And the hour was approaching when the two submarine-cruisers would arrive at the rendezvous--and then Q 171 would strike--swiftly and with annihilating force. Right aft stood Meredith and Ainslie. The former was in charge of the after quick-firer, while on the other sub-lieutenant rested the responsibility of "dumping the ash-cans," or, in other words, dropping the depth-charges, should they be required. He also had charge of the hand-steerage flat, where, in the event of the electrically-operated wheel becoming disabled, the work of steering the Q-boat would be undertaken. "Fritz is late in keeping his appointment," remarked Meredith. "Beastly uncivil of him on a cold morning like this." Ainslie swung his arms vigorously and stamped with his rubber boots upon the metal deck. "We'll forgive him if he shows up," he remarked. "Wonder if there'll be a chance of a scrap? By the by, you've your gasmask ready?" "Yes, old son," replied Meredith, producing a hideous-looking contraption from the pocket of his oilskin coat. "We hadn't them issued to us on the M.L.'s, for which many thanks. Gosh! What would the old folks at home say if they could see their little Kenneth in this?" "You do look a Hun," admitted Ainslie, as Meredith rather clumsily clipped the antigas device to his nose. "What a dash you'd cut at a kids' Christmas party! Got everything--pneumatic life-belt, first-aid outfit, meat lozenges, spirit flask an' all, in case you fancy rivalling a cross-Channel swimmer?" Meredith gravely assured his questioner that he had all the articles named. "Right-o," rejoined Ainslie. "And just kick over the oiler. Here's a link that wants a drop of oil pretty badly. Thanks, old thing." The Sub was about to attend to what appeared to be a stiff link in the dummy deckgear release, when a cry came from for'ard: "Submarine two points on the starboard bow, sir!" At a distance of two miles in the direction indicated lay a U-boat motionless, with her deck just awash. Telescopes and binoculars were brought to bear upon her. "That's not the bird I want," declared Morpeth. "She's one of the ordinary submarine mine-layers. We'll sheer off. No sprat to catch a mackerel for me!" Q 171 turned eight points to port. Expecting at any moment to be challenged by the U-boat, Morpeth gave a curt order to the signalman. The latter toggled the _soi-disant_ U 251's signal numbers to the halliards and stood by. "They don't keep a sharp look-out," remarked Wakefield. "If we can spot them lying awash, surely they've twigged us by now." "Just back from a cruise, I expect," surmised the R.N.R. officer. "And jolly glad to be back out of it, so they're holding on to the slack." "Where's the other one, then?" inquired Wakefield. "There were two expected."