Rowsell. I'm not out here to be
fooled with.... My God!"

Almost at their side the periscope of a submarine had suddenly appeared.
Slowly it rose to the surface. An officer in German naval uniform
struggled up and called out. Granet spoke to him rapidly in German. Job
Rowsell started at them both, then he drew a flask from his pocket and
took a long pull. The submarine grew nearer and Granet tossed a small
roll of paper across the chasm of waters. All that passed between the
two men was to Job Rowsell unintelligible. The last few words, however,
the German repeated in English.

"The Princess Hilda from Southampton, tomorrow at midnight," he repeated
thoughtfully. "Well, it's a big business."

"It's worth it," Granet assured him. "They may call it a hospital ship
but it isn't. I am convinced that the one man who is more dangerous to
us than any other Englishman, will be on board."

"It shall then be done," the other promised. "So!"

He looked upward to the flag and saluted Granet. A great sea bore them a
little apart. Granet pulled down the German flag, tied up a stone inside
it and threw it into the next wave.

"You can take me back now," he told the boatman.

They were four hours making the harbour. Three times they failed to get
round the last point, met at each time by clouds of hissing spray. When
at last they sailed in, there was a little crowd to watch them. Nichols
and Lethbridge stood on one side with gloomy faces.

"It's a queer day for pleasure sailing," Nicholas remarked to Job
Rowsell, as he came up the wet steps of the pier.

"It's all I want of it for a bit, any way," Rowsell muttered, pushing
his way along the quay. "If there's any of you for a drink, I'm your
man. What-ho, Nichols?--Lethbridge?"

Lethbridge muttered something and turned away. Nichols, too, declined.

"I am not sure, Job Rowsell," the latter declared, "that I like your
money nor the way you earn it."

Job Rowsell stopped for a minute. There was an ugly look in his sullen
face.

"If you weren't my own bother-in-law, Matthew Nichols," he said, "I'd
shove those words down your throat."

"And if you weren't my sister's husband," Nichols retorted, turning
away, "I'd take a little trip over to Penzance and say a few words at
the Police Station there."

Granet laughed good-humouredly.

"You fellows don't need to get bad-tempered with one another," he
observed. "Look here, I shall have three days here. I'll take one of you
ea