between his fingers, and streamed to leeward. Hurriedly grasping the mizen shroud with one hand, he leant outboard to recover the errant cord. As he did so the sudden movement dislodged the ensign, and in an instant it was overboard.  

"I'm right-down sorry, Hamerton," he exclaimed ruefully.  

"Can't be helped," was the reply. "Accidents will happen, you know. We can get another for a matter of five or six marks at the first chandler's shop we come to ashore. But I rather fancied myself dropping anchor off the custom house at Cuxhaven with the red ensign at the masthead to signify that we had sailed a little eight-tonner from England."  

"I'm an awkward mule," ejaculated Detroit. "Hope you are not superstitious; losing an ensign looks like a bad omen."  

"Thanks, I'm not in the least superstitious," was the reply. "After all, it's of little consequence. But it's high time I went below and filled and trimmed the lamps."  

The Diomeda's lamp-room was a small cupboard in the fo'c'sle. To get to it Hamerton had to remove the topsail that had reposed on the fo'c'sle floor since the previous night. As he did so he noticed a book lying under one of the folds of the canvas.  

It was a small, blue-covered volume, saturated with salt water. A glance at the title told him the nature of the work. It was a treatise on the Schwartz-Kopff twenty-five-inch torpedo, a highly confidential work of which the British Admiralty had failed to obtain a copy in spite of the most strenuous efforts on the part of the Naval Intelligence Department.  

"By Jove, this is a find!" ejaculated the Sub gleefully. "It must have fallen out of Pfeil's jumper when we slipped off his wet clothing. But I must stow it away very carefully, for there'll be considerable trouble if the German custom-house authorities chance to lay their hands on it when they start rummaging in search of contraband. Let me think, now; where's the best place?"  

It was certainly curious that, though the Sub had often mislaid articles on board, and only after a laborious search had he been able to find them (for below decks the yacht was a labyrinth of lockers and odd corners), now, because he wanted to conceal a small book, he was at a loss to find a suitable hiding place.  

"Capital idea!" he exclaimed, slapping his thigh, and at the same time giving his head a tremendous blow 

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