It was a small room lighted by a feeble electric lamp. Walls and floor were of concrete that literally ran with moisture. There was neither carpet nor rug on the floor, while the furniture was of a most Spartan character, comprising two beds--one already occupied by a soundly-sleeping officer--a trestle table, and a chair. "Hope you'll be comfortable, sir," remarked the batman ironically. He had seen strange officers "blow in" many times before, but he could not resist the temptation to indulge in mild _plaisanterie._ "Lights are turned off at ten-thirty," he added, with infinite relish; "and if you shut the door on the outside you can't get in unless you come to me for a key, sir." Left to the sole companionship of the soundly-snoring officer, Derek prepared to turn in. Investigations showed that the bed had a wire mattress, a straw pillow, and two army blankets. The pillow showed signs of disintegration; the blankets felt damp and smelt musty. Daventry felt inclined to use strong language. On active service on the Western Front he would have borne the discomfort with equanimity; in a permanent home-station there was no excuse for the wretched accommodation. Kicking off his sea-boots and tunic Derek turned in practically "all standing", to pass a fitful night, and to awake to find a white mist enveloping everything. He had breakfast with about twenty young officers, the meal consisting of a tablespoonful of luke-warm porridge, two square inches of American bacon, bread, margarine, and tea. Before he left the building the messman presented a bill for half a crown for this sorry repast. Upon arriving at the pier-head Derek found that his men had fared no better, and in spite of the thick fog they brightened up considerably when their officer announced his intention of getting away from Wagshot Air Station "even if it rained ink". The first step was to induce the Officer of the Watch to send the duty-boat over to Bumble Creek to fetch the motor-boats. This was successfully accomplished, notwithstanding the fact that twice the duty-boat ran aground, fortunately on soft mud and on a rising tide. By ten o'clock Derek's two craft were alongside the pier, and the sea-plane that had to be towed back to Sableridge was prepared for her voyage. "The fog's lifting, I fancy," remarked the Officer of the Watch. "You'll be able to get away to-day after all." "I mean to," rejoined Derek grimly. CHAPTER XXIII An Error of Judgment A lifting fog, a calm sea, and the sun shining brightly overhead, all presaged a successful voyage. With the first pulsations of the motors Derek's feelings of resentment towards the Wagshot Air Station vanished. The bright, healthsome feeling of being afloat once more dispelled the hideous nightmare of damp concrete walls, hard beds, and inadequate food.