One bright and cheerful summer morning Lawless sat in his favourite attitude on the bridge-rail of the Knat contemplating the distant coast-line with a far-away expression in his eyes. Despite the official regulations concerning the uniform to be worn by naval officers when on duty, his present attire left much to be desired. It consisted chiefly of blue serge trousers, a battered shooting cap, and a pink-striped pyjama jacket.

"I wonder," murmured the Lieutenant dreamily, "whether I could get short leave of absence. I'm just spoiling for a spell ashore and a mild bust-up."

Sub-Lieutenant Trent, who was standing near, volunteered no comment.

"I haven't been feeling very well lately," continued Lawless, "and I think I need a change."

"Rot!" ejaculated Trent rudely. "I never saw a man look in better health in my life. You're as fit as a fiddle."

Lawless slowly shook his head.

"I've been suffering from internal pains," he said gloomily. "Very likely you haven't noticed, but it's a fact all the same."

"Internal humbug," grumbled the unsympathetic junior. "And if you have," he added, "what can you expect after eating tinned lobster, Welsh rarebit, and cold pork for supper?"

"That," replied Lawless decisively, "wouldn't upset an infant. No, I shall put in an application for sick leave."

That same afternoon Lawless sat down in his little cabin and prepared to concoct a letter setting forth his ailments and the imperative necessity for a holiday in consequence. It took about two hours and a tremendous expenditure of ink and paper to write, and when finished was calculated to impress the reader with the belief that the unfortunate officer was suffering from every fatal malady known to medical science. He had just concluded this literary effort and was re-reading it carefully in order to dot the i's, cross the t's, and make needed repairs to the spelling, when the door opened and Trent's head appeared in the aperture.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed, "still at it?"

"Do you spell 'conscious' with a t?" asked Lawless, ignoring the ironic inquiry.

"No, you ass, of course not."

"I'm afraid it's a bit smudgy," observed the author as he folded up the letter, "but I've explained that it was written in a choppy sea."

"When they look at the spelling I expect they'll think it was written in a hurricane," said the junior officer grimly.

Lawless took no notice of the jibe.

"That's done," he murmured with a sigh of relief. "If there's such a thing as humanity in the world, I shall get my leave."

For the first few days after the despatch of the epistle Lawless alternated between hope and despondency, but when a week passed and he received no reply, he made up his mind that the authorities had declined to consider his application. However, ten days later, when he was breakfasting with Trent, there arrived an official letter with the Admiralty stamp upon it.

"It's come!" cried the Lieutenant after he had hurriedly glanced through the contents. "I knew it would."

Trent's reply was such as no respectable printer would set up in type. He had been in the act of raising a cup of coffee to his lips when Lawless gave vent to his exultant shout, and it had so startled the Sub-Lieutenant that he let fall the cup and received the boiling contents down the front of his clothes.

"Why don't you look cheerful?" demanded Lawless. "What's a little coffee at a time like this?"

"Go to the devil!" retorted the other, vainly endeavouring to sop up the coffee from his waistcoat with a silk handkerchief. "It's your holiday, not mine. And, any way, you've got it under false pretences."

"Sub-Lieutenant Trent, are you aware of the fact that you're speaking disrespectfully to your superior officer?" asked Lawless in a gently chiding tone.

"Holy Jerusalem!" suddenly yelled Trent, springing to his feet. He had just discovered from an abrupt rise in temperature about his person that the coffee had soaked through his shirt.

"I've a good mind to report you for insubordination and—and cheek," observed the Lieutenant, taking no pains to conceal his enjoyment of the other's misfortune.

"And I'll sue you for a new suit of duds, Lawless, you dismal idiot. It's all through you that I'm soaked to the skin with this confounded coffee."

A week later Lieutenant-Commander Lawless, bound for Cork via Plymouth, was reclining at his ease in the comfortable little smoking-room of the Lake Killarney, one of the miniature liners which carry passengers to and from Ireland. Lawless had decided to spend his holiday on the west coast of the Emerald Isle, and had provided himself with golf clubs, fishing rods, and other implements of innocent sport wherewith to while away his leisure. The only thing which troubled him was his customary want of cash, and when he thought of the thousand pounds waiting to be earned, he heaved a sigh of deep regret. If only he could have brought down another Zeppelin....

