About this time the wealthy Countess Malipiero--who was nowadays Elena's most intimate friend, and who was constantly at the Admiral's table-- purchased a big sea-going motor-launch, a quiet, harmless old fisherman called Beppo, well known in Sarzana, being placed as skipper. Before the war, the Countess had, in secret, been in very poor circumstances, but owing to the death of a relative--so she explained--she had been left a substantial legacy. One evening, as the Admiral and his wife were about to finish dinner _tete-a-tete_, the manservant announced that Captain Vivarini, the second in command, had called and desired to speak with his chief very urgently. "Show the Captain to the study," said the Marchese, as he rose at once and passed along to his cosy little den which overlooked the port. Elena, instantly upon the alert, and suspecting that something unusual had happened, waited until the Captain had been conducted to her husband's room, and then she crept silently along to the door, where she knew she could overhear the conversation, having listened there several times before. On tiptoe she approached noiselessly over the soft Turkey carpet, and, placing her ear to the door, was enabled to hear news. In brief, it was to the effect that one of the newest Austrian submarines had been captured intact, with officers and crew, off the Point of Cortellazo. "The submarine Number 117 left Fiume only yesterday, according to its commander, whom I have interrogated," the Captain reported. "_Benissimo_!" exclaimed the Admiral, much gratified. "Then the enemy will not yet know of its capture. In the meantime we must act. The submarine belongs to Fiume, therefore, my dear Vivarini, she must return to Fiume." "Go back?" echoed the Captain. "Yes. She must sail again to-night with an Italian crew," said the Admiral. "She will enter Fiume harbour flying her own flag, but at the same time she will discharge torpedoes at as many of the vessels of war lying there as she can. You understand?" "_Santa Vergine_! What a plan," exclaimed the Captain enthusiastically. "Most excellent, Signor Marchese." "All must be done in strictest secrecy," said the other, lowering his voice. "Not a single word must leak out, for there can be no doubt that there are spies here in Sarzana. News of our intentions gets across the Adriatic in an astounding manner sometimes. Not a syllable must be known, either regarding our capture or our intentions. Number 117 must return to-night." "Not a whisper," the Captain agreed, whereupon the Marchesa, a tall, slim figure in a dinner-gown of carnation pink, and wearing a velvet bow of the same shade in her hair, slipped back again to the salon, where she awaited her husband, pretending to read. "Well, Captain Vivarini," she exclaimed, greeting their visitor merrily as the two men entered. "Some new development, I suppose, eh?"