The spy was on his best behaviour. Although he kept his eyes and ears open, he purposely avoided asking any questions relating to naval or military affairs at Auldhaig. Once, when Cumberleigh tried to "draw" him by pointing out the scene of the disaster to the _Pompey_, von Preussen adroitly changed the subject by a reference to the forthcoming performance of "The Maid of the Mountains." For an hour or more the _Pip-squeak_ made steady progress under a stiffish breeze. She was by no means a flyer, but on the other hand she sailed well with the wind broad on the beam. Beyond a few slaps of spray she proved herself a dry boat, so that the crew, with the exception of Jefferson, who was at the helm, were able to sit on the bottom boards and smoke to their heart's content. "Get a move on, you lazy hogs!" exclaimed Jefferson. "We're close on the right spot. Down with the canvas! Blenkinson, stand by to let go the anchor." With a splash the anchor was lowered to obtain a grip in ten fathoms of water. Riding head to wind and tide, the boat brought up, pitching sharply in the short crested waves. As long as the supply of bait lasted, sport was good. So engrossed were the sportsmen that they failed to notice that the wind was rising, and with the turn of the tide the waves were growing decidedly vicious. "Hadn't we better be getting a move on?" suddenly inquired Cumberleigh, as he realised that the motion was causing an uncomfortable sensation in the pit of his stomach. "Remember, some of us are going to the theatre to-night." "What's the hurry, old bean?" inquired the enthusiastic boat-sailer, Jefferson. "If it comes to that, you can see the 'Mountains' from here, although there's no 'Maid'--not even a mermaid. But, I say, what's that?" He pointed seawards. At about a mile distant was a long, low-lying black hull, apparently drifting broadside on to the waves. "Boche submarine, perhaps," ventured the facetious Pyecroft. "She's coming to give us a tow back to Auldhaig. Did anyone remember to bring a Lewis gun in his trouser pocket?" With the others, von Preussen looked in the direction of the mysterious craft. He had no pressing desire to renew acquaintance with one of His Imperial Majesty's _unterseebooten_, although the consequences would be far less awkward for him than it would be for his present companions. But a brief glance assured him on that point. The craft, whatever it might be, was certainly not a U-boat. No amount of camouflage could alter that. "She's a derelict," exclaimed Jefferson. "Get up the anchor, you fellows. We'll run alongside and have a look at her." Quickly the anchor was broken out and the sail hoisted. Cumberleigh, who had been silently keeping the derelict under observation, suddenly turned and thumped von Preussen on the shoulder. "Fennelburt," he vociferated, "Providence has played into your hands! You came here to inspect X-barges. Lo and behold, one of them obligingly drifts down to greet you!"