TWO MORE GERMAN SUBMARINES SUNK WITH ALL HANDS
The Admiralty report that they received last night a message from
Commander Conyers of the destroyer _Scorpion,_ announcing that he has
destroyed German submarines U 22 and 27, with all hands.
“Well, I’m damned!” the Admiral exclaimed, as he laid down the newspaper
a few mornings later. “Ralph’s done it this time, and no mistake.”
Geraldine looked over his shoulder, her cheeks aglow.
“I knew at seven o’clock,” she declared. “Harris brought me the paper
up. They are all so excited about it in the kitchen. You’d just gone out
in the Park.”
“I want to know how it was done,” the Admiral speculated. “Can’t have
been ramming if he bagged two of them, and they surely never came to the
surface voluntarily, with a destroyer about.”
Geraldine glanced around the room to be sure that they were alone.
“Don’t you remember when Olive and I were at Portsmouth?” she said.
“Ralph has been absolutely dumb about it but he did just give us a hint
that he had a little surprise in store for the submarines. There was
something on deck, covered all up and watched by a sentry, and just
before we sat down to lunch, you know, we were turned off and had to go
to the ‘Ship’. Ralph wouldn’t tell us a word about it but I’m sure he’s
got some new contrivance on the _Scorpion_ for fighting the submarines.”
“There may be something in it,” the Admiral admitted cheerfully. “I
noticed the Morning Post naval man the other day made a very guarded
reference to some secret means of dealing with these vermin.”
Lady Conyers sailed into the room, a telegram in her hand.
“A wireless from Ralph,” she announced. “Listen.”
Have sunk two of the brutes. More to come. Love.
Ralph.
They pored over the telegram and the newspaper until the breakfast was
cold. The Admiral was like a boy again.
“If we can get rid of these curses of the sea,” he said, settling down
at last to his bacon and eggs, “and get those Germans to come out, the
war will be over months before any one expected. I shall go down to the
Admiralty after breakfast and see if they’ve got anything to tell. Ralph
gave me a hint about the net scheme but he never even mentioned anything
else.”
The telephone rang in the next room and a servant summoned Geraldine.
“Captain Granet wishes to speak to Miss Conyers,” he announced.
Geraldine left her place at once and hastened into the library. She took
up the receiver.
“Is that you, Captain Granet?” she asked.
“I felt that I must ring you up,” he declared, “to congratulate you,
Miss Conyers, upon your brother’s exploit. I have had half a dozen
soldier fellows in already this morning to talk about it, and we’re
simply mad with curiosity. Do you think we shall be told soon how it was
done?”
“Father’s going down to the Admiralty to try and find out,” Geraldine
replied. “Ralph doesn’t say a word except that he sunk them. We’ve had a
wireless from him this morning.”
“It really doesn’t matter much, does it,” Granet went on, “so long as
we get rid of the brutes. I was perfectly certain, when we were down at
Portsmouth, that your brother had something up his sleeve. Does give one
a thrill, doesn’t it, when one’s ashore and doing nothing, to read of
things like this?”
“You’ll soon be at work again,” she told him encouragingly.
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “They talk about giving me a home job and I
don’t think I could stick it. Are you walking in the Park this morning,
Miss Conyers?”
She hesitated for a moment.
“No, I am playing golf at Ranelagh.”
“Might I call this afternoon?”
“If you like,” she assented. “After four o’clock, though, because I am
staying out to lunch.”
“Thank you so much,” he replied gratefully.
She set down the receiver again and went back to the breakfast-room.
“Captain Granet just wanted to congratulate us all,” she announced, “and
to know if he could come in to tea this afternoon.”
“Better ask him to dinner, my dear,” the Admiral suggested hospitably.
“He’s a fine young fellow, Granet. Very thoughtful of him to ring us
up.”
Lady Conyers made no comment. Geraldine was bending over her plate.
The Admiral rose to his feet. He was much too excited to pursue the
conversation.
“I shall walk down to the Admiralty and see if I can get hold of old
Wilcock,” he continued. “If he won’t tell me anything, I’ll wring the
old beggar’s neck.”
The Admiral left the house a few minutes later and Lady Conyers walked
arm in arm with her daughter into the pleasant little morning-room which
looked out upon the Square. The former paused for a moment to look at
Thomson’s photograph, which stood upon one of the side tables. Then she
closed the door.
“Geraldine,” she said, “I am not very happy about you and Hugh.”
“Why not, mother?” the girl asked, looking out of the window.
“Perhaps because I like Hugh,” Lady Conyers went on quietly, “perhaps,
too, because I am not sure that you have done wisely. You haven’t given
me any reason yet, have you, for breaking your engagement?”
