In peril on the sea

CHAPTER XXVII

"But I tell you I must see the admiral!"

"That's all right, old man; you just lie still as you are for a bit and we'll see what we can do about it." The fleet-surgeon bends over the cot in the sick bay where the patient is temporarily accommodated, and with his best bedside manner rearranges the pillows beneath the bandaged head of the sick officer. He believes in humouring cases of this sort; it is no good contradicting them—that only upsets them; far better pretend to give in to their idle fancies.

And all the while, beaming suavely and answering soothingly to the distracted appeals, he is thinking, "I hope to goodness that hospital drifter will come alongside soon. Once they have got him on board the hospital ship they can deal with him all right; they've got plenty of sisters and nurses to look after him and keep him quiet if he gets fractious, but with the small staff I've got here—well, I shan't be sorry to get rid of him!"

"Confound it, man, can't you see there's nothing the matter with me? It is most important that I should go and see the admiral at once. I must go, I tell you!"

"They always do think it most important that they should get out of bed and go off somewhere or other," thinks the fleet-surgeon; "these cases of slight concussion are the very deuce and all."

And he nods almost imperceptibly to the sick-berth steward across the bed; by which the latter understands that he is to go and summon the attendant to help hold the patient down in case he gives trouble.

Really, it is not a very serious case of concussion, to judge by all the symptoms; the eyes look all right, and there is no sign of torpor. Moreover, there are no bones broken to complicate the case. It must be just the general shock which accounts for this excited condition—that, and the reaction after the distressing events connected with the loss of the Marathon.

"Would you care for a lemon drink?" says the fleet-surgeon, evading the patient's excited remarks; "they make an awfully good brand of it in the sick bay here. I tell you, lots of fellows try to go sick just on purpose to get some. Would you like to sample it?"

"Lemon drink be damned!" cries Stapleton, losing his temper completely. "I'm as well as you are, and if you weren't a blithering fool you ought to be able to see it for yourself without my telling you! Why are you keeping me here? What in the world do you imagine is the matter with me?"

This particular fleet-surgeon believes not only in humouring his fractious patients; he even goes so far at times as to talk straight to them about their ailments, without any evasion or pretence. It is rather a bold plan, but sometimes it has marvellously good results.

"Well, old man," he says, "it's just this. You have had a pretty bad time of it—got a pretty bad biff on the head, you know; and unless you keep quiet and rest for a day or two I won't answer for the consequences."

"But I assure you I feel perfectly well," answers Stapleton in a tone of aggrieved surprise. "I'm only just a bit shaken—that's nothing. My mind is absolutely clear, and I'm not wandering, or anything of that sort. There really is something which the admiral ought to be told immediately. It isn't hallucination on my part or any rot of that sort!"

"I'll tell you what we'll do," offers the fleet-surgeon with engaging frankness; "you turn round and go to sleep for an hour or two, and then, when you wake up, if you still have the same idea we shall both know that it is genuine and no hallucination. Come now, that's a fair offer, isn't it?"

Stapleton finds it increasingly difficult to keep down his rising anger in face of this plausible palavering. Yet he is sensible enough to see that he must do so, if he will not fall deeper into suspicion as one who is wandering in his mind.

"No," he says, "I'm afraid that won't do at all. You see, I must tell my news to the admiral at once, while the court of enquiry is sitting. Before, if I can get to him in time."

He speaks so quietly and reasonably that the fleet-surgeon is almost convinced, against his will.

"I am quite willing to undergo any test you may like to put me to," continues the patient with quiet earnestness; "ask me any questions you like, try me in any way you will, and I'll prove to you that my brain is in perfect working order. As for the rest of me, I'm quite all right in that respect too, except for a slight feeling of stiffness and bruises."

"Well," says the fleet-surgeon, thinking it wise to take him at his word, "tell me exactly all that happened to you last night, and how you came to be in the condition you were found in this morning. How did you manage to fall over the cliff?"

"Fall over the cliff? Did I fall over it?"

"Hm! Don't you remember it, then?"

"I remember going ashore—and I remember being helped into the boat just now. Do you mean to tell me that—oh, of course it must be so—that was last night and this is this morning!"

"How did you get so near the cliff, away from the path? And who was the sailor with you?"

"Sailor? What sailor?"

"You don't remember, then?"

"Oh, hang it all, I remember borrowing the skiff and going away by myself. I pulled in, and made fast to the landing-place. My intention was to look for the admiral, as I believed him to be still somewhere on the island, and I wanted most urgently to see him so as to tell him—what I still want to tell him!"

"Yes? And what then? What happened after that?"

A blank, puzzled look overspreads Stapleton's features.

"I—I'm blest if I know!" is his crestfallen reply. "Stop a minute. I've got it! No,—it's gone again!"

"There you are, see!" exclaimed the fleet-surgeon triumphantly. "What did I tell you? You see, your brain is not quite in working order: but, if you do as I tell you and keep quiet, we'll have you right again before you know where you are."

"Now, what the deuce did happen after I landed?" muses the other, paying no attention to the doctor's words, but engaged in trying to worry the thing out.

A voice at the door of the sick bay makes an interruption in this colloquy.

"Hospital drifter just come alongside, sir. How soon can you be ready?"

It is the officer of the forenoon watch who speaks, the same young sub-lieutenant who allowed Stapleton to take the skiff away in the last dog of the previous evening. And his soul within him is stirred with righteous wrath against the offending officer.

"I never came across any one like him for causing so much trouble in a short time," he complains in bitter meditation. "First he blows on board and turns me out of my cabin; then he keeps the steamboat as his own blooming private yacht the whole of the afternoon; then he takes away the skiff and loses her, and consequently gets me strafed by the commander; and finally pinches four of the hands to carry his blighted cot just when I haven't got a man that can be spared! I hope to goodness they will drop him in the ditch and drown him!"

"What's that about a hospital drifter?" enquires Stapleton in an ominously quiet voice.

"Well, you see, old man, you will be able to get better food and more attention in the hospital ship; so I'm sending you there for a few days."

"I'm damned if you are!" shouts the stalwart patient, flinging aside the bed-clothes and springing out of the cot. "Here, give me my things at once; I'm going to dress. I've had enough of this dashed tomfoolery!"

