"
Sir Henry groped in the cupboard of his desk, and produced a bottle
of whisky and a syphon of soda water. His visitor nodded approvingly.
"I've touched nothing until I've reached what I consider sanctuary,"
he observed. "My nerves have gone rotten for the first time in my
life. Do you mind, sir, if I lock the door?"
"Go ahead," Sir Henry assented.
He brought the whisky and soda himself across the room. Horridge
resumed his seat and held out his hand almost eagerly. For a moment
or two he shook as though he had an ague. Then, just as suddenly as
it had come upon him, the fit passed. He drained the contents of the
tumbler at a gulp, set it down empty by his side, and stretched out
his hand for a cigar.
"The end of my journey didn't help matters any," he went on. "I
daren't even make for a Dutch port, and we were picked up eventually
by a tramp steamer from Newcastle to London with coals. I hadn't
been on board more than an hour before a submarine which had been
following overhauled us. I thought it was all up then, but the fog
lifted, and we found ourselves almost in the midst of a squadron of
destroyers from Harwich. I made another transfer, and they landed
me in time to catch the early morning train from Felixstowe."
"Did they get the submarine?" his listener asked eagerly.
"Get it!" the other repeated, with a smile.
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