man was an enemy and a despicable one at that, the British seamen gave little or no heed to that. There was a chance to save life, and the bluejackets meant to do it.

With a resounding splash the boat dropped into the water. The patent disengaging-gear was slipped, and the men gave way with a will. Within fifty seconds of the time the order was given to lower away, the sole survivor of the U-boat was hauled into the destroyer's boat.

With the greatest celerity the boat returned alongside. The falls were hooked in and the order given to "haul away roundly". Almost before the boat's keel was clear of the water the Bolero's triple propellers began to thresh, and the destroyer, gathering way, resumed her station astern of the convoy.

CHAPTER III

Count Otto

"By Jupiter, old man!" exclaimed little Browning, surgeon-probationer of the destroyer, as he met Seton on the termination of the latter's watch. "We've netted a fine bird. The skipper's as pleased as a dog with two tails."

"One of the most recent types of U-boats?" asked Alec, as he proceeded to divest himself of a portion of his heavy clothing, and to kick off his sea-boots.

"Better than that, my festive," replied the medico, as he deftly filled a tin mug with hot tea—a task not easily accomplished when a destroyer is rolling horribly in a sea-way. "The Hun we fished out is none other than Count Otto von Brockdorff-Giespert."

"Explain," said Alec, as he took the proffered cup and gratefully drained its contents. It mattered nothing that the cup was old and battered, and that the dregs left by the previous user were floating in the highly-brewed beverage. In such circumstances one cannot be too fastidious.

"What! Not heard of Count Otto von Brockdorff-Giespert?" asked Browning in mock dismay. "I thought everyone in the destroyer patrol knew of him. He's the fellow who torpedoed the Bentali."

"Bentali? Of course, I remember," replied Seton. "A hospital ship homeward-bound from the Dardanelles. Didn't cotton on to the fellow's tally, though. I'm jolly glad we've collared him. Wonder what they'll do with him?"

"Do with him?" echoed the doctor. "Why, put him ashore, send him in a comfy first-class railway carriage to a cushy home for fortunate Hun pirates. Feed him up; let him take a daily jaunt into the nearest town for the benefit of his health and to prevent boredom. Allow his friends to visit him, and all that sort of tosh. My word, we English are a rummy race! We carry our humane principles too far, and Fritz takes it as a sign of weakness."

"It's innate chivalry, I suppose," remarked Seton.

"Innate foolishness!" corrected Browning with asperity. "If you saw a poisonous snake lying across your path would you pick it up, wrap it in your pocket-handkerchief, and take it out of harm's way? I'd as soon do that as molly-coddle a Hun. I've seen them and their dirty work, my festive, long before you took to the noble pastime of Fritz-strafing."

Meanwhile the subject of the discussion was reclining more or less at ease upon a settee in the Bolero's ward-room. A fractured collar-bone, several minor contusions, and a shock to the nervous system summed up the extent of his injuries. The destroyer's surgeon-probationer, notwithstanding his vehement denunciations of von Brockdorff-Giespert and all his kind, had used all his skill in mitigating the pirate's injuries; and now, slightly under the influence of morphia, the Count was pondering over the situation and wondering whether it would have been preferable to have perished with his crew rather than be taken alive by enemies.

Von Brockdorff-Giespert believed, and with good reason, that he was on the Black List of the British Admiralty. In the Fatherland he used to boast of the fact, but different surroundings are apt to change a fellow's tune, and now he was beginning to feel truly sorry for himself.

The Count was a kapitan-leutnant of the unterseebooten service, and held a staff appointment at the newly-constructed German base at Zeebrugge. The post was given him as a reward for his zealous services to the All-Highest having claim to the destruction of 60,000 tons of Allied mercantile shipping. Most of his victims he sank without warning, and in several instances without leaving a trace, while his despicable act of torpedoing the hospital ship Bentali on a dark night and in a very heavy sea was the crowning act of a long list of piratical outrages.

While every other country regarded the act with every expression of horror, kultured Germany hailed the deed with acclamation. It showed the thoroughness of Teutonic frightfulness: that Germany meant business. Count Otto received the Iron Cross with swords, and the Ordre pour le Mérite. Nevertheless he deemed it advisable for his health's sake to give up active submarine work, and become permanently attached to the Zeebrugge station for shore duties.

Unfortunately for him, he had a slight difference with the naval governor of the modern pirate base, and the latter revenged himself by ordering von Brockdorff-Giespert to sea in U 292—not in actual command, but as adviser to the proper kapitan-leutnant, a swash-buckling Prussian, of the name of von Bohme.

U 292 was on her trials when the end came with dramatic suddenness. Von Bohme had no intention of attacking until he had thoroughly tested the sea-going and manoeuvring capabilities of his new command; but the temptation of sinking one of the convoy of merchantmen was too strong.

Von Brockdorff-Giespert's mental and physical activities were completely suspended for a period of twelve minutes following the sudden destruction of U 292. At the time of the catastrophe he was standing in the compartment immediately under the base of the conning-tower. On the impact of the British shell he formed the hasty but correct impression that the strafed Englander had scored. He attempted to gain the open air by means of the conning-tower hatchway, but the water-tight lid in the floor was immovably shut and secured. Water was pouring in through the started rivet-holes and buckling plates. Below, the nerve-racked Germans were rushing to-and-fro in blind panic, colliding with each other in the dark, confined space, for the impact of the shell had put the electric-lighting dynamos out of action.

It was not too much to say that von Brockdorff-Giespert was seized by the contaminating panic. He was no longer a kapitan-leutnant of the submarine staff, but a mere Hun struggling fiercely for life in a wholehearted, selfish desire to avoid a death to which thousands of his fellow-Huns had been condemned under similar circumstances.

Then came the paralysing shock, and the tremendous roar of the exploding depth-charge. Rolling completely over, the doomed U-boat began to fill rapidly. Struggling for life, half-immersed in the oil-tinged swirling water, gasping in the black, petrol- and nitric-acid-laden fumes, von Brockdorff-Giespert gave himself up for lost. His senses deserted him.

In an insensible condition he was whirled, by a curious whim of fate, through a gaping hole in the U-boat's bilge. While the rest of his companions in piracy were caught like rats in a trap in their metal tomb, the Staff-kapitan-leutnant was impelled to the surface. Well it was for him that he wore a life-saving waistcoat. He had worn it day and night during the trip; surreptitiously lest any of the crew should make merry at the arrogant Junker's expense. It helped to save his life: the Bolero's boat completed the task.

Daybreak found the rescued Hun comfortably in bed in one of the officers' cabins—comfortable as far as could be expected while suffering from a broken collar-bone and various minor bruises and contusions. He was glad to find himself alive, but in his innate arrogance he could find neither means nor desire to express his gratitude to his rescuers. Nor was he exactly