"Hold his legs! Here, you! Come here and help! Ah, is that your game?"

Stapleton has flung the unfortunate steward sprawling across the adjoining cot, and turns threateningly upon his chief tormentor.

"If you lay a finger on me I'm afraid I shall have to do the same to you," he cries.

The fleet-surgeon, is no athlete, but he has the heart of a lion; he needs it in his job. He braces himself for an effort; there are the makings of a very pretty rough house in the situation.

Fortunately, its development suffers a timely check; the captain of the ship at this moment enters, politely solicitous as to the welfare of his sick guest.

It is a very unexpected tableau that meets his surprised eyes.

"What on earth—hallo, what is happening?" he not unnaturally queries.

Explanations follow, somewhat confusedly, those of the fleet-surgeon being much more voluble and pointed than the account given by Stapleton, who stands quietly biding his time until the other has finished.

Then he tells his story, lucidly and calmly, again insisting with the utmost earnestness that he has most important information for the admiral.

"But," says the captain, "can't you see for yourself that this may be nothing more than a trick of the imagination? That knock on the head you have got may account for the whole thing; the fleet-surgeon says it is so, and although you seem clear enough in your mind on other matters, I think it is quite possible that you may be suffering from the effects of the shock you have had. You say you can't remember what took place last night after you landed on the island?"

"Unfortunately, no, sir. I have a perfectly clear recollection of everything else, but just how I happened to fall over the cliff remains a blank to me. I can only imagine that in the dark we must have got too near the edge, and either grabbled hold of the other man to save him or he must have grabbled hold of me. But, though I have no explanation to offer of that, the point is that I distinctly remember going ashore for the very purpose of finding the admiral and speaking to him. That doesn't fit in with the hallucination theory, does it?"

"What do you think, P.M.O.?"

"Well, sir, I wouldn't altogether like to say what there may not be something in what he says, but——"

"Why can't you tell me all about it instead of the admiral?" breaks in the captain, seeing a way out of the difficulty.

Stapleton also sees hope in this, and grasps at the suggestion.

"I can't tell you all, sir," he replies with eagerness, "but I can tell you enough to let you see how very essential it is that I should go to the admiral at once."

Inwardly he is fuming with impatience; the court of enquiry, as he knows, must have already opened, and if matters are delayed much longer he will be too late.

But it is no use giving way to this impatience. He must collect his wits to tell the captain just enough and no more.

The fleet-surgeon tactfully withdraws from the sick-bay, beckoning to his attendants to do the same, and leaves Stapleton to his private interview with the captain.

Just how much Stapleton tells him is known to those two alone. But it has its effect—the captain is evidently greatly impressed; more than that, he is convinced. Stapleton's patience and insistence have won, after all.

Summoning the fleet-surgeon again, the captain states his conviction that the sick officer really has some secret information which ought to be imparted to the court of enquiry; and the man of medicine is so far persuaded that at last he consents to let Stapleton go, only stipulating that he himself shall accompany him as a necessary precaution.

This is enough. The hospital drifter is sent away again, and in her place the steamboat is called away. Stapleton and his cautious medical adviser get down into the boat and start off immediately.

Will he be in time? That is Stapleton's one thought now.

And the sub-lieutenant on watch looks gloomily after the departing steamboat, and murmurs pessimistically, "More trouble! I hope the P.M.O. will give him a dose of poison!"

CHAPTER XXVIII

Even the least of life's tragedies would be sufficient to unnerve us completely and throw us off our mental balance for the rest of our days if we could visualise it thoroughly in all its details. Fortunately, our powers of imagination are strictly limited, and the proverb "What the eye does not see the heart does not feel" has a very true application to those great sufferings we hear or read about. The only impression we get is just a dim blurred idea of horror and sadness and pain; we are mercifully spared the realisation of each throb of agony, each bitter pang of mental torment.

Even such impressions as we do succeed in getting of the disasters which happen to other people would be unendurable if we allowed ourselves to brood upon them; we should probably go mad, or if we escaped this we should at all events become so utterly distracted that our usefulness in life would be gone, and there would be no pleasure in our days.

The common sense of humanity has therefore decided that a limit must be placed to grief, and that the natural impulse to feel for others' sufferings must not be permitted to interfere unduly with the ordinary affairs of life. Though one half the world should perish, the other half must still go on. Though the breadwinner of the family is brought home by his mates at the mine or the factory crushed to death in some fearful accident, there is still the children's dinner to be cooked.

And the constant succession of disasters which comes as the evil harvest of a war makes people gradually fall into the habit of accustoming themselves to hear of fresh disasters without exhibiting any great display of feeling. The thing is too big, and we are too small, too limited. It is not that we are unsympathetic—we are full of sympathy, indeed—but, well, we just become used to these awful happenings. The noise of a gun going off somewhere close at hand is rather a severe shock to the nerves when it is heard for the first time, but when the guns are heard all day long and every day, it is not long before they cease to be noticed at all.

So, if a ship were lost in the days before the war, the whole country used to be overshadowed with deep gloom which lasted for many a sad long day; but when the evil fortunes of war brought one fine ship after another to an untimely end with all her crew—well, there was sympathy enough, especially amongst those who were very closely affected by the disaster, but even for these it became possible to smile, nevertheless, and even to crack a joke.

This was not callousness; it was merely human nature asserting itself. And a fortunate thing for ourselves and for the world in general that the tendency to cheer up and make the best of a bad job is more powerful than the opposite tendency to brood unceasingly over what cannot be helped.

Admiral Darlington, therefore, must not be accused of being lacking in the finer feelings if he has a placid look of contentment and the makings of a well-pleased smile upon his jolly face, even though he is presently to bring his mind to bear upon the tragedy of the loss of the Marathon, with so many of her officers and men. What is the good of pulling a long face over the matter? If he can help in any way to mitigate the sorrows caused by the disaster, depend upon it he will do so; before long, you may be sure, he will be putting his hand into his pocket on behalf of the widows and orphans. Meanwhile, he has just got outside an uncommonly good breakfast, and is enjoying the first pipe of the day, which, as all smokers will agree, is the best pipe of all. Moreover, the sun is shining in a cloudless sky, and the mail has just brought him news that his youngest boy has successfully passed into Osborne as a naval cadet, thereby getting his foot, neatly encased in the uniform boot which gives him immense pride, upon the first rung of the ladder his father has climbed before him.

