She was doing a twelve points zig-zag now, six points to starboard of the course and then six points to port, while ‘123’ ambled along behind at her steady ten straight. It was a good illustration of the hare and the tortoise, though if you had told Raymond so he would have brained you on the spot. At four o’clock the captain went below, and he and Seagrave had tea behind the green curtains and discussed the coming prospects of re-fit. So far the weather was beautiful and the sea like a mill-pond, and after the meal Seagrave got a deck-chair up the fore-hatch and sat on the superstructure with a magazine. Raymond was dozing down below, in spite of the strains of a wheezy accordion that came from the region of the engine-room, and Boyd, the helmsman, and the look-out were in charge of the bridge. Most of the crew who were off were sleeping too. This was a passage, not a business patrol, and though they were prepared if anything should arise they were not looking for trouble this time. The Destroyer continued her erratic dashings across the bow, men came up for a smoke or to point out landmarks on the coast to one another, and dinner-time came and went. About half-past eight a distant smudge of smoke took shape and hardened in the form of an armed trawler who bore down upon them, fussily belligerent. _Master_ stopped her gyrations and took steady station ahead, her yardarms eloquent of her consort’s right to exist. But the trawler was persistent, and closed them with her 6 pounder manned and every beam in her creaking with suspicion. She challenged, was answered, still held on, and then sullenly turned on her heel, a disappointed and disgusted trawler. Then _Master_ drew ahead again, and as ‘123’ went by a boy in the trawler waved his cap and shouted something. The sun set and twilight gave way to darkness. The point of land ahead gathered itself out of the mist, and a small light showed from the Destroyer’s stern. Then she steadied ahead on a straight course again until just before ten o’clock, when she put her helm a-starboard. Raymond put his telegraph over and the ‘Klaxons’ hooted below. ‘Stop both,’ he said. ‘Not bad; just about reached Hunter’s Point by ten o’clock. Stand by the weight. Group down.’ ‘Both engine-clutches out, sir,’ came the messenger’s voice up the hatch. ‘Ay, ay. Astern both.’ A rattle from ahead told that the Destroyer had picked up her moorings, and a moment later Raymond gave the order: ‘Stop both. Let go.’ A whirring of wire followed as the weight was released, and then the messenger’s voice rose again. ‘Took bottom in 12 fathoms, sir.’ ‘All right. Veer out to 36 fathoms.’ ‘Thirty-six fathoms, sir. Brought up.’ Seagrave reappeared from the depths, and took on the anchor watch. He and the look-out were to remain on till midnight, when Boyd and another seaman would relieve them. ‘Have you started a charge yet?’ asked Raymond, as he prepared to go below. ‘Yes, sir. 600 in parallel.’