Now, Lawless, as those who have followed his turbulent career are aware, was one of those hapless individuals who seem to be marked out as the sport of destiny. On this particular occasion the mischievous planet under which the Lieutenant had first seen the light must have twinkled with more than its usual malignity, for, within twelve hours of setting forth on his pleasure trip, he was a prisoner in the hands of the Germans.

It came about in this manner. The Lake Killarney had barely left the Seven Stones Light on her port quarter when, not more than fifty yards away on her starboard bow, there arose the conning tower of a large German submarine. Before the captain of the steamer was aware of this unwelcome visitor the latter had sent a couple of shots across his bows as a peremptory signal to stop. The Lake Killarney, being a slow boat and unarmed withal, there was nothing for it but to obey, and accordingly she was hove-to.

The shots had awakened Lawless, at the time peacefully asleep in his bunk, and scrambling into his trousers he rushed upon deck to see what all the noise was about. Other passengers, in even lighter attire, also hastened on deck, where the crew, in obedience to orders, were lowering the lifeboats. Lawless at once proceeded to help the women and children into them, and then, with the captain, got into the last one to leave the ship. As the boat pulled away from the Lake Killarney the German commander ordered her to come alongside the submarine; an order which, in view of the machine-gun on her for'a'd platform, it would have been unwise to ignore. Then the German officer proceeded to put the Captain through a pretty severe cross-examination concerning the whereabouts of various portions of the British Fleet and other matters which he desired to know. The Captain, however, was able to profess ignorance in nearly every case, and where he could not, lied like a Trojan.

"We've been trying to get at your wonderful fleet for the last eighteen months," said the German, "but it's managed to elude us so far. Still, we'll drag it out of its hiding place before long, and then Guten Tag to the British Navy."

"What's the good of unloading that piffling swank," exclaimed Lawless, unable to contain himself any longer. "We taught you a lesson at Heligoland, and when we do meet your High Canal Fleet there'll be another island in the North Sea—made of German scrap-iron."

"Himmel! I'll put a bullet through you, insolent English pig!" cried the German, at the same time producing an automatic pistol. "Who is this man?" he added, turning to the Captain.

"Lieut.-Commander Lawless, I believe," answered the latter unthinkingly.

"Ah, I have heard of you, Herr Lieutenant," said the German. "As a British Naval officer I shall take you prisoner. Be good enough to step aboard."

"You've done for me, skipper," said Lawless bitterly as he mounted the submarine's platform.

The Captain of the Lake Killarney realised his mistake only too well, but the mischief was done now.

"Cast off," said the Commander, "I am going to sink your vessel."

Half-a-dozen shots beneath the water-line sufficed to sink the steamer, and then the commander, with Lawless and the men on the gun platform, went below, the conning-tower hatch was closed and the boat dived beneath the surface.

Two days later Lawless was taken ashore at a certain German port under an armed escort. He was domiciled temporarily in the local prison, and on the following morning an escort took him to another part of the building and ushered him into a sort of office where various uniformed individuals were gathered. There a careful record was made of his name, professional rank, place of birth, and many other private details of his life and habits. Then he was photographed.

This done, a sergeant stepped forward and, gripping the prisoner by the shoulders, began, with the assistance of a private, to feel in his trouser pockets. At this the Lieutenant's patience vanished and, before the sergeant had time to guess what was coming, he had been pitched head first into a large wastepaper basket and the private had taken a header into the coal scuttle. But before Lawless could perform any further athletic feats, he was seized by three soldiers and forced against the wall.

Then the search recommenced, and various articles, including a note from a tailor threatening legal proceedings unless he received a "remittance forthwith," were brought to light.

"Ach, what is this?" asked an officer looking at a crumpled piece of paper which the sergeant had handed to him with an air of triumph.

He carefully smoothed it out, and then, exhibiting it to the prisoner, repeated the question.

