With the discharge of the torpedoes Q 171 altered helm and resumed her former course. Morpeth meant to take no chances by revealing his identity to the tramp. He preferred to let the crew of the merchant vessel think that the disaster of her supposed consort had effectually put the wind up the second U-boat. Q 171 was a mystery ship, and once her true character was known the story would be all over the first port at which the tramp touched. And, after all, it was not a very far cry from an East Coast port to Berlin in war time, and benevolent neutrals had an unfortunate liking for spreading reports, true or otherwise, of what they saw and heard in British harbours. A sudden ejaculation from Morpeth attracted Meredith's attention. The R.N.R. man was pointing with outstretched arm in the direction of the tramp. He had good reason for astonishment. The apparently badly battered tramp had swung round and was forging through the water at high speed--possibly a good twenty-five knots. The Red Ensign had been struck, and the White Ensign streamed proudly in the breeze. "Look alive there!" shouted Morpeth. "Up with our rag, or they'll be planking a four-point-seven into us. Hanged if she isn't a Q-boat too!" The R.N.R. man was right concerning the rôle of the oncoming ship; but he was wrong in his surmise as to her intentions. Her skipper had noticed that the shells fired from the second U-boat had purposely gone wide, he had spotted the uncovered torpedo-tubes on her deck, and had seen the sudden disintegration of U-boat No. 1. Metaphorically speaking, he was foaming at the mouth. A hoist of bunting rose to the masthead of the approaching vessel. "Heave-to; I wish to communicate," read the signal. Morpeth rang for "half speed" and then "stop." He turned to Wakefield. "Now's your chance to get a lift back," he remarked. "Fancy I'll hang on," replied the late skipper of M.L. 1071. "A day or two won't make much difference. Had I been ashore I suppose the S.N.O. would have packed me off on leaf." "And you, my festive?" inquired Morpeth, addressing Meredith. "I'm following my senior officer's lead," replied the Sub promptly. "As regards your men, I'll put them on board if she'll have 'em," continued Morpeth. "It'll relieve the pressure on the grub locker. Hope they won't kag too much about us, though." "I don't think so," replied Wakefield, who had great faith in the sound sense of his crew. "But after all it won't matter so very much," added the R.N.R. officer. "By the time they get ashore my little stunt will, I hope, be a back number. Now, let's see what this camouflaged blighter has to say." The Q-boat had now ranged up within fifty or sixty feet of her small co-worker. Men, rigged out in the nondescript garments affected by the Mercantile Marine, were clustered for'ard, while a couple of stalwart individuals, rigged out in pilot-coats, serge trousers and sea-boots, were leaning over the side abreast the mainmast.