So no wonder the admiral is inclined to look upon the bright side of things, and to greet Dimsdale with a cheery Good Morning when the secretary comes into his room with a bundle of letters and official papers in his hand.

The admiral begins his working-day early. Already, before breakfasting, he has been up for a couple of hours, spending one of them in certain violent physical exercises which he explains are necessary to keep him in health and vigour, though other people are apt to say unkindly that his real aim in the vain one—vain in both senses of the word—of preserving his youthful contour-line amidships, the second hour he devotes to what he calls clewing up any business left over from the day before. He insists upon doing this unaided, and it is not until breakfast is over that he calls for the assistance of his secretary.

It is a pleasant little morning room where the admiral is seated, enjoying his pipe in a comfortable arm-chair. The wide french windows look out upon one of the many indentations of the harbour, and provide a view of a little hamlet clustered in the sheltering nook of a glen that widens out at the water's edge. Over the wide heather-clad slopes on either side are scattered here and there the tiny cottages of outlying crofters, and where the land is brought under cultivation the old men and the women—the young men have all gone to the war—are working busily to win from the rough, poor soil such scanty return as Nature grudgingly gives in these high and far-off edges of the world. The hardy little oxen too, are called in to assist in the work of the fields and altogether it is a very delightful picture of a primitive honest life pursuing its daily way in spite of the horrid noise and clash of distant war, in a land bleak and barren enough to the casual eye of a stranger, but dear as life itself to those born and bred on it, and never losing its place in their heart even though they wander to the world's end.

"Well, Dimsdale, and what have we got this morning? Nothing very much, I hope; anyhow, let's get through with it. We shan't have too much time, with this other business coming along presently. What's the first?"

Dimsdale picks out a letter from his pile and hands it to the admiral. A faint trace of a smile flickers at the corners of his lips as he does so.

"Eh? What's this?" ejaculates the admiral as he reads. "No—I will not become a patron of the society for supplying bedsocks to Conscientious Objectors! Tell 'em so, and be damned to 'em!"

"Very good, sir," quietly answers the secretary. "I'll tell them exactly what you say."

"You can put it a lot stronger than that if you like," says the other, with an indignant snort. "Conscien——" the danger of too violent an explosion checks him, and happily he sees the humorous side of things just in time. "What a nerve some people have!" is his very unofficial comment. "Here, let's have the next one. You can answer that any time."

"This is a private letter to you, sir," says Dimsdale, proffering a large envelope of an expensive brand marked with a crest on the flap, "but it was not marked private, and so got put in amongst my lot; but it is evidently meant for you personally."

The admiral pulls the letter out, and reads:

"DEAR ADMIRAL DARLINGTON—

"My son Ethelred is, as you are doubtless aware, a midshipman on your boat. And now that the inclement season is approaching, I shall be so grateful if you will kindly see that he always changes his undervest if he should happen to get wet, as I am told one is quite apt to do when at sea.

"Of course, I quite understand that your other duties may sometimes render it impossible for you to see to this matter yourself, but in that case I am sure you would not mind telling the commander or the coxswain or somebody to do it, and reminding them from time to time.

"Ethelred has been very carefully brought up, and I am sure you must find him a great help to you. Please do not let him go out in one of those little steamboats if the weather is at all rough, as I think they are very dangerous.

"I hope my boy does not suffer from sea-sickness, but I know, from sad experience gained in crossing the Channel a few years ago, how extremely suddenly this dire malady can attack even those who are least suspecting its onslaughts; and I am in possession of a remedy which proved very beneficial to me on that occasion, which I shall be only too pleased to send you for the use not only of Ethelred, but of any other of the men on your boat who may chance to succumb to this distressing complaint. In sending you the prescription, I shall have the satisfaction of feeling that I am doing my bit for our brave sailors and helping to mitigate at least one of the horrors of this great war.

    "With kind regards,
            "Yours sincerely,
"AMY TWITTENHAM-TWITTENHAM."

"Hm! You can answer that one for me, Dimsdale," says the admiral. "Perhaps you had better say that I tuck him up in bed every night with my own hands and sing him to sleep; something of that sort! By the way, how is the young monkey getting on? Have you seen anything of him lately?"

"The last time I saw him," the secretary answers, "was about eleven o'clock three or four nights back. He was with several other snotties tobogganing down the foremost gangway inside the chaplain's suit-case and landing in the ditch. I enquired what might be the meaning and reason of this occupation, and young Twittenham informed me that they were Gadarene swine. Apparently the idea was to try and remember the padre's last Sunday's sermon by putting it into actual practice; so Twittenham explained it, at least. He also added that another little drink wouldn't do him any harm. In fact, he appeared on the whole to be doing very nicely."

The admiral chuckles merrily, remembering his own midshipman's days. "Better drop a hint to the padre to choose some less violent subject for his next discourse," he suggests, "something at any rate less wetting!"

"I shouldn't like to discourage him; his sermons might get too dry altogether," says Dimsdale, laughing.

"Then," he continues bringing out another paper from his sheaf, "there's this one:

I—A return is to be made immediately of all H.M. ships or vessels fitted with soap-dishes pattern number four (noted on list as Dishes, Soap, number four pattern) and pierced with eighteen holes, circular, of one-eight of an inch in diameter.

This return to be made in triplicate, stating,

(a) How many of such articles are on charge.

(b) How many are in actual use on board.

(c) Whether it is found in practice that the residuum of soap or soap and water, occasioned by taking the piece or cake of soap from the water in which it has been used and placing it in the soap-dish, is able to escape with sufficient freedom into the receptacle provided for the same.

II—If it is found that this escape or discharge does not take place with reasonable speed and effectiveness, thereby causing a sediment of saponaceous matter with aqueous base and occasioning wastage of soap, the soap-dishes are to be returned at once to H.M. Dockyard where the holes will be enlarged from a diameter of one-eight of an inch to a diameter of three-sixteenths of an inch.

"And yet," groans the admiral, "there is a war on! Well the rest can wait. Nothing of any importance, is there? I suppose not, if that's a sample. We're due to start this court of enquiry in half an hour. But what's this yarn you were telling me about the man Sheridan?"