Lawless glanced at it, and then, despite the gravity of his position, burst into a hearty laugh, whereat the officer, the sergeant and the privates all scowled at him reprovingly. On one side of the paper were scrawled the following incriminating words:

On the other side were a number of strange-looking figures bearing some resemblance to a capital L.

"Why," said Lawless when he had recovered from his hilarity, "I was trying some days ago to spell 'conscious' and, not being quite sure about it, wrote it down different ways to see which looked right. Of course," he added confidently, "it was the last one."

"And these?" queried the officer, pointing to the straggling hieroglyphics.

"Oh, I was uncertain how to write a capital q—I don't often write that letter as a capital—and I experimented. Those are the experiments."

"They are a secret code," said the officer accusingly.

"Secret fiddlesticks!" ejaculated Lawless.

"You refuse to decipher it?"

"Confound it all, there's nothing to decipher."

"Very well," said the officer, making a note in a little book. He then waved his hand to indicate that the examination was at an end, and a couple of soldiers, with side-arms drawn, marched the prisoner back to the little room he occupied in the prison and there left him.

On the following morning he was again brought before his examiner and again declared that the scribble had nothing to do with any code.

"You will be sent to the fortress of Glatz," said the officer.

Now, Lawless had heard quite enough about that terrible fortress in Prussian Silesia to make it, in his opinion, a most undesirable residence, and he determined to make a bold effort at escape before he got there. Unhappily, there was no prospect of his getting the ghost of a chance to escape, for he was conducted to the railway station in charge of two privates, a corporal, and a commissioned officer. For some reason they did not travel by the direct route via Frankfurt, but went a roundabout way through Stettin, Damm and Posen. At the last-named station they had to change trains and Lawless hoped for an opportunity to escape, but his guards never relaxed their vigilance and it was useless to try.

While they were standing on the platform waiting for the train, the Lieutenant caught sight of a man whose face seemed familiar to him. But for the life of him he could not recall where or when he had seen the owner of the face, though he cudgelled his brains all the way to Breslau. It was dark when they reached this town, and here they had to change into a local train for Glatz. Suddenly, while crossing a bridge to another platform, Lawless again caught sight of the strangely familiar face among the crowd of people hurrying to catch the train. It disappeared from view almost immediately, but a moment later the Lieutenant heard a voice whisper in his ear:

"Take your chance and follow me."

Lawless turned his head sharply and saw that the speaker was none other than the man whose face had been haunting him.

It was all very well to say "take your chance" but, so far as Lawless could see, there was no chance to take. Then suddenly there was a commotion among the people in front of him, a wild scramble as if someone had dropped a purse and everybody was fighting to obtain it. Both the prisoner and his guards were almost swept off their feet and then Lawless took his chance. Diving down, he simply butted a way through the mob, thanking his stars that he had once been centre forward in a county football team. At the end of the bridge he caught sight of his unknown friend descending the stairs and followed him as quickly as he could. Behind him he could hear the shouts of his guards and the angry expostulations of the people whom they were thrusting aside in their endeavour to catch the runaway. Fortunately he was wearing a civilian great-coat—one given him when he had been brought ashore from the submarine—and so there was nothing in his appearance to distinguish him from the other people with whom he mingled.

The man he was following passed through a door leading from the platform and Lawless, entering after him, found himself in a small office, evidently used by some of the railway officials. The stranger locked the door and then faced the Lieutenant.

"So we meet again," he said. "Last time it was in mid-ocean and now——" he shrugged his shoulders.

In a flash, Lawless remembered who the man was. He was the German-American spy who, with Cassidy's assistance, he had rescued from the torpedoed Nimrod and afterwards unwittingly allowed to escape with a loan of five pounds.

"You saved my life and gave me my liberty," went on the man, "though had you known who I was the result might have been different. However, the fact remains and now I am going to do my best to repay the debt. I——"

He was interrupted by a knocking at the door and voices without shouted something Lawless could not understand. His rescuer replied, the knocking ceased and he turned once more to the Lieutenant.

"That has put them off the track for a little while, at any rate," he said. "Now you see that window? Well, outside it is a large siding for goods trains. One is loading now for Stettin, and, if you are careful—and lucky—you can creep under a tarpaulin on one of the trucks and remain there till the train reaches its destination. There your real difficulties will begin, for you'll have to smuggle yourself aboard a Norwegian or Swedish steamer and get to a neutral port. I have done as much as lies in my power."

