Peter took the orange-coloured envelope and opened it. Within was a form bearing the words:

"Report for duty at Rosyth immediately."

"No answer," said Peter shortly; then "You might put this in the post for me," handing the man the stamped envelope.

Barcroft Senior retraced his steps. Dashed to the ground were the castles in the air he was building concerning Billy's programme.

"Jolly rough luck," he decided, that a youngster's leave should be curtailed in that off-hand manner.

Then he realised that there was a higher claim. His son was wanted--urgently. Personal considerations were nothing compared with the exigencies of the Senior Service in wartime.

"It shows Billy is of some importance," he decided proudly. "They wouldn't trouble to recall him if he were otherwise. Hang it all! if he doesn't turn up within the next half-hour he'll miss the 4.45 from Tarleigh, and that will put him in the cart as far as the Scotch express is concerned. I'll go and meet him and hurry him along."

Peter Barcroft was not usually given to changing his mind in this erratic fashion, but perhaps present circ.u.mstances were sufficient excuse. He had not seen his son for some twelve months previous to Billy's belated arrival at Ladybird Fold fourteen hours ago. Of that fourteen hours six had been employed by making up arrears of sleep, and another five by Peter's own act of sending his son into Barborough. Of the remaining time father and son had spent hardly an hour alone--and there were such a lot of things that Peter wanted to tell his boy. Then, as a coping-stone to the series of disappointments, Billy had not seen his mother, as Mrs. Barcroft was not expected home until the evening.

While Peter was walking along the high road, Billy on his homeward journey took the path across the fields, and on the former's return was sitting comfortably in front of the fire.

"Hullo! how did I miss you?" was Peter's greeting. He was considerably puzzled as to how Billy had contrived to reach home with the donkey without pa.s.sing him on the road. "I've a telegram for you."

"About Fuller?" asked the flight-sub eagerly.

"No," replied Mr. Barcroft. "Why should he want to wire? It's your recall, my boy; and it's too late for the train that catches the Scotch express. She's leaving Tarleigh station now."

"Something in the wind, I'll swear," declared Billy, searching in vain for a time-table. "Fuller's missing. You've heard me mention him several times. Went after one of the returning Zeppelins and hasn't been seen since. Only the other day----"

"What are you disarranging my desk for?" interrupted his father. "A time-table? Here you are. Next train from Tarleigh is at 7.5. That will catch a connection at Barborough and land you at Edinburgh about 4 A.M. How much further to Rosyth?"

"About an hour," replied Billy. "Might do it in time."

"No use worrying about it: that won't help matters," said his father philosophically. "You'll be able to see your mother. She arrives by the same train you leave by. It will only be for a couple of minutes. Better luck next time." Tea over, Billy began his preparations for the journey north. With the a.s.sistance of Mrs.

Carter his greatcoat was made sufficiently presentable until he could borrow a uniform from an obliging shipmate.

At the station the flight-sub's meeting with his mother was, as Peter had predicted, only of a brief duration, delayed until the guard's in patient exhortation of "Take your seat, sir, if you're going," brought it to a close.

"Good-bye, my boy!" said Barcroft Senior as his son lowered the window of the now closed door.

"I say, pater!" exclaimed Billy, suddenly remembering something in his pocket. "Here, take this. It will interest you. Forgot all about it before this."

Peter took the proffered paper--a copy of the doc.u.ment found on the body of the dead German airman, setting a price upon Barcroft Senior's head.

The train was on the move. Billy, with his head and shoulders still protruding through the window, waved farewells to his parents, then----

"Dash it all!" he shouted. "b.u.t.terfly--the donkey--ran away. Clean forgot to mention it."

But Peter merely shook his head. The rumble of the train made the words quite inaudible.

It was nearly seven in the morning when Flight-sub-lieutenant Barcroft arrived at Rosyth, after a long and tedious journey. Mists were hanging over the waters of the Firth of Forth. Even the lofty structure of the Forth Bridge was hidden by the grey bank of vapour.

Service craft of all sizes and descriptions were feeling their way up and down the broad estuary, making the welkin ring with the discordant braying on their syrens and foghorns.

"Have you seen anything of the 'Hippodrome's' boat?" inquired Billy of a petty officer on duty on the jetty."

"'Hippodrome's' boat, sir?" repeated the man. "Why, the 'Hippodrome'

got under way a couple of hours ago, along with the Seventh Destroyer Division, The Ninth's just off, sir."

