"P'raps you'd better," agreed the man. "It's a tidy 'andful for our Pills--our doctor, that is. All right, chummy, you might stand by and give us a hail when we come ashore again. 'Tis a rum crib, swelp me, if it ain't--but it might be worse." The whaler backed from the shore, to return presently with a heavy load of wounded men and other members of the destroyer's crew told off to carry the injured to the nearest house. Guided by the patrol leader the grim procession set out on its journey of pain. The fearfully scalded men, temporarily bandaged by the R.N.R. Surgeon Probationer borne on the destroyer's books as doctor, groaned and uttered involuntary cries of agony as, in spite of the care of the bearers, they were jolted along the narrow, uneven path. Presently the scout came to a sudden halt. "There's a man lying at the foot of the Cliffs," he exclaimed. "Why, it's Pattercough, the man we were looking for when we captured the second spy." A seaman bent over the body. "Dead as a bloomin' doornail," he announced. "He's broke 'is bloomin' neck an' saved the 'angman a job, I'll allow that is, if he's the spy you says he was. Lead on, matey. The dead must look after themselves while this affair's under way." At the meeting of the path with the by-road the patrol-leader stopped. "It's straight on to Scarby," he explained. "Bennet," he added, addressing his companion. "You go with these sailors and show them the coastguard station. Then come back; bring the other fellows along with you if they've returned. I'll go to the beach again in case there are more to be shown the path up the valley." Meanwhile Lieutenant-commander Ronald Tressidar was "standing by" his wrecked vessel. He had done everything he could in the interests of the crew. Until day broke it was impossible to form an accurate idea of the extent of the disaster. It was galling to lose his command; there would be a court of inquiry. Of the issue of that Tressidar had no misgivings. The "Antipas" had run ashore in the course of an action with an enemy submarine. The mishap was to be deplored, but it was unavoidable. The destruction of the hostile submarine had been accomplished. That was the object of the destroyer's _raison d'etre_. "Can we be of any use?" asked Fuller. "Not in the slightest, thanks," replied the youthful skipper. "The best you fellows can do is to go ashore. Goodness only knows if there's a railway anywhere in the neighbourhood. At any rate, you can make your way back to Rosyth, and better luck next time. If by any possible chance I can keep you clear of the court of inquiry I will do so. I know perfectly well that you want to be hard at it again, and the 'Hippodrome' seems likely to be particularly busy very shortly, according to all accounts." "Good luck, old man!" said Fuller earnestly, The three airmen shook hands with the skipper, and dropping into the whaler were rowed shorewards.