His exclamation attracted the attention of his companions. Even as they looked appeared the tip of the second periscope, followed almost immediately by the bows and conning-tower of the submarine. Then like a gigantic whale the long, bulging hull slithered above the surface, the water pouring from its deck in cascades of swirling foam. "One of our submarines, by Jove!" exclaimed Pyecroft. "Wonder what she's doing here?" "A Hun!" corrected Cumberleigh. "We're properly in the soup, you fellows." He gave a hurried glance in the only direction from which they could expect aid--skywards. Not an aircraft of any description was in sight. The gorgeous prospect of seeing a seaplane swoop down upon an incautious Fritz was out of the question. "Jefferson!" he shouted. "Run for it, man. Don't wait for us." The owner of the _Pip-squeak_ took in the situation at a glance. True, the U-boat was between him and the shore, but there was a stiff leading wind. While the Hun was concentrating his attention upon the X-lighter the sailing-boat had a fair chance of getting away, but Jefferson was a "white man." "No fear, old bird!" he shouted. "We're all in this stunt. I am coming on board." With that he ran the sailing-boat alongside the barge, and, without waiting to lower the sail, leapt on deck and secured the painter. Meanwhile the hatches of the U-boat had been thrown open and her two guns manned and trained point-blank upon the helpless lighter. "'Fraid this isn't the time for a death-or-glory stunt," remarked Cumberleigh. "Fritz is evidently 'one up.'" Of the five, "Captain Fennelburt" was the least perturbed. The spy was distinctly annoyed at the unexpected turn of events. It looked as if his carefully prepared campaign was to be nipped in the bud. Consequently he was liable to heavy financial loss in addition to a waste of valuable time, for his employers in Berlin paid only for definite results. "No work, no pay," was the motto of the German Secret Service, and before von Preussen could be landed in Great Britain again weeks might elapse. As a secondary consideration, there was the doubt of how he would be received by his compatriots. For very good reasons he wished to conceal his identity from his companions on the lighter. In spite of strenuous precautions, British prisoners of war sometimes contrived to effect their escape, and it would be a very serious matter for von Preussen if it became known through the medium of a former captive in Germany that the _soi-disant_ Captain Fennelburt was a Secret Service agent of the German Intelligence Department. "Gentlemen!" observed Pyecroft facetiously. "The R.A.F. Salvage Syndicate is dissolved."