Whether it was due to the fact that, in addition to having smashed up two monoplanes, Lawless had lost the new seaplane which he had been ordered to test, was never made clear to him, but certain it is that, soon after the latter incident, his request to be transferred back to the Sea Service was granted. That was why, in accordance with his instructions, he found himself at Devonport awaiting orders. In due course these arrived, and were to the effect that he must report himself on board the patrol boat O47, at Falmouth, where he would enjoy temporary rank as Lieutenant.

"Holy smoke!" ejaculated Lawless when he received the order, "this takes me down a peg. Why, I was Lieutenant-Commander——"

"Don't worry," interposed the Port Admiral encouragingly. "You'll be back where you started from before long. I'll do my best to get you your old ship, the Knat."

"Thank you, sir," answered Lawless gratefully.

On arriving at Falmouth he found the O47 a grimy, unpicturesque, and weather-beaten trawler, whose prescribed beat, he was informed, lay "somewhere" west of Start Point. The skipper, a gruff, taciturn old salt, received him without enthusiasm, and grumbled audibly at having to "dry-nurse green-horns." Obviously he had never heard of the Lieutenant's exploits when in command of the Knat, and Lawless was careful not to undeceive him.

"I'll have a lark with the old buffer," he told himself, and felt so pleased at this idea that he forgot his indignation at having been assigned to such a wretched old tub and with inferior rank.

The O47 left Falmouth Harbour on the following morning, and was soon stubbing her way westward, rolling as only a North Sea trawler can roll.

There was a stiff, sou'-westerly breeze blowing, and as the day waned it showed signs of developing into a first-class hurricane. The sea, which had been merely choppy to begin with, had risen until the great foam-crested billows charged down upon each other, flinging high their white manes of wind-driven spume. The sky had turned from blue to a cold, steely grey, with low-lying clouds like banks of soiled snow on the western horizon. A pale crescent moon already showed dimly in the half-light.

In the little wheelhouse, perched high up in front of the funnel, Skipper Chard clung to a handrail and peered through the rime-frosted glass across the endless grey vista of tossing, white-capped seas.

Chard growled as the trawler, struck amidships by an extra large wave, heeled till her port taffrail was under water.

When she had righted herself, Lawless, clad in oilskins and a sou'-wester, swarmed up the little iron ladder to the wheelhouse, and, waiting a favourable opportunity, opened the door and staggered in.

"Phew!" he ejaculated. "This is weather and no mistake!"

"Weather!" echoed the skipper with a sour smile. "Wait till we get it really rough!"

The quartermaster at the wheel suppressed a smile, while the Lieutenant did his best to look apprehensive.

"I thought this was pretty rough," he said apologetically.

"Oh, it's a bit choppy, I'll allow. But rough——" The skipper smiled a smile, more eloquent than words, that expressed all the scorn which a seasoned salt feels for a greenhorn who has still to learn the ways of the sea.

"It'll be my watch in five minutes," said Lawless. "I expect you will be glad to go below."

The skipper grunted. No one but a raw amateur would have turned out for his watch before being called; it was the brand of inexperience.

"Keep her as near west by south as may be," said the skipper, jerking his head towards the binnacle. "Send for me if you sight anything."

While he was speaking, eight bells struck, and as the sound died away a seaman came up the iron ladder to relieve the quartermaster at the wheel. As the off-duty man stumbled out of the wheelhouse, the skipper also turned to leave.

"You'll need to keep a bright look-out," he remarked grimly. "As like as not——"

He paused abruptly, then snatched a pair of binoculars out of the box attached to the handrail, and focused them on a small object, barely discernible to the naked eye. He remained thus for more than a minute, with legs stretched wide apart, swinging back and forth automatically with the motion of the vessel.

"Have a squint," and he handed the glasses to the Lieutenant.

The latter focused the binoculars on the strange vessel ahead. She was a steamer of about fifteen hundred tons, with the word Gelderland painted in huge white letters on her hull amidships, together with the Dutch colours.

"A Dutchman," he observed, handing back the glasses.

"A private of marines could tell that," snorted the skipper. "Question is, what's she doing right away west here?"

The Lieutenant made no answer; which was wise, since none was expected. Chard shouted an order to the quartermaster, who echoed it, and began to turn the heavy wheel.

"Signal the Dutchman to stop," commanded the skipper.

It being too dark to use flags or semaphore, Lawless picked up the signal lamp and flashed the message across the intervening space. He waited for an answer, and, none coming, called up once more.

"Can't get a reply," he said after the second attempt.

