morrow. Ask them if they have picked up a wireless from U74."

Some time elapsed before the message could be coded by the sender and
translated by the receiving submarine. When the reply confirming the
rendezvous was received, a message was added to the effect that U77 had
heard nothing of U74 for three days. It was presumed, however, that
she was now on her way back to Wilhelmshaven, and was already out of
wireless range.

Kapitan Schwalbe knew better. As senior officer of the three
submarines detached to operate in these waters, he was aware that U74
would not have left her station without orders from him. That part of
the message had been sent merely as a "blind", so that the crews of the
remaining unterseebooten should not be discouraged. It was safe to
conclude, decided Kapitan Schwalbe, that another of the blockaders had
gone to the bottom for the last time.

It was close on one o'clock when the "wirelessing" terminated. U75,
which had hitherto been running awash, was now trimmed for surface work.

Most of the crew went on deck. Amongst them were Ross and Vernon, no
one offering any objection.

The sea was no longer rough. A long oily swell took the place of the
white-crested wave. The night was dark. Only a few stars were
visible. Away to the S.E., the black outlines of the Cornish coast
reared themselves like an enormous wall against the gloomy sky.

Suddenly Vernon touched his chum's elbow, as a faint pin-prick of light
glimmered twice. It was the shore agent's signal that the coast was
clear.

Barely carrying steerage-way, U75 stood in towards the as yet invisible
Port Treherne. Already her crew had brought the collapsible canvas
boat from below, "man-handling" it through the fore hatch. The men,
having opened it out and shipped the felt-lined and well-greased
rowlocks, stood by to launch it.

Gradually the towering cliffs enclosing the creek became
distinguishable against the loftier background of gaunt hills. Into
the gap the submarine crept with the utmost caution, until it seemed as
if she were on the point of running her nose against the sheer face of
the granite wall. The water bubbled slightly as her motors were
reversed; then, turning in her own length, she brought up, with her
bows pointing seawards.

Three of the crew grasped the canvas boat and pushed it gently into the
water on the port side. One of them clambered in and shipped the oars
in the row-locks.

The two lad