Surgeon. "Lord, I wish I had a gramophone to record their conversation outside my cabin while they were packing." He raised his voice. "Now, then, James, what about this boat? We shall miss the train if you keep us all hanging about here much longer. Some of us have got appointments in town we don't want to miss--haven't we, Matthews?"

The Mids.h.i.+pman thus suddenly addressed flushed and was instantly the target for his companions' humour. "That's right, sir," confirmed Lettigne maliciously. "Matthews is taking a real live actress out to supper to-morrow night."