"I'll get one, though," muttered the skipper; and, sliding back one of the windows, he leant out.

"Stubbs, put a shot across that hooker's bows!" he shouted.

"Aye, aye, sir!" answered the gunner, and bent over a small quick-firer that was mounted on the well-deck forward.

Next moment there was a bright yellow flash and a reverberating boom. The shell was seen to strike the water some twenty yards in front of the Dutchman's bows, sending up a small pillar of foaming water. But the stranger, instead of stopping, suddenly altered her course, and a cloud of black smoke which began to pour out of her funnel showed that she was firing up.

"All right!" ejaculated the skipper. "But we'll cop her yet. Looks suspicious, her cuttin' away like that. Climb on the fo'c'sle and signal that if she don't stop we'll sink her!"

Lawless descended the ladder, staggered across the slippery, reeling deck, and mounted the fo'c'sle head. Crooking one arm round a stay to steady himself, he jerked out the signal in a somewhat uneven succession of dots and dashes. Still the stranger made no answering signal, and at last he climbed down.

"Put a shot through her funnel!" yelled Chard.

The gunner breathed hard as he adjusted the sights and waited till the O47 swung up for a second on an even keel.

Bang!

The shell sped true, for where the Dutchman's funnel had stood there was now only a jagged stump of metal, with columns of smoke issuing out of it. Also her captain had seen fit to slow down at last.

"Mr. Lawless, I'm going alongside," shouted the skipper from the wheelhouse. "Serve out cutlasses and revolvers, in case the Dutchmen start to play monkey-tricks."

The Lieutenant served out the weapons, after which he climbed on the fo'c'sle head to help bring the trawler alongside her quarry. It needed no little skill and judgment to accomplish this in such weather and with darkness coming on.

The high bows of the O47, towering above the low decks of the Gelderland as the trawler came racing up, threatened to crash right into the Dutchman and cut her in twain amidships, but the trawler's engines were reversed in the nick of time, and her stern slewed round so that the two vessels lay alongside each other.

Skipper Chard dropped on the Gelderland's deck just as the Captain—a short, stout man—came puffing down from his bridge in a violent temper.

"Vat for you do that?" he demanded, pointing to the smashed funnel.

"Why didn't you stop when I ordered you?"

"Because I saw not any signal. The first thing I know is—plump!—and then vat you call the chiminey is proken."

"You mean to say you didn't know I sent a shot over your bows?" demanded Chard incredulously.

"I see noddings," answered the Captain. "But you haff done big damages, and I will make you pay."

"Oh! will you, my son?" replied the other. "We'll see about that, but in the meantime I must see your papers."

The Captain promptly led the way to the chart-room and produced his papers with an alacrity that was calculated to disarm the most suspicious investigator. According to them, the Gelderland had cleared at Amsterdam for Boston with general cargo.

"H'm!" grunted Chard, as he looked at the papers. "How long have you been coming up the Channel?"

"Four or five days. I was hung up by fog."

"Well, the sooner you get out of it the better," answered Chard, turning to go. The ship's papers were in order, and therefore he had no right to detain the vessel further. As he was about to pass through the door his glance fell on a chart fastened to the table with drawing-pins. He paused for a moment and bent over it.

"Here!" he said in a different tone. "Come here!"

His forefinger was resting on the apex formed by two diagonal lines which had been ruled across the chart. This apex was just opposite Start Point, and the lines formed two sides of a triangle—one running parallel to the English coast as far as the Lizard, the other running south-west to a point just north of Ushant.

"Vell?" inquired the Captain, but there was a slight tremor in his voice.

"You'd better scuttle that Amsterdam yarn," replied Chard quietly. He laid his finger once more on the chart. "If this means anything," he went on, "it means that you've been cruising around between Start Point, Ushant and the Lizard, and that the clearance papers you showed me are just fakes. It's pretty certain that——No, you don't!" as the Captain made a swift movement with his right hand. "Keep your eye on this, my son," and Chard levelled an automatic pistol at the other's head.

Then, still covering the Captain with his pistol, he hailed the O47 through the open door of the chart-room.

"Mr. Lawless!"

"Aye, aye!" came the answer.

"Train the gun on this packet, and sweep her decks if the men show trouble. Then lower a couple of boats and come aboard for prisoners."

The Lieutenant gave the necessary orders to the gunner, after which he saw to the lowering of the boats. In the darkness and with a heavy sea running this last was a difficult and dangerous task, but it was accomplished safely. Meanwhile, Chard had insisted on some of the hatches being removed from the Gelderland's hold in order that he might judge of the contents. They consisted chiefly of cases, crates and barrels, some of which, on being opened, proved to contain earthenware.

