“Only two days. _You_ hadn’t anything to complain of,” said Maddingham wrathfully. “I didn’t complain. If he chose to hug things, ’twasn’t any of my business. I’m not a Purity League. ’Didn’t care what he hugged, so long as I could lie behind him and give him first chop at any mines that were going. I steered in his wake (I really _can_ steer a bit now, Portson) and let him stink up the whole of the North Sea. I thought he might come in useful for bait. No Burgundy, thanks, Nephew of my Uncle. I’m sticking to the Jolly Roger.” “Go on, then--before you’re speechless. Was he any use as bait?” Tegg demanded. “We never got a fair chance. As I told you, he hugged the coast till dark, and then he scraped round Gilarra Head and went up the bay nearly to the beach.” “’Lights out?” Maddingham asked. Winchmore nodded. “But I didn’t worry about that. I was under his stern. As luck ’ud have it, there was a fishing-party in the bay, and we walked slam into the middle of ’em--a most ungodly collection of local talent. ’First thing I knew a steam-launch fell aboard us, and a boy--a nasty little Navy boy, Tegg--wanted to know what I was doing. I told him, and he cursed me for putting the fish down just as they were rising. Then the two of us (he was hanging on to my quarter with a boat-hook) drifted on to a steam trawler and our friend the Neutral and a ten-oared cutter full of the military, all mixed up. They were subs from the garrison out for a lark. Uncle Newt explained over the rail about the weather and his engine-troubles, but they were all so keen to carry on with their fishing, they didn’t fuss. They told him to clear off.” “Was there anything on the move round Gilarra at that time?” Tegg inquired. “Oh, they spun me the usual yarns about the water being thick with ’em, and asked me to help; but I couldn’t stop. The cutter’s stern-sheets were piled up with mines, like lobster-pots, and from the way the soldiers handled ’em I thought I’d better get out. So did Uncle Newt. _He_ didn’t like it a bit. There were a couple of shots fired at something just as we cleared the Head, and one dropped rather close to him. (These duck-shoots in the dark are dam’ dangerous y’know.) He lit up at once--tail-light, head-light, and side-lights. I had no more trouble with him the rest of the night.” “But what about the report that you sawed off the steam-launch’s boat-hook?” Tegg demanded suddenly. “What! You don’t mean to say that little beast of a snotty reported it? He was scratchin’ poor old _Ethel’s_ paint to pieces. I never reported what he said to _me_. And he called me a damned amateur, too. Well! Well! War’s war. I missed all that fishing-party that time. My orders were to follow Uncle Newt. So I followed--and poor _Ethel_ without a dry rag on her.” Winchmore refilled his glass. “Well, don’t get poetical,” said Portson. “Let’s have the rest of your trip.”