But the end was not yet. The second enemy torpedo boat, unable to bring her guns to bear lest she should hit her disabled consort, was manoeuvring to obtain a favourable position to deliver the _coup de grâce_. It seemed an easy thing to do, for Q 171 was little better than a floating scrap-heap. Suddenly, from what appeared to be a tangle of riddled steel-plating and grotesquely twisted girders, a gleaming steel cylinder flashed in the sunlight. Q 171 had shot her last bolt. One of the torpedo-tubes was still intact, and a grievously wounded man had seized his chance. Fifteen seconds later the torpedo got home, literally blowing the Hun in twain. Meredith saw the Q-boat's last blow. Defiantly, almost exultantly, he drew himself to full height, then a blinding flash seemed to leap from beneath his feet, and he toppled unconscious upon the deck. CHAPTER XXVII BATTERED BUT UNDAUNTED "FORE-CONTROL, there! Anything to report?" It was ten and a half hours after the light-cruiser squadron had left Auldhaig. At thirty knots the light cruisers were approaching the rendezvous mentioned in their sealed orders--orders that were no longer secret, since they were opened and communicated within one hour of clearing harbour. On either side of the cruisers, which were steaming in double column line ahead, were the destroyers--long, lean, and eager to be released from the leash that held them to that comparatively modest thirty knots. For the sixth time in the last hour the Commodore had asked the question. His impatience was natural. Visibility was good, and from the lofty eerie of the fore-control platform a wide expanse of horizon lay revealed. Before the fore-control could reply, the navigating lieutenant, who was standing by the Commodore on the bridge, threw back his head and listened intently. Above the whine of the wind past the tautened wire shrouds and sagging aerials came a long, low rumble. "Gunfire!" he announced laconically, yet there was keen anticipation in his tone. "Quick-firers," added the gunnery lieutenant. "Suppose it's too much to expect--to find Fritz's battle fleet out?" remarked the navigator. "We'd shake 'em up a bit, I reckon." The Commodore smiled at the subordinate's enthusiasm for a "hussar-stroke" of the light, swiftly-moving vessels against the heavily-armoured battleships of Germany. "We'll think ourselves more than lucky if their light cruisers are out," he replied. "Lucky if there are only destroyers. If----" He broke off abruptly to receive a message through a voice-tube. "Good enough," he replied. "Increase speed to thirty-four," he ordered. "Keep her as she is, Quartermaster." "Is it they, sir?" asked the gunnery lieutenant. "Look-out has reported a smoke-screen dead ahead," replied the Commodore. "We'll be seeing the enemy ships above the horizon in a few minutes."