Geraldine was silent for a moment. Then she came back and sat on the rug
at her mother’s feet. She kept her face, however, a little turned away.
“It’s so hard to put it into words, mother,” she said thoughtfully,
“only Hugh never seemed to give me any of his confidence. Of course, his
is very dull work, looking after hospitals and that sort of thing, but
still, I’d have liked to try and take an interest in it. He must have
seen exciting things in France, but it is only by the merest chance that
one ever realises that he has been even near the Front. He is so silent,
so secretive.”
Lady Conyers took up her knitting.
“Some men are like that, dear,” she remarked. “It is just temperamental.
Perhaps you haven’t encouraged him to talk.”
“But I have,” Geraldine insisted. “I have asked him no end of questions,
but before he has answered any of them properly, I find him trying to
change the conversation.”
“Men don’t like talking about the war, you know,” Lady Conyers went on.
“There was that nice Major Tyndale who was back from the Front the other
day with a V. C. and goodness knows what. Not a word would he say about
any one of the fights, and he is cheery enough in a general way, isn’t
he, and fond of talking?”
“Even then,” Geraldine protested, “Hugh’s work is different. I can
understand why he doesn’t like to talk a lot about the wounded and that
sort of thing, but he must have had some interesting adventures.”
“I don’t think,” Lady Conyers said, “the very nicest men talk about
their adventures.”
Geraldine made a little grimace.
“Hugh doesn’t talk about anything,” she complained. “He goes about
looking as though he had the cares of the world upon his shoulders, and
then he has the--well, the cheek, I call it, to lecture me about Captain
Granet. He does talk about Captain Granet in the most absurd manner, you
know, mother.”
“He may have his reasons,” Lady Conyers observed.
Geraldine turned her head and looked at her mother.
“Now what reasons could he have for not liking Captain Granet and
suspecting him of all manner of ridiculous things?” she asked. “Did
you ever know a more harmless, ingenuous, delightful young man in your
life?”
“Perhaps it is because you find him all these things,” Lady Conyers
suggested, “that Hugh doesn’t like him.”
“Of course, if he is going to be jealous about nothing at all--”
“Is it nothing at all?”
Lady Conyers raised her head from her knitting and looked across at
her daughter. A little flush of colour had suddenly streamed into
Geraldine’s face. She drew back as though she had been sitting too near
the fire.
“Of course it is,” she declared. “I have only known Captain Granet for
a very short time. I like him, of course--every one must like him who
knows him--but that’s all.”
“Do you know,” Lady Conyers said, a moment later, “I almost hope that it
is all.”
“And why, mother?”
“Because I consider Hugh is a great judge of character. Because we have
known Hugh since he was a boy, and we have known Captain Granet for
about a week.”
Geraldine rose to her feet.
“You don’t like Captain Granet, mother.”
“I do not dislike him,” Lady Conyers replied thoughtfully. “I do not see
how any one could.”
“Hugh does. He hinted things about him--that he wasn’t honest--and then
forbade me to tell him. I think Hugh was mean.”
Lady Conyers glanced at the clock.
“You had better go and get ready, dear, if you have promised to be at
Ranelagh at half-past ten,” she said. “Will you just remember this?”
“I’ll remember anything you say, mother,” Geraldine promised.
“You’re just a little impulsive, dear, at times, although you seem so
thoughtful,” Lady Conyers continued. “Don’t rush at any conclusion about
these two men. Sometimes I have fancied that there is a great well
of feeling behind Hugh’s silence. And more than that--that there is
something in his life of which just now he cannot speak, which is
keeping him living in great places. His abstractions are not ordinary
ones, you know. It’s just an idea of mine, but the other day--well,
something happened which I thought rather queer. I saw a closed car turn
into St. James’s Park and, evidently according to orders, the chauffeur
drove very slowly. There were two men inside, talking very earnestly.
One of them was Hugh; the other was--well, the most important man at the
War Office, who seldom, as you know, speaks to any one.”
“You mean to say that he was alone, talking confidentially with Hugh?”
Geraldine exclaimed incredulously.
“He was, dear,” her mother assented, “and it made me think. That’s all.
I have a fancy that some day when the time comes that Hugh is free to
talk, he will be able to interest you--well, quite as much as Captain
Granet.... Now then, dear, hurry. There’s the car at the door for you
and you haven’t your hat on.”
Geraldine went upstairs a little thoughtfully. As she drew on her
gloves, she looked down at the empty space upon her third finger. For a
moment there was almost a lump in her throat.