‘I don’t believe in inspections at all in war time,’ said another of the party, as a general move was made for the door. ‘Unfair, I call it. Brings the war home too much.’ Overhead the scurrying of heavily-shod feet and the sound of sharp orders told that the ships’ company was mustering by divisions for the Captain’s inspection, and the boat skippers cleared out to their boats to see that all was in readiness. Down in ‘123’ the last finishing touches were being applied when Raymond arrived. Everything that brass polish and elbow grease could cause to shine, shone with a satisfactory brilliance, and whatever couldn’t shine was discreetly stowed away and hidden from the vulgar gaze. When all was in readiness, Raymond and the ‘Sub’ made a tour of inspection in search of possible defects or anything that might meet with the disapproval of authority. ‘This hydroplane motor,’ said the latter, putting his hand on a large black object that looked rather like a small mine. ‘It’s been running hot lately. Have to look at it to-morrow. “Owner” won’t know that, though.’ ‘Um, no. She doesn’t look too bad. Tell Hoskins to stand the rounds in the engine-room, T.I. in the fore-end, and second coxswain in the control-room.’ ‘Very good, sir. Hallo! they’re at prayers,’ he added as the strains of a hymn accompanied by the Marine Band floated down the hatch. ‘Not much longer now. I think she’ll do, sir. Fall the hands in on the upper deck, coxswain.’ The last brass rag and lump of waste were stowed away and the men scrambled up on deck. ‘123’ was a pleasure to the eye and a credit to the makers of liquid metal polish. All down the long tunnel of her inside, from the engines to the torpedo-tube doors, her steel and brass and copper winked and twinkled in the electric light, her white enamel was spotless, and her deckcloths were a glory to behold. Raymond took a final look round. ‘Good enough,’ he said, as he went up the conning-tower followed by the ‘Sub.’ ‘Now for the ordeal by fire.’ On deck the crew had fallen in in one long single line facing towards the parent ship. Ten men forward of the conning-tower and as many aft, all dressed in their best suits of ‘Number Three,’ and looking remarkably spick and span and on their metal. They were standing at ease now and sucking their teeth in anticipation, after the manner of the A.B. who is in the rattle or otherwise undergoing some order or other. By the gang plank to the next boat, for ‘123’ was the outside vessel, and three of her sisters lay between her and the _Parentis_, stood the coxswain with his boatswain’s pipe in hand, and Raymond took his stand beside him in readiness to receive the Post-Captain on board.