"I s'pose we'll just keep on footling about here till the blooming war's over," he growled. "Then someone'll wake up suddenly and discover that there's an obsolete destroyer with a crew of greybeards beating about the Irish coast." But he was wrong there, as events soon proved. A couple of hours after Lawless had boarded the Norwegian steamer, a wireless message was received from the Captain of the cruiser-scout, _Trojon_, inquiring if a vessel called the _Krajero_ had been sighted. "Tell him 'yes,' and that, after examining her papers and cargo, I allowed her to proceed," said Lawless to the operator. The message was duly transmitted, and a few minutes later a reply came: "Captain of _Trojon_ to Commander of _Knat_. Have stopped steamer _Krajero_, and, on examination, found that beneath her cargo of grain was a large number of mines, which she intended sowing in the Channel." "Well, I'm damned!" ejaculated Lawless when he had read the message. "No promotion this trip," commented Trent grimly. Lawless, who was almost dancing with rage, tore the paper into shreds and cast them to the four winds of heaven. "It'll be the talk of the Fleet!" he cried. "Every mother's son from the stokers to the Admiral will be sniggering over it, curse them. It shan't happen again, though! I'll search every boat I meet, from a dinghy to a liner. Lord, to think I've been bamboozled by a swab of a make-believe Norwegian skipper with a six-inch grin across his mug!" He continued in the same strain for some time, vowing vengeance on all skippers who should henceforth attempt to deceive him in any manner whatsoever. Trent had much ado to keep from laughing, but as he was of a smaller stature than Lawless he deemed it safer to maintain a serious aspect. But worse was to follow. Other ships had picked up the _Trojon's_ message, and their captains took advantage of this to send ironic messages of congratulation to the luckless commander of the _Knat_. For some time the wireless operator was kept busy receiving and transcribing such messages as: "Well done, _Knat_!" "Is it true that you've been promoted?" "What is the difference between a bushel of wheat and a contact-mine, and if not why not?" At last Lawless could stand it no longer and, almost foaming at the mouth, hurried to the operator's room. "Look here!" he shouted, "if you take down any more of those infernal messages I'll have you put in irons. Understand?" "Yes, sir," answered the operator meekly. The Lieutenant savagely stamped down the little iron ladder and gazed wrathfully around to see if any of the men had the suspicion of a grin on his face. But the men's countenances were almost preternaturally serious as they busied themselves with little odd jobs about the deck. "What's the matter with the men, bos'n?" he growled. "They look like a company of funeral mutes." "Oh, they're quite cheerful, sir," answered the bos'n apologetically. "I think the weather's a bit oppressive, sir."