"Vell, does that satisfy you?" asked the Captain triumphantly.

"Not by a damn sight," answered Chard bluntly. "There's a clear space at the bottom of the hold. Open one of the cases down there."

The Captain protested, but the other was adamant, and eventually a couple of men were despatched to carry out his demand. The first case was opened, and found to be packed with cans of petrol. Chard smiled grimly and ordered another to be opened; it contained a small quick-firer in pieces.

"A proper little arsenal, this," remarked Chard, with a grin. "Let's try another of your surprise packets."

A third case was broken open, displaying rows of neatly packed shells.

"I see; if any U boat happened to have damaged a gun or run short of ammunition, you can supply the goods," said Chard. "It's a fine idea."

The boats from the O47 had come alongside, and the Lieutenant swung himself aboard. In a few words Chard explained the situation and told him that, as soon as the prisoners had been put aboard the trawler, he would be placed in charge of the Gelderland with a prize crew. This was carried out speedily, the Germans, as they really were, offering no resistance in view of the fact that the trawler's gun was kept trained on them all the time.

Half a dozen men from the O47 were placed on board the Gelderland as a prize crew, and Chard, before leaving, advised Lawless to make straight for Plymouth. Then he returned to the trawler and the two vessels slowly drew apart and were lost to each other in the darkness.

"Keep her nose to the west," Lawless told the quartermaster, and then dived into the chart-room to lay out his course for Plymouth. This done, he stepped out on to the bridge again and peered into the darkness. The Eddystone Light was not visible yet, and he was about to return, when there came a shout from the look-out on the fo'c'sle head.

"Light on the port bow, sir!"

The Lieutenant leaned over the bridge-rail and stared into the night, but could see nothing. He was about to hail the look-out man, when he saw a faint yellow glimmer appear for a second, and vanish, but this time it was on the starboard side.

"Queer," he murmured.

He started towards the other end of the bridge, and accidentally knocked his foot against something. Stooping down, he found it was a signal-lamp, but different to the one he had been used to handling. Thoughtlessly, he picked it up and tried the shutter; a beam of yellow light flashed out and was gone. Then, as if in answer to it, the mysterious light to starboard flicked twice and disappeared again.

"Oh-h!" murmured Lawless.

It had come upon him that the light was a signal from a submarine, and that, in moving the shutter of the signal-lamp, he had unwittingly answered it. Here, indeed, was a chance of recovering his reputation, for there could be no doubt that the submarine was a U boat. If only it could be captured or sunk!

He crossed to the bridge telegraph and rang down "Stop!" to the engine-room. The machinery ceased throbbing, and the Gelderland, losing way, began to roll in a nasty fashion. Then, out of the darkness, a voice hailed her in German. The Lieutenant shouted back some meaningless gibberish, trusting to the wind to make his voice indistinct. This done, he hurried on to the deck, flung a rope ladder over the taffrail, and whispered some instructions to the bos'n.

Leaning over the bulwarks, he saw the shadowy outline of a large submarine alongside, her deck awash, and with a man standing on the hatch-cover, clinging to an inadequate handrail. The man flung out a rope with a hook at the end, caught one of the rungs of the rope ladder, and drew it towards him. Clutching it, he allowed himself to swing off the hatch, and next moment was clambering over the bulwarks. Then, as he reached the deck, a couple of seamen sprang out of the shadows and bore him down before he could utter a cry.

"Well?" remarked the Lieutenant interrogatively, as the prisoner, with a sailor on each side of him, stood in the Captain's cabin.

The man from the submarine growled something beneath his breath. Evidently he had not yet recovered from his astonishment.

"Well?" repeated Lawless almost genially.

"This boat, is it not the Gelderland?" asked the prisoner in passable English.

"It is."

"Then why——"

"Take him aft to the wheelhouse and lock him in," interrupted the Lieutenant. The prisoner made an abrupt movement, which was checked at sight of a revolver which one of the seamen was holding. Then he was marched off.

It was not till then that Lawless realised the difficulties of the situation. He had no gun mounted wherewith to sink the enemy submarine; obviously he could not board her so that——

"I'll ram her!" he ejaculated aloud.

