At length, the initial supply of Brian Strong's device was ready. The destroyer _Greyhound_ was ordered to proceed with the sets of apparatus to Bermuda and to take supernumeraries to the fleet. Amongst the latter was Peter Corbold, with the rank of full lieutenant. The voyage out was uneventful. At Bermuda, Peter reported on board the flagship, which, with the _Repulse_, _Royal Oak_, and _Retrench_, comprised the capital ships of the small but efficient fleet that was to try conclusions with the numerically superior battleships of Rioguay. Having reported himself to the officer of the watch and been introduced to the Captain, Peter was escorted to the ward-room. Here he looked for familiar faces, and he did not look in vain. Amongst the officers were several who had been in his term at Dartmouth. According to the custom of the service, newly joined officers are given twenty-four hours to "shake down". During that period they are excused duty in order to allow them to become acquainted with the internal arrangements of the ship. Peter, with his usual keenness, was making a tour round, under the guidance of the "gunnery jack", when he was "barged into" by a burly "two striper", who dealt him a hearty whack on the shoulders. In the dim light, for the meeting took place in the electrically-lighted passage between the engine-rooms, Peter was at a loss to establish the identity of the officer with the boisterous greeting. "Mouldy blighter," exclaimed the lieutenant. Then Peter knew. "Weeds, old son," he ejaculated. "I didn't expect to find you here." "But I did," replied Cavendish; "heard you were appointed. Saw you coming up over the side, in point of fact, only I couldn't hail you. My watch--still on it," he added hurriedly. "See you later, old thing." Cavendish, with several of the other survivors of the _Complex_, had been "turned over" to the flagship on her arrival at Bermuda a week previously, so that her normal complement was now exceeded. It was the same with the rest of the fleet. Trained officers and men were plentiful. The deficiency lay in the number of ships available. After "seven-bell" tea the chums met again. "So you're the new gadget expert, I hear," said Cavendish. "Something that's going to make the Rioguayans feel the breeze, eh? What sort of 'ujah' is it?" Peter explained. "That sounds all right," remarked the sceptical Cavendish. "It's been tested and all that; but will it stand concussion when we're in action?" "It will stand up to it as well as any searchlight," declared Peter. "While we were testing the gadget an enemy submarine was depth-charged about three hundred yards off. That was some concussion! and I examined the apparatus afterwards. It was O.K." "Nothing like our principal armament firing salvoes," said Cavendish. "My action station is 13 turret. Where's yours?"