PRISONER OF WAR
One bright and cheerful summer morning Lawless sat in his favourite
attitude on the bridge-rail of the _Knat_ contemplating the distant
coast-line with a far-away expression in his eyes. Despite the official
regulations concerning the uniform to be worn by naval officers when on
duty, his present attire left much to be desired. It consisted chiefly
of blue serge trousers, a battered shooting cap, and a pink-striped
pyjama jacket.
"I wonder," murmured the Lieutenant dreamily, "whether I could get short
leave of absence. I'm just spoiling for a spell ashore and a mild
bust-up."
Sub-Lieutenant Trent, who was standing near, volunteered no comment.
"I haven't been feeling very well lately," continued Lawless, "and I
think I need a change."
"Rot!" ejaculated Trent rudely. "I never saw a man look in better health
in my life. You're as fit as a fiddle."
Lawless slowly shook his head.
"I've been suffering from internal pains," he said gloomily. "Very
likely you haven't noticed, but it's a fact all the same."
"Internal humbug," grumbled the unsympathetic junior. "And if you have,"
he added, "what can you expect after eating tinned lobster, Welsh
rarebit, and cold pork for supper?"
"That," replied Lawless decisively, "wouldn't upset an infant. No, I
shall put in an application for sick leave."
That same afternoon Lawless sat down in his little cabin and prepared to
concoct a letter setting forth his ailments and the imperative necessity
for a holiday in consequence. It took about two hours and a tremendous
expenditure of ink and paper to write, and when finished was calculated
to impress the reader with the belief that the unfortunate officer was
suffering from every fatal malady known to medical science. He had just
concluded this literary effort and was re-reading it carefully in order
to dot the i's, cross the t's, and make needed repairs to the spelling,
when the door opened and Trent's head appeared in the aperture.
"Hullo!" he exclaimed, "still at it?"
"Do you spell 'conscious' with a _t_?" asked Lawless, ignoring the
ironic inquiry.
"No, you ass, of course not."
"I'm afraid it's a bit smudgy," observed the author as he folded up the
letter, "but I've explained that it was written in a choppy sea."
"When they look at the spelling I expect they'll think it was written in
a hurricane," said the junior officer grimly.
Lawless took no notice of the jibe.
"That's done," he murmured with a sigh of relief. "If there's such a
thing as humanity in the world, I shall get my leave."
For the first few days after the despatch of the epistle Lawless
alternated between hope and despondency, but when a week passed and he
received no reply, he made up his mind that the authorities had declined
to consider his application. However, ten days later, when he was
breakfasting with Trent, there arrived an official letter with the
Admiralty stamp upon it.
"It's come!" cried the Lieutenant after he had hurriedly glanced through
the contents. "I knew it would."
Trent's reply was such as no respectable printer would set up in type.
He had been in the act of raising a cup of coffee to his lips when
Lawless gave vent to his exultant shout, and it had so startled the
Sub-Lieutenant that he let fall the cup and received the boiling
contents down the front of his clothes.
"Why don't you look cheerful?" demanded Lawless. "What's a little coffee
at a time like this?"
"Go to the devil!" retorted the other, vainly endeavouring to sop up the
coffee from his waistcoat with a silk handkerchief. "It's your holiday,
not mine. And, any way, you've got it under false pretences."
"Sub-Lieutenant Trent, are you aware of the fact that you're speaking
disrespectfully to your superior officer?" asked Lawless in a gently
chiding tone.
"Holy Jerusalem!" suddenly yelled Trent, springing to his feet. He had
just discovered from an abrupt rise in temperature about his person that
the coffee had soaked through his shirt.
"I've a good mind to report you for insubordination and--and cheek,"
observed the Lieutenant, taking no pains to conceal his enjoyment of the
other's misfortune.
"And I'll sue you for a new suit of duds, Lawless, you dismal idiot.
It's all through you that I'm soaked to the skin with this confounded
coffee."
A week later Lieutenant-Commander Lawless, bound for Cork _via_
Plymouth, was reclining at his ease in the comfortable little
smoking-room of the _Lake Killarney_, one of the miniature liners which
carry passengers to and from Ireland. Lawless had decided to spend his
holiday on the west coast of the Emerald Isle, and had provided himself
with golf clubs, fishing rods, and other implements of innocent sport
wherewith to while away his leisure. The only thing which troubled him
was his customary want of cash, and when he thought of the thousand
pounds waiting to be earned, he heaved a sigh of deep regret. If only he
could have brought down another Zeppelin....