He returned to the bridge and saw that the huge whale-like form of the U boat was still alongside. Grabbing the telegraph, he rang down "Full speed ahead!" and then, thrusting the quartermaster aside, took the wheel and swung the vessel round so that she was bows-on to the submarine. At the same moment the latter's hatch opened and a man stepped out, evidently to try and find out what kept the other so long. But before he could realise what was happening, the Gelderland drove right into the low-lying hull; there was a terrific shock, and, as the steamer reeled under the force of the impact, a stifled cry from out of the blackness—and then silence.

Considerably elated, Lawless picked up the Eddystone light about an hour later. Then, having taken his bearings, he left Plymouth far away to starboard and headed down Channel, while, in obedience to his instructions, the quick-firer was taken out of the hold and mounted on deck and the damaged funnel repaired.

He had been the recipient of a brilliant inspiration.

"The young fool's been and got himself torpedoed, that's what he's done," said Skipper Chard in a tone of conviction.

He was seated with other patrol-boat skippers in the bar-parlour of a certain hostelry, and the conversation had turned on the mysterious disappearance of the Gelderland with her prize crew. A full week had elapsed since her capture by the O47, yet she had not been reported at Plymouth or any of the other western seaports.

"Skipper Trevail do say he saw she west of Lizard," remarked an old Cornishman.

Chard shook his head impatiently. He absolutely refused to credit the strange stories which, during the last few days, had been rife in the west. Patrol skippers had solemnly assured him that they had seen the Gelderland off the Cornish coast. One declared that, not knowing what she was, he had boarded her and seen her captain, a young man who could not speak a word of English; but, as her papers were in order, he had let her proceed without troubling to search her cargo. As day after day passed these stories were added to, or varied, until the Gelderland began to be regarded as a phantom ship, and was spoken of, not without awe, as the Flying Dutchman. The skipper of the O47 alone maintained a sceptical attitude, and reiterated his belief that she had been either torpedoed or mined.

At last the Admiralty, awaking to the fact that a captured ship had disappeared, sent wireless instructions to the officers in command of the patrols to make a systematic search for the vessel. And so, from Start Point to the Lizard, cruiser, destroyer, and patrol-boat swept the seas.

On the afternoon of the very day that these instructions were sent out, Skipper Chard stood in the wheelhouse of the O47 and swept the horizon with his glasses. Suddenly he uttered a cry, for just visible against the skyline was the Gelderland.

"Whack her up all you can!" he yelled through the voice-pipe. "We've sighted her!"

The engineer did his best, and the deck-plates of the O47 vibrated with the ponderous thumping of the machinery below. Chard leaned out of the wheelhouse with his binoculars glued to the missing prize, calling down maledictions upon himself and all his kin if he failed to lay her by the heels. But the Gelderland was making off as fast as her engines would carry her, and there ensued a long and stern chase which lasted until the O47 was near enough to send a shot crashing through the Gelderland's chart-room. Then, and not till then, the Gelderland hove to.

"You'll be hanged for this, you ravin' lunatic!" shouted Chard as he boarded the recaptured prize; and then, as the Lieutenant, descending from the bridge, smiled in a sickly sort of fashion, he added: "You've been guilty of barratry, piracy, mutiny, and heaven knows what!"

Lawless was told to regard himself as a prisoner, and then the skipper, pursuing his investigations, was amazed to find some score of Germans in the hold, all of them belonging to the submarine service.

"Why—why, what the deuce does this mean?" he demanded.

"I had to sling some of the cargo overboard," answered the other apologetically, "or there wouldn't have been room for these chaps."

"But how the blazes did they get here?"

Then Lawless related his adventures since the stormy night when he was placed in charge of the Gelderland. He had argued that, if one enemy submarine had been deceived by the supply vessel, others might also be lured to destruction in the same way, and his argument had proved correct.

"I suppose I've been guilty of disobedience," he concluded, "but I've bagged four U boats, ramming one and sinking three with the gun we found in the hold. Most of the men in the submarines foundered with them, but we've managed to save about twenty. At first I wondered how they managed to identify the Gelderland in the dark, but I tumbled to it the first night. The masthead light, instead of being on the foremast, was hung on the aftermast, and this, I suppose, was a pre-arranged signal. At any rate, I didn't alter it, and the scheme seemed to work."

"If you're not shot, you'll be made a blessed admiral!" the skipper remarked.

The court-martial which followed absolved the Lieutenant from the formal charges with which he had been indicted, and a few days later he was informed that, the Knat having arrived at Devonport, he was to return to her with rank of Lieutenant-Commander. And that evening Lawless, in the gladness of his heart, took from its case a battered banjo, and, lifting up his voice in song, declared in inharmonious accents that "Somewhere the sun is shining."