"I'd like a few words with your captain," he said, addressing an able seaman.

The man eyed the erratically-clad New Zealander with tolerant amus.e.m.e.nt.

"A word with the owner, eh? Wot's wrong now, chum? Has your raggie pinched your dress-suit case?"

"Cut it out, my man," said Malcolm authoritatively. "In your lingo, 'stow it'. Request your captain to see Mr. Carr, of the New Zealand Rifle Brigade."

That did it. The intentionally-misleading use of the word 'mister'

led the bluejacket to believe that Malcolm was a junior officer of one of the overseas contingent. For the first time in his life the young New Zealander received a Royal Navy salute.

"Very good, sir," said the bluejacket. "I axes your pardon, sir; no offence meant."

It was not long before Malcolm found himself in the presence of Lieutenant-Commander Sefton in the chart-room. Briefly he stated his case against the spy, Konrad von Feldoffer.

"You are absolutely certain?" asked the Lieutenant-Commander. "There would be a most unholy rumpus if I ran the fellow in and he turned out to be a neutral of unimpeachable character."

"I'll stake anything on what I say, sir," replied Malcolm. "If you will let me confront him----"

"No, no!" interrupted the skipper of the _Angiboo_. "We don't want the dramatic touch on board this craft. I'll send for the master of the _Koning der Zee_, and get him to% bring Herr von Feldoffer to me. We'll do the job as politely as possible."

Just at that moment the rest of the destroyer flotilla was sighted, bearing south-south-west. Until the _Angiboo_ resumed station her lieutenant-commander dared not leave the bridge.

"Now," he resumed, "you make your way aft, and keep out of sight until I call you. I'll interview friend Feldoffer on the quarter-deck. Messenger, pa.s.s the word for the master of the Dutchman to see me in the ward-room."

Malcolm followed the bluejacket down the ladder. Then, with every precaution, he made his way aft as far as the after funnel. From this position he was within hailing distance of the diminutive quarter-deck.

Presently the messenger returned to the bridge and made his report.

Lieutenant-Commander Sefton descended and proceeded to the officers'

quarters aft.

While the Dutch skipper was searching for the pa.s.senger, von Feldoffer was anxiously keeping an eye on the bridge, fearful lest any of the officers were shipmates with him on the armed merchant-cruiser. He saw Malcolm ascend the bridge, but, the latter being in mufti and having his back turned towards him, von Feldoffer did not recognize the New Zealander. But when Malcolm came down the ladder the astute Hun made the discovery that he was in a very tight corner.

Deliberating with himself, the spy decided to "mark time" until events shaped themselves. It was a pure coincidence that the New Zealander and he were on the same boat; it might be that the latter's visit to the bridge was utterly unconnected with him. He hoped so; but still, things looked black.

A hand tapped him on the shoulder. Von Feldoffer started violently, and, turning, found the master of the _Koning der Zee_ confronting him.

"I startled you, Mynheer van Gheel," remarked the Dutch skipper, addressing the spy by the name he had a.s.sumed before leaving Holland. "The English captain wishes to see you in his cabin."

"For what purpose, Mynheer?" enquired von Feldoffer uneasily.

"_'t Spijt me!_" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Dutchman. "How can I tell, unless it be that your signature is required to the written report upon the destruction of my unfortunate ship? It is purely a matter of form, I should imagine."

Konrad von Feldoffer bowed, and, falling into step with the Dutchman, walked aft.

"Look out, Malcolm!" whispered Peter, who had joined his brother by the after funnel. "The fellow's coming this way."

Taken aback, Malcolm turned and faced the spy. The latter, betraying no sign of recognition, walked past him; then, before his companion or any of the bluejackets on deck could prevent him, he cleared the stanchion-rails and leapt headlong into the sea.

"Man overboard!"

Promptly a couple of life-buoys were hurled over the side. A petty officer proposed to dive after the suicide, but was instantly told to "Hold fast!" by one of the officers. A semaph.o.r.e message was sent to the destroyer next astern to keep a look-out for the drowning man, but he was not seen again. Either his back had been broken on impact with the water, for the destroyer was making a good twenty-five knots, or else he had been caught by the blades of one of the two starboard propellers.

"Perhaps it's for the best," commented Lieutenant-Commander Sefton when the circ.u.mstances of the tragedy were told him. "It has saved the nation the cost of a trial and a dozen rounds of ball ammunition."

CHAPTER XXVIII

In the Firing-line Again

Ten days later Peter and Malcolm Carr found themselves told off to a draft that was about to leave Sling Camp for the Front. During that time Malcolm had been notified that the sum of one hundred pounds had been awarded him in recognition of his services in discovering the infernal machine in the coal-bunker of the transport _Pomfret Castle_. Other awards had been made to Sergeant Fortescue and Rifleman Selwyn.

"A jolly useful sum!" remarked Peter. "What are you going to do with it?"

"Cable it to New Zealand," replied Malcolm. "I don't want to touch it here if it can be avoided."

"Think twice, old man," said his brother. "Bank it in a British bank, and then if you do want to draw it in a hurry it's there. You never know your luck. If anything should happen to you out there--one has to consider such a thing--the money can then be cabled to the governor."

The draft from Sling was a large one. Report had it that another big "stunt" was imminent, and that New Zealand was to have the honour of being well represented in the impending operations.

Almost without incident the draft crossed the Channel, and once more Malcolm found himself on the soil of France. It was now late September. Normandy looked its best, the leaves displaying their autumn tints, and the apple trees bending under the weight of fruit.

And yet, only a few miles away, was the war-tortured belt of terrain, a ma.s.s of ruined buildings, even now being rebuilt, where Briton and Gaul were slowly yet surely wresting French soil from the Hun.

Most of the New Zealanders around etaples were now under canvas, the weather being fine, but with a sharp fall in temperature during the night. Upon the arrival of the new draft the men were told off to various companies, and once more the two Carrs were separated.

Malcolm took the matter philosophically, knowing that in war-time a soldier cannot pick and choose his mates; but to his astonishment and delight he found that Fortescue and Selwyn were in the same lines.

"Yes, I'm back again," remarked the former, after Malcolm had related his adventures. "I had a good time in Blighty, and when I was pa.s.sed out by the medical board I was offered a staff job at Hornchurch."

"And like a jay he turned it down," added Selwyn. "He might have had a soft time in Blighty; instead, he puts in for France--and just as winter's coming on, too."

"One would imagine that you were a lead-swinger, Selwyn," exclaimed Fortescue.

"Not so much of that, Digger," protested the latter. "Of course I couldn't hang behind when I've to look after big helpless Sergeant Fortescue."

"What happened after you got your buckshie at Messines?" asked Malcolm.

"A regular holiday--it was _bonsor_," replied Selwyn. "Nine hours after I got hit I was at Tin Town, Brockenhurst. Three weeks there and they pushed me on to Home Mead. Take my tip, Malcolm; if you get a buckshie try and work it to be sent there. Had the time of my life. The other boys will tell you the same. It is some hospital.

Then back to Codford, where I had my leave."

"Where did you go?" asked Malcolm.

"The usual round; Edinburgh and Glasgow. Gorgeous time there, too; people were awfully kind."

When the young rifleman described his Scottish journey as the usual round, he was referring to the somewhat curious fact that a large percentage of New Zealanders go to Edinburgh when granted leave after being discharged from hospital. It is a sort of solemn rite, and few men from "down under" go back to New Zealand without seizing the opportunity of paying a flying visit to the "Land of Burns".