It did not take Peter long to turn in. For some minutes he lay awake thinking. He was far from easy in his mind concerning the Watcher on duty. In a congested waterway like the Straits of Dover and the English Channel--particularly in the vicinity of the Downs and off St. Catherine's--wireless messages of great importance to the safety of the ship and her passengers and crew might be sent; but would Partridge be alert enough to warn the _West Barbican's_ operator? Supposing the bird fell asleep on watch? It was all very well for Mostyn to say that if a disaster should occur it would be put down to the fault of the system. That was not good enough for a conscientious fellow like Peter. He resolved, in spite of his weariness, to make periodical visits to the wireless-cabin. At 10.30 p.m. he cautiously approached the cabin; not with the idea of eavesdropping but merely to see if Watcher Partridge were on the alert. If he were, Peter meant to withdraw without disturbing him. If he were not--Peter smiled grimly. Thrusting his feet into his rubber boots (on principle Mostyn always had sea-boots a size larger than he wore with shore-going kit) the Wireless Officer made his way to the cabin. A glance through the closed scuttle showed him that Partridge was wide awake, and that he still wore the telephones. Satisfied, he began to retrace his steps and encountered Preston tracking along the alleyway. Dick Preston was still Acting Chief, the Chief Officer having failed to join the ship at Gravesend. Consequently the _West Barbican_ was one executive officer short. "Hello there!" exclaimed Preston. "Thought it was your watch below, Sparks. What's up: developed insomnia?" Mostyn told him the reason for his visit to the bridge. "That's all right, young fellah-me-lad," declared the Acting Chief. "You turn in. I know you've had a pretty sticky time. I'll keep an eye on yon greenhorn and see that he doesn't drop asleep on his perch. Trust me for that." Five minutes later Peter was sound asleep. Suddenly he was aroused by a hand grasping his shoulder. Only half awake the Wireless Officer sat up in his bunk, narrowly avoiding collision with the cork-cemented beam overhead. "TTT, sir!" bellowed an excited voice. For the present Peter was still hovering on the border-line 'twixt slumber and wakefulness. Somehow he had the idea in his brain that he was once more on board the S.S. _Donibristle_, and the officers' steward had brought him a cup of tea before going on watch. "No, dash it all!" he expostulated. "I don't want tea now." "TTT, sir! TTT!" repeated the disturber of Mostyn's peace. Then Peter realized the situation. It was Watcher Partridge, almost falling over himself in his anxiety to proclaim the fact that at last he had had a call through of an important nature. Tumbling out of his bunk, Peter slipped into his bridge coat, and hurried to the wireless-cabin, the Watcher, puffing and blowing, following hard on his heels.