the offer was a tempting one. If possible, it was most desirable to be
able to decipher the transcription of these mysterious columns of smoke.

"I say, Trefusis," he said, "you've had a fairly long time afloat; what
do you say to a run up to town? I'm sure this gentleman would make no
objection to giving you a seat in his car."

"With the greatest pleasure," declared Mr. Hyde.

"Thanks!" rejoined Barry. "Of course the honour of delivering the
letter will be yours, sir. Mr. Trefusis accompanies you merely as a
passenger. We'll stand by to pick you up, Trefusis. I'll make it all
right with the skipper."

The Sub accompanied Mr. Hyde and the midshipman to the garage, which
was about four minutes' walk from the coast-guard station. While the
man was getting out the car (he was his own chauffeur), Barry seized
the opportunity of telling Ross to be on his guard, in case anything
suspicious occurred.

With a terrific bound the powerful car started on its sixty-mile
journey. Between the sea and Lewes the needle of the speed-indicator
never fell below 40 miles an hour, until at times the car was running
at 60. Village after village was passed at almost break-neck speed.
In vain, sleepy rural constables sought to hold up the reckless driver.
Discretion was the better part of valour, so they stood aside and
attempted to note the number on the identification plate of the car.
Again in vain. All they could see and swallow was a cloud of white,
chalky dust that hung thickly on the sultry air long after the car was
out of sight and hearing.

The hills around East Grinstead it surmounted at 40 miles an hour,
dashing down the inclines at the speed of an express train, and
swerving time after time to avoid lumbering farm wagons.

At Croydon Mr. Hyde wisely slowed down. He had covered 49 miles in
exactly fifty-five minutes, but twenty-eight minutes later the car drew
up under the Admiralty Arch.

"Room 445 is the one I want," he explained to Ross. "I know my way
about here, you know. I've several relations at the Admiralty. Come
along: the car won't hurt where she is."

"Your pass, sir," demanded a Metropolitan policeman who, with a naval
pensioned petty officer, was stationed at the door.

"Haven't one," replied Mr. Hyde. "Urgent business--see?" and he
produced the envelope, bearing the words "On His Majesty's Service", in
which was enclosed Captain Syllenger's communication.

The policeman was the essence o