The Silver Badge man handed his telescope to a boy and tapped the second speaker on the shoulder. "Look here, my man!" he exclaimed. "She's flying a flag, isn't she? What flag is it?" "White Ensign--half-mast high," replied the other. "Then what d'ye mean by saying she's a blinkin' U-boat?" demanded the ex-bluejacket hotly. "If she were, you'd be seein' that White Ensign flyin' over Fritz's rotten ensign. That, I tell you, is the Q-boat our light cruisers went out to bring in. And they've jolly well done it, too. Stand by, you chaps, an' give her a proper British cheer." Slowly, very slowly, the _Inattentive_ passed the Outer Bar Buoy, and turning close in shore followed the line of buoys marking the approach channel to Auldhaig Harbour. The spectators wanted a sight. What they saw was a long hull, battered and scarred. The deck was little more than a litter of torn and riddled steelwork, but conspicuous among the debris was the muzzle of a dismounted quick-firer that tilted at an acute angle to the sky. Right aft a space had been cleared, and on it were rows of motionless figures wrapped in canvas hammocks. Clustered round the hastily repaired stanchion-rails were a few bandaged heroes whose appearance resembled that of tramps rather than British bluejackets. Cheers? Not a sound. At the sight of the half-masted Ensign and the gallant dead lying upon the deck of the ship that they had fought so well, the desire to cheer was quelled. As if by a common impulse the crowd stood silent and bareheaded, as a tribute to those who had laid down their lives for King and Country. But "Tough Geordie," Wakefield and Meredith were ignorant of the silent tribute. They were still unconscious. With those dishevelled but undaunted survivors of her crew standing at attention, Q 171 glided past the port flagship, the towing hawser was slipped, and the battered mystery ship, taken in charge of a dockyard tug, was safely berthed alongside the jetty. Ambulances were already in attendance, and the work of transferring the wounded to the naval hospital was immediately put in hand. Wakefield opened his eyes as he was being carried up the broad steps into the building. Morpeth had a partial return to consciousness almost at the same time. Looking round at the unfamiliar surroundings, he appeared to be solving some perplexing problem. His last conscious vision as he lay with a shattered arm upon the deck of the ship he had handled so magnificently was that of a man scrambling through the smoke and across a pile of debris to the triple torpedo-tubes. He watched the unknown hero fumbling over the releasing levers until at last a "tin fish" leapt from the only serviceable tube. Then in a swirl of pungent smoke the vision grew blurred and faded into nothingness. "What I want to know is," he exclaimed with startling clearness, "who the blue blazes fired that last torpedo? 'Tany rate, it got her properly."