“Of course they may,” Wally cried. “People say there are plenty of pro-Germans about; and they’d pay well enough to tempt these peasantry. But all the people we’ve talked to in Carrignarone seem just as keen as we are about the war. I don’t believe they’re in it.” “Neither do I, but it’s hard to tell,” Jim answered. “Oh, it’s maddening!—the brutes may come in to-night, for all we know! We can telegraph to the nearest coastguard station, of course, or wherever one can catch a patrol-boat—there are some sort of instructions about submarines and aeroplanes posted up in every post-office. But she might not be in time.” “I suppose we can trust the postmistress?” “If we can’t, we’re done,” Jim said. “If only the motor were all right we needn’t trust anyone. Isn’t it simply sickening to think we may do the wrong thing altogether? And if we make a mistake, and the submarine gets away with a fresh supply of petrol, she may sink half a dozen _Lusitanias_ before she is caught!” “We’ve just got to get her,” Wally said, between his teeth. “It seems to me there’s only one thing to do: we must telegraph for the patrol-boat, and, meanwhile, watch every night at low tide. It’s a comfort that they can’t get into the cave at any other time, isn’t it? I say, Jim, your father said we were kids to bring our revolvers with us—but isn’t it a mercy we did!” “Rather!” Jim said. The revolvers had been new toys; they had not felt able to part from them. “And O’Neill has one, too—you remember, he said we might have some shooting-practice in these lonely parts and teach Norah how to use one.” He became silent, suddenly, and Wally, watching his thoughtful face, did not interrupt him. After a while he spoke, half-apologetically. “I say, Wal, old chap.” “Yes?” “Look here,” Jim said. “It’s your show as much as mine, of course, and I won’t do anything to which you don’t agree. But——” he stopped again. “Oh, do go on!” said Wally. “Say it!” “Well, it’s just this. We’ll get lots of shows later on, if we’ve any luck: not so important as this, perhaps, but still, there ought to be chances. Anyhow, we’re able to go out to the Front and do our bit. And that poor chap isn’t.” “O’Neill?” Wally said. “No.” “Well—do you see what I mean?” “It takes brains,” said Wally, laughing. “But I think I do. You want to make this his show?” Jim nodded. “It wouldn’t hurt us,” he said. “He is such a brick, and he’s eating his heart out over the whole thing. It’s just the toughest sort of luck—and here he is, knocking about with us and giving us a ripping time, and you’d think that every time he looks at us it must remind him of what he wants to have and can’t. And now here’s a thing he could be right in.” “Rather!” Wally said. “I’m jolly glad you thought of it, old man. And it isn’t any beautiful sacrifice on our parts, either, for he has tons more brains than we have, and he’s a first-class shot. Let’s get him to run it altogether, and we’ll be his subalterns.”