The boats from the _O47_ had come alongside, and the Lieutenant swung himself aboard. In a few words Chard explained the situation and told him that, as soon as the prisoners had been put aboard the trawler, he would be placed in charge of the _Gelderland_ with a prize crew. This was carried out speedily, the Germans, as they really were, offering no resistance in view of the fact that the trawler's gun was kept trained on them all the time. Half a dozen men from the _O47_ were placed on board the _Gelderland_ as a prize crew, and Chard, before leaving, advised Lawless to make straight for Plymouth. Then he returned to the trawler and the two vessels slowly drew apart and were lost to each other in the darkness. "Keep her nose to the west," Lawless told the quartermaster, and then dived into the chart-room to lay out his course for Plymouth. This done, he stepped out on to the bridge again and peered into the darkness. The Eddystone Light was not visible yet, and he was about to return, when there came a shout from the look-out on the fo'c'sle head. "Light on the port bow, sir!" The Lieutenant leaned over the bridge-rail and stared into the night, but could see nothing. He was about to hail the look-out man, when he saw a faint yellow glimmer appear for a second, and vanish, but this time it was on the starboard side. "Queer," he murmured. He started towards the other end of the bridge, and accidentally knocked his foot against something. Stooping down, he found it was a signal-lamp, but different to the one he had been used to handling. Thoughtlessly, he picked it up and tried the shutter; a beam of yellow light flashed out and was gone. Then, as if in answer to it, the mysterious light to starboard flicked twice and disappeared again. "Oh-h!" murmured Lawless. It had come upon him that the light was a signal from a submarine, and that, in moving the shutter of the signal-lamp, he had unwittingly answered it. Here, indeed, was a chance of recovering his reputation, for there could be no doubt that the submarine was a _U_ boat. If only it could be captured or sunk! He crossed to the bridge telegraph and rang down "Stop!" to the engine-room. The machinery ceased throbbing, and the _Gelderland_, losing way, began to roll in a nasty fashion. Then, out of the darkness, a voice hailed her in German. The Lieutenant shouted back some meaningless gibberish, trusting to the wind to make his voice indistinct. This done, he hurried on to the deck, flung a rope ladder over the taffrail, and whispered some instructions to the bos'n.