CHAPTER XXIX

"Did you ever hear of the Shamrock League, sir?".

"No, I can't say that I did. What is it? It sounds like the name of an Irish benefit society."

"Well, it is rather different to that. As a matter of fact, it is just as harmless, as far as its outward profession goes, being merely an association for the promotion of the Irish language and literature. But, beneath the surface, it is really a hotbed of dangerous treason and some of it members are fanatics of the worst type; but the majority of the people who belong to it are only allowed to know the literary side of the thing at first, and are not told anything about its political aspect until they have been well sounded and proved trustworthy. That is what makes it such a dangerous affair—if one tries to probe it, one gets no further than the discovery of just a harmless society of dilettanti."

"Well, but what about it? Do you mean to say that this man Sheridan is a member of this society? I don't see that we can bring that up against him in any way?"

"He is not only a member, but one of the secret Inner Circle of the Shamrock League, and even there he holds very high office. That badge that I told you about; the badge he tried to cover with his foot when I saw him in his cabin, is one that only a very few people indeed in the League are possessed of."

"How do, you know?"

"Well, sir, I do know—it would take me too long now to tell you the ins and outs of the way I came to learn the fact. Of course, as you say, it may have no bearing whatever upon this sad business, but—well, one naturally distrusts a man who is known to belong to the inner circle of a league of rebels!"

"Quite right, quite right! But I still don't see exactly what we can do about it. By the way, have you got him here?"

"He will be present as a witness at the court, sir. In view of my—well, my suspicions, I considered that all three of them ought to be there, so I made arrangements for the two girls to come also."

"You acted quite rightly, Dimsdale. Indeed, I don't see that you could have very well done otherwise, though it certainly seems rather a shame to put those two poor things up to be fired at with questions, after all they have been through."

"It does, indeed, sir," remarks Dimsdale, with a keen recollection of his last meeting with Netta the previous evening. He held her in his arms then, and called her his dear—and presently he will have to subject her to a formal examination; it is distinctly unpleasant, and he feels it would be a great relief to kick himself.

"I hope you haven't found a mare's nest," broods the admiral rather gloomily; "What sort of questions do you propose to put to them?"

"I intend simply to begin with asking them for a clear account of what happened while they were on board the Marathon. Their story of what took place beforehand seems to be genuine enough, so far as I can make out—except for one small detail. Oh, how perfectly hateful it is to have to try deliberately to be suspicious! But there is just one thing which does not exactly tally with their story as they have already told it!"

"What do you mean? Explain yourself."

"Well, I see from this Confidential Weekly Shipping Report," taking another paper from his bundle as he speaks, "that the s.s. Botopi, the ship in which the Sheridan party were alleged to have taken passage, really did sail from Galveston, Texas, on the exact date they mentioned. She was due the day before yesterday—and she has not arrived. She sent out the S.O.S. call that same morning; and the patrol vessels sent out in search could find no trace of her."

"By Jove, Dimsdale, you have been collecting information pretty thoroughly! But the result seems to be that the facts of the case tally precisely with the Sheridans' account."

"Yes, so they do. That is what I said. But, on the other hand, it would not be outside the bounds of possibility to acquire all these details from German, or rather pro-German sources."

"Y-yes; I suppose it could be done; though it seems very unlikely. I'm not surprised at your describing yourself as a suspicious fellow, Dimsdale."

The secretary feels the sting of the implied rebuke, the more so as he knows it to be a deserved one. But he has steeled himself to an unpleasant task and will not be deterred from pursuing it to the very end.

"I have to be suspicious in a case like this, sir," he quietly answers; "and that is why I took the steps I did next."

"What did you do?"

"I cabled to the Botopi's agents at Galveston, and asked if the Sheridans' names were on the passenger-list."

"Yes? By Jove, Dimsdale, you're a smart fellow! I should never have thought of doing that! Well?"

The secretary takes yet another paper from the bundle in his hand.

"Here is the reply cable," he says, handing it to the admiral.

It reads:

"No Sheridan in passenger-list."

"Hm! That looks bad, I must admit," remarks the admiral, pursing up his lips. "But," he adds after a moment's reflection taking a brighter view of the case, "of course there may be some very simple explanation of that! You're right, though, it does make the case somewhat more serious. Is that the one exception you referred to in the truthfulness of the Sheridans' story?"

"That was it, sir. It may be nothing, as you say; and yet——"

There is a knock at the door. The admiral's coxswain opens it and announces:

"Three ladies to see you, sir."

"Three?" exclaims the admiral, ruefully guessing who the third one is. "Don't be afraid, Dimsdale, you shan't be left alone with them! Ask them to come inside! Why have they come at this hour, I wonder? I didn't expect them for another half an hour or more."

He has no time for further reflections—and Dimsdale, poor man, has no means of escape. Through the open doorway sails in a very angry Mrs. Shaw, with the two girls in close company.

She wastes no time in empty courtesies and greetings, but begins at once to unburden herself of the wrath that is swelling her motherly bosom.

The admiral himself is the first object of her attack. She faces him with anger glittering in her eye as she begins her remonstrance.

"I understand, Admiral Darlington, that you have sent for these poor girls on a matter of extreme importance. I cannot imagine what it may be, but I must say that I think it is very inconsiderate of you to drag them out, across the water, at this hour of the day—most inconsiderate, seeing how ill they both are and what they have been through, poor things! Of course, I could not dream of allowing them to come alone—they are scarcely fit to walk. Even Miss Norah, who seemed to be recovering splendidly, has had a strange relapse since yesterday afternoon, and what the effect of this thoughtless business of dragging them from their beds in the early morning will be is more than I should like to say! I hope you will feel satisfied at your work, if it brings them to their graves, as I daresay it will—Mr. Dimsdale! Are there no chairs in this room? Really!—Yes, it is you who are chiefly to blame in this matter. It is all your doing! You are supposed to be the admiral's man of business, aren't you? Very well, then, I think you ought to be thoroughly ashamed of yourself persecuting two poor helpless, girls in this heartless manner! Yes, I am angry. And now, perhaps, Mr. Dimsdale, you will be good enough to say what it is you want with them. Which of them is it you wish to interview? Or is it both?"

