p a
general eye upon things. All very well, these naval people, in their
way--here he filled his glass again--but what did they know about _our_
work? Nothing! The soda shot into the glass, cascading all over the
table. He drank. Incredible, absolutely incredible what queer things
these people thought up. Told him to run round and round the White Tower
for the duration of the war! Him! An experienced officer! Nice thing
that, now! He drank again and refilled his glass. But he had been
transferred....

Captain Rannie sat out this sort of thing for over half an hour and then
went up on the bridge and pulled the whistle lanyard. The _Kalkis_
uttered a yelp, followed by a gargling cry ending in a portentous
hiccough. Mr. Spokesly remarked:

"They are signalling to heave up, sir."

"Then heave up," Captain Rannie had snapped, and had run down again. He
found the elderly lieutenant smiling and refilling his glass. He did not
see the expression of impatience on the captain's features as he
entered.

"Anchor's coming up," the captain said in a distinct tone. "Steward,
take the glasses." He gathered up the papers, muttering, and went down
to his room. This sudden cessation of hospitality penetrated the old
lieutenant's consciousness. He rose up and went out to the gangway, and
it was there Mr. Spokesly saw him. It could not have been better, the
chief officer remarked to himself. The old souse had turned up most
providentially. The long-nosed quarrelsome creature who usually came out
to the transports, and who always found out everything that was going
on, was sick in the hospital out on the Monastir Road. The vessel
gathered speed. They were away.

And Captain Rannie, who now appeared on the little bridge in company
with a yellow-haired man at the wheel, was in a mood in which a much
larger bridge would have been a comfort to him. The binnacle interrupted
his headlong march from side to side, his head down, his hands in his
trouser pockets. He would swing round suddenly and plunge across as
though he had a broad thoroughfare ahead of him. At the binnacle he had
to turn a little and edge past it before he could take three more
strides and bring up against the end. Mr. Spokesly, who was finishing up
on the forecastle, noted his Commander's movements and asked himself the
cause of the agitation.

For Captain Rannie was agitated beyond his customary disapproval of
mankind. He had had a long conference with his employer that