Seizing his opportunity during the man's absence, von Preussen scanned the pile of registration forms lying on the reception clerk's desk. It behoved him to ascertain "who's who" with regard to the naval, military and air officers staying at the hotel--particularly the latter, as he had no desire to meet anyone hailing from Sheerness or Isle of Grain air stations. Satisfied on that point, the spy went to bed, apologising for the muddy state of his boots by stating that he had missed the last train from Nedderburn, and had been compelled to walk to Auldhaig. He slept soundly till close on eleven in the morning. At noon, spick and span, he made his way to Auldhaig Dockyard, with the plausible intention of inspecting X-lighters, but with the real object of keeping his ears and eyes open. Noon was a well-chosen time. The dockyard "maties" had knocked off work for dinner, while the officials, with the prospects of lunch in the near distance, would almost certainly request the pseudo-Captain Fennelburt to call again at three. That meant, once inside the dockyard gates, the spy had three hours in which to make useful observations. The first official he called upon was the Senior Naval Officer, who, forgetting that the X-barges had left early that morning in the charge of Sub-lieutenant Jock McIntosh, R.N.V.R., referred Captain Fennelburt to the Captain of the Dockyard. That individual, who had a dim recollection that the craft in question were in his charge and were about to be handed over to the Royal Air Force, requested the _soi-disant_ representative of that branch of the Service to inquire of the Chief Writer. The Chief Writer, about to go to lunch, summoned the Head Messenger, who in turn told off a messenger to accompany Captain Fennelburt on his search for the elusive X-lighters. For the next three-quarters of an hour the spy was hurried to and fro over the slippery cobble-stones of Auldhaig Dockyard. He saw very little that would be of service to the Imperial German Government. For one reason, the messenger stuck like a leech and lost no time, since he too was wanting his dinner. For another, everything in the way of new ship construction was being done under cover, while zealous, lynx-eyed policemen--picked men from the Metropolitan Police Force--were everywhere in evidence; and von Preussen had a wholesome respect for men in blue. "What's that vessel?" inquired von Preussen, indicating a tramp steamer with her sides and deck covered with tarpaulins. "Merchantman, sir," replied his escort. "Why is she in a Government dock?" continued the spy. "I thought tramp steamers would be repaired in the commercial dock." "So would she," answered the man. "Only there wasn't room. Torpedoed, she was, 'bout a month ago." "Then why all that canvas over her?" asked von Preussen, beginning to find himself on the track of something mysterious.