Now, Lawless, as those who have followed his turbulent career are aware,
was one of those hapless individuals who seem to be marked out as the
sport of destiny. On this particular occasion the mischievous planet
under which the Lieutenant had first seen the light must have twinkled
with more than its usual malignity, for, within twelve hours of setting
forth on his pleasure trip, he was a prisoner in the hands of the
Germans.
It came about in this manner. The _Lake Killarney_ had barely left the
Seven Stones Light on her port quarter when, not more than fifty yards
away on her starboard bow, there arose the conning tower of a large
German submarine. Before the captain of the steamer was aware of this
unwelcome visitor the latter had sent a couple of shots across his bows
as a peremptory signal to stop. The _Lake Killarney_, being a slow boat
and unarmed withal, there was nothing for it but to obey, and
accordingly she was hove-to.
The shots had awakened Lawless, at the time peacefully asleep in his
bunk, and scrambling into his trousers he rushed upon deck to see what
all the noise was about. Other passengers, in even lighter attire, also
hastened on deck, where the crew, in obedience to orders, were lowering
the lifeboats. Lawless at once proceeded to help the women and children
into them, and then, with the captain, got into the last one to leave
the ship. As the boat pulled away from the _Lake Killarney_ the German
commander ordered her to come alongside the submarine; an order which,
in view of the machine-gun on her for'a'd platform, it would have been
unwise to ignore. Then the German officer proceeded to put the Captain
through a pretty severe cross-examination concerning the whereabouts of
various portions of the British Fleet and other matters which he desired
to know. The Captain, however, was able to profess ignorance in nearly
every case, and where he could not, lied like a Trojan.
"We've been trying to get at your wonderful fleet for the last eighteen
months," said the German, "but it's managed to elude us so far. Still,
we'll drag it out of its hiding place before long, and then _Guten Tag_
to the British Navy."
"What's the good of unloading that piffling swank," exclaimed Lawless,
unable to contain himself any longer. "We taught you a lesson at
Heligoland, and when we do meet your High Canal Fleet there'll be
another island in the North Sea--made of German scrap-iron."
"_Himmel!_ I'll put a bullet through you, insolent English pig!" cried
the German, at the same time producing an automatic pistol. "Who is this
man?" he added, turning to the Captain.
"Lieut.-Commander Lawless, I believe," answered the latter unthinkingly.
"Ah, I have heard of you, Herr Lieutenant," said the German. "As a
British Naval officer I shall take you prisoner. Be good enough to step
aboard."
"You've done for me, skipper," said Lawless bitterly as he mounted the
submarine's platform.
The Captain of the _Lake Killarney_ realised his mistake only too well,
but the mischief was done now.
"Cast off," said the Commander, "I am going to sink your vessel."
Half-a-dozen shots beneath the water-line sufficed to sink the steamer,
and then the commander, with Lawless and the men on the gun platform,
went below, the conning-tower hatch was closed and the boat dived
beneath the surface.
Two days later Lawless was taken ashore at a certain German port under
an armed escort. He was domiciled temporarily in the local prison, and
on the following morning an escort took him to another part of the
building and ushered him into a sort of office where various uniformed
individuals were gathered. There a careful record was made of his name,
professional rank, place of birth, and many other private details of his
life and habits. Then he was photographed.
This done, a sergeant stepped forward and, gripping the prisoner by the
shoulders, began, with the assistance of a private, to feel in his
trouser pockets. At this the Lieutenant's patience vanished and, before
the sergeant had time to guess what was coming, he had been pitched head
first into a large wastepaper basket and the private had taken a header
into the coal scuttle. But before Lawless could perform any further
athletic feats, he was seized by three soldiers and forced against the
wall.
Then the search recommenced, and various articles, including a note from
a tailor threatening legal proceedings unless he received a "remittance
forthwith," were brought to light.
"Ach, what is this?" asked an officer looking at a crumpled piece of
paper which the sergeant had handed to him with an air of triumph.
He carefully smoothed it out, and then, exhibiting it to the prisoner,
repeated the question.
