Skilfully the British tars proceeded to place a rough-and-ready tourniquet round the injured limb, while, fortunately for himself, the wounded man lost consciousness directly he was hauled into the boat. "There she is, sir," announced Chalmers, as the twin periscopes of R19, throwing up feathers of spray, emerged from beneath the surface. Followed the conning-tower, the bow portion of the deck, and then, like a huge porpoise, the rest of the hull until the submarine was awash. "Look alive, Mr. Fordyce!" shouted the Lieutenant-Commander, as he emerged through the conning-tower hatchway. "There may be some other Hun craft knocking around. What's that--survivors?" "Two, sir; one badly wounded." The rescued men were lifted on board and passed below. Then, after cruising round and making sure that there were no more of the destroyer's men alive, the humane Stockdale gave orders for the submarine to submerge once more. "You bagged her all right, sir," remarked the Sub. "Yes, the silly ass played into our hands, absolutely," replied the Hon. Derek. "It was the result of taking too much for granted, I suppose. Have you found out the number of the boat?" "No, sir; but I will ascertain." Fordyce made his way to the place where the survivors were being tended by their late antagonists. The German with the broken limb looked on the point of death, while the other, who had lost consciousness upon being carried below, was found to be suffering from several contusions to the back and ribs. "'E's an officer, sir," reported one of the men, pointing to the discarded uniform of the Imperial German Navy. Fordyce examined the sleeve of the coat. By the distinctive rings he knew that the prisoner was the skipper of the torpedoed destroyer--a kapitan-leutnant, whose rank corresponded with that of lieutenant-commander of the British navy. "Wonder what he's done to get this?" mused the Sub, holding up the decoration known as the "Ordre pour le Mérite". "Rum-looking josser, too," he continued, studying the coarse features of the man; "brutal even while unconscious. Hallo! Now what's wrong?" From for'ard came a succession of violent crashes, mingled with blood-curdling shrieks and unmistakably strong British epithets. Quick to act, Fordyce rushed from the compartment and hurried towards the scene of disorder. CHAPTER XXXI Von Hoppner's Boast "It's that spy bloke, sir," reported one of the petty officers. "Cassidy and Jones are tackling him all right." By the time Fordyce arrived upon the scene the worst of the tumult had passed. Mindiggle, foaming at the mouth, was lying on his back, with Cassidy planted firmly on his chest, and the other A.B. pinning his arms to the floor. Other would-be quellers of the disturbance were awaiting an opportunity to secure the spy's legs. He was kicking right and left, almost capsizing the bulky form of his captor, the while yelling and shouting in a blood-curdling manner.