"I—I—I——" the unhappy secretary, in a state of complete nervous prostration, is quite unable to make a fitting reply, and takes refuge in busily bringing chairs for the three ladies; in fact he brings not three chairs but six, and is going to get more, till stopped by Mrs. Shaw's "Good gracious! Is the man trying to barricade himself? Do sit down and be quiet, and allow us to do the same."

"My dear Mrs. Shaw," says the admiral in soothing tones, seizing the first opportunity of getting a word in edgeways, "I assure you that Mr. Dimsdale is not to blame in any way. It is I who am entirely responsible, and I must apologise humbly to these young ladies, and to yourself, for all the trouble and inconvenience to which you have been put. But the matter is really a serious one, or else I should never have thought of asking you all to be here."

A silvery voice breaks in with a most astonishing effect; in fact, if a lamb were to turn upon the shepherd defending it, and speak a good word for the wolf, the effect could hardly be more surprising! It is Netta who speaks, the weak, gentle Netta! And she says to the good lady at her side:

"I think you are very unkind to speak to Mr. Dimsdale in that way, Mrs. Shaw! He was most considerate and good yesterday, sitting with us and talking to us while you—while you went off with the admiral!"

"While I went—And I thought you were a timid little thing afraid to say Bo to a—yes, I suppose I am a goose to get so angry and flurried. But the poor girls really are weak and ill, you know, admiral!"

"That's right, Mrs. Shaw," he replies, greatly relieved to find the sudden storm has subsided. "When you cease to be cheery and good-humoured I shall know that things are going very wrong indeed! Now, if you will be good enough to wait in another room for just a very little while some refreshment shall be brought to you."

"Refreshment!" The storm threatens to work back again. "Thank you, we don't require any refreshing so soon after breakfast, as I am told you naval officers often do!"

"Well, then, just rest yourselves," hastily comes the amended suggestion. "I am sure you need it. I promise you that you shall not be detained very long."

Dimsdale jumps up eagerly to open the door for the ladies to depart into the room indicated; he is glad to find something to do, and glad also that the very alarming interview has come to an end. Mrs. Shaw again gathers her convoy and sails majestically away with them.

Dimsdale closes the door gently after them, and falls into a chair heaving a deep sigh of relief and wiping the perspiration from his brow.

The admiral surveys him with a twinkle of malicious amusement.

"By Jove, Dimsdale," he laughs, "you were let in for it properly that time! You must have had the fright of your life, didn't you?"

But Dimsdale is not to be cowed by a mere man, even an admiral.

"I thought that little girl was simply splendid, the way she stuck up for me," he replies sturdily. "A nice, gentle creature, that!"

"What!" cries the astonished admiral, "why, that's the first time in all these years I've known you that I've ever heard you say a good word for a woman!"

"Well, she seems to me to be different, somehow, from other girls."

"They all do!" chuckles the admiral.

"I thought so yesterday, too, when you—when you went off with Mrs. Shaw. She talked so sensibly then, it seemed to me. If ever I really had to marry, it would be a girl of that sort that I should choose for a wife."

"Well," says the admiral, very ungallantly, "I thought she seemed rather a weak sort of creature; no mind of her own, so to speak."

"That's the only sort I should like, sir," quickly explains the secretary, "I should be too much afraid of any other kind."

"But—if there's any truth in this yarn of yours, the girl may turn out to be an anarchist, or a Sinn Feiner, or a pro-German, or something of that sort; possibly the whole lot at once."

"Oh, well," says the secretary, turning the matter over with deliberation, "I don't know that I should mind that very much; every girl must have some sort of a hobby, I suppose."

CHAPTER XXX

The court of enquiry is assembled in the outer office in the admiral's house. It is a large room, formerly the dining-hall when the house was in the hands of its private owners. The picturesque details of such a room in a Highland home are still to be traced to a certain extent in the ancient oak panelling that covers the walls, and the many antlered heads and other trophies of the chase hanging upon them.

For the rest, the beauty and dignified grandeur of the old hall has given place to a very business-like and official appearance; a long table runs down the centre of the room, covered with books, papers and correspondence. Smaller tables have also been dumped down in any odd corners, and these also are covered with a litter of official documents. And to complete the hideous newness of the changed aspect of the place, the rich, dark panelling is obscured to a large extent by rows of shelves made of glaring varnished deal and divided off into pigeon-holes numbered in black painted figures.

But the picturesque must yield to utility in war time; and the room certainly makes an ideal place for such an enquiry as is now being held in it.

Admiral Darlington is president of the court, and he is assisted by several other officers belonging to the base and the ships attached, captains, commanders, and specialists in various branches.

Every endeavour is naturally made to sift the cause of the disaster to the Marathon.

The officers and men saved from her are of course the chief witnesses, and many of them are examined in the most careful manner to find out any facts that may help to throw light upon the occurrence.

A seaman who was one of the look-out men on the foc'sle is now under examination, the particular point at this stage being to try and discover whether the disaster may have been due to a floating mine. The possibility of a moored mine has already been ruled out by the experts, who have stated their opinion that the exact spot where the ship was lost was much too deep for any mine-field to exist.

The seaman gives his answer in a clear and thoughtful way; it is evident that he is a man whose opinion is not lightly formed.

He says he is quite sure in his own mind that there was no floating mine.

"What makes you so certain about it?"

"Because, sir, it was my duty to look out for them, on the starboard side, that is; the night was very clear—it was bright moonlight—and the sea was like glass. A floating mine would show up on such a night just as if it were noonday, and I couldn't help but see one if there was one to be seen."

This is very definite, even if not conclusive. But the port look-out man, who is also among the saved, says the same thing. And the statement is corroborated by several other men who were on the foc'sle at the time.

Presently the interrogations are directed on the possibility of an enemy submarine being responsible; but this also is a suggestion that does not meet with general favour, for a similar reason as in the former case; the wake of a torpedo approaching the ship could hardly have failed to be seen.

"But there was a submarine operating more or less in that locality a short time previously; the steamer Botopi was sunk by one early the same morning."

An officer gets up and replies to this, consulting some notes he has in his hand:

"Yes, that is so. But the course of this particular submarine was traced—she was seen twice for a few moments later in the day; and her course was one that took her right away from the Marathon."

"There might have been another submarine?"

