"Yes, one of the 'Deutschland' class," added Hamerton, who at the first report had followed his companion on deck. He recognized the battleship by her three telescopic funnels as belonging to a type immediately preceding the first of the Kaiser's Dreadnoughts. Although her principal armament consisted of only four eleven-inch and fourteen six-inch guns, she was not an antagonist to be despised.  

A bugle blared and the firing suddenly ceased.  

"She's engaged in manoeuvres," continued the Sub. "Those destroyers we saw are evidently about to attack her, and in the fog she mistook us for one of them."  

"Is that likely?" asked Oswald.  

"Rather. I know what it is to be on the qui vive. Officers and men are bound to get jumpy, and a dinghy might easily be mistaken for a torpedo boat. Remember the case of the Russian Baltic Fleet and our trawlers in the North Sea some years ago. But now's our chance to get rid of the poor fellow we picked up. Hand me the Code Flag and letter H."  

Deftly Hamerton toggled the flags, signifying "Important; I wish to communicate", to the halyards, and hoisted them to the peak.  

The German battleship was now less than four hundred yards to leeward and moving slowly through the water. At any moment she might be swallowed up in the fog, which showed signs of increasing in density.  

"There's the reply," exclaimed Detroit, as two flags fluttered from the after-mast of the battleship.  

"'I F,'" announced the Sub, placing his binoculars on the seat and seizing the codebook. "The rotters! They decline to hold any communication. There, she's off! Steady on the helm, old man! It's time I saw to those rashers."  

Once more Hamerton entered the cabin. The rescued man was still lying on the floor, staring vacantly at the skylight.  

"Are you better?" asked the Sub in as good German as he could muster. His command of foreign languages, like that of the majority of British officers, was poor. His German in particular was execrable.  

"Ja," answered the man, without removing his gaze from the skylight. The reply was purely mechanical, for Hamerton could see that the fellow was not in full possession of his faculties.  

"He'll recover all in good time," soliloquized Hamerton as he 

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