Lawless abruptly held out his hand.

"You're a white man," he said. "By Jove, I never expected it from a Hun!"

"And now you must get off before those fellows come buzzing round here again." He crossed to the window and opened it. "There's your road," he said, and at the same time pressed a wad of paper money into the Lieutenant's hand.

Lawless climbed over the sill and dropped gently to the ground, only a few feet below. Then the window above him was closed and he started to creep along under the shadow of the wall, for the yard was lit up by electric arc lamps. Then a new dilemma faced him. Instead of one goods train there were three, and, of course, he had no means of finding out which of them was bound for Stettin.

"Well, here goes," he murmured desperately, and selected the longest train as the one most likely to be bound for the Baltic port.

So, creeping under trucks, stealthily crossing lines and avoiding all brightly illuminated spots, he at last reached the train he had selected without attracting the attention of the workpeople, many of whom were women. Climbing into a truck, he drew the tarpaulin over his head and settled down on the edge of a packing case.

"Any way, I'm not going to Glatz this trip," he thought.

He must have been crouching there for about half an hour and was beginning to drop off into an uneasy doze, when there was a terrific jolt and his head came into contact with a cask. Then, as the jolts continued, gradually becoming less violent, he knew that the train was starting on its journey.

From speculating as to his probable destination, Lawless gradually dropped off to sleep, and was only awakened by another series of jolts and jerks. Cautiously lifting his head from under the tarpaulin he saw that the train had come to a standstill on some sidings and that it was nearly daylight. Realising that if he did not want to be discovered there was no time to lose in getting away, he clambered out of the truck and slipped across the sidings to a low fence, over which he climbed.

"Now where the devil am I?" he muttered.

He was standing on a narrow footpath situated, apparently, on the outskirts of a town, the lights of which he could see in the distance. The air was chill and he shivered, becoming aware at the same time that he was ravenously hungry. Then, from a field about half a mile away, he saw a column of smoke rising, and noticed what seemed to be two or three caravans drawn up in line. It occurred to him that this must be the temporary encampment of some nomad family who, in all probability, were preparing their morning meal before proceeding on their way. The idea held him.

"I've got to raise some grub somehow," he told himself.

He carefully considered the matter, and came to the conclusion that he would stand less chance of being betrayed by such wanderers as these—almost outlaws themselves—than by more virtuous and respectable folk. He thereupon proceeded towards the encampment and, as he approached, an appetising smell assailed his nostrils and made him feel still hungrier. Vaulting over a hedge, Lawless came upon a very dirty but very picturesque ruffian, attired in the manner of a musical-comedy bandit, who was engaged in taking a captured rabbit from a wire noose. At sight of the stranger, he sprang to his feet, but Lawless made pacific gesticulations and intimated, by the simple means of pointing first to his mouth and then to his stomach, that he was hungry. Thereupon the bandit person grinned affably, and made a sign indicating that his new acquaintance was to follow him.

On arriving at the camp Lawless discovered that the aroma which had so tickled his nostrils emanated from a large iron pot suspended over the fire. Round this were several ragged children heaping on sticks, and near the caravans a group of men and women putting the finishing touches to an extremely primitive toilette. The Lieutenant's guide went up to them, and for some moments they all talked at once in an uncomprehensible jargon, at the same time casting inquisitive and half-suspicious glances at the uninvited guest.

Eventually they seemed to accept him, and, seating themselves round the fire, signed the Lieutenant to do the same. These people, as a matter of fact, were Silesian gipsies and hereditary foes to law and order, wherefore perhaps they felt a certain sympathy towards the dishevelled and hungry stranger who was almost as dirty as themselves.

A few moments later Lawless was eating ravenously of a savoury mess out of a tin plate with his fingers—knives and forks, apparently, were regarded by these people as among the superfluities of life. When he had eaten his fill Lawless speculated as to where he was. There was no sign of any docks or shipping, and he began to doubt whether he had reached Stettin after all. He decided to try, by means of signs and gesticulations, to make these people understand that he wanted to know where he was.

