been a dearth of news for the last month or more, and this is a good opportunity of arousing public interest. She'll turn up all right, with two tugs looking after her. Well, what's this?"

Drake turned to receive a message from a signalman.

"I say, you fellows," he exclaimed. "The Frome will be well represented in the Fifth Division Team. Thompson's sent a signal from the depot-ship asking me to play. They must be fearfully hard up for players, because I am awfully out of practice."

"Of course you'll play?" asked Fielding, eagerly, for Drake had a reputation as a hard slogger at no very distant date.

"I'll do my best, rest assured," replied Drake, modestly, as he deliberately folded his newspaper, and placed it in the rack. "But business first and pleasure afterwards—it's time for divisions."

The morning passed only too quickly, for there was much to be done in the way of routine, and at 2 p.m. Drake, Fielding, and Cardyke, all in mufti, went ashore. A taxi quickly bore them to the officers' Recreation Ground, where most of the rival teams had already gathered.

Matches between the officers of the various ships and torpedo destroyer divisions were a favourite amusement in the Portsmouth command, the game usually being followed by an informal dinner, the losing side having to pay all expenses.

Confident in the batting capabilities of the Fifth Division team, Drake expressed his willingness to eat his hat should they fail to win.

"Eating his hat" was the lieutenant's favourite figure of speech; but, somewhat to his surprise, Lieutenant Player, the skipper of the Sixth Division team, promptly made a note of his rival's promise in his pocketbook, amid the laughter of his companions.

Possibly this action unsettled Drake, for, instead of coming up to his average, he was clean bowled before the end of the first over. The wickets fell in quick succession, and in spite of the determined stand of young Cardyke, the Fifth closed with a miserable forty-three. As for the Sixth, they soon piled on runs till the scoring-board stood at 108.

"Now then, Drake," exclaimed Player, boisterously. "Where's your hat?"

Drake began to glare at his tormentor; then, realising the absurdity of "getting his rag out": "See what I'll do to-night," he replied. "A Drake always keeps his word."

Just at that moment a marine orderly, mounted on a bicycle, rode at a high speed over the turf, threw himself out of the saddle abreast of the pavilion, and, with a salute, handed Drake an envelope.

Without a word the lieutenant-commander opened the buff covering, read the contents, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

At length Drake dismissed the messenger, thrust the missive into his pocket, and strolled casually out of the pavilion. The news was important, but it was almost as important that none of his companions save his subordinates should know its import.

Outside the pavilion Drake beckoned to Fielding, and the two strolled a few yards away from the others.

"Looks like business, sir," commented Fielding, as he read the momentous news. "I thought there was something fishy when the papers hinted at it this morning."

"It's a rattling good chance, Fielding, my boy—a rattling good chance. If we don't score I'll eat my——"

But recollecting that he had already promised to masticate more than he wished for, Drake checked himself in time.

"Mr. Cardyke," he exclaimed, as the midshipman passed on his way to the pavilion. "Not a word to the others, mind. A message has just come from the commander-in-chief ordering us to put to sea with the utmost promptitude on particular service."

"Anything startling, sir?"

"Only that news has been received that the Impregnable has been seized on the high seas. How, when, or where we have to find out. Our instructions are to investigate, and take action if necessary."

"I hope, sir, there will be plenty of 'if necessary' about it."

"So do I," agreed Drake, grimly. "We've the chance of a lifetime—and I mean to make the most of it."

CHAPTER III

THE DESTROYER'S QUEST

Within a quarter of an hour of the termination of the match Fielding and Cardyke were on board the destroyer, Drake having gone post-haste to the commander-in-chief to receive definite instructions as to the course of action.

Already the water police were busily engaged in hunting up the absentees of the crew. Those who were gone away from the port on leave could not conveniently be recalled, and other men were drafted in to fill up the complement. Stores were being hastily dumped on board, the usual "red tape" formalities having perforce to be dispensed with. Fresh water was being supplied to the tanks by one set of hoses, while another pipe was in use filling up the double bottom petrol tanks with liquid fuel. Fortunately, owing to the fact that the night-firing had not taken place, the magazines were filled with quick-firing ammunition, and the delay occasioned by having to "ship powder" at one of the buoys in harbour was obviated. It was primarily on this account that the Frome was selected for the purpose of investigating the mystery enshrouding the Impregnable.

"I wonder if there will be a scrap?" asked the mid. "It's about time we had something exciting. What do you suppose is the matter?"

"Goodness only knows. You heard what Drake said," replied Fielding, as he struggled into his uniform with more haste than he usually displayed, for the sub. had the reputation of being a careful, deliberate man in the matter of dress, and gold lace won't stand rough usage.

"He said 'seized on the high seas,'" continued Cardyke. "By whom?"

"County Court officials, probably. Don't take it for granted that there's anything serious, Cardyke. We may be sent on a fool's errand. Ah! Here's Drake coming aboard!"

"A rummy affair, by George!" exclaimed the lieutenant-commander as he entered the wardroom, and threw a bundle of papers on the table. "The news came from the ss. Wontwash, an American tramp that put into Dover this morning. Her master reports that he was somewhere between the Owers and the Royal Sovereign lightships, the weather being thick. A temporary lifting showed him the Impregnable lying a quarter of a mile or so on his port bow, with a large cargo vessel, name and nationality unknown, lashed alongside with a considerable list to port. Two hundred yards astern of the Impregnable was a tug with red and yellow bands on her funnel—that's one of the Dutchmen, you'll remember. The tug was sinking by the head, apparently deserted. There was no mention of the second tug.

"Captain Emory, the master of the Wontwash, thinking that a collision had occurred, hailed to know whether he could be of any assistance, but to his surprise he was peremptorily ordered, in broken English, to sheer off.

"He complied slowly, he says, and before the fog shut out the Impregnable and the vessel alongside her he saw what he believed to be a number of small quick-firers being hoisted out of the latter into the cruiser, whose decks were swarming with men.

"Being without wireless Emory could not communicate with the shore until he came within signalling distance of the Royal Sovereign light. The lightship forwarded the report by wireless, and, allowing for errors in transmission, the story seems remarkably mysterious.

"The Admiralty is in a bit of a hole. Nominally the Impregnable, sold to a Dutch private firm, is beyond their control. The Dutch Government has been communicated with, and they are sending a destroyer to make inquiries. But since, by virtue of the conditions of sale, the cruiser is to be broken up, and not to be used as a vessel, we still hold a certain amount of authority over her, and my orders are to see that the terms of sale are complied with.