'It seemed shabby to leave you to do all the fighting, but if I had come into it I'm afraid you'd have been left without a ship.'

The speaker was Lieutenant Strang, who stood on the deck of G2, which had risen again and was lying alongside the launch.

'It was your fellows who won the battle for us,' answered Captain Carrington cheerfully. 'I wish to congratulate you on the possession of two such men as Williams and Johnston.' Williams stepped forward and touched his cap.

'If you please, sir, the captain here and his son and Horan, they did as much as any. But all on 'em fought like good 'uns.'

'What are your losses, sir?' asked the lieutenant of Captain Garrington.

'Two killed, three rather badly wounded.'

'You got off lightly. There don't seem to be many Turks left.'

'Only nine alive, and of those four are wounded.'

'Are the launch's engines all right?'

'Nothing wrong with them,' answered the captain, 'so Williams tells me.'

'Well, it's getting late and very thick. You had better follow me, and I will escort you to the place we spoke of. The Turks who are sound can take the boat and be towed until we are off one of the islands, when we can cast them off and they can land.'

Ken stepped up to his father, and said something in a low voice. A slightly startled expression appeared on the captain's face.

'You think it possible, Ken?' he said sharply.

'I do. I believe we could get through.'

'Then I will suggest it to Lieutenant Strang.

'Lieutenant Strang,' he called. 'Before we start I have a suggestion to make. I will come across if you will permit me.'

'Certainly, sir.'

The launch lay so close to the submarine that it was easy for the Captain to spring across. Strang met him, and for some moments the two talked in whispers.

At first the commander of the submarine seemed unwilling to agree to the captain's proposal, but presently Ken, who was watching breathlessly, saw him nod his head.

Then the captain smiled, and turning leaped lightly back on to the launch.

'It's all right, Ken,' he said. 'We are going to try it.'

'Hurrah!' cried Ken in high delight.

'Try what?' demanded Roy. 'Hang it all! Don't keep us in the dark. What's all the mystery about?' Ken glanced at his father.

'All right,' said the latter. 'Every one must know and agree before we start.'

'Gentlemen,' he said, addressing the anxious crowd who surrounded him, 'my son has suggested that we might do something better than go and lie up for an indefinite time in the hiding-place which would be our only possible refuge on these shores, and where we should be in constant danger from the enemy. His idea is that we might make a dash back down the Straits.'

'Mais, it would be ze madness!' exclaimed an elderly Frenchman, with a gray imperial and a blood-stained bandage around his head. 'Zey would sink us.'

'So they would under ordinary circumstances,' agreed the captain. 'But the night and—more than that—the fog are in our favour. Besides this launch is Turkish, and we have several people aboard who can speak the language.'

'But ze mines!' objected the Frenchman.

'There again we are fairly safe. The launch is of such shallow draught that she will easily pass over the mine-fields. Floating mines we must of course risk, but there are not likely to be many about, for the Turks only send them down when an attack is expected. One other point is in our favour. This launch is fast. With any luck, we shall be through the Straits and in safety long before daylight.'

The Frenchman nodded.

'Vair well, Monsieur le Capitaine. For me, I am satisfied.'

'I think we all are,' said an elderly Englishman named Symons.

The captain looked round, but no one offered any objection.

'Then it is decided,' he said quietly, and proceeded to issue his orders as briskly as he had done, years before, on his own quarter-deck.

The Turks were transferred to the empty boat, and taken in tow by the submarine. Johnston went back to G2, but Williams remained as engineer in charge of the launch. The dead Turks were put overboard, and the traces of the fight quickly removed.

Then Strang bade them farewell and good luck, the engines began to move, the screw churned the water, and the prize, heading westwards, sped rapidly towards the mouth of the Straits.

Williams, who was the sort of man who could tackle anything in the way of machinery, from a sewing machine to a Dreadnought's turbines, soon got the hang of the launch's engines.

'They're a bit of all right,' he said to Ken and Roy, who had volunteered as stokers and oilers. 'Blowed if I thought them Turks had anything as good. But I reckon this here craft come from Germany.'

'She certainly can leg it,' observed Ken, as he noticed how the whole fabric of the little craft quivered under the drive of the rapidly revolving screw.

'Ay, and I reckon we'll need all she's got afore we're through,' replied Williams dryly, as he squirted oil into a bearing.

'We ought to be all right if the fog holds,' said Ken.

'Ay, if it does. I'll allow it's thick enough up here, but there ain't no saying what it'll be down in them straits. Fogs is uncertain things at best and you never can tell when you'll run out o' one into clear weather.'

Williams's warning made Ken feel distinctly uneasy, and every few minutes he kept looking out to see what the weather was doing. But so far from clearing, the mist seemed to thicken, until it was as gray and wet as the Channel on a late autumn day. Night, too, was closing down, and soon it was so dark that one end of the vessel could not be seen from the other.

The distance to the mouth of the Straits was about thirty miles, and the Straits themselves have a length of thirty-five. The launch was good for fifteen knots, and though it would not be possible to go at full speed through the Narrows, they hoped, barring accidents, to do the journey in about five hours.

Having done two hours' work, Ken and Roy were relieved, and after a much needed wash, went into the cabin for a mouthful of food. Then Ken went forward, to find his father, wearing a rough black oilskin, combining the duties of look-out and skipper. At the wheel was a young Englishman named Morgan, an amateur yachtsman who knew the Straits like the palm of his hand.

'Where are we now, dad?' asked Ken.

'Opposite Bulair.'

'What—in the Straits?'

'At their mouth, Ken.'

'We haven't wasted much time, then.'

'Indeed we haven't. But I am afraid we shall have to slow a bit now. The fog is thicker than ever, there are no lights, and we don't want to come to an ignominious end by piling ourselves up on the cliffs.

'Still the fog's our best friend,' he continued, 'and we have plenty of time before us. If we average no more than half-speed we should be clear before daylight.'

For another twenty minutes they carried on at full speed through the choking smother, then Captain Carrington rang to reduce speed.

'We're off Gallipoli now,' he said. 'That's where I should have been by this time, Ken, if G 2 had not popped up just at the proper moment.'

'It isn't exactly a salubrious spot,' Ken answered with a smile. 'The "Lizzie" has been chucking her 15-inchers into the town whenever she hadn't anything else to do.'

For the next two hours the launch nosed her way cautiously south-westwards, through the wet smother. Most of the time she kept fairly close under the Asiatic shore. There were fewer forts that side, and less danger therefore of attracting attention.

During the whole of that time she never sighted so much as a rowing boat. The Straits were as empty as a country lane on a winter night.

About eleven Ken, who had done another spell of stoking, went forward again to where his father kept his ceaseless watch.

'Getting near the Narrows, aren't we?' he asked in a low voice.

'We are, Ken. If my reckoning is right Nagara Point is almost on our port bow.'

'There's a light of some sort just ahead, sir,' said Morgan from the wheel.

'I see it too,' said Ken quickly. 'Can it be from the fort?'

Quickly the captain rang to slow still more. With barely steerage way the launch moved noiselessly forward. There followed some moments of breathless silence, while the three stared at the dull mysterious glow which was now almost exactly ahead.

'It's a craft of some sort,' said Ken in a sharp whisper. 'The light's moving.'

'You're right. Starboard a trifle, Morgan.'

Again a pause. Then Ken spoke again.

'It's a tug, father. She's towing a string of barges. She's going across to Maidos.'

'Then I know what they're doing,' said Morgan.' They're taking stores across from the Asiatic side. I heard they had started that game since our submarines began to worry them in the Marmora.'

'I thought as much,' Captain Carrington answered quietly. 'Then it is up to us to stop it.'

Ken glanced quickly at his father, but there was not light to see his face. It was Morgan who voiced his thought.

'We shall bring the fire of all the batteries down on us,' he said.

'Of course,' Captain Carrington's voice was calm as ever. 'Starboard another point, Morgan. Ken, call Dimmock. He's an ex-gunnery lieutenant, and can handle the 6-pounder.'

'I'm here already, sir,' came a voice out of the gloom. I saw the light, and guessed what was up.'

'I can help, father,' said Ken. 'Ah, and here's Roy.'

All three sprang forward to the gun. It had already been loaded and a dozen spare shells were ready alongside.

'This is luck,' said Roy in a gleeful whisper, as he ranged himself alongside the gun. He, like the rest, was perfectly well aware that the first shot they fired would bring down on them the concentrated fire of all the batteries on both shores, and that their chances of escape were hardly worth considering. But this did not weigh for a moment, if they were able to strike a blow for the Empire.

The revolutions were increasing, the launch moved more rapidly down upon her quarry.

'Three barges!' exclaimed Roy. 'Big 'uns, too! I say, there must be tons of stuff aboard. Jove, won't the Turks be sick?'

'We must get the tug first,' said Dimmock, who, though a man of forty, was as keen as a boy. 'If we can slap it into her first, we can deal with the barges at our leisure.'

As he spoke he was squinting along the barrel, his right hand busy with the sighting screw.

'Hang this fog!' he muttered. 'I can hardly see what I'm shooting at.'

The launch was now within little more than a hundred yards of the tug which was puffing noisily along, her string of barges tailing heavily down the current, and her crew utterly unaware of the hidden danger gliding down upon them through the fog.

'I'm beastly rusty,' continued Dimmock. 'Still, I hardly think I can miss her at this range.'

As he spoke his finger pressed the electric button, and the gun barked with that ear-splitting crack peculiar to the 6-pounder.

The tug staggered and rang like an iron drum.

'Not much miss about that!' cried Roy triumphantly. 'You must have got her slap in the boilers.'

'No, it was too high,' said Dimmock in a discontented tone.' This gun jumps a bit. Sharp there, with that other shell.'

Roy slipped it in as though it were a toy, the breech-block snicked to, and five seconds later a second report roused the echoes.

'That's better,' said Dimmock, as a flash of flame rose from the midships section of the tug. 'Ah, there goes her funnel! She's a goner.'

He was right. The tug swung round to the current, and, with engines stopped, drifted idly down the Straits.

'What's the matter? They haven't begun to fire yet,' said Roy quickly, as he thrust a third shell into the open breech.