Jim sighed with relief. “It seemed a bit hard to ask you to give up the credit,” he said. “And what about you?” grinned Wally “Oh, credit be hanged!” said Jim, laughing. “Anyhow, we’ll get all the fun!” [Illustration: “Wally flashed the light on the treasure-trove, and then whistled softly.”] _Jim and Wally_] [_Page_ 225 CHAPTER XIV A FAMILY MATTER “To count the life of battle good, And clear the land that gave you birth, And dearer yet the brotherhood That binds the brave of all the earth.” HENRY NEWBOLT. JOHN O’NEILL was dressing for dinner: an operation which consisted in putting on a clean soft collar and brushing his hair, since the travellers’ possibilities of toilet were limited to one small kit-bag apiece. To him there came a discreet knock on the door; and Wally and Jim, suitably apologetic, appeared. “You look like conspirators,” said Sir John, surveying the pair. “What’s the matter?” “We’ve struck a job that’s a size too large for us,” Jim answered. “So we’ve come meekly to you.” O’Neill’s short laugh was rather bitter. “Too large for _you_!” he said. “If that’s the case, it would be rather an out-size for me, I should say.” His look travelled over the two tall lads, wiry and powerful. “Unless—it isn’t money, I suppose, Jim?” “No, indeed; it’s brains!” Jim answered. “And we haven’t got any. Anyhow, we don’t know how to handle this situation.” “Well, I’m at your disposal,” Sir John said. “Fire away—there’s plenty of time before dinner.” “We’ve found a little submarine supply-depôt,” Jim said. “What does one do?” O’Neill dropped his brush, and stared at him. “You say it much as you might say, ‘We’ve found a mushroom: how do we cook it?’” he uttered. “It isn’t a joke, Jim?” “Indeed it’s not,” the boy said, quickly. “It’s because it’s so horribly serious that we’ve come to you.” “But—where?” “In a little inlet about a couple of miles up the coast,” Jim said. “Funny little shut-in place: you could sail past it outside and never notice it, the headlands are so close together.” He described their discovery briefly. O’Neill sat down on the side of his bed and knitted his brows. “Of course, the first thing is to get a patrol-boat down,” he said. “As it happens, I know Bob Aylwin, who is in command of one of them: his headquarters are at Port Brandon, and he could get here quite quickly.” “Then we must telegraph, I suppose,” Jim said. “But we were wondering if it would be safe; things leak out so quickly in a tiny place like this, and you know that people ashore are said to be helping the submarines in some districts. One doesn’t like to misjudge anyone, but——” He paused, knitting his brows. “One has to suspect every one,” O’Neill said, shortly. “And telegrams are horribly public things.”