Picking up the 'phones, Mostyn listened for a few seconds. Then he replaced the ear-pieces on the table. "You'll have to do better than that next time," he observed caustically. "That's not TTT--nothing like it. It's North Foreland on our starboard quarter calling CQ. Tuning in, most likely." Returning to his bunk, Peter noticed that it was now 11.15 p.m. There was still a chance of a good night's rest, he reflected. At a quarter to twelve he was called again to receive time signals. Forty-five minutes later he was aroused to call for wireless orders for the ship. On this occasion nothing was forthcoming, so back along the now familiar alleyway he hurried to his sleeping-cabin. It seemed as if Peter had been asleep only a few minutes when there was a terrific hammering at his door. Sitting up, Mostyn felt for the electric light switch. He found it easily enough. There was a metallic snap--but the cabin was not flooded with light. Something had gone wrong with the bulb, he reflected, as he shouted to the disturber without to come in. The door opened. There appeared the perspiring face of Crawford, the engineer of the watch, his features thrown into weird relief by the guttering gleam of an oil hand-lamp. "Hey, laddie!" he exclaimed in sepulchral tones. "Yon Watcher, he's----" Words failed the Second Engineer. "I'm awa' to sort yon," he added, and, as if no further explanation were necessary, bolted precipitately. Imagining that nothing short of a vision of Partridge grilling on the main switch would meet his gaze, Peter doubled to the wireless-cabin. The alleyway was in pitch darkness. He collided violently with the Third Engineer, who, summoned from his slumbers, was making tracks for the engine-room. On the bridge the officer of the watch was shouting to the serang to bring up the emergency oil-lamps. Every fuse in the ship had been blown out, and consequently not only the internal lighting had failed but the electric masthead and side lights had refused duty. With the _West Barbican_ proceeding down Channel at fifteen knots on a dark night the possibilities of a disastrous collision were great, until the emergency lights were rigged up and the ship brought back on her course, since the binnacle lamp had failed with the other electric lights. A strong smell of burning gutta-percha and ebonite greeted Peter as he gained the vicinity of the wireless-cabin. Outside stood Partridge and Plover, the latter about to take over the watch. Both were horribly scared, and no wonder, for upon striking a match Mostyn found the reason for all the trouble.