Brand entered the conning tower. "Stand by," he said. "Dead slow--five to starboard--ahead." "All clear, sir," answered Captain Simpson, his hands on the levers. "Steady! Rise." The yacht rose gently, while the Channel Fleet fell away beneath her. Brand sat down in the chair beside the Captain, watching the indicator until the needle gauged thirty thousand feet. "Way enough," he said. "Quarter speed ahead, west by north, half north." "West by north, half north." "Full speed ahead." "Full speed it is." Captain Simpson leaned back with a sigh of relief, then glanced up sideways at the master's face. "Light your pipe," said Brand. "Thank you, sir--Great Death! you thrashed the Fleet!" "I've done more," the master sighed. "I've broken a man's heart. Poor Rothschild!" "Was that the Jew admiral?" "A great gentleman," said Brand. "Are you sure, Simpson, that you can remember that formula for explosives?" "Yes, sir." "Tell your ship's company that I don't ask them to face war risks on peace wages. The pay and pension rates are doubled from the first of this month." The captain started to his feet. "There, go away and take an hour's rest." The captain grabbed Brand's shoulder from behind. "A warning, sir. The Dictator tried to bribe me, and he's bought nearly all your skippers. Don't let them know that new formula." Brand turned round and shook hands with him. "Get below," he said, "and, by the way, tell somebody to ask His Royal Highness to join me here." The captain rolled away down the ladder. "Thrashed the Fleet," he muttered, "thrashed the whole Fleet! Great Death!" Brand was alone now, and for some minutes paced restlessly the small domed room with its glass vault and walls. The sun was high in the black, star-strewn heavens, the cloud-sea vanished into the heat of the day. Beneath rolled the blue Channel, and on either side the land went up to meet an immense horizon. Broad on the port beam lay the coast of France, beyond on the port bow the wide Atlantic loomed. There on the starboard side was the English land from Beachy Head, faint glimmering in the east, even to the Start in far-off Devonshire. At his very feet lay the green Isle of Wight masking a skein of intricate blue waters. There was Portsmouth, yonder Southampton, and northward Salisbury and Winchester, a score of cities, a thousand villages and farmsteads, where as the green melted away to blue, range beyond range of gently rolling downs, mist upon mist of exquisite rounded hills, up to the very stars of eternal night. And all the land must perish if he failed! Someone was coming up the ladder, and presently Brand, turning away from the glass, encountered Lancaster. The Prince saluted him, but Brand came forward, laying both hands upon his shoulders. "My boy," he said, "where would you like to land?" "Where you land, sir." "I'd like to be sure of your safety, Lancaster, and I want to put you ashore." "I'll see you damned first!"