"That's one of my hardest jobs," commented the Old Man. "Trying to make an A.B. forget what has been drilled into him from the first day he joined at Shotley. And look here, Weeds, you're not a credit to the ship. Your rig-out is just a trifle too smart and too new. Try toning it down with a little tar." Captain Meredith hurried off to interview the Board of Trade Inspector, leaving Cavendish to his own resources on the deck of the S.S. _Complex_. Only the previous day the _Complex_ had come out of Portsmouth Harbour as the _Cynesepion_. She had been hurriedly docked, her bottom cleaned and coated in less than six hours. Her armament, consisting of one 4.7, four 12-pounders, and a couple of 3-pounder high-angle guns, had in the dead of night been placed in their elaborately concealed mountings. Her holds and double-bottoms were packed tightly with cork; ammunition, stores, and oil fuel were placed on board, and with a naval crew, she was taken out of Portsmouth to the Motherbank, off Ryde. Here the uniformed crew were taken off by a Government tug--leaving only twenty "hands" under a couple of officers to take the ship round to Southampton. Almost their first act was to paint out the name _Cynesephon_ and substitute that of _Complex_. Cavendish went below. In the alley-way he encountered Robin Seton, whom, until that moment, Cavendish had imagined to be undergoing a course at "Whaley"--a "two and a half striper", now posing as the first officer of the tramp. "Cheerio, George!" was Seton's greetings. "Now our little band of merry wreckers is complete. Seen Carr and Warrender? They're sculling around somewhere. My word!" He stepped back and critically looked Cavendish up and down. "My word!" he continued. "I've never seen such a smart-looking Third Mate before." "So the Old Man remarked--or words to that effect," rejoined Cavendish, with a laugh. "No matter. Live and learn. Where did you pick up your rig-out?" Seton held open his coat for inspection. "Got kitted out in the Ditches for something like half a dozen Bradburys," he replied proudly. "Sent the gunner's mate along to make a deal. And he did. He knows the ropes." Cavendish wished that he had known of the gunner's mate's capabilities in the wardrobe department. He had laid out over twenty-five pounds in an outfit that had already been twice remarked upon as being out of place. He quite agreed that the hardest part of the job was not to be smart, and to forget that he was an officer of the Royal Navy. The Sub was shown his cabin. He reappeared twenty minutes later looking more his part. The _Complex_ was under way. She had just parted company with a fussy little tug that had coaxed, cajoled, pulled, and pushed her out of the Empress Dock. Southampton lay astern, the Weston Shelf buoy was broad on the port-beam, while ahead lay the wide stretch of Southampton Water, until it merged into the Solent beyond the airship sheds at Calshot Castle.