It proved a long, wearisome, and almost hopeless task, but at last he succeeded.

"Glatz," said the man upon whom he had been experimenting.

"Glatz!"

The man nodded.

"Well, I'm jiggered!" exclaimed Lawless under his breath.

He had contrived to escape from his guards, elude recapture, stow himself away on a train—only to find himself in the very place he had risked so much to avoid.

"Damn!" he remarked aloud.

Then, realising that it might be dangerous to hang about in the open fields, he rose to his feet. Possibly he might come across some empty barn or building where he could lie concealed till nightfall. At any rate, since he had made his escape at Breslau, it was there that the authorities would concentrate their search; certainly they would not suspect that he had gone on to Glatz. And then the question arose, how was he to reach Stettin?

He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out the notes which his mysterious friend had given him and handed one to the gipsy. Its equivalent in English currency was a little less than a pound, and his benefactor stared in open-mouthed astonishment, first at the note and then at him. For a minute Lawless thought that he had unwittingly insulted the man, but he was wrong there; neither pride nor sensitiveness are among the failings of the Silesian gipsies. The man merely thought that his guest was a benevolent lunatic.

So, after shaking hands and exchanging grins all round, Lawless departed and, taking chance as his guide, hurried off in the opposite direction to the town, carefully avoiding all footpaths. At last he came to a deserted windmill and, going inside, prepared to wait there till it was dark enough to make further investigations.

Throughout the whole of the day, which seemed like an eternity, Lawless did not see a single soul, though he frequently surveyed the landscape through the numerous apertures in his hiding-place. Long before it became dark he grew hungry again, and cursed his want of forethought in not having demanded some bread and cheese in exchange for the note he had handed over. Eventually, pressed by his inward pangs, he stealthily crept out of the ruin, and, foraging in the immediate neighbourhood, discovered a field of turnips. He pulled up several and returned with them to the mill; they were better than nothing, after all.

At last twilight came, and following that the night, dark and starless. Then the Lieutenant emerged from his hiding-place, and, standing in the middle of the field, wondered what direction he should take. He had no compass, of course, and the country around was an uncharted sea to him. Presently he noticed in the far distance a bright light shining, and, for no particular reason, set off in that direction. As he advanced the light suddenly disappeared nor did it blaze out again during the rest of his tramp.

"Funny," he murmured. "It wasn't a searchlight, and it couldn't very well be a signal."

After about an hour's walk, he found himself near a large enclosure with a long shed in the centre surrounded by a number of small huts. Also he caught sight of a dim figure pacing mechanically to and fro some distance in front of him and outside the enclosure—obviously a sentry. At first he thought it must be a prison encampment and was about to move stealthily away again, when the bright light which had first attracted his attention, suddenly lit up the enclosure. It came from a large arc-lamp suspended from a high wooden erection, and in the glare Lawless recognised the shed as an aeroplane hangar. Evidently, therefore, this was an aviation station, and the light served as a guide to the homeward bound machines. This view was confirmed a few moments later when there came the sound of a distant hum which gradually grew louder and more distinct.

Lawless, impelled more by curiosity than anything else, crawled nearer to the enclosure and took "cover" behind a pile of wooden stakes which were being used in the repairing of the palisades. The sentry had ceased his monotonous pacing to and fro, and now stood, resting on his rifle, looking skywards in the direction of the approaching aeroplane. At last it came into view, flying rather low, and then the pilot volplaned to the ground, alighting within the enclosure and bringing his machine to a standstill not twenty yards from the spot where the Lieutenant was concealed. The aviator sprang out, followed by the observer, and they both hurried towards one of the huts, leaving the machine where it stood.

It was at this moment that a brilliant idea occurred to Lawless. Why shouldn't he commandeer the machine and make his escape that way? With him, to think was to act, so, not waiting to weigh the chances, he crept from his hiding-place, darted across the grass while the sentry's back was towards him, and climbed into the machine. He started the engines, the machine began to move with increasing speed along the level, and then rose into the air. So far he did not appear to have attracted the attention of the sentry, who, not having seen him get into the aeroplane, no doubt supposed that the pilot was off on another flight. But, as the machine rose, Lawless caught sight of the pilot emerging from the hut; nothing happened for fully a minute and then he heard the crack of a rifle. By this time, however, he was out of danger, and, though a searchlight waved frantically skywards it never once focussed itself upon him.

