and were to the effect that he must report himself on board the patrol boat O47, at Falmouth, where he would enjoy temporary rank as Lieutenant.

"Holy smoke!" ejaculated Lawless when he received the order, "this takes me down a peg. Why, I was Lieutenant-Commander——"

"Don't worry," interposed the Port Admiral encouragingly. "You'll be back where you started from before long. I'll do my best to get you your old ship, the Knat."

"Thank you, sir," answered Lawless gratefully.

On arriving at Falmouth he found the O47 a grimy, unpicturesque, and weather-beaten trawler, whose prescribed beat, he was informed, lay "somewhere" west of Start Point. The skipper, a gruff, taciturn old salt, received him without enthusiasm, and grumbled audibly at having to "dry-nurse green-horns." Obviously he had never heard of the Lieutenant's exploits when in command of the Knat, and Lawless was careful not to undeceive him.

"I'll have a lark with the old buffer," he told himself, and felt so pleased at this idea that he forgot his indignation at having been assigned to such a wretched old tub and with inferior rank.

The O47 left Falmouth Harbour on the following morning, and was soon stubbing her way westward, rolling as only a North Sea trawler can roll.

There was a stiff, sou'-westerly breeze blowing, and as the day waned it showed signs of developing into a first-class hurricane. The sea, which had been merely choppy to begin with, had risen until the great foam-crested billows charged down upon each other, flinging high their white manes of wind-driven spume. The sky had turned from blue to a cold, steely grey, with low-lying clouds like banks of soiled snow on the western horizon. A pale crescent moon already showed dimly in the half-light.

In the little wheelhouse, perched high up in front of the funnel, Skipper Chard clung to a handrail and peered through the rime-frosted glass across the endless grey vista of tossing, white-capped seas.

Chard growled as the trawler, struck amidships by an extra large wave, heeled till her port taffrail was under water.

When she had righted herself, Lawless, clad in oilskins and a sou'-wester, swarmed up the little iron ladder to the wheelhouse, and, waiting a favourable opportunity, opened the door and staggered in.

"Phew!" he ejaculated. "This is weather and no mistake!"

"Weather!" echoed the skipper with a sour smile. "Wait till we get it really rough!"

The quartermaster at the wheel suppressed a smile, while the Lieutenant did his best to look apprehensive.

"I thought this was pretty rough," he said apologetically.

"Oh, it's a bit choppy, I'll allow. But rough——" The skipper smiled a smile, more eloquent than words, that expressed all the scorn which a seasoned salt feels for a greenhorn who has still to learn the ways of the sea.

"It'll be my watch in five minutes," said Lawless. "I expect you will be glad to go below."

The skipper grunted. No one but a raw amateur would have turned out for his watch before being called; it was the brand of inexperience.

"Keep her as near west by south as may be," said the skipper, jerking his head towards the binnacle. "Send for me if you sight anything."

While he was speaking, eight bells struck, and as the sound died away a seaman came up the iron ladder to relieve the quartermaster at the wheel. As the off-duty man stumbled out of the wheelhouse, the skipper also turned to leave.

"You'll need to keep a bright look-out," he remarked grimly. "As like as not——"

He paused abruptly, then snatched a pair of binoculars out of the box attached to the handrail, and focused them on a small object, barely discernible to the naked eye. He remained thus for more than a minute, with legs stretched wide apart, swinging back and forth automatically with the motion of the vessel.

"Have a squint," and he handed the glasses to the Lieutenant.

The latter focused the binoculars on the strange vessel ahead. She was a steamer of about fifteen hundred tons, with the word Gelderland painted in huge white letters on her hull amidships, together with the Dutch colours.

"A Dutchman," he observed, handing back the glasses.

"A private of marines could tell that," snorted the skipper. "Question is, what's she doing right away west here?"

The Lieutenant made no answer; which was wise, since none was expected. Chard shouted an order to the quartermaster, who echoed it, and began to turn the heavy wheel.

"Signal the Dutchman to stop," commanded the skipper.

It being too dark to use flags or semaphore, Lawless picked up the signal lamp and flashed the message across the intervening space. He waited for an answer, and, none coming, called up once more.

"Can't get a reply," he said after the second attempt.

"I'll get one, though," muttered the skipper; and, sliding back one of the windows, he leant out.

"Stubbs, put a shot across that hooker's bows!" he shouted.

"Aye, aye, sir!" answered the gunner, and bent over a small quick-firer that was mounted on the well-deck forward.

Next moment there was a bright yellow flash and a reverberating boom. The shell was seen to strike the water some twenty yards in front of the Dutchman's bows, sending up a small pillar of foaming water. But the stranger, instead of stopping, suddenly altered her course, and a cloud of black smoke which began to pour out of her funnel showed that she was firing up.

"All right!" ejaculated the skipper. "But we'll cop her yet. Looks suspicious, her cuttin' away like that. Climb on the fo'c'sle and signal that if she don't stop we'll sink her!"

Lawless descended the ladder, staggered across the slippery, reeling deck, and mounted the fo'c'sle head. Crooking one arm round a stay to steady himself, he jerked out the signal in a somewhat uneven succession of dots and dashes. Still the stranger made no answering signal, and at last he climbed down.

"Put a shot through her funnel!" yelled Chard.

The gunner breathed hard as he adjusted the sights and waited till the O47 swung up for a second on an even keel.

Bang!

The shell sped true, for where the Dutchman's funnel had stood there was now only a jagged stump of metal, with columns of smoke issuing out of it. Also her captain had seen fit to slow down at last.

"Mr. Lawless, I'm going alongside," shouted the skipper from the wheelhouse. "Serve out cutlasses and revolvers, in case the Dutchmen start to play monkey-tricks."

The Lieutenant served out the weapons, after which he climbed on the fo'c'sle head to help bring the trawler alongside her quarry. It needed no little skill and judgment to accomplish this in such weather and with darkness coming on.

The high bows of the O47, towering above the low decks of the Gelderland as the trawler came racing up, threatened to crash right into the Dutchman and cut her in twain amidships, but the trawler's engines were reversed in the nick of time, and her stern slewed round so that the two vessels lay alongside each other.

Skipper Chard dropped on the Gelderland's deck just as the Captain—a short, stout man—came puffing down from his bridge in a violent temper.

"Vat for you do that?" he demanded, pointing to the smashed funnel.

"Why didn't you stop when I ordered you?"

"Because I saw not any signal. The first thing I know is—plump!—and then vat you call the chiminey is proken."

"You mean to say you didn't know I sent a shot over your bows?" demanded Chard incredulously.

"I see noddings," answered the Captain. "But you haff done big damages, and I will make you pay."

"Oh! will you, my son?" replied the other. "We'll see about that, but in the meantime I must see your papers."

The Captain promptly led the way to the chart-room and produced his papers with an alacrity that was calculated to disarm the most suspicious investigator.