Lawless glanced at it, and then, despite the gravity of his position,
burst into a hearty laugh, whereat the officer, the sergeant and the
privates all scowled at him reprovingly. On one side of the paper were
scrawled the following incriminating words:
"Conshus,
Contitious,
Concious."
On the other side were a number of strange-looking figures bearing some
resemblance to a capital L.
"Why," said Lawless when he had recovered from his hilarity, "I was
trying some days ago to spell 'conscious' and, not being quite sure
about it, wrote it down different ways to see which looked right. Of
course," he added confidently, "it was the last one."
"And these?" queried the officer, pointing to the straggling
hieroglyphics.
"Oh, I was uncertain how to write a capital _q_--I don't often write
that letter as a capital--and I experimented. Those are the
experiments."
"They are a secret code," said the officer accusingly.
"Secret fiddlesticks!" ejaculated Lawless.
"You refuse to decipher it?"
"Confound it all, there's nothing to decipher."
"Very well," said the officer, making a note in a little book. He then
waved his hand to indicate that the examination was at an end, and a
couple of soldiers, with side-arms drawn, marched the prisoner back to
the little room he occupied in the prison and there left him.
On the following morning he was again brought before his examiner and
again declared that the scribble had nothing to do with any code.
"You will be sent to the fortress of Glatz," said the officer.
Now, Lawless had heard quite enough about that terrible fortress in
Prussian Silesia to make it, in his opinion, a most undesirable
residence, and he determined to make a bold effort at escape before he
got there. Unhappily, there was no prospect of his getting the ghost of
a chance to escape, for he was conducted to the railway station in
charge of two privates, a corporal, and a commissioned officer. For some
reason they did not travel by the direct route _via_ Frankfurt, but went
a roundabout way through Stettin, Damm and Posen. At the last-named
station they had to change trains and Lawless hoped for an opportunity
to escape, but his guards never relaxed their vigilance and it was
useless to try.
While they were standing on the platform waiting for the train, the
Lieutenant caught sight of a man whose face seemed familiar to him. But
for the life of him he could not recall where or when he had seen the
owner of the face, though he cudgelled his brains all the way to
Breslau. It was dark when they reached this town, and here they had to
change into a local train for Glatz. Suddenly, while crossing a bridge
to another platform, Lawless again caught sight of the strangely
familiar face among the crowd of people hurrying to catch the train. It
disappeared from view almost immediately, but a moment later the
Lieutenant heard a voice whisper in his ear:
"Take your chance and follow me."
Lawless turned his head sharply and saw that the speaker was none other
than the man whose face had been haunting him.
It was all very well to say "take your chance" but, so far as Lawless
could see, there was no chance to take. Then suddenly there was a
commotion among the people in front of him, a wild scramble as if
someone had dropped a purse and everybody was fighting to obtain it.
Both the prisoner and his guards were almost swept off their feet and
then Lawless took his chance. Diving down, he simply butted a way
through the mob, thanking his stars that he had once been centre forward
in a county football team. At the end of the bridge he caught sight of
his unknown friend descending the stairs and followed him as quickly as
he could. Behind him he could hear the shouts of his guards and the
angry expostulations of the people whom they were thrusting aside in
their endeavour to catch the runaway. Fortunately he was wearing a
civilian great-coat--one given him when he had been brought ashore from
the submarine--and so there was nothing in his appearance to distinguish
him from the other people with whom he mingled.
The man he was following passed through a door leading from the platform
and Lawless, entering after him, found himself in a small office,
evidently used by some of the railway officials. The stranger locked the
door and then faced the Lieutenant.
"So we meet again," he said. "Last time it was in mid-ocean and now----"
he shrugged his shoulders.
In a flash, Lawless remembered who the man was. He was the
German-American spy who, with Cassidy's assistance, he had rescued from
the torpedoed _Nimrod_ and afterwards unwittingly allowed to escape with
a loan of five pounds.
"You saved my life and gave me my liberty," went on the man, "though had
you known who I was the result might have been different. However, the
fact remains and now I am going to do my best to repay the debt. I----"
He was interrupted by a knocking at the door and voices without shouted
something Lawless could not understand. His rescuer replied, the
knocking ceased and he turned once more to the Lieutenant.
