Apparently M.L. 1497 was in no hurry to return to her base, for shortly after midnight her engines "konked." For some hours she wallowed in the swell a few miles from the shores of Caithness, while sweating mechanics struggled with sooted plugs and choked jets. It was broad daylight before the trouble was overcome, and the M.L. was able to resume her interrupted return run. "I wonder what von Preussen is doing," remarked Cumberleigh, as the rocky shores of the Orkneys appeared above the horizon. "Somehow I've got the idea that he was up to some mischief when we spotted him aboard the _Hohenhoorn_." "Shouldn't be surprised," agreed Meredith. "I reported the incident, but nothing seems to have been done. Unfortunately our people are hampered by the Allied Congress; otherwise the Huns wouldn't be on board now--nearly six months after the Armistice." A quarter of an hour later Kenneth raised his binoculars. "Seems much the same old show," he observed. "Fritz is still occupying the best berths in Scapa Flow. Wonder why we were recalled so hurriedly? Hello! There's old Wakefield coming out to meet us." M.L. 1499 approached rapidly, then turning sixteen points to port, drew within hailing distance. "What's wrong?" shouted Meredith through a megaphone. "Nothing, as far as I know," replied Wakefield. "Why are you back so soon?" "Ask me another," rejoined Kenneth. "I was afraid we had orders to pack up." "I've heard nothing more about demobilisation," said Wakefield. "So it's not that." "Who said there was nothing wrong?" inquired Cumberleigh, pointing with outstretched arm towards the German vessels. "They've hoisted their ensigns." "So they have, by Jove!" exclaimed Meredith. "What does it mean? Surely the Peace Conference blokes haven't restored the ships to Germany? Wakefield, look! Germans have hoisted their colours." Somewhere in the grey distance came the report of a gun, followed by another. A British destroyer was taking drastic measures to deal with the flagrant breach of Beatty's peremptory order. "Whack her up!" ordered Meredith through the voice-tube. "All out." The motor mechanics responded smartly. M.L. 1497 simply tore through the water. "They're sinking!" exclaimed Cumberleigh. "Every one of them. The dirty dogs: they're scuttling the fleet!" There was no doubt about it. Already seven destroyers were awash. The larger vessels were heeling with distinct rapidity. The giant _Hindenburg_ was practically on her beam ends, while her meagre crew, prepared for the consequences of the dastardly act, had already taken to the boats and were watching the mammoth vessel in her death-throes.