Raymond started the motors and ‘123’ drew ahead. Presently Burton returned with the torpedoes, which were carefully hoisted, and as the boat was swung to the davit-heads the _Zero_ got under weigh. Ahead in a cloud from her exhaust was the submarine, on her gas engines now, and putting her best screw forward for the harbour. Permission to enter was sought and granted from the Flagship in hoists of coloured bunting and the exercise was over. As the _Zero_ gathered speed the captain looked up from the chart table. ‘This is where we come in, I think,’ he said with a grin; ‘shove her on to full.’ Down below the telegraph clanged and the small craft shook herself like an expectant terrier. Then she began to feel the added impetus and rapidly overhauled her slower rival. The Heads of the harbour entrance opened out as they approached, and the trawler at the gate hoisted the clearance signal. Beyond, the masts and funnels of the Fleet could be seen, and away to the southward an Admiralty collier was punching along with her cargo of diamonds for the ever hungry bunkers. As they buzzed past their recent enemy, Jenkins gave an order to the signal boy, and that ingenuous youth began waving the semaphore arms with evident enjoyment. ‘Will report your return,’ he spelt out. A pause followed. Then a figure was seen to clamber to a position of vantage on the submarine’s standard and there was a flash of red and yellow bunting. ‘What does he say?’ asked Raymond, when the message came to an end. The boy saluted. ‘“123” to _Zero_, sir, “Your signal not understood. Will report sinking of _Zero_ by torpedo on my arrival at base.” Eleven twenty-five, code time, sir.’ ‘What did I tell you, Burton?’ laughed the captain. ‘It’s no good trying to get to windward of Raymond. He’s always undefeated to the end.’ ‘Precocity, I call it,’ said the other, who was bitterly grieved at the downfall of Jenkins’s attempt to score off the wily ‘hate-boat.’ The signal boy turned his back sharply and busied himself with his flags, while he hid a smile behind a grimy hand. He was used to this sort of chaff among the gods, but experience had taught him that it was not well to display too keen a sense of humour on these occasions. Three minutes later, with her engines at a reduced speed, the _Zero_ took the gate and sped on up the harbour. As she passed the big ships the boy pounced on an answering pendant, ran it up to the yard-arm, and glued his eye to the telescope. ‘_Parentis_ to _Zero_,’ he spelt out. ‘Moorings alongside _Parentis_ occupied. Anchor in No. 4 berth.’ ‘Down answer,’ he added, and the pendant fluttered to the deck. ‘All right, carry on for’ard, Burton,’ said the captain. ‘She’ll have to come alongside us in the afternoon and take the torpedoes in. Starboard anchor. Forty-five on the windlass.’ Burton departed to superintend the mooring operations, and the Torpedo Boat picked up her berth and let go her anchor without unnecessary fuss.