"That has put them off the track for a little while, at any rate," he
said. "Now you see that window? Well, outside it is a large siding for
goods trains. One is loading now for Stettin, and, if you are
careful--and lucky--you can creep under a tarpaulin on one of the trucks
and remain there till the train reaches its destination. There your real
difficulties will begin, for you'll have to smuggle yourself aboard a
Norwegian or Swedish steamer and get to a neutral port. I have done as
much as lies in my power."
Lawless abruptly held out his hand.
"You're a white man," he said. "By Jove, I never expected it from a
Hun!"
"And now you must get off before those fellows come buzzing round here
again." He crossed to the window and opened it. "There's your road," he
said, and at the same time pressed a wad of paper money into the
Lieutenant's hand.
Lawless climbed over the sill and dropped gently to the ground, only a
few feet below. Then the window above him was closed and he started to
creep along under the shadow of the wall, for the yard was lit up by
electric arc lamps. Then a new dilemma faced him. Instead of one goods
train there were three, and, of course, he had no means of finding out
which of them was bound for Stettin.
"Well, here goes," he murmured desperately, and selected the longest
train as the one most likely to be bound for the Baltic port.
So, creeping under trucks, stealthily crossing lines and avoiding all
brightly illuminated spots, he at last reached the train he had selected
without attracting the attention of the workpeople, many of whom were
women. Climbing into a truck, he drew the tarpaulin over his head and
settled down on the edge of a packing case.
"Any way, I'm not going to Glatz this trip," he thought.
He must have been crouching there for about half an hour and was
beginning to drop off into an uneasy doze, when there was a terrific
jolt and his head came into contact with a cask. Then, as the jolts
continued, gradually becoming less violent, he knew that the train was
starting on its journey.
From speculating as to his probable destination, Lawless gradually
dropped off to sleep, and was only awakened by another series of jolts
and jerks. Cautiously lifting his head from under the tarpaulin he saw
that the train had come to a standstill on some sidings and that it was
nearly daylight. Realising that if he did not want to be discovered
there was no time to lose in getting away, he clambered out of the truck
and slipped across the sidings to a low fence, over which he climbed.
"Now where the devil am I?" he muttered.
He was standing on a narrow footpath situated, apparently, on the
outskirts of a town, the lights of which he could see in the distance.
The air was chill and he shivered, becoming aware at the same time that
he was ravenously hungry. Then, from a field about half a mile away, he
saw a column of smoke rising, and noticed what seemed to be two or three
caravans drawn up in line. It occurred to him that this must be the
temporary encampment of some nomad family who, in all probability, were
preparing their morning meal before proceeding on their way. The idea
held him.
"I've got to raise some grub somehow," he told himself.
He carefully considered the matter, and came to the conclusion that he
would stand less chance of being betrayed by such wanderers as
these--almost outlaws themselves--than by more virtuous and respectable
folk. He thereupon proceeded towards the encampment and, as he
approached, an appetising smell assailed his nostrils and made him feel
still hungrier. Vaulting over a hedge, Lawless came upon a very dirty
but very picturesque ruffian, attired in the manner of a musical-comedy
bandit, who was engaged in taking a captured rabbit from a wire noose.
At sight of the stranger, he sprang to his feet, but Lawless made
pacific gesticulations and intimated, by the simple means of pointing
first to his mouth and then to his stomach, that he was hungry.
Thereupon the bandit person grinned affably, and made a sign indicating
that his new acquaintance was to follow him.
On arriving at the camp Lawless discovered that the aroma which had so
tickled his nostrils emanated from a large iron pot suspended over the
fire. Round this were several ragged children heaping on sticks, and
near the caravans a group of men and women putting the finishing touches
to an extremely primitive _toilette_. The Lieutenant's guide went up to
them, and for some moments they all talked at once in an
uncomprehensible jargon, at the same time casting inquisitive and
half-suspicious glances at the uninvited guest.
Eventually they seemed to accept him, and, seating themselves round the
fire, signed the Lieutenant to do the same. These people, as a matter of
fact, were Silesian gipsies and hereditary foes to law and order,
wherefore perhaps they felt a certain sympathy towards the dishevelled
and hungry stranger who was almost as dirty as themselves.
A few moments later Lawless was eating ravenously of a savoury mess out
of a tin plate with his fingers--knives and forks, apparently, were
regarded by these people as among the superfluities of life. When he had
eaten his fill Lawless speculated as to where he was. There was no sign
of any docks or shipping, and he began to doubt whether he had reached
Stettin after all. He decided to try, by means of signs and
gesticulations, to make these people understand that he wanted to know
where he was.
