morselessly, relentlessly.

"It's a peaceful sort of job, though, on the whole," he concluded.
"Nobody worries us. The public, most of 'em, don't know we exist.
Journalists don't want to come and visit us much," he chuckled. "We
don't find our way into the illustrated papers...."

"That's right," said the Submarine Hunter. "That's the way to work in
war-time. If I had my way----"

A jarring shudder ran through the train as the brakes were applied and
the speed slackened. The Reserve Man lowered the window and peered out
into the darkness. A flurry of snow drifted into the dimly lighted
carriage.

"Hallo!" he ejaculated. "We're here. Bless me, how the time goes when
one gets yarning."

The Volunteer rose and held out his hand.

"My name is Armitage," he said, and named two exclusive clubs, one in
London and the other in New York. "Look me up after the war if you
pass that way."

The Submarine Hunter took the proffered hand in his formidable grip.

"Pleased to have met you. Mine's Gedge. I don't own a club, but the
Liverpool Shipping Federation generally knows my address. And the
girls from Simonstown to Vladivostock will tell you if I've passed that
way!"

He threw back his head, displaying the muscular great throat above his
collar, and laughed like a mischievous boy.

"Good luck!" he said.

"Good hunting!" replied the Volunteer.

He turned to the Midshipman. "Come along, sonny, shake the sleep out
of your eyes and go and collect our little party."

Outside in the snowy darkness the great concourse of men was being
mustered: lanterns gleamed on wet oilskins and men's faces. Hoarse
voices and the tramp of heavy boots through the slush heralded the
passage along the platform of each draft as they were marched to the
barrier. A cold wind cut through the cheerless night like a knife.

Armitage paused for a moment to accustom his eyes to the darkness.

"Here we are, Mouldy," said a clear-cut, well-bred voice out of the
darkness surrounding a pile of luggage. "Here's our stuff. Get a
truck, old thing!"

Armitage turned in the direction of the voice: as he did so a passing
lantern flashed on the face of a Lieutenant stooping over some
portmanteaux.

"I thought as much," he said. "Thought I recognised the voice." He
stepped towards the speaker and rested his hand on his shoulder.
"James Thorogood, isn't it?" he said.

The other straightened up and peered through the darkness at the fac