Barcroft rapidly reviewed the situation. Experience had taught him that there are often two ways of doing things in the Service--the official and the non-official. To be strictly in accord with the precedent he should have reported himself to the Admiral, giving his reasons why he missed his ship and getting a smart "rap over the knuckles." On the other hand he might be able to enlist the sympathies of one of the officers of the Ninth Destroyer Division and get a pa.s.sage--provided the boats were proceeding to the same rendezvous. He resolved to put the latter proposition into effect; failing that, he would have to fall back upon the official routine.

His luck was in. As he hurried across the caisson on his way to the jetty where the destroyers were berthed he overtook a lieutenant commander, whom he recognised as Terence Aubyn, a particular friend of Flight-lieutenant Fuller.

"By all means," replied Aubyn when Barcroft had explained the circ.u.mstances and requested a pa.s.sage. "We're pretty certain to fall in with the 'Hippodrome,' although I have as yet no idea of the position of the rendezvous. In fact, I have a couple of her men on board now. They got adrift in a copper punt last night, and were only picked up after the ship had left."

"No further news of Fuller, I'm afraid?" remarked Barcroft.

"Not a whisper," replied the lieutenant-commander as he ran briskly up the steeply sloping "brow" to the quarter-deck of the destroyer "Audax."

And thus Flight-sub-lieutenant Barcroft found himself on board one of the newest type of destroyers bound for an unknown rendezvous somewhere in the North Sea.

CHAPTER XVI

CAPTIVES IN A SUBMARINE

ON being hauled on board the German submarine Fuller and Kirkwood were sternly ordered to go below, their captors indicating a small hatchway fifteen feet for'ard of the conning-tower.

The prisoners had no option. They descended the almost vertical steel ladder and found themselves in practically the bow compartment of the vessel. It was the crew s.p.a.ce of the submarine mine-layer, for the craft, on which was painted the number UC49, was not fitted with torpedo tubes, nor did she carry guns of the "disappearing mountings" type. Her part was to sneak out of the Elbe, cruise on the surface whenever practicable, diving only when any strange vessel hove in sight. Her cargo had consisted of forty metal cylinders stowed aft--mines of the most recent type--but having sown her harvest of death and destruction, regardless whether an enemy or a neutral vessel fell a victim to the deadly peril, she was on her way back to the Fatherland.

The compartment in which Fuller and his companion found themselves was about thirty feet in length and fifteen at its maximum diameter, which was at the after end. For'ard it tapered, at first gradually, then sharply, until it terminated at a bulkhead close to the bows.

In the lower part of the recess were the anchors and cables, capable of being lowered or hauled by means of elaborate mechanism which was controlled from within. The upper portion of the bow compartment consisted of a large fresh-water tank. Round the crew s.p.a.ce were lockers that served a double purpose: besides containing the effects of the men they were used as seats. Hooks were bolted to the cambered deck-beams in order to sling hammocks--in fact, half a dozen hammocks were at that time occupied--and mess-tables.

Against the after bulkhead was a small part.i.tioned-off place that served as the cook's galley, the stove being heated by electricity.

While running awash the fumes were carried off by means of a funnel that projected a few inches above the deck, which was fitted with a watertight cover that could be operated from the conning-tower when the submarine was trimmed for diving. Yet in spite of the ventilation the place reeked vilely of a variety of odours. Fuller wondered what the atmosphere must be like when UC49 was submerged.

In addition to the sleeping occupants of the hammocks, who by their restlessness even in slumber showed signs of the mental strain, the crew s.p.a.ce was occupied by three fairhaired, fresh-featured Frisians, who regarded the captives with scant curiosity and, after the first five minutes, seemed to ignore the Englishmen entirely.

"May as well make the best of things," remarked Fuller. "I know the ropes a bit--been through it before. Take your wet clothes off, old man. Keep a tight hold of your personal gear. We'll see if we can't persuade that fat chap in the galley to put our things to dry."

"They would dry on us in this hot show," observed Kirkwood. "Suppose we are sent for?"

"Then we are," added the flight-lieutenant grimly. "We'll have to grin and bear it. All the same, I'm not going to act as a human clothes horse while my gear is drying, so here goes."

The German cook seemed anxious to oblige, in spite of a muttered protest from one of the crew.

"My broder on der 'Blucher' vos," he explained. "Englische him pick up and well treat. Him write an' tell me so. Thus your clothes make dry."

Although the hatchway was closed and secured the submarine was still running awash, lifting sluggishly as she forged ahead at a modest fifteen knots. A couple of hours pa.s.sed, and no attempt was made on the part of the vessel's officers to interrogate their prisoners.

"For one thing we are clothed and, let us hope, in our right minds,"

observed Fuller as the pair redressed in their now dry clothing, dispensing, however, with their leather jackets, which were as stiff as a board and white with sea-salt.