H.M.S. ----. John Bowers QC
old baby-killer." The man with the sextant lowered it and fiddled with the shades. "We've got no boats near, have we, sir?"
"Not for donkeys' miles. I hope it was a Fritz, anyway. I say, look at that spadger!"
"Where? I don't see it. Stand by. Stop, sir."
"All right, I got you. Here, catch this watch. That spadger's gone down into the casing, and he'll drown if we dip with him there. Look out for those Zepps. coming back."
The Captain swung quickly down the foreside of the conning-tower, ran forward and peered into the casing in the eyes of the boat.
"Zepp. coming, sir, – north of us, just gone behind a bit of cloud."
"Zepp. be damned. Ah! got you, you little beggar." He reached his arm into a coil of wet rope and rose triumphantly to his feet. The sparrow cheeped pitifully as he ran aft again and took the ladder in two jumps. He gave a glance astern and another all round the horizon before following his sextant-clutching subordinate below. The lid clanged, and with a sigh, a gurgle, and a flirt of her screws the submarine slid under, the blank and expressionless eye of her periscope staring fixedly at an unconscious but triumphant Zeppelin that was gliding out from a fleecy patch of cloud astern.
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