It proved a long, wearisome, and almost hopeless task, but at last he
succeeded.
"Glatz," said the man upon whom he had been experimenting.
"Glatz!"
The man nodded.
"Well, I'm jiggered!" exclaimed Lawless under his breath.
He had contrived to escape from his guards, elude recapture, stow
himself away on a train--only to find himself in the very place he had
risked so much to avoid.
"Damn!" he remarked aloud.
Then, realising that it might be dangerous to hang about in the open
fields, he rose to his feet. Possibly he might come across some empty
barn or building where he could lie concealed till nightfall. At any
rate, since he had made his escape at Breslau, it was there that the
authorities would concentrate their search; certainly they would not
suspect that he had gone on to Glatz. And then the question arose, how
was he to reach Stettin?
He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out the notes which his mysterious
friend had given him and handed one to the gipsy. Its equivalent in
English currency was a little less than a pound, and his benefactor
stared in open-mouthed astonishment, first at the note and then at him.
For a minute Lawless thought that he had unwittingly insulted the man,
but he was wrong there; neither pride nor sensitiveness are among the
failings of the Silesian gipsies. The man merely thought that his guest
was a benevolent lunatic.
So, after shaking hands and exchanging grins all round, Lawless departed
and, taking chance as his guide, hurried off in the opposite direction
to the town, carefully avoiding all footpaths. At last he came to a
deserted windmill and, going inside, prepared to wait there till it was
dark enough to make further investigations.
Throughout the whole of the day, which seemed like an eternity, Lawless
did not see a single soul, though he frequently surveyed the landscape
through the numerous apertures in his hiding-place. Long before it
became dark he grew hungry again, and cursed his want of forethought in
not having demanded some bread and cheese in exchange for the note he
had handed over. Eventually, pressed by his inward pangs, he stealthily
crept out of the ruin, and, foraging in the immediate neighbourhood,
discovered a field of turnips. He pulled up several and returned with
them to the mill; they were better than nothing, after all.
At last twilight came, and following that the night, dark and starless.
Then the Lieutenant emerged from his hiding-place, and, standing in the
middle of the field, wondered what direction he should take. He had no
compass, of course, and the country around was an uncharted sea to him.
Presently he noticed in the far distance a bright light shining, and,
for no particular reason, set off in that direction. As he advanced the
light suddenly disappeared nor did it blaze out again during the rest of
his tramp.
"Funny," he murmured. "It wasn't a searchlight, and it couldn't very
well be a signal."
After about an hour's walk, he found himself near a large enclosure with
a long shed in the centre surrounded by a number of small huts. Also he
caught sight of a dim figure pacing mechanically to and fro some
distance in front of him and outside the enclosure--obviously a sentry.
At first he thought it must be a prison encampment and was about to move
stealthily away again, when the bright light which had first attracted
his attention, suddenly lit up the enclosure. It came from a large
arc-lamp suspended from a high wooden erection, and in the glare Lawless
recognised the shed as an aeroplane hangar. Evidently, therefore, this
was an aviation station, and the light served as a guide to the homeward
bound machines. This view was confirmed a few moments later when there
came the sound of a distant hum which gradually grew louder and more
distinct.
Lawless, impelled more by curiosity than anything else, crawled nearer
to the enclosure and took "cover" behind a pile of wooden stakes which
were being used in the repairing of the palisades. The sentry had ceased
his monotonous pacing to and fro, and now stood, resting on his rifle,
looking skywards in the direction of the approaching aeroplane. At last
it came into view, flying rather low, and then the pilot volplaned to
the ground, alighting within the enclosure and bringing his machine to
a standstill not twenty yards from the spot where the Lieutenant was
concealed. The aviator sprang out, followed by the observer, and they
both hurried towards one of the huts, leaving the machine where it
stood.
It was at this moment that a brilliant idea occurred to Lawless. Why
shouldn't he commandeer the machine and make his escape that way? With
him, to think was to act, so, not waiting to weigh the chances, he crept
from his hiding-place, darted across the grass while the sentry's back
was towards him, and climbed into the machine. He started the engines,
the machine began to move with increasing speed along the level, and
then rose into the air. So far he did not appear to have attracted the
attention of the sentry, who, not having seen him get into the
aeroplane, no doubt supposed that the pilot was off on another flight.
