"They blew it into
scrap metal."
"Plenty of movement in your life!"
"I've run the gauntlet over there once too often," Horridge said
grimly. "Just look at me now, Sir Henry. I'm twenty-nine years old,
and it's only two years and a half since I was invalided out of the
navy and took this job on. The last person I asked to guess my age
put me down at fifty. What should you have said?"
"Somewhere near it," was the candid admission. "Never mind, Horridge,
you've done your bit. You shall pass on your experience to a new
hand, take your pension and try the south coast of England for a few
months. Now let's get on with it. You know what I want to hear
about."
Horridge produced from his pocket a long strip of paper.
"They're there, sir," he announced, "coaled to the scuppers, every
man standing to stations and steam up. There's the list."
He handed the paper across to Sir Henry, who glanced it down.
"The fast cruiser squadron," he observed. "Hm! Three new ships we
haven't any note of. No transports, then, Horridge?'"
"Not a sign of one, sir," was the reply. "They're after a
bombardment."
He rose to his feet, walked to a giant map of England, and touched a
certain port on the east coast. Sir Henry's eyes glistened.
"You're sure?"
"It is a certainty," Horridge replied. "I've been on three of those
ships.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161