Yes, it is agreed, of course, there might have been; but then there is that matter of no wake of a torpedo being seen.

It is all very baffling and inconclusive. One thing at least is certain, namely the place where the explosion occurred. It was for'ard of the engine room, and close to the fore-magazine if not actually in it. And the explosion was so violent that it is practically a certainty that it neither originated there, or else, if it came from outside, must have set up a secondary explosion there almost immediately. The president of the Court rises in his place and looks gravely at one of the Marathon's surviving officers.

"I wish to put to you a very serious question," says the admiral; "one which I trust you will answer with due deliberation, however curious or even foolish you may think it to be. You had on board, that evening, three people you rescued from an open boat, a gentleman and two ladies. Do you consider it at all possible that one, or all, of these three, could have been in any way connected with the disaster that happened to the ship?"

The officer reflects for a moment before replying. "I do not quite see how they could have had anything to do with it," he presently says. "They were merely shipwrecked passengers, rescued by the Marathon."

"That is not quite what I meant," the president says. "Let me put my question again in this way: Supposing these three people had had the wish to do some harm to the ship do you think that there was an opportunity for them to do so during the time that they remained on board?"

The witness again considers the question carefully, and having done so answers:

"I cannot give a definite answer to that question. On the whole, I should say it was quite impossible for them to do anything of the sort, as they were to the best of my belief in the after part of the ship the whole time; but I saw little of them myself, and therefore am unable to answer for their movements with complete certainty."

While this witness is giving his evidence, a signalman quietly enters the room and going up to the secretary presents him with a long signal.

"Marked Urgent-Priority, sir," he informs him.

But this is not the place nor the time for bringing signals of this sort, as the signalman ought to know.

"What do you mean by coming in here?" asks Dimsdale in an undertone; "and can't you see for yourself that the thing's in cipher? What's the good of bringing it to me? Take it to Mr. Onslow at once."

"Very good, sir," replies the unabashed signalman; he is quite accustomed to having his missives received with snappy remarks, and takes very little notice of them. So he retreats from the room and once more offers the signal to Mr. Onslow in accordance with the secretary's orders—and again meets with a cold welcome.

Mr. Onslow is an assistant-paymaster of the Royal Naval Reserve, and before the war was in a bank. Now he is acting in the capacity of secretary's clerk, and at present is seated in the drawing-room of the admiral's house, having been turned out of his office by the Court of Enquiry now occupying the room. At his side, on the floor, is a large steel chest, whose open lid displays within a number of thickly bound books of all sizes.

Looking at the signal now placed in his hand, Onslow observes the paper to be covered with long rows of figures in groups of five; and he groans aloud.

"My hat!" he complains bitterly, "if only I'd known what the life of a ruddy A.P. was like, I would have joined up as a domestic, or a bandsman, or anything. I thought I was going to have a life on the ocean wave and a home on the rolling deep, and instead of that here I am stuck in a beastly back drawing-room doing arithmetical puzzles."

So saying, he reaches down to the steel chest and drags out one of the fattest books. Then he proceeds laboriously to decipher the long signal.

He has not got very far on with it before he suddenly begins to show signs of interest. He pulls himself up in his chair and turns over the leaves of his book much more rapidly.

"Hm! Better get a move on with this," he remarks to himself; "it appears to me that it might be useful to those people inside. There's some use in this job, after all!"

CHAPTER XXXI

The court of enquiry drags wearily and without any satisfaction or definite result.

To tell the truth, none of the officers constituting the court ever really expected much result from it. When a ship has gone down in such a manner, blown to pieces almost in a moment and sinking without leaving any trace, it is exceedingly difficult to assign a cause to the disaster in the absence of any material evidence; and it seems likely that this must be counted as one more of the many mysteries whose solution lies hidden beneath the waves until such time as the sea gives up her dead.

General opinion appears to be on the whole in favour of the theory of an internal explosion; but the theory is not strongly held, and is supported only by negative evidence. And against it the fact is elucidated that the magazines and shell-rooms were all inspected less than two hours before the time of the disaster.

The suggestion to call in the members of the shipwrecked party meets with outward approval, but inwardly it is regarded by most of those present as rather a bore and a waste of time. What purpose can be served by questioning these people? What can they possibly know about it? The idea that they can have had a hand in the affair is, of course, ridiculous. Much better cut it out and let the members of the court get away to lunch!

But no one dares to utter these thoughts openly. There is only a smothered protest of deep sighs when the secretary states his opinion that these witnesses should be brought in and examined separately, and not all three together. More time going to be wasted.

Miss Netta Sheridan is first called; and there is a perceptible stir amongst the officers of the court, and a lively recrudescence of interest as the pretty girl enters the room. With two exceptions, none of those present have seen her before, and they certainly did not expect to see anyone of this delicately beautiful type. And none of them have had any leave for some considerable period, so it is long since they had the opportunity of setting eyes upon a pretty girl. Yes, the suggestion of bringing in the shipwrecked party was, after all, quite a good one!

And, to the delight of most of the members, the girl is accompanied by one whom they all know very well indeed; Mrs. Shaw can be depended on to enliven even a dull affair like a court of enquiry!

On her first entrance, however, she gives no sign of any intention to brighten up the proceedings by taking the slightest part in them either by verbal protest or otherwise. On the contrary, she seats herself in the chair provided for her without uttering a single word, and folding her hands resignedly in her lap gazes at the ceiling in an air of complete distraction. But there is a martial glitter in her upturned eyes which speaks plainer than any mere words. It says, "I wash my hands of the whole affair! If you men must behave like a parcel of fools, well then you must, that's all! I suppose you think yourselves very wise and important, don't you? All right, go on! And if you are quite determined to make a martyr of this poor child, it's your own responsibility, and I can't prevent you!"

At the request of the president of the court, Netta tells her story over again from the very beginning, omitting none of the details which have been so carefully drilled into her. It is not a pleasant task for the girl. The whole action has become thoroughly repugnant to her mind, and as for her own particular part in it, at no time a congenial part, this is now no more to her than a matter for sincere repentance.

Yet she still continues splendide mendax—which means not so much a magnificent liar as a liar in a good cause.

For is it not a good cause to shield her cousin Norah? And there is no other way to do so, no other way so far as Netta can perceive, except this one of sticking religiously to her plausible tissue of false statements.

