"That youngster's got something on his chest that he wants to get rid of," he remarked. "I can't make out what he wants. P'raps you can. It will relieve his mind." The Sub of the _Pylos_ knelt by Meredith's side. "Well, what is it?" he asked. Kenneth moved his lips in a vain endeavour to speak. "This won't hurt him, I suppose?" inquired the sub-lieutenant, producing a spirit flask. "Only a small nip," replied the doctor, as he busied himself with another case. Kenneth drank the proffered brandy. The spirit put fresh life into him. He raised himself and pointed below, but no words came from his lips. The Sub of the _Pylos_ looked puzzled. "It's all right," he replied soothingly. "She's as tight as a bottle. We'll tow her in yet." Meredith shook his head. "I'm on the wrong tack evidently," thought the Sub. "I wonder if he can write down what he wants." He handed Kenneth a pencil and notebook. The wounded officer took them eagerly and, with trembling fingers feebly grasping the pencil, he wrote: "Prisoners still below." "Good enough," exclaimed the other. "I'll see to that." Kenneth smiled, closed his eyes, and relapsed into unconsciousness. * * * * * Accompanied by a couple of hands, the sub-lieutenant of the _Pylos_ went below and hurried aft. Stretched at full length in the narrow alley-way was one of the mystery ship's crew. He had been detailed at the commencement of the action to mount guard outside the compartment in which von Preugfeld and von Loringhoven had been placed. His orders were, in the event of the ship beginning to sink, to liberate the prisoners and give them an equal chance with their captors of saving their lives. Unknown to the rest of the crew, the sentry had been rendered insensible, apparently by concussion only, for no marks of injury were visible. They found the key of the compartment lying on the floor within a few inches of the man's hand, but no amount of persuasion could shoot back the wards of the lock. They had jammed possibly through the same shock that had rendered the bluejacket unconscious. "Stand clear inside there!" shouted the Sub warningly; then, placing the muzzle of his revolver a few inches off the door, he fired and shattered the lock. The sight which met his eyes was an unexpected one. Ober-leutnant Hans von Preugfeld was lying on his back with a ghastly wound in his chest. Even in death his heavy Prussian features looked grim and forbidding. In the far corner von Loringhoven was leaning against the bulkhead, pale-faced and terror-stricken, with three fingers of his right hand torn away. "You're all right, old bean!" exclaimed the sub-lieutenant of the _Pylos_. "You'll enjoy the hospitality of Donnington Hall yet. Come along and let's see what our doc. can do for you."