frame betokened a zest for sport, for in spite of the heat he paced the deck with an elasticity of tread that denoted exceptional physical energy. It did not take long for an observer to come to the right conclusion that Basil Dacres' solemnity of manner when on duty was an acquired one. Those dancing clear blue eyes betrayed the inborn love of a high-spirited nature. Even the rigid rules and regulations of the Service could not break his fondness of practical Joking.

Yet, somehow, he contrived to wriggle out of the dire consequences without dishonour, and upon calming down he would enter into the preparatory stages of perpetrating another joke. Upon the eve of his departure from home on the present commission this trait asserted itself. Dacres' little pranks were invariably intended to be of a harmless nature, but sometimes the result surpassed his expectations.

Dacres' father was a retired colonel who, possessed of ample private means, kept a large establishment in the West End. The colonel was absolutely military to the backbone, a martinet even in home life, although "his bark was worse than his bite." One thing is certain, Basil Dacres never inherited the lighter vein from his father, for the latter was never known to have spoken a funny sentence except by a sheer accident; and then, when the rest of the mess laughed, he was completely puzzled to know why.

It happened that the Thursday on which the sub was to leave to join his ship was his mother's at-home day, and Mrs. Dacres' at-homes were always well-attended. On this occasion there were present a colonial bishop and his wife in addition to the usual "smart-set" in which the hostess moved.

Now Mrs. Dacres' Georgian silver tea service was the envy and admiration of her guests, and Mrs. Colonial Bishop had been previously told to pay particular attention to the magnificent teapot. In came the head footman, resplendent in his fine livery and powdered hair, and placed the tray in front of the hostess. The far-famed teapot, enveloped in a huge cosy, was for the time being hidden from admiring and covetous eyes.

"Pouring-out" was one of the great events of Mrs. Dacres' at-homes: it was a sort of sacrifice at the altar of conventionality.

The hostess, after having asked whether the guests took cream and sugar, made a preliminary flourish ere removing the covering that hid the gorgeous silver teapot. The act was a silent appeal for attention, and all eyes were fixed in anticipation upon the piece of plate that held the fragrant beverage.

With the dexterity of a practised conjuror Mrs. Dacres lifted the cosy. . . .

In the place of the teapot was a huge tortoise that blinked solemnly at the sudden transit from darkness into light, and proceeded to slowly waddle across the slippery silver tray.

The next instant, amidst a chorus of shrieks, tortoise and tea-things, including the choicest Crown Derby, clattered on the floor.

The sub's departure took place under a cloud. His mother's farewell was somewhat chilly, while the colonel spoke his mind in a very blunt manner.

"Mark my words, you confounded young fool!" he said, "unless you stop this sort of thing there'll be trouble. It will end with your being court-martialled and kicked out of the Service. And, by Jove! if you are, don't look to me for any sympathy."

But the funny part about the whole business was that Basil knew nothing about the tortoise episode until after the tea cosy was removed. His part of the joke was to take the blame upon his broad shoulders and to chuckle at the idea that he had been accused of what he had not done. He was not asked for an explanation, nor did he give one. He had no wish that punishment should fall upon the real culprit—his ten-year-old brother, Clarence; for the fond parents never for one moment suspected that guile could be found in their cherub-faced youngest-born child.

"Give you a cue—what about?" asked the midshipman.

The sub brought himself up with a round turn. He realized that perhaps it was not altogether wise to confide in his subordinate over the plan that had readily resolved itself in his brain.

"H'm!" he ejaculated. "Eccles seems rather up the pole about the prize-firing result. I suppose it's natural."

"Well, aren't you, sir?" asked Alderney. "I know I am, and so are the rest of the gun-room. Just fancy! the midshipmen of the flagship, whom we licked hollow at cricket, actually had the cheek to row round the ship with a cock perched on a jack-staff in the bows, and the whole crowd crowing like anything. Beastly bad form, I call it. After all, gunnery isn't everything, as the Admiral ought to know he had with the 'Aphrodite.'"

"The submarine? Yes, I remember. She's 'M. I.' now. That business has given us a good lead in submarines and pretty well knocked the Flying Branch into a cocked hat, worse luck."

And Dacres shook his shoulders deprecatingly. He had volunteered for the Service with the Naval Wing of the Royal Flying Corps, but owing to an unexpected decision on the part of the First Lord to cut down that part of the Service his offer had been declined.

Just then Sinclair, the duty-sub for the First Dog Watch, came on deck, and Dacres, freed from his responsible duty of doing nothing in particular, made his way below to the gun-room.

There the conversation was mainly upon the bumptiousness of the flagship. Dacres said little, but thought the more. After a while he went to the half-deck and knocked at the Gunnery Lieutenant's cabin door. He was there for nearly an hour, at the end of which time he applied for leave till eight bells (noon) on the following day. This he obtained without difficulty, then changing into mufti he went ashore.

CHAPTER II.

THE FRENCH INSTRUCTOR.

SINGAPORE in the year 1919 was a very important naval station. During the last six or seven years it had undergone great changes. The practical abandonment of a powerful war-squadron on the China Station, owing to the understanding with Japan, had led to a decline in the greatness of Hong-Kong as a base. And what Hong-Kong had lost Singapore had gained—with compound interest. Henceforth that little island at the extreme south of the Malay Peninsula was to be the greatest British naval station on the portals of the Pacific.

Additional docks, capable of taking the largest battleships afloat, had been constructed, with smaller basins for submarines, of which twelve of the "C" class and six of the "D" type were stationed there. Bomb-proof sheds for seaplanes had been built, and the whole defended by modern forts armed with the most up-to-date and powerful guns.

At half-past eight on the morning following the event recorded in the first chapter a signal was made from the dockyard to the flagship of Rear-Admiral Maynebrace. It read: "Commander-in-Chief to 'Repulse': French instructor will proceed on board at four bells. Please send boat to meet him at Kelang Steps."

The receipt of this message was duly acknowledged and then communicated through the manifold yet proper channels to the gun-room, where the midshipmen received it with ill-concealed disgust.

They had planned a picnic along the well-kept country road that, fringed on either side by unbroken avenues of fruit-trees and luxuriant palms, led to the lofty Who Hen Kang. There they had hoped to revel in the gorgeous glades, eating pine-apples and coco-nuts till the services of the sick-bay staff might have to be called into requisition. The prospect, ignoring the consequences of their injudicious appetites, was most alluring; till almost on the eve of the anticipated picnic came this disconcerting message that the French instructor was about to come off to the ship.

French lessons with the temperature at ninety-eight in the shade! This ordeal was sufficient to crush even the resistance of a punch-ball, let alone a dozen irresponsible midshipmen.

Such terrors did not