The distance from Glatz to Stettin is about two hundred miles as the crow flies, and, with the aid of the chart and compass he found in the machine, Lawless hoped to steer a fairly accurate course. He knew that machines would set off in pursuit, but their pilots had first to find and then to overtake him—and he already possessed a pretty good start. His chief anxiety now was that the petrol supply would run out before Stettin was reached, for the gauges were running low.

About an hour later he passed over a brilliantly lighted town, which he took to be Leignitz, and, later on, another one which, according to the chart, should be Frankfurt-on-Oder. Then, when he was close upon Stettin, the petrol began to give out and there was nothing for it but to come down—an extremely difficult task to accomplish safely on a dark night and in an unknown tract of country.

At last he thought he could see a stretch of land free from obstructions and, deciding to venture, he made a volplane downwards. But as ill-luck would have it the machine collided with a tree and, turning turtle, pitched the daring aviator out. His fall, however, was broken by the branches, and he scrambled to his feet little the worse except for a few bruises and scratches. On the ground, a few yards away, lay the aeroplane a hopeless wreck.

"Rather a pity," he murmured as he glanced at the dÉbris, "but it was smashed in a good cause."

He was about to move away in order to seek some place of concealment—for a light streak in the eastern sky warned him of approaching dawn—when his foot struck something. Stooping down he saw that it was a leather wallet, and concluded it must have formed part of the aeroplane's equipment. Thinking it might contain a map of the surrounding country, he picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket.

It was barely light when, by devious routes, he reached the docks and saw, among other vessels, a small steamer flying the Danish flag. Thinking that money might be useful at this juncture, he put his hand in his pocket expecting to find the remaining notes. But, to his astonishment, they were not there, nor could he find them on any other part of his person. The only possible conclusion was, that the hospitable gipsy, to whom he had given one of the notes, had picked his pocket of the remainder almost immediately afterwards. However, it was no use worrying now, and he decided to chance his luck. He succeeded in boarding the Danish steamer without attracting attention, and at once sought an interview with the skipper. The latter, happily for him, had served in the British Mercantile Marine and was a pronounced anti-German, so it did not take very long to settle matters to the satisfaction of both parties. In due course, therefore, Lawless reached Copenhagen, where, by the good offices of the friendly skipper, he was transferred to another vessel bound for London.

It was just a week after his capture that Lawless landed at the wharf just below London Bridge. Though he looked and felt more like a tramp than an officer of the British Navy, he made straight for Whitehall and, after a short but sharp altercation with some minor officials, found himself in the presence of a certain admiral whose name is anathema to the whole German nation.

With extreme brevity the Lieutenant described his adventures since his capture by the submarine, and then laid before the admiral the contents of the wallet which had fallen out of the wrecked aeroplane. To the uninitiated the papers Lawless produced would have been meaningless, but to the admiral they were of the utmost value, containing, as they did, secret information concerning the enemy's naval plans.

A few days later Lawless, who had been ordered to rejoin the Knat pending further instructions, received an official communication from the Admiralty.

"This," he said complacently as he opened the envelope, "means promotion."

The letter, after the usual coldly-polite preliminaries, went on as follows:

"The Admiralty desire to commend Lieut.-Commander Lawless for having obtained the information duly placed before them. They cannot, however, grant any extension of leave under present conditions. Enclosed is a cheque for three shillings and sixpence (3s. 6d.), being the sum expended by him on victuals while in possession of the information above referred to, and, therefore, on Government service."

"Well, if that doesn't absolutely take the bun!" ejaculated Lawless, and passed the epistle on to Trent.

"H'm!" grunted the latter when he had perused it.

"They're not even going to make good the kit I lost when the Lake Killarney went down!"

"Still," said the sub-lieutenant, "virtue is its own reward, you know."

"Damn," said Lawless, and pitched the missive through the open port hole.