But, as the machine rose, Lawless caught sight of the pilot emerging
from the hut; nothing happened for fully a minute and then he heard the
crack of a rifle. By this time, however, he was out of danger, and,
though a searchlight waved frantically skywards it never once focussed
itself upon him.
The distance from Glatz to Stettin is about two hundred miles as the
crow flies, and, with the aid of the chart and compass he found in the
machine, Lawless hoped to steer a fairly accurate course. He knew that
machines would set off in pursuit, but their pilots had first to find
and then to overtake him--and he already possessed a pretty good start.
His chief anxiety now was that the petrol supply would run out before
Stettin was reached, for the gauges were running low.
About an hour later he passed over a brilliantly lighted town, which he
took to be Leignitz, and, later on, another one which, according to the
chart, should be Frankfurt-on-Oder. Then, when he was close upon
Stettin, the petrol began to give out and there was nothing for it but
to come down--an extremely difficult task to accomplish safely on a dark
night and in an unknown tract of country.
At last he thought he could see a stretch of land free from obstructions
and, deciding to venture, he made a volplane downwards. But as ill-luck
would have it the machine collided with a tree and, turning turtle,
pitched the daring aviator out. His fall, however, was broken by the
branches, and he scrambled to his feet little the worse except for a few
bruises and scratches. On the ground, a few yards away, lay the
aeroplane a hopeless wreck.
"Rather a pity," he murmured as he glanced at the débris, "but it was
smashed in a good cause."
He was about to move away in order to seek some place of
concealment--for a light streak in the eastern sky warned him of
approaching dawn--when his foot struck something. Stooping down he saw
that it was a leather wallet, and concluded it must have formed part of
the aeroplane's equipment. Thinking it might contain a map of the
surrounding country, he picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket.
It was barely light when, by devious routes, he reached the docks and
saw, among other vessels, a small steamer flying the Danish flag.
Thinking that money might be useful at this juncture, he put his hand in
his pocket expecting to find the remaining notes. But, to his
astonishment, they were not there, nor could he find them on any other
part of his person. The only possible conclusion was, that the
hospitable gipsy, to whom he had given one of the notes, had picked his
pocket of the remainder almost immediately afterwards. However, it was
no use worrying now, and he decided to chance his luck. He succeeded in
boarding the Danish steamer without attracting attention, and at once
sought an interview with the skipper. The latter, happily for him, had
served in the British Mercantile Marine and was a pronounced
anti-German, so it did not take very long to settle matters to the
satisfaction of both parties. In due course, therefore, Lawless reached
Copenhagen, where, by the good offices of the friendly skipper, he was
transferred to another vessel bound for London.
It was just a week after his capture that Lawless landed at the wharf
just below London Bridge. Though he looked and felt more like a tramp
than an officer of the British Navy, he made straight for Whitehall and,
after a short but sharp altercation with some minor officials, found
himself in the presence of a certain admiral whose name is anathema to
the whole German nation.
With extreme brevity the Lieutenant described his adventures since his
capture by the submarine, and then laid before the admiral the contents
of the wallet which had fallen out of the wrecked aeroplane. To the
uninitiated the papers Lawless produced would have been meaningless, but
to the admiral they were of the utmost value, containing, as they did,
secret information concerning the enemy's naval plans.
A few days later Lawless, who had been ordered to rejoin the _Knat_
pending further instructions, received an official communication from
the Admiralty.
"This," he said complacently as he opened the envelope, "means
promotion."
The letter, after the usual coldly-polite preliminaries, went on as
follows:
"The Admiralty desire to commend Lieut.-Commander Lawless for having
obtained the information duly placed before them. They cannot, however,
grant any extension of leave under present conditions. Enclosed is a
cheque for three shillings and sixpence (3s. 6d.), being the sum
expended by him on victuals while in possession of the information above
referred to, and, therefore, on Government service."
"Well, if that doesn't absolutely take the bun!" ejaculated Lawless, and
passed the epistle on to Trent.
"H'm!" grunted the latter when he had perused it.
"They're not even going to make good the kit I lost when the _Lake
Killarney_ went down!"
"Still," said the sub-lieutenant, "virtue is its own reward, you know."
"Damn," said Lawless, and pitched the missive through the open port
hole.