THE INTERRUPTED MATCH
THE _Frome_ came alongside the Fountain Lake Jetty, and her commander
repaired to the commander-in-chief's office to make his report as to
why the night gunnery exercises had not been carried out. To the
relief of everyone on board the destroyer it was decided that the
night-firing was to be postponed until after the little craft's
refit, and in the interval the _Frome_ was to lie alongside the jetty
until her consort, the _Blackadder_, came out of No. 3 Dock.
"That's good!" ejaculated Fielding, as the officers went to dinner in
the diminutive, cosy wardroom. "We'll have time to put in a few
hours' practice at the nets. Have you seen the list of our team yet,
Cardyke?"
"Thompson's sending out the names tomorrow. I know that we are in the
team; Simpson gave me the cue," replied the midshipman. "The
practice-nets will be available at ten o'clock to-morrow morning. I
suppose we may go, sir?"
"Of course," assented Drake, good-naturedly. "The gunner will be in
charge up to eight bells."
The four officers--for the engineer-lieutenant formed one of the
party--fell to discussing everyday topics. "Shop" was rigidly tabooed
in the _Frome's_ wardroom unless absolutely necessary for Service
reasons.
The following day, Thursday, passed almost without incident. Fielding
and Cardyke put in a good morning's work at the practice-nets in the
United Services ground; while Drake went ashore in the afternoon for
a motor-drive.
Friday dawned bright and clear, with every prospect of a blazing hot
day. Shortly after breakfast a newsboy brought off the daily papers
to the ship, and for the next half-hour the officers "stood easy."
"By Jove! They think that something's happened to the old
_Impregnable_," exclaimed Paul Fielding. "She ought to have turned up
at the mouth of the Scheldt yesterday morning, and nothing has been
seen or heard of her."
"Delayed by fog possibly," remarked the lieutenant-commander. "Still,
it's no affair of the Admiralty's since the ship is sold."
"The paper hints at something mysterious."
"Naturally. There's been a dearth of news for the last month or more,
and this is a good opportunity of arousing public interest. She'll
turn up all right, with two tugs looking after her. Well, what's
this?"
Drake turned to receive a message from a signalman.
"I say, you fellows," he exclaimed. "The _Frome_ will be well
represented in the Fifth Division Team. Thompson's sent a signal from
the depot-ship asking me to play. They must be fearfully hard up for
players, because I am awfully out of practice."
"Of course you'll play?" asked Fielding, eagerly, for Drake had a
reputation as a hard slogger at no very distant date.
"I'll do my best, rest assured," replied Drake, modestly, as he
deliberately folded his newspaper, and placed it in the rack. "But
business first and pleasure afterwards--it's time for divisions."
The morning passed only too quickly, for there was much to be done in
the way of routine, and at 2 p.m. Drake, Fielding, and Cardyke, all
in mufti, went ashore. A taxi quickly bore them to the officers'
Recreation Ground, where most of the rival teams had already
gathered.
Matches between the officers of the various ships and torpedo
destroyer divisions were a favourite amusement in the Portsmouth
command, the game usually being followed by an informal dinner, the
losing side having to pay all expenses.
Confident in the batting capabilities of the Fifth Division team,
Drake expressed his willingness to eat his hat should they fail to
win.
"Eating his hat" was the lieutenant's favourite figure of speech;
but, somewhat to his surprise, Lieutenant Player, the skipper of the
Sixth Division team, promptly made a note of his rival's promise in
his pocketbook, amid the laughter of his companions.
Possibly this action unsettled Drake, for, instead of coming up to
his average, he was clean bowled before the end of the first over.
The wickets fell in quick succession, and in spite of the determined
stand of young Cardyke, the Fifth closed with a miserable
forty-three. As for the Sixth, they soon piled on runs till the
scoring-board stood at 108.
"Now then, Drake," exclaimed Player, boisterously. "Where's your
hat?"
Drake began to glare at his tormentor; then, realising the absurdity
of "getting his rag out": "See what I'll do to-night," he replied. "A
Drake always keeps his word."
Just at that moment a marine orderly, mounted on a bicycle, rode at a
high speed over the turf, threw himself out of the saddle abreast of
the pavilion, and, with a salute, handed Drake an envelope.
Without a word the lieutenant-commander opened the buff covering,
read the contents, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
At length Drake dismissed the messenger, thrust the missive into his
pocket, and strolled casually out of the pavilion. The news was
important, but it was almost as important that none of his companions
save his subordinates should know its import.
Outside the pavilion Drake beckoned to Fielding, and the two strolled
a few yards away from the others.
"Looks like business, sir," commented Fielding, as he read the
momentous news. "I thought there was something fishy when the papers
hinted at it this morning."
"It's a rattling good chance, Fielding, my boy--a rattling good
chance. If we don't score I'll eat my----"
But recollecting that he had already promised to masticate more than
he wished for, Drake checked himself in time.
"Mr. Cardyke," he exclaimed, as the midshipman passed on his way to
the pavilion. "Not a word to the others, mind. A message has just
come from the commander-in-chief ordering us to put to sea with the
utmost promptitude on particular service."
"Anything startling, sir?"
"Only that news has been received that the _Impregnable_ has been
seized on the high seas. How, when, or where we have to find out. Our
instructions are to investigate, and take action if necessary."
"I hope, sir, there will be plenty of 'if necessary' about it."
"So do I," agreed Drake, grimly. "We've the chance of a lifetime--and
I mean to make the most of it."