scratched his closely-cut hair.

"Fetch me the French dictionary from the wardroom," he ordered, and the quarter-deck messenger hastened to carry out his instructions.

Seizing the book the lieutenant hurriedly turned over the pages, then looked dubiously at the retreating gig, now out of hailing distance.

"H'm," he muttered. "I'll speak to the commander. By Jove! I will."

CHAPTER III.

REMOVED FROM THE NAVY LIST.

"WELL?" asked Eccles, as Sub-lieutenant Basil Dacres came off to the ship at the expiration of his leave.

"Ripping time, by Jove! I'll tell you about it when you've done your trick. Is the commander below?"

Receiving an affirmative reply the sub made his way to Commander Bourne's cabin, bubbling over with suppressed excitement.

"I've done it, sir," he announced. "Spoofed the whole jolly lot of them, Admiral included."

"Hope you've covered up your tracks?" asked his superior anxiously.

"Rather! I snubbed Garboard, twitted Oxley and played the very dickens with the flagship's midshipmen. It was hot work, though. Fancy spending a couple of hours on a day like this with a pillow stuffed under your waistcoat, and false moustaches tickling like billy-ho."

Bourne laughed heartily as Dacres related the details of the joke he had played, but his face grew serious as he remarked:—

"'Pon my word, Dacres, I'm rather sorry I let you carry out this mad prank, after all. It's bound to leak out."

"It may, sir. If it does the flagship's people won't say much. The less they say the better, for they will be the laughing-stock of the squadron."

"I don't know so much about that," rejoined the commander. "You see, we must do our best to keep it to ourselves. The culprit must be screened. If there is a row, of course I must own up to my share."

"You must do nothing of the sort, sir," said the sub firmly. "This is my pigeon, you know. Anyway, they haven't tumbled to it yet, and when they do they'll have to go a long way to spot me."

During the First Dog Watch the commander told the captain, who laughed till the tears rolled down his mahogany-coloured cheeks. The chaplain had it third hand from the skipper, and passed the news on to the ward-room. As for the gun-room they heard it directly from Dacres.

So far so good. Loyalty to a brother officer joke a sure bond that the joke against the unpopular flagship would be kept a secret. But Jones, the captain's valet, heard his master and the padre laughing immoderately—was human enough to put his ear to the keyhole of the captain's cabin. In less than an hour the whole of the lower deck heard the yarn, and Mr. Dacres was unanimously acclaimed a "thunderin' brick."

Everything passed off quietly until the following afternoon. It was the calm before the storm.

Basil Dacres had just completed his trick as "Duty Sub," and was enjoying a cooling glass of lime juice in the gun-room when a signalman knocked at the door.

"Chit for Mr. Dacres, sir," he announced.

The sub held out his hand for the folded slip of paper. His intuition told him that something was amiss: it was.

"Flag to officer commanding H.M.S. 'Royal Oak.' Mr. Basil Dacres, sub-lieutenant, is to report himself on board the flagship as soon as possible."

Dacres said not a word to his messmates, but the deep flush that swept over his bronzed features told its own tale.

Without waiting to give explanations or to receive condolences or advice the sub hurried off to his cabin and changed into No. Eight Rig. In the midst of the operation Commander Bourne entered. He had, in the course of his duty, initialled the message and guessed its purport.

"Look here, Dacres," he exclaimed impulsively, "I'm going with you. There's bound to be a most unholy bust-up, I'm afraid; but I mean to stand by you."

For a moment the sub hesitated. He quite realized the need of a friend to back him up during the coming ordeal, but his independence quickly reasserted itself.

"I don't think you need, sir," he replied. "You see, it may be something else. In any case, I'd much rather I went through by myself."

"You would?"

"Yes, sir."

"But, look here, Dacres——"

"It's no use, sir. I'll stick to it somehow. What's the good of getting other men mixed up in this affair when one can bear the brunt. Sharing the blame will not make things any easier for me, I'm afraid. After all, I had a rattling good time."

There was a ring of determination in the sub's voice that compelled his superior officer to give way.

"Very well, then," said Bourne reluctantly. "You go alone. But, mark you, if there's to be any serious bother I, as your commander and a fellow conspirator, will stand by you."

"All right, then, sir," replied Dacres, "that's agreed. If I am in danger of going under I'll look to my superior officer for assistance."

Just then Eccles and Plumbly, the assistant paymaster, entered the cabin and expressed their intention of "standing in."

"Standing in—what about?" demanded Dacres.

"About hoaxing the flagship, of course," replied Eccles.

"You've done your part of the business," retorted the sub, "now let me carry on with mine. For one thing I'm not sure that the Admiral wants me in connexion with that affair. How on earth could he find out? Now sheer off, there's good fellows, and let me finish dressing."

Young Alderney was midshipman of the duty boats, and on the run to the "Repulse" he added his condolences till Dacres peremptorily cut him short. The sub hated outward expressions of sympathy almost as much as he detested formal praise. He vastly preferred in matters of this sort to be self-reliant.

Gaining the quarter-deck of the flagship he saluted with the utmost coolness, and turned to follow the lieutenant who was to escort him to the Admiral's cabin. Three or four youngsters, whom he recognized as being members of the French instructor's class, were on deck, evidently anticipating his discomfiture. Something about his bearing impelled them to return to the shelter of the after barbette, feeling rather sorry for the man who had so recently "pulled their legs."

Vice-Admiral Maynebrace was alone. He had sent his secretary away on some convenient duty, and well-nigh bursting with indignation he stood prepared for the fray.

"Well, sir," he began, as soon as the door was closed. "Do you recognize this?"

And he held up the pseudo Jean le Plaisant's card.

"Yes, sir," answered the sub calmly.

"Then, perhaps, sir, next time you have an opportunity to impersonate a French professor you might have the sense to remember that littérateur is spelt with a double 't.' Had it not been for the perspicuity of the officer of the watch your senseless joke might have passed off undetected—at least for a time. Now, sir, you, on your own confession, have been guilty of the heinous offence of bringing his Majesty's uniform into contempt. A senseless joke, sir! There are no extenuating circumstances."

Admiral Maynebrace paused to recover his breath. He had completely forgotten his early days, when, a ringleader of a little mob of midshipmen from the guardship, he had gone ashore at Southampton in the small hours of the morning and had artistically decorated the two lions guarding the historic Bargate. Dacres had heard of the episode and how young Maynebrace was jockeyed out of what promised to be a serious scrape; and he was half tempted to remind his superior of that little delinquency, but the sub had steadfastly made up his mind not to say a word save to reply directly to questions put to him.

The Admiral had fully expected that the culprit would metaphorically go down on his knees and beg for pardon, but he had mistaken Dacres' character. The sub's silence and coolness goaded him to a further outburst.

"Confound you, sir!" he roared. "You're a discredit to