She was slim and _petite_. Although wearing a serviceable raincoat she carried herself gracefully, holding but lightly to the handrail of the ladder. Mostyn noticed that her moist hair was of a rich, brownish hue, her features finely modelled. Her eyes were of a deep grey hue, beneath a pair of evenly arched eyebrows. In spite of the clammy fog her cheeks shone with the glow of youth--a healthy glow that told unfailingly of an active, outdoor life. "Jolly pretty girl, that," commented Peter, communing with his own thoughts. The very last passenger to come over the side--Peter paid no attention to him--was a young, athletic man carrying a travel-worn leather portmanteau. With the air of one accustomed to life on shipboard he stepped briskly off the end of the gangplank and made straight for the saloon. On the passenger list he appeared as William Porter, of Durban. Not one of the _West Barbican's_ officers realized what viper the good ship was cherishing in her bosom; for in Berlin William Porter would have answered readily and truthfully to the name of Ludwig Schoeffer. CHAPTER IX A Quiet Trick Some of the incidents in this chapter are based upon actual facts recorded in _The Signal_. The author takes this opportunity to express his thanks to the editor of that journal for permission, readily granted, to make use of certain incidents here recorded. Mostyn made his way to the wireless-cabin to find his two satellites standing by according to orders. "Well, all right now?" asked Peter solicitously. "Yes, sir," was the reply in unison. "What did you have for dinner in your mess?" pursued Mostyn, addressing Partridge. "B'iled mutton, sir; and it weren't 'arf good." "Not 'arf," corroborated the other bird. "An' b'iled peas an' dumplin's an' orl that." "Right-o!" rejoined Peter briskly. "That shows you're both as fit as fiddles. We start sea routine at 10 p.m. You'll take on till four bells, Partridge----" "Say, wot about my dinner?" objected the Watcher. "Dinner?" repeated Mostyn, failing to grasp the reason of his subordinate's objection. "What's that got to do with it?" "Dinner's at two bells, sir." The Wireless Officer suppressed a desire to laugh. "Four bells in the middle watch," explained Peter. "That's 2 a.m. Surely to goodness you didn't expect to do a fourteen hours' trick? Plover, you relieve Partridge at four bells and carry on till I take over at eight bells--that's eight o'clock in the morning, not noon or four in the afternoon," he added caustically. "Got that?" Yes, Messrs. Partridge and Plover had got that part all right. "Now," continued Peter, "you know your duties. On no account touch the transmitter. Call me if there's any real need for it; and, don't forget, if you fall asleep on watch there'll be trouble."