And all the time she is speaking she is wondering to herself, "Did Dick Baynes manage to still the tongue of Mr. Stapleton, as he promised he would?" She looks around the court, and is much comforted to find that Stapleton is not here. Baynes must have succeeded, then.

So far, so good. But with this consoling reflection comes also the remembrance of the price she will have to pay for this help. Dick is not the man to let her off the full payment—nor would she ask him. No, the compact must be observed on her side as well as on his. But the thought of it makes her shudder involuntarily.

The action does not escape the notice of her interrogators, who attribute it to her weak condition and pity her accordingly. Obviously, this witness must be spared as much as possible.

"A few questions more, and you shall not be troubled any further. While you were on board the Marathon, were you left alone for any part of the time?"

"Yes, but not for very long. For a few minutes at most."

"Where were you then? In what part of the ship, I mean?"

"I was in a cabin. I think it was in the cabin belonging to the surgeon."

"And what were you doing there?"

"I was carried there in a faint, when I came to myself I had no very distinct recollection of what had happened, but found myself lying on the bed and the doctor attending to me."

"Did you leave the cabin then?"

"No, I think I must have fainted again, or else have fallen into a kind of sleep. I only remember that they had to lift me from the bed when the time came to leave, and to carry me on board the destroyer."

"So that for the little while you were left alone you were really unable to move or to leave the cabin unaided?"

"Quite unable."

Another member of the court breaks in here with a pertinent enquiry:

"Is there any means of confirming these statements? Is the surgeon of the Marathon here to give evidence?"

"He is dead, sir," states the president in a tone of quiet rebuke. "The questioner should have known this, if he had read the list of the saved more carefully."

"God bless the man," comes like a shrill bark from Mrs. Shaw, who suddenly lowers her eyes from the ceiling and fixes them in a baleful stare upon the offending questioner—"what more evidence does he want to prove that the poor girl was ill? Perhaps he thinks she is shamming now! If he will be good enough to condescend to look at her he might see for himself that she is ill enough in all conscience—and will be worse still, if this silly nonsense goes on much longer."

"My dear, Mrs. Shaw!"—the effort to calm her is, however, not needed; she has shut her mouth again, like a steel trap, and resumed her effort to discover in the ceiling something of greater interest than the affairs of these ridiculous busybodies.

"Thank you, my dear young lady, that will do. We have no more questions to put to you.

"The court desires to thank you for the clear and helpful manner in which you have given your evidence, and sincerely regrets that you should have been put to such inconvenience in your present weak state of health."

A violent sniff is the only comment which Mrs. Shaw deigns to make on these courteous remarks.

"Now call in the other Miss Sheridan, if you please."

Norah enters, and takes a seat on the other side of her protectress. At the same moment, entering quietly by another door, comes in assistant paymaster Onslow, bringing a paper which he at once takes to the secretary.

"I brought this to you, sir," he announces, "as I thought it might have some bearing on the case. I have only just finished deciphering it."

Having delivered this message, Onslow departs again, to do some more of his mathematical puzzles which have been accumulating.

Dimsdale reads the message through, and nods sagely as its import dawns upon him. He rises from his place when he has finished the perusal, and going over to the admiral interrupts him just when about to call upon Norah for her evidence.

"I think you ought to see this, sir," he tells him. "It may possibly prove to be just what we are looking for."

The admiral in his turn takes the paper and, carefully adjusting his glasses, reads it through, forming the words silently with his lips as is his habit when dealing with any document of importance.

"Upon my word," he says to himself when he comes to the end of it, "I shouldn't be surprised if we have here the explanation of the whole thing."

Then, aloud he announces:

"I have here a signal which has only this minute come through. It appears to me to be of sufficient importance to justify my asking the court to listen to it. Of course, it may turn out to have nothing whatever to do with the case, but on that point the members of the court will form their own opinion."

After this tantalising preface he proceeds to read aloud:

"Urgent. Priority. From the Admiralty. To all ships and vessels. Message begins. Cordite Ammunition Mark 30.A., 007 over 16, type B.C. one, has been found to be defective, and is considered liable to spontaneous explosion. All ships having this type of ammunition are to disembark it immediately for destruction and are to fill up from the nearest ammunition depôt. Message ends."

There is a mild flutter of excitement amongst all present in the momentary silence which follows the reading of this signal.

"Did the Marathon happen to have any of this particular lot of ammunition, on board?" asks a member of the court.

"That is a question that can easily be decided," the President replies. And, while one is despatched to produce the necessary records which are to provide the answer, he goes on to say:

"I think the court will agree with me that if it should prove to be the case that the Marathon's ammunition comprised some of this mark referred to, there will be little need for us to pursue our investigations any further. For myself, I may state that my suspicions pointed this way, though in the absence of any evidence I did not think it right to bring forward mere suspicions. This however, puts a different complexion on the matter altogether. The court will doubtless remember the case of the French ship, Jean Bart, whose destruction was caused, according to the report of the experts who investigated the case, by an internal explosion resulting from defective ammunition. Also the case of the Fox, in our own Navy some years ago, where a spontaneous explosion in the after magazine caused an accident which happily was not accompanied by any casualties or the loss of the ship. I do not say, of course, that we can be certain of a similar cause for this present disaster, even if it should prove, that the Marathon carried defective ammunition. But seeing that no other cause can reasonably be assigned, this would afford the only explanation with any sort of evidence in its support."

The records bearing upon the matter are brought in and placed before him on the table.

Once more the admiral adjusts his glasses and runs his finger carefully down the printed columns.

"Yes, the Marathon had twenty rounds per gun of this mark 30.A. stuff." he announces; and the news makes a great impression upon the court. Evidently there is little use in prolonging the investigation any further. This discovery may not indeed be the true explanation, but it is at least an exceedingly probable one, and no other is at all likely to come to hand.

Yet, as a matter of form, the remaining witnesses must still be heard. And, recovering from what has proved a somewhat sensational winding up of the enquiry, the court suddenly remembers that Miss Norah Sheridan has been summoned to give evidence.

The president rises to address her. But before he can speak, a still more sensational development happens.

The door opens suddenly, and two officers burst hurriedly into the room—two officers who are neither members of the court nor witnesses called to appear before it in evidence. This is most irregular and astonishing; no wonder that everyone present turns in his place, and rivets his eyes upon these two outrageous intruders.

No, they have not made an error in the room—they do not withdraw on seeing where they have come, nor make any apology for their intrusion. On the contrary, they advance boldly to the president's table; one of them, indeed, is almost running in his evident haste.

He is a tall young officer in the uniform of a lieutenant-commander. And as he removes his cap it is noticed that his head is tied in bandages.

The silence that falls upon the court is broken by a woman's shriek.

Netta averts her eyes in horror from the sight of the unexpected intruder, and burying her face in Mrs. Shaw's bosom, cries out:

"Oh, send him away! Don't let him speak!"

CHAPTER XXXII

"Stapleton!" cries the admiral in astonishment, "what is the meaning of this, may I ask? Or rather," turning towards the fleet-surgeon, who has hung back a little after entering, "perhaps I should address my question to you; why have you brought this officer here?"

"I have an important statement to make," begins Stapleton; but the admiral, ignoring him for the present, listens rather to the fleet-surgeon's explanation:

"It is entirely against my advice that he has come, sir; but the captain urged me to give way on the grounds that this officer's health was not so important as the interests of the Service. So I consented at last, unwillingly, and only on the condition that I myself should accompany the patient."

"Well, well," says the admiral, finding that this explanation does not throw very much light on the affair, "but why has your captain sent the two of you here?"

"This officer insists that he has some very important information to lay before the court, sir," answers the fleet-surgeon; "but before you listen to it, I consider it my duty to tell you that I do not consider that he is at present in such a condition of health as to render his statements entirely reliable."

"Hm!" says the admiral, somewhat nonplussed by all this—"and what may be this important information that you have to give us, Stapleton?"

The tall young officer looks around the room before speaking, and his eyes light upon Norah, who meets his glance without flinching. The effect of this upon himself, however, is unnerving to the last degree; he pales, and turns away his eyes immediately and almost seems as though he would fall but for his steadying himself with his hand on the table behind him.

"Take your time," says the admiral kindly, "I can see that you are not really well enough to come here."

It is a wonder that Stapleton looks distressed, when he is about to denounce the girl he loves—or has loved!

Which is it—loves? or, has loved? As he looks once more towards the beautiful dauntless girl opposite him, he puts this question to himself—and cannot answer it!

But before everything he is fully determined to do his duty.

Still supporting himself with one hand upon the table he stretches out the other at full length and points towards Norah. For a moment or two there is silence; his voice refuses to frame the words that must be spoken. All present in the room look wonderingly at this gaunt and silent figure in the attitude of an accuser.

Then he finds speech, and in a hollow and unnatural voice declares,

"I denounce that woman, and her friends, as the cause of the loss of the Marathon!"

To say that there is consternation in the court is putting it mildly. Such a sensation as this is more than the wildest dreamer could have anticipated.

But the consternation is not altogether of a serious nature. Some of the members, indeed, show by their astonished faces that they are greatly impressed by the dramatic denunciation; but the majority of them appear to be rather amused than otherwise—in fact, one of the junior members gives vent to a distinct giggle, which he vainly endeavours to hide away under a very unconvincing cough.

As for the fleet-surgeon, he is the first to speak, and what he says is spoken rather to himself than to the assembled company.

"Oh, he's mad! Quite mad! I knew it—I ought never to have allowed them to override my opinion," he says.

The admiral frowns slightly, and his genial face clouds over. This is a most unfortunate occurrence in every respect; distressing to the young ladies, and bad for Stapleton too. The fleet-surgeon ought never to have brought him here.

But perhaps, after a shocking statement like this, it would be better to allow the patient to commit himself a little further in order to prove clearly that his mind is for the present unhinged and he is not responsible for what he is saying.

So the admiral prompts him.

"Have you any proof, Mr. Stapleton, of this remarkable statement?"

"Yes. She herself made a confession to me." The accusing hand is again lifted towards Norah.

Quite out of his mind, poor fellow! But he must still be humoured.

"What sort of a confession? Tell us."

"It was to this effect, that the whole story of the shipwreck was an invention, a deliberate piece of deception and part of a prearranged plan. She, and her cousin here, and the man—Mr. Sheridan—were all of them engaged in a plot to blow up one of His Majesty's ships."

"What absurd nonsense!" breaks in a voice overcharged with shrill indignation. "I never heard such rubbish in all my life! That man's not in his right mind—anyone can see that! He ought to be in bed!"

"Mrs. Shaw—please!" The admiral once more finds it his duty to try and quiet this very disturbing lady.

But the whole of the court is really in sympathy with her. It is preposterous to outrage decency with these wild accusations.

Only one member amongst the whole court appears to take a different view of the matter. Dimsdale bends forward attentively in his place at the table and looks with searching eyes first upon Stapleton and then upon the girl. But no one takes any notice of him.

"Hadn't you better take him away?" someone says in an undertone to the fleet-surgeon.

Stapleton's ears catch the half-whispered remark. He perceives clearly that he is an atmosphere of unbelief. Unless he can convince his audience, he feels that in another moment he will be dismissed, his action attributed pityingly to the wanderings of a brain-sick man, and his chances of getting a serious hearing gone for ever. He knows that Norah will not keep back the truth, if put to the test. This much faith in her is left with him, the ashes of his dead love—is the love quite dead?

"Ask her!" he cries. Oh, the agony of being forced to make her utter her own condemnation! "Ask her—she will not deny it!"

Norah's eyes again lifted towards him; and there is pride in them. Yes, pride and gratitude that he should have this opinion of her!

The admiral perceives that Stapleton is unlikely to be quieted until this demand is complied with. Well, the sooner this very painful incident is brought to an end the better! So he looks apologetically towards Norah, with the words,

"You have heard what he has said, my dear young lady. I am sorry to distress you needlessly, but perhaps you will be good enough to reply to him. That will set matters right, once and for all."

No answer comes from Norah's lips. She seems to be bracing herself for an effort.

It is Stapleton himself who gives her strength to speak; ignoring the admiral and taking upon himself the part of questioner, he demands,

"Answer the question! Did you or did you not make a confession to me?"

And in strong clear tones comes back the answer, "I did."