Reunited
"THAT'S all very well," confided Webb, when the destroyer had taken
charge of the captured felucca; "but I fancy we'll find out all about
our mystery craft. She seemed mighty keen on recapturing our prize.
Having, as she thought, driven us off, she paid us no further
attention until we pitched into her. It is just possible that her
object was to rescue our friend Georgeos Hymettus."
Upon No. 0916's arrival at Mudros, the skilful and dangerous spy was
conveyed ashore under a strong guard. Placed upon his trial he made a
full and abject confession of his misdeeds. Totally lacking in honour
and _esprit de corps_, he unhesitatingly denounced his accomplices.
As an intermediary between the German Government and the Greek king
he had caused immense harm to the Allies, apart from the damage done
with his assistance by the U-boats in Mediterranean waters. On his
escape from Alexandria, Hymettus had undertaken a secret mission on
behalf of the so-called Royalist faction of Greece. This was with the
idea of dealing a counter-stroke against the Venezelists, who held
most of the islands in the Archipelago. Should he fail to accomplish
the principal object, he was to furnish a list of names of Greeks
favourably inclined to the Allies. This document was found on him
when he was rescued from the sea. For safety's sake he had hidden it
in a fold of his skirt, for he was in the old national Greek dress
when on board the felucca, and unaccountably he had forgotten to
destroy the paper during the period of captivity in the patrol-boat's
forepeak.
During the court martial it also transpired that the vessel which had
attacked Osborne's command and had attempted the recapture of the
felucca was the _Pyrgos_, a steam yacht belonging to a strong
adherent to the Germanized royal family of Greece. It was not with
the sole desire of rescuing Hymettus that the daring attempt was
made. The spy would have been ruthlessly abandoned by his employers
but for the fact that he bore incriminating documents. Hence the
mysterious tactics of the _Pyrgos_ that had led to her destruction,
and to the failure to regain the written evidence of Tino's
treachery.
The confession of Georgeos Hymettus did not save his miserable life.
Condemned to be shot, the sentence was confirmed and duly carried
out--not with the idea of vengeance, but as a deterrent to other
cosmopolitan rogues who infest the shores of the Levant.
Two days later, Osborne and Webb were making their way from their
temporary shore quarters to the harbour, where they suddenly ran up
against Captain M'Bride.
"Well met, Osborne!" exclaimed the genial skipper. "We only arrived
last night, and I was on my way to look you up. About that dog of
yours. No, don't get excited. What a fellow you are! I have a letter
from my chum on the _Tarbox_, but nothin' doin'. I hear you've been
given a command. Well, hearty congratulations!"
"Yes, a patrol-boat," replied the Lieutenant. "She's quite a decent
little craft." He was too bashful to refer to his achievement. "We're
laid up for repairs. Strained the connecting-rods while we were
towing some old hooker. But about Laddie, sir?"
M'Bride gripped Osborne's arm and turned him in the direction of the
harbour.
"Come along," he said. "Let's see what we can do by making enquiries
of the destroyer flotilla. They've only just arrived from Salonika.
And you too, Mr. Webb. I believe you are almost as keen about the
animal as Osborne."
Under the lee of the stranded hull of an immense dummy battleship,
that was finishing a life of strenuous activity in the utilitarian
yet humble capacity of a breakwater, lay seven long, lean destroyers.
They had just completed a stretch of duty off the Grecian coast, and,
relieved by their "opposite numbers", were about to re-bunker,
replenish stores and provisions, and give their crews a well-earned
spell of rest.
Alongside the little stone jetty lay Captain M'Bride's gig. Into this
the three officers stepped. The men "gave way", and the boat sped
towards the nearmost destroyer.
"If that's not your dog it's his double, Osborne," remarked Captain
M'Bride, pointing to a large animal that was sedately pacing the
diminutive quarter-deck of the destroyer, at the heels of a couple of
officers.
"Laddie!" shouted Osborne, oblivious of the fact that he was a
subordinate officer in the presence of his former skipper.
"Hold on!" protested Captain M'Bride laughingly. "Do wait till we get
alongside. He'll be overboard if we don't."
The warning came too late. Osborne had made no mistake in recognizing
his long-lost pet, although he had erred in calling to him.
In a trice Laddie cleared the rail, plunged into the water, and swam
vigorously towards the gig.
Steering wide of the swimming animal, Captain M'Bride brought the
boat alongside the destroyer, and, literally racing up her short
accommodation-ladder, gained the shelter of the quarter-deck.
"Now haul the brute into the boat," he exclaimed. "If he soaks you to
the skin, that's your funeral, Osborne, not mine."
The possibility of being drenched never deterred Osborne. Grasping
the dog by the scruff of the neck, he hove him over the side into the
gig; and the next moment the interested onlookers could hardly
distinguish the Lieutenant from the dog, so violently excited were
both.
"Your dog, I presume?" explained the destroyer's
Lieutenant-commander. "Well, take the brute; he's been a regular
nuisance to us for the last two months. Of course, I only say this
because I don't mean it, Mr. Osborne. If it were of any use I'd offer
you a tenner on the spot."
It was quite evident from Laddie's appearance that he had been well
cared for. His coat, in spite of the wetting, was in excellent
condition. He had, in fact, been "adopted" by the ship's company,
and, although their regret at his departure was undoubted, officers
and men realized that Osborne had the higher claim.
"He was discovered trapped in a coal bunker of the captured
torpedo-boat," explained the Lieutenant-commander. "Goodness only
knows what he was doing there! We thought he was a Turkish dog, so we
didn't trouble to report the circumstance. We just adopted him. It
was only this morning that Captain M'Bride happened to mention the
matter; and, when we told him, he was off on shore like a young
hurricane."
"I'm awfully grateful," began Osborne.
"Yes, yes, and we are very, very modest. We don't like being
overwhelmed with thanks, my dear fellow. Well, s'long! If you have a
chance, bring Laddie on board while we're here. By the by, we called
him Mustapha, and we rather wondered why he didn't cotton to it."
"Shows your rotten ignorance, Sefton," said Captain M'Bride in mock
reproof. "A fellow who tries to give a Turkish name to a respectable,
thoroughbred English sheep-dog deserves to be cashiered. Come along,
Osborne; you hardly look dignified in those saturated togs."
"Come and have lunch with us, sir," said Osborne as the gig returned
to the quay. "We've fairly snug shore quarters, and I think there's
something going."
Captain M'Bride consented, and the three officers set off towards the
low, rambling stone building in which Osborne and Webb had taken up
their temporary abode.
Their way lay along a narrow and somewhat crowded street of the
native quarter. In places the three officers had to make their way in
single file, Captain M'Bride leading, Webb coming next, and Osborne
bringing up the rear, with Laddie sticking closely to his heels.
Suddenly Webb was jostled violently, his head coming in contact with
his former skipper's back. Turning, he found Osborne still staggering
from the effect of a blow, while Laddie was at the throat of a
ruffianly Greek whose outstretched hand was grasping a glittering
knife.