He closed the glass with a snap and faced me squarely. "Got any one dependent on you?" I shook my head, wondering what on earth he was driving at. "Well then, I won't beat about the bush any more. There's a certain operation in contemplation over the other side; a pretty desperate business as far as I can make out, and the odds against coming out of it alive are considerable. A Captain is wanted to command a certain unit of the force; are you on for it?" "I'm on for it all right," I replied, "but I'm not a Captain." "That's all right," said the Skipper. He looked at me a bit queerly. "I was dining with the Admiral last night and he hinted the nature of the business and asked me if I thought you'd do. I told him you would, but the thing is uncommonly like signing a very old friend's death warrant. However, if you pull through you'll not exactly lose by it." I suddenly felt a most extraordinary elation, like a schoolboy promised an unexpected holiday. "Can you give me any details, sir?" I asked. "Something to go on and make arrangements?" The Owner shook his head, and sitting down at his desk pulled a signal pad towards him. "No," he said, "but I'll make a signal to the Admiral that you accept and he'll probably send for you in the course of the day." He rang the bell as he spoke and handed the signal to a messenger. "Give that to the Yeoman of the Watch and tell him to make it to 'Flag.'" Then he nodded to me. "That's all then, Commander. We'll leave it at that for the present." "Aye, aye, sir," I replied, and so left him, feeling younger than I had felt for many a long day. I hadn't long to wait for the summons from the Flagship. Barely an hour had elapsed before the Chief Yeoman stood in the doorway of my cabin. I was going through the Defaulters' List with the Master-at-Arms, I remember. "Signal from Flag, sir," said the Chief Yeoman. "Admiral wishes to see Commander Hornby at once." He had evidently shown it to the Officer of the Watch _en route_, because as he spoke I heard the pipe of the Boatswain's Mate shrill along the upper deck, calling away the picket boat. I've noticed that when the gods elect to disturb the course of human destinies they don't dally long upon the road. I had a surprise on the threshold of the Great Man's after cabin. The Flag Lieutenant ushered me in and left me on the mat with a murmured "Commander Hornby, sir." The Admiral was standing with his back to the empty stove. Sitting on the arm of a chintz upholstered sofa, swinging his leg and smoking a cigarette through a foot-long amber holder, was no less a person than the Director of Naval Offensives, whom I, in common with the rest of the Navy, imagined at that moment to be seated at his desk in a Whitehall office. "Morning, Hornby," said the Admiral. "I've got your Captain's signal. Very glad